Latest Posts by buckys-lover - Page 4

So what NSFW thoughts do you have about Rhett Abbott?

What NSFW thoughts don’t I have about Rhett?!

First and foremost: Rhett fucks, like if you want it slow and soft you have to ask

After rodeos he has you ride him like how he rode the bull

Rhett will take you out in the pasture and the bed of his truck will be filled with blankets and pillows and he’ll just fuck the ever loving shit out of you (bc it’s the pasture, the only things to hear you are the Cattle)

Royal has asked that you two keep your activists to the pasture or your place/Rhett’s room bc he’s caught the two of you in the hayloft one to many times

Man’s keeps condoms everywhere, in the glove compartment of the truck, in the center council of the truck, the toolbox in the truck, in the bed of the truck, his shirt pockets, pants pockets. Cecilia sewed a small pocket in the back of Rhett’s had for hanky’s and bandanna for when Rhett gets sweaty: he used it to store condoms

When you ride him, he’ll place his hat on your head, and he goes absolutely feral when you place on hand on his chest and the other on the hat to keep it on your head

HE WILL MARK YOU UP! The amount of hickies, bruises, and scratch marks the two of you leave on each other is insane (one time Amy asked if you fell off a horse one time when she saw a set of bruises on your thighs) #IFellOffMyHorse

Good luck blowjobs before rodeos

No matter where you are or what you’ve been doing, he is THE BEST at aftercare (You bet your ass Cecilia raised a gentleman)

having the most vile thoughts about bob + needy fucking + breeding kink

- 🪷

nsfw!

bob wants nothing more than to have a baby with you. literally all he can think about while he’s at work—that he really has tried to stop doing because he can’t keep popping a semi in front of phoenix—is how that day is going to be the day.

he would be laser focused on it. the second he gets home.

he would press himself up against you in the kitchen, half-pinning you to the island from behind as he brushes your hair out of the way to press a chaste kiss against the nape of your neck.

“how was work?” you would ask, knowing it was just a formality at this point with the way his dick was throbbing against you.

“fine, baby,” he hums as he fiddles with the elastic waistband of your shorts. as bad as he wants you, he’s not one to touch without explicit permission.

“straight to business then, i assume,” it’s light, the way it falls from your lips. and bob barely even hears it before he’s running off at the mouth again.

“please please please, sweetheart. wanna give you a baby so bad,” he whines.

“okay, bobby,” you reach one hand up to run your hand through his hair, despite the odd angle of where he’s dug his face into your neck.

you can hear him practically whimper at the admission, hands curling around your bottoms to tug them down your legs. he’s quick to pull them all the way down until they’re pooled around your ankles, giving himself enough time to undo his belt as you step out of the garment.

“gonna put a baby in you, sweetheart. gonna make you a momma real soon,” he hums as he lines himself up with your entrance.

he’s always been a little needier than other guys you’d been with. a little more eager. but ever since you’d started actively trying to have a kid. good lord, you could barely get him off you. not that you were really complaining, though, either.

“oh, bob. please,” it’s almost a gasp the way it slips off your tongue. the stretch of him still heady despite having been in the same position this morning.

“i got you,” he coos. “always got you.”

study buddy

Title: study buddy

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Mandatory summer-school is torture. Adding you into the mix, however, makes it the kind of torture Eddie can see himself enduring.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Public Sex, Breeding, Recreational Drug Use

A/N: i started a new drabble series 👀 i tried to resist Eddie, and i just couldn’t 😮‍💨. the content ahead is inappropriate for minors, so Minors, DNI! hope you all enjoy 😏

How it started: 

That fucking skirt.

Eddie narrows his eyes at it, his tongue pressing against his teeth as he fights not to say anything. It’s practically obscene how short it is—if you lived with your parents, surely they never would have let you out of the house in that fuckin’ thing, right? The denim cups the curve of your ass perfectly, like it was made to do just that. The hem is dangerously high, one wrong move would expose everything, right here in the goddamn Hawkins Memorial Library.

Keep reading

i heard screaming

Roommate! Bob Floyd x Fem! Reader

summary: 1.9k. you’ve been so hot and bothered about bob all day that you don’t even hear him come home. 

warnings: porn with absolutely zero plot, piv

masterlist | taglist

Keep reading

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 || eddie munson x reader

summary - have you ever heard that saying, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt? well, being eddie's best friend with benefits is all fun and games, too, until he gets a girlfriend.

word count - 10k

warnings - SMUT (18+ only), cheating!!, ANGST, completely fucking up canon because I can (everyone is alive but something supernatural did happen and eddie was still accused in chrissy's disappearance but ultimately cleared; also I decided this is vol 1 jason not vol 2 jason), oral sex m receiving, penetrative/unprotected sex, smoking, implied/mentioned drug use, sympathetic jason gets a touch of a redemption arc and also hooks up with the reader oops sorry, punk!reader, good ending, unrequited love (or is it?), pining, gareth being mvp, reader is self-hating and insecure

note - this is NOT meant as any kind of statement about eddie/chrissy as a ship, I'm not anti-eddissy and I firmly believe in 'ship and let ship', this is simply a very angsty idea I had and one interpretation of how their relationship could go. again, no ship hate here!

“What about Chrissy?” you sighed as his lips trailed down your neck.

“What about her?” he whispered back, biting down lightly on your pulse.

And you were so stupid, you were so goddamn stupid; when he said that, the first time it happened after they got together, you thought that meant he was gonna break up with her.  Stupider still, you thought he was gonna break up with her and finally date you.

You were so, so stupid.

Stupid for falling for your best friend.  Stupid for hooking up with him for months knowing he didn’t want the ‘more’ that you were desperate for.  Stupid for letting him come over after another fight with his new girlfriend; stupid for letting him touch you like this.  But, like I said, it was only because you thought he was gonna end it.  And not just because he couldn’t stay away from you; there were so many reasons why Eddie and Chrissy just weren’t working.

It started under such bizarre circumstances, and all that trauma brought them together, but no solid relationship is built on an experience like that; it made sense for a fling, maybe, but dating?  The couple had clearly run their course, but apparently they were the only ones that didn’t see it (or refused to).

She was too needy, he was too impulsive.  She was ambitious, he was terribly short-sighted.  She was a little… judgy, sometimes; honestly, he could be, too, but they seemed to always judge in the opposite way and then argue with each other about it.  She was busy with cheer shit all the time, but got mad when he couldn’t go out with her because he had Hellfire.  It was nauseating to watch.

Almost as nauseating as waking up to an empty bed, expecting him there, only for him to call you an hour later from her place to whisper, hey, what happened s’just between us, right?

Oh, it was.  Another dirty secret; you’d played this game one too many times, and yet you still always lost.

All you ever wanted was Eddie all to yourself.  Instead, you were pushing your food around your plate while they viciously made out at the lunch table.  You couldn’t be too jealous, knowing he was going to come over tonight and kiss you just like that— probably even harder.  All you ever wanted was Eddie all to yourself, but you were going to settle for the one little piece he let you borrow.

“I’ve gotta go,” Chrissy suddenly decided, pulling back from the kiss, and Eddie whined pathetically as he held onto her waist tighter.

“Already?” he pouted.

“I have to study before my Geometry final,” she insisted as Eddie leaned in to peck at her neck.

“Fuck Geometry,” he shrugged, smiling against her skin.  You wanted to look away so badly, at anything else, but your traitorous eyes were glued to the public display of affection— which was cut short a split second later.

“I’m going, okay?” she snapped suddenly, shoving his arms away, and he cleared his throat as he straightened up.  “Don’t you think that attitude is how you ended up having to repeat the year in the first place?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “I was just playing around…”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, standing up.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” he sighed, turning back to the table as she left, offering an awkward half-smile to the rest of the table as they all struggled to hide their obvious discomfort.

The first time this kind of thing happened, Jeff joked about it— trouble in paradise? he said, realizing quickly that he’d hit too close to home when Eddie scoffed and looked away.  Now everybody was just… ignoring it.  

You remembered asking him about it later, trying to delicately broach the topic.

“I mean, what do you guys even have to talk about?” you’d wondered.  “You don’t like any of the same things.”

Eddie had just smirked.  “Honestly, we don’t do that much talking.”

And you’d wanted to vomit.  You hated imagining them together.  It was bad enough seeing it, seeing her perched on his lap or his arm around her shoulders, the kissing in the hallway— it felt like it never stopped! 

It was puppy love, and you kept telling yourself it would be over soon.  That felt like ages ago, it had already been months.  And, in some ways, it was over.  I mean, he was fucking you a couple times a week, so clearly it wasn’t quite thriving.  But it wasn’t over in the key way: that being, officially.  They were still playing along, still pretending. 

The almost-good news is that they hadn’t actually done it, like you’d assumed (and worried).  Apparently, Chrissy was a bit prudish— she liked to fool around, but stopped him before it got anywhere particularly interesting, and anything of that nature had become less and less frequent the longer they were together; you didn’t know much more than that, because he didn’t like to talk about it.  He didn’t talk about her when he was with you… made it easier for both of you to forget.

Well, he didn’t talk about her usually…

“Fuck, that’s good,” he sighed as his hand came up to rest on the back of your head.  “Take it a little deeper, baby?  For me?”

You did, blinking up at him just in time to watch his head fall back onto the top of the couch with a groan.

“She won’t do this,” he said suddenly, making your stomach drop; you really, really didn’t want to think about her, but your mouth was full, so you couldn’t tell him to stop.  “She never does this— fuck, you’re so good, baby, y’suck my cock so good…”

Letting go of the base, you took his head into your throat until your nose was buried in the patch of black hair above his dick; maybe some delusional part of you thought this would finally convince him, that if you gave him perfect head he’d have to leave her.  But he didn’t need to— he got the girlfriend experience from her, and he got this from you.  Sure, he was attracted to you, he liked fucking you… but he respected her.  He idolized her, actually, and it was why he’d never let her go.  You knew that, and your eyes were watering from more than just the tension in your gag reflex.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groaned, fingers tightening and semi-unintentionally tugging on your hair, which made you moan around him as you pulled back and gave your throat a moment of rest.  “Fuck, get up— gotta fuck you,” he rushed.

He pulled you into his lap as soon as you were standing, helping you unbutton your jeans quickly.  When they were open, he started roughly tugging them down faster than you could get in position to make them actually removable, and you laughed quietly.  “That desperate already?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he warned you sharply, pushing you down to lay beneath him on the couch as he finally got your jeans off; already, he was pressing his cock up to your opening, and you arched your back under him.  “You want it?” he taunted, just to make sure you knew your place— you did.

“Please,” you whined, “fuck me, Ed.”

And he did.

When it was over, there was always this brief silence before suddenly it was all back to normal.  It was even shorter than usual this time, him laying on the couch catching his breath as he watched you get dressed.  “Need a ride to Hellfire tonight?” he asked.

“Nah— I’m good,” you nodded.  “Finally got my car out of the shop.”

He scoffed slightly, reaching for a cigarette from the box he’d discarded on the floor earlier.  “Took them long enough,” he mumbled around it as he held it between his lips, fishing a lighter out of his jeans pocket.

“Yeah, with how much I paid, I was hoping they gave it fuckin’ rockets on the back or something,” you chuckled.

He took a drag of the cigarette, keeping it in his mouth as he exhaled around it, his bare chest a little shiny with a sheen of sweat.

“Can I bum?” you asked, sort of hoping to share the one he’d already lit— for some reason— but instead he offered the pack to you and you pulled one out for yourself.  “Is this the same pack you had a couple days ago?”

“Yeah, why?” he wondered, handing you the lighter from his pocket next.

“You’ve barely gotten through it,” you noticed.  “You cutting back or something?”

He shrugged slightly, just as you were inhaling the first lungful of smoke.  “Chrissy wants me to.”

You coughed, puffs of smoke rising in front of your face, and you caught his bemused-and-confused look through them.  

“You alright over there?” he laughed.  “Never seen you struggle with smoking before.”

“I’m good,” you promised, though you were still trying to suppress a cough, which made your whole face feel tight and you just knew your eyes were all bloodshot and watery.  “I’d better head out though.”

“Aw, really?” he frowned.  “Thought we could hang out— you know, like we used to?  Feel like I hardly see you anymore… except, you know—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted quickly, finding your discarded jacket on the floor and shrugging it on.  “Guess we both just got busy.”

“Oh, we got busy,” he grinned, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile as you rolled your eyes at his joke.  

“You know what I mean,” you defended.  “I’ll see you at Hellfire anyways, just wanna go home and shower first.”

He shrugged.  “Guess I can’t blame you for that.  See you tonight!”

Your hand was already on the handle of the door.  You thought about staying; but honestly, you didn’t think your heart could take it.  If you stayed, you’d end up laughing until you cried, hiding your head in his chest, watching some shitty movie on tape and muted while he made up the dialogue off the top of his head in silly voices.  It sounded perfect, but it would kill you.  It’s just… too close to the real thing.  So close it makes you imagine what it would be like if he was really yours.  ‘Cause you can laugh together, and you can fuck, but you can’t hold his hand or kiss him in public— and he can’t look at you the way he looks at her.  Because she’s her.  And you’re… just you.  Just a friend.  Even if you’re this kind of friend.

You offered him a half-hearted wave over your shoulder before you jumped out the door and down the rickety little porch.  There was a tear on your cheek as you walked out of the trailer park, but you wiped it away quickly.

No more crying over Eddie, you’d made that promise to yourself a thousand times.

~

Eddie was staying late today, because Chrissy was staying late.  Apparently she had some kind of cheer thing on the football field; you, on the other hand, were staying late for office hours with Ms. O'Donnell.  Much less exciting.

Thankfully, you did leave her room with some understanding of how to prepare for the final— but it wasn't exactly the lift of your spirits that you could've used tonight.  Neither was walking out of the building and seeing them, a-fucking-gain.

The afternoon was turning to evening already, the sun low and bright orange in the sky— it made the trees look black when it shined through them.  The field was nearly empty now, whatever cheer practice had taken place was clearly over… all that was left was Chrissy, laughing as Eddie wrapped his arms around her waist.  

You looked over to the side, and noticed someone just a few feet away on the front row of the bleachers, staring out across the field.  Of course, that gaudy green jacket and quaffed blonde hair could only be Jason Carver— but if it weren't for that, he'd be unrecognizable.

His eyes were red, sunken and hung low over purple dark circles.  He looked pathetic; he looked how you felt.

“Hey,” you offered softly.  Sure, he was kind of a douche— okay, he actually sort of tried to kill your best friend, but hey, sometimes you wanted to kill Eddie, too.

“Leave me alone,” Jason sniffled, glancing away.  “Freak.”

You ignored his demand, sitting down next to him on the steel bleacher.  For a long time, neither of you said anything— it wasn’t that long, but it felt like ages, even though it wasn’t quite an awkward silence.  Somehow, without saying anything, you seemed to come to an understanding with each other.  You didn’t have anything in common, except your pain; without asking, just by looking over at you for a second, he seemed to know that it hurt you like it hurt him.

“How much longer?” he finally asked you.  “How long do you give it?”

You shrugged.  “I don’t guess anymore.  I thought it would be over by now.”

“What if they really—?” he stopped himself, shaking his head with a sad little laugh.  “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this— but what if they really make it, you know?  Like, what if this is it?”

You didn’t say anything.  You were trying not to think about it like that.

“I’m so stupid,” he announced.  “I mean, I really thought it was gonna be me and her— I was gonna play for Indiana State and she was gonna be my girl.  I was gonna get a ring, I would’ve… I would’ve done it sooner, I just thought we were still a little too young.  I never even thought about what my life would be without her in it, not even when everyone thought she was dead.  ‘Cause she is my life.”

“That must be hard,” you offered.  “Maybe— I mean, it could still happen, right?”

“No, no,” he shook his head defiantly, “she’s gone.  And I still have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do without her— she’s supposed to be my wife!  I know she’s not, but that’s how it feels… I mean, I look over there, and I’m thinking, fuck, Eddie Munson is kissing my wife!”

“You are stupid,” you agreed with the biggest smile you could muster— which was barely noticeable.  “So am I.”

“She told me she loved him,” he sighed, whispering instead of letting his voice break.  Your heart twisted, you almost gasped; you'd never heard her say that.

“When?”

“When I first saw her,” he explained, reaching up to cover his eyes— but it didn’t stop a tear from sliding out underneath it.  “I just found out she was still alive, and I thought he’d kidnapped her or something, brainwashed her— she told me not to hurt him, she said she loved him.  She said that shit to me!”

Eddie never told you he loved Chrissy, but you knew that he did— or that he thought he did.

“How can she just throw that all away?” he wondered, rubbing his eyes and gathering himself slightly to look across the field at them one more time.

“I think she still loves you,” you decided.  “I mean— I’m not saying you’re gonna get back together, I’m not even sure that you should.  I’m just saying… I think she’s not quite over it yet.”

He turned to stare at you.

“It’s a rebound!” you insisted.  “He doesn’t believe me— but she’s trying to get over you, with him.  But she can’t, it’s not working.”

“Really?  She looks like she’s having a great fucking time,” he sneered as he nodded over at them.

You were about to tell him that, no, she’s not— at least she doesn’t seem to be— but he spoke first.

“Tell me he’s good to her,” Jason pleaded.  “Does he treat her right?  Are they happy?”

You froze, but he spoke again before you even considered what you might say to that.

“You know what,” he sighed, “don’t tell me.  I don’t think either answer would make me feel any better.”

“He’s cheating on her,” you heard yourself blurt out, and you didn’t even know why you said it.  Maybe you just needed to tell someone.

You knew then why they say when someone’s really mad, they’re fuming— because you could all but feel heat coming off of him in that moment.  “I’m gonna kill him,” he announced as he stood up, “I really am this time, I fucking mean it—”

He was stepping forward to storm across the field already, but you jumped up and put your hands on his jacket to try to stop him.  You expected him to glare at you, but when his eyes fell on your face, there wasn’t rage there anymore; there was this indescribable thing instead, the same thing you knew he must’ve seen in your eyes, too.  Like grief, but for someone still alive.

His mouth fell open, but he didn’t say it right away.  “Oh god,” he breathed, and you were already nodding before he asked the question.  “It’s you, isn’t it?”

You wanted to look away, his stare was like a bright light shined in your eyes during an interrogation; but you couldn’t, your eyes were looking forward to him even as they filled with tears.

“How can you do that to her?” he whined, almost sounding like a plea, as he grabbed your arms.  “She’s a good person!  How can you— how could you—?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered, biting your quivering lip.  

“Yes you do!” he insisted.  And you figured you owed it to him, and to yourself, to admit it.

“You love her, right?” you began, obviously a rhetorical question.  “Who would you hurt, to be with her?  You almost killed Eddie over it, right?  Wouldn’t you burn the whole fucking world down just to hold her again?”

He didn’t say anything, and you felt his chest rising and falling under your hands as he breathed heavily.

“I know how that feels,” you offered.  And that’s all you said.  He didn’t say anything, didn’t give you any warning— just glancing down at your lips for a second before he pulled you towards him.

Kissing Jason Carver felt wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.  But even kissing Eddie didn’t feel right anymore, knowing how many people were getting hurt— including yourself.

Jason’s hands on your waist felt wrong, his breathing against your face and his tongue over your lips felt wrong.  But you clutched at the lapel of his varsity jacket, whimpering quietly and leaning in for more.

It ended suddenly, and when you both pulled away, you saw him looking over your shoulder.  “Are they looking?” you wondered.

He shook his head. 

"Are they still kissing?" you added, sounding slightly defeated.

He nodded.  “Let’s— you wanna get out of here?” he suggested.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

~

Listen, nobody ever really knows how their day is gonna go when they wake up— they might think they do, but they really don’t for sure.  But even still, you never woke up today thinking that the next time you were going to be in your bedroom, you’d be dragging Jason Carver through the door with you, kissing him hard and helping him push his jacket off.

He lifted you for just a second to get you down onto the bed, clutching at the sheets beneath you as you whimpered a little.  You were making quick work of his belt and jeans at the same time that he was trying to navigate getting your t-shirt over your head.

It’s hard to say what you were expecting sex with Jason to be like, because, well, you’d never expected this or even pictured it.  If you’d tried to, before— likely during some twisted game of fuck marry kill with Eddie while stoned in his van— you would’ve said it must be horrible, It was actually really… freeing.  You both knew that the other was thinking of somebody else, you didn’t need to hide it.  You didn’t need to say anything, you didn’t need to stop crying or act sexy or be what you thought he wanted. 

It was kind of a hatefuck, because you hated each other— and you hated yourself— but it was also… sweet, weirdly.  He was certainly more tender with you than Eddie was most of the time.  

When it was over, you just laid next to each other for the longest time.  You didn’t hold each other, you didn’t kiss, or talk, or laugh.  You just laid on the sheets, feeling the slight dampness from your sweat start to go cold.  It got darker every minute, until the sun finally crossed the horizon and a chilly breeze blew in through your open window.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked after what must have been nearly a half hour of silence.  You nodded.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, you didn’t even remember shutting your eyes— but suddenly, you opened them, and the sun was up, and Jason was beside you with his back facing you.

Your fingers reached up and tentatively traced over his back— he had a mole, and a couple scars, which was more than you expected from someone like Jason… he always seemed like he must be blemishless.

He lifted and turned his head over his shoulder, looking at you.  You found less disappointment in his eyes than you expected, but you knew that you weren't who he was looking for— and you didn't blame him.  Wasn't the first time you slept with a guy who really wanted Chrissy.  Kind of a bizarre pattern you were setting, actually.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Not time to get up yet," you offered.  "Sorry if I woke you up…"

"No, it's okay," he promised as he turned onto his back and looked at you.  "Did you sleep alright?"

"Yeah, I did," you admitted, "better than I have in a while, actually."

He smiled at you gently.  "Me too."

His hand reached up to brush against your face, and your breath caught as he started to move in closer to your lips.  You were about to let him kiss you when your hands instinctively shot up to his chest and held him back.  "Jason, I—" you began. 

"I know," he breathed, looking down.  "Just thought it might be nice."

So you leaned in and kissed him; and it was nice.  Shockingly comfortable.  But you both tasted that sadness, knowing this wasn't anything more than what it needed to be— just two heart-broken people staving off the loneliness for a night.  

When he pulled back, he looked at you for a second before he cleared his throat.  "Mind if I, uh, use your shower?"

"Take a right down the hall, first door on your left," you nodded at him, and he sat up with a quick stretch before hopping out onto the floor.

You stayed in bed a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, looking at the crack that had started by the corner last year and slowly spread further and further; maybe this whole roof would collapse onto you, that would be nice.

Eventually, you got up and got half-dressed so you could forage for some kind of breakfast before school.  You were halfway into toasting a bagel when you heard a knock at your front door— but it opened a second later, because he already knew it was never locked.

“Hey,” Gareth greeted, sauntering in and hopping up to sit in the chair by your kitchen island.

“Morning,” you offered, trying to act casual— because you weren’t about to tell him you had someone over, because he would just ask who it was…

Gareth being one of your closest friends meant that he showed up unannounced sometimes, especially in the morning before school— you’d been carpooling since your car was in the shop anyways, but he usually stopped by regardless.  And if Eddie was here in the morning, he wouldn’t even blink— because Eddie stayed the night with you all the time and it didn’t mean anything to Gareth, even if you and Eddie knew it hadn’t been a just-friends sort of sleepover.  But this would be harder to explain, and you kept glancing at the closed bathroom door, hoping Gareth wouldn’t notice the sounds of the running shower.

“Have you eaten already?” you asked him.

“Yeah— m’not here to mooch, don’t worry,” he smiled.  “Although I could use all the free food I can get while I’m saving up for a new drum set.”

You hummed around a mouthful of bagel and shmear; “Stick went through the snare again?”

“Yup,” he nodded.  “Collateral damage when you rock this hard.”

You snorted a little laugh, though your face dropped as you looked over Gareth’s flannel-clad shoulder.

Jason appeared out of the hallway, wearing only his basketball shorts and drying his hair with a towel.  Gareth spun around with wide eyes, and you choked on nothing as the two boys stared at each other.

They didn’t say anything to each other— I mean, what would those two have to say?  Other than sorry for almost breaking your fingers, maybe.

But Jason didn’t say that, he just cleared his throat and looked at you again.  “Listen, I’m gonna… head out,” he informed you, “do you maybe… have a shirt I can borrow?”

“Um, I’ll see what I can find,” you offered, walking out of the kitchen and ignoring the weight of Gareth’s bewildered stare as you followed him down the hallway again.

You slid out your drawer and flipped through the folded t-shirts, searching for something suitable that might even mildly fit him.

“I’m guessing you don’t wanna rock a Dead Kennedys tee?” you snorted.

“Is that some sort of political statement?” he wondered, frowning. 

“It’s a band,” you corrected.

“Oh, well— yeah, maybe no band shirts.  I’d rather not get asked too many questions,” he explained, rushing as he added at the end: “N-not that I’m, you know, embarrassed or anything.  I mean, it doesn’t have to be a secret, but we—”

“Hey,” you interrupted with a smile, looking at him, “it’s okay.  Nobody else has to know— I don’t wanna damage your reputation.”

“It’s not that,” he promised, “my reputation’s not doing so hot anyways.  I figure you’d be more ashamed to be seen with me.”

Yeah, that’s… accurate.

“Uh, sorry about coming out while your friend was there, by the way…” he trailed off, “I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged, “he’s… I’ll figure out what to say to him about it.  But other than that, I think what happened tonight is just for us.  Not out of shame— just… I don’t think anyone else would understand.”

He nodded, just as you found an old Hoosiers Baseball shirt stuffed in the back of the drawer and handed it to him.  He mumbled a thank you and put it on quickly, finding his varsity jacket on your floor and slipping it on again.

You followed him to the door, opening it for him as he left. 

“I guess I’ll see you at school,” he offered, hovering in your foyer for a moment.

“I mean, maybe not,” you shrugged, “we never see each other normally…”

“Right,” he nodded.

“Drive safe,” you offered, a little surprised when he reached up to rest a hand on your shoulder.

He kissed you on the cheek, and you froze and let him.  “You too,” he whispered, squeezing your arm before letting it go and stepping outside.  You shut the door behind him, sighing as you waited a moment, not wanting to turn around and see the look on Gareth’s face.  

You didn’t have to see it, though, because you could hear it in the way he said your name.  “Don’t,” you pleaded, spinning on your heel and storming into the kitchen.  Gareth’s eyes followed you as he twisted around on the chair, gaping in disbelief.

“Tell me it’s not what it looks like,” he begged.

“Okay, it’s not what it looks like,” you offered.

“‘Cause it can’t be, right?  You didn’t… you and Jason aren’t… it’s—” he stammered, stopping and starting a thousand new sentences.

“Is it that hard to believe?” you finally snapped at him, crossing your arms.  “Think I can’t pull a hot, popular guy or something?”

He didn’t even respond to that question.  “Jesus Christ!” Gareth yelped.  “We really are in the end of fucking days!  Eddie’s dating Chrissy Cunningham, you’re fucking Jason Carver— it’s madness!  Cats and dogs living together!”

“Shut up,” you frowned.

“I’m so sick of this,” he groaned, head falling into his hands, dirty-blonde hair flopping down limply as if it were just as defeated as him.  “I just want things to go back to normal, you know?  Eddie’s not coming to practice anymore, and we had to take a vote to decide if we should just break the band up, or still be a band but kick him out, or what— and his campaigns suck!  You noticed too, right?  He’s spending so much less time on them, he’s always with her—”

Or me.

“I hate it!” Gareth admitted, looking at you again.  “And honestly, you know, I think I could take it if I really thought he was happy.  But doesn’t he seem kind of miserable?”

You nodded softly.  “Yeah…”

“He doesn’t even seem like himself,” he added with a sigh.

“He’s not,” you stated plainly, making Gareth give you a confused look.  “Everything that happened… and I don’t know everything, maybe only he does… but he almost died.  So did Chrissy— technically, I think she did?  I don’t even know,” you groaned, shaking your head.  “The point is, it changed them.  I guess they want to be with each other because they want to be with someone who understands."

Sort of why Jason's here, actually.

"And clearly I don’t fucking understand— neither do you, neither does Jason.  But yeah, I wish they hadn’t left us all in the fucking dust," you concluded.

“Us?” Gareth repeated.  “No, you’re… something’s up with you, too.  For a while now.”

You sighed.

“And this—” he gestured towards the hallway and then the door, basically everywhere he’d seen Jason in your house— “is just part of it.”

“I know you don’t like him,” you mumbled.  “Honestly, I don’t either, but… it’s complicated.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was fucking simple,” he rolled his eyes.  “Are you… is this something I’m gonna have to get used to?  Like, is it gonna happen again— is he your boyfriend?!”

“Jesus!” you spat.  “No!  It’s not— I can’t explain it, okay?  Can we not talk about it?  I wasn’t exactly planning on telling you.  You wouldn’t know if you didn’t just show up at my house whenever you want.”

“Should I stop doing that?” he asked.

“I mean, if you wanna lower your odds of interrupting another guy’s walk of shame…”

Gareth let out a long breath, resting his chin on his fist, and you watched the anger and confusion on his face start to fade— and there was just a solemness left.  You recognized it quickly because you were so familiar with it on yourself.  “Everything’s different now,” he said quietly.  “I fucking hate it.”

“Me too,” you nodded.  “I mean— that’s part of life, though.  Things were gonna change soon, anyways, don’t you think?  If Eddie finally graduated.”

“I figured he didn’t graduate because he wanted things to say the same,” Gareth theorized, and the insight— as well as how obvious it seemed now that he said it— from only a junior caught you off guard.

“Things were always gonna change,” you offered half-heartedly.  “It couldn’t stay how it was forever.”

“But wouldn’t that have been nice?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Well— I guess things were never great for you.”

“What does that mean?” you pressed.

“You know, just— with Eddie…” he trailed off.

You felt a little nauseous.  “What about Eddie?”

“You and him… you know…” Gareth continued.

“Did you… know about that?” you asked softly, raising an eyebrow.  Didn’t seem like Eddie to kiss and tell— he always swore he never told anyone about you two—

“It’s hard not to know how you feel about him,” he finally replied.  “And I always wanted you two to get together— I mean, it would just make sense, you and him.  It was hard to watch you look at him that way sometimes…”

Okay, so apparently this kid was seeing a lot more than he let on— but apparently he hadn’t quite figured out about your and Eddie’s little affair of nearly a year.  But even he could see that what you had for Eddie was completely unrequited, and that stung.  You sometimes imagined that part was just in your head…

Gareth shook his head, as if shaking the thought out of his mind, and hopped up off the chair.  “Whatever,” he decided.  “Wanna ride together?”

“No, I should… I could use the alone time,” you explained.

Gareth raised his hands as he shrugged a bit, turning around and walking towards the door.  “See you there!”

“Not if I see you first,” you called back, staring blankly at your half-eaten breakfast as you heard the front door open and shut.

~

It was an unusually quiet day— aside from a quick conversation with Jeff and Dustin in the hallway between third and fourth period, you didn’t talk to anyone you knew.  You saw Jason walk by, wearing your old t-shirt… but he didn’t see you, or pretended not to.  Not that you were planning on waving or anything.

You had been sort of dreading lunch, because you couldn’t keep avoiding Eddie at that point; you considered eating outside, but that would be even worse.  Maybe, when you did see him, he’d notice that you’d been avoiding him all morning and ask about it.  Or maybe he wouldn’t have noticed at all because he was too busy locking lips with Miss Perfect.

Instead, before lunch, he found you.  He said nothing as he dragged you in the Hellfire room, spinning on his heel to glare at you as the door slammed shut.

"You… you," he said with narrowing eyes.

"...What?" you waited.

"Jason?!" he shouted, and you deflated.  "Jason Carver— him?"

"I guess Gareth told you," you sighed.

"He tried, but I didn't even believe him, nearly gave him a black eye for saying something so sick about you," Eddie hissed.  "I had to find Jason to figure out it was true."

"You talked to Jason?!" you realized.

"I didn't have to— he used your fucking shampoo, didn't he?  The morning after?  He smells like you," he groaned.  "Made me fucking sick."

You bit your lip, not sure what to say to that, struggling to keep your cool with him this livid.  You'd never seen him angry like this, ever.

“And the Hoosiers shirt?” Eddie scoffed.  “Nice touch.  Did you tell him I used that as a fucking cum rag?”

You kept your mouth shut, rage bubbling up in your gut as you started to pick at your nails nervously.  No, Eddie, you used me as a cum rag— and I learned my lesson.

“How could you fucking— god, I can’t even say it!” he choked.  “How could you sleep with him?  Let him stay over, even!  After he had the whole fucking town after me?  After how he treated Chrissy?!”

“Oh god, Chrissy,” you rolled your eyes, “won’t somebody think of poor fucking Chrissy?  Because what kind of freak would ever do anything to hurt her?”

He winced.  “You don’t have to worry about that anymore— you and I are over.  For good this time.”

“Over?” you repeated.  “Eddie, we never even fucking started.”

“Really?” he scoffed.  “So when we were fucking almost every night for nearly a year— what was that?”

“That was you being horny and me being stupid,” you explained.  “That was the worst mistake I ever made.”

“Yeah?  Agreed,” he sneered.  “I can’t even look at you now.”

“Good!” you shouted.  “Now you know how I feel!”

“You can’t look at me?  What the fuck did I do?”

“I can’t look at myself!” you corrected.  “You know how much I hate myself for being like this?  For fucking Jason, for being your other woman, for being a fucking loser?  For not being able to help you, for not being there when you almost died?”

That made him stop, looking at you differently.  “What are you talking about?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Everything that happened to you,” you sighed, “Dustin tried to explain it— but I still don’t really know.  And you never told me.  But I wish I was there for you… I wish you’d told me what was going on, what really happened to Chrissy— I would’ve helped you more.  I would’ve done everything I could, do you believe me?”

He didn’t say anything, just blinking at you.  You wished you hadn’t said anything.

“Go!” you demanded.  “Just fucking leave, Eddie, please.”

“No,” he decided, stepping closer.  “No— I’m not leaving you again.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, trying to push him back, but he stepped up to you again and grabbed your arms.

“He wasn’t lying, was he?” Eddie realized, staring intently at your face.  “Do you love me?  I mean, really.”

You swallowed thickly; fucking Gareth.  Apparently he hadn’t just told Eddie about Jason…

“Just say it, if you do.  Please,” he insisted.

“I can’t,” you breathed, “come on, Eddie, don’t make me—”

“Please!”

“Of course I do!” you yelped, finally getting him to let go of you as you jolted away.  “Okay?  Why can’t you just leave me alone, if you know?  I’m so, so tired of hurting, Eddie, I’m tired of giving you everything and getting what you can spare— I’m fucking tired!”

“Me too,” he promised, “I’m so— god, I can’t believe I let it happen like this.  I waited so long for you to tell me you love me and it’s all fucking wrong.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head down but looking up at him anyways as he covered his face with his hands for a second.

“It should be us— it should’ve always been us!” he announced suddenly, throwing his arms out wide in frustration.  “I always felt that way, but you never… I thought we were just friends, you know?  That you didn’t want more.”

Your gut twisted.  You were still worried this was all some terrible joke, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t.  “More?  Eddie, more is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I— I figured I wasn’t boyfriend material,” he explained.  “And then there was Chrissy— she seemed to think I was worth it, so I went for it, and now she can’t fucking stand me.”

“Did she say that to you?”

“Does she have to?” he shot back, and you sighed.  “Writing’s on the fucking wall, don’t you think?  She’s tired of dating a loser— a dropout, somebody who’s never gonna be anybody.  And I realized that was why I always thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Never gonna be anybody?” you repeated, shocked.

“What, you think I will?” he scoffed.  “With what, the band?  What are the odds of that?”

“No, Eddie,” you stepped closer, “you already are somebody.  To me, I mean.”

“Chrissy says I need to make something of my life,” he breathed, and you reached up to tentatively touch his face.

“You’re my life,” you admitted.

He reached up and held your hand, squeezing it, shutting his eyes tight as he turned his face to kiss your palm.  "I love you," he sighed, "I love you— I'm sorry I didn't tell you.  I was… I tried so hard to forget.  But even with her, I couldn't let you go.  I can't be away from you."

"I thought you were just with me because… since she wouldn't…" you trailed off.

"I lied," he blurted out, "it wasn't her that kept us from going further— it was me.  I just didn't feel right about it.  And I wouldn't admit to myself why."

When you looked down, you saw his scuffed up Reeboks stepping closer to you still, even with him already so close; when you looked up again, he was right there.

"It's not too late for us, is it?  I didn't ruin everything?" he asked in a quiet, hopeful voice.

You smiled a little.  "It's never too late for us, Eddie.  I think I was gonna wait for you until the very last second."

He kissed you, and it was different.  It wasn't like when he pulled you into him after you stepped into his trailer, it wasn't like when you got stoned in his van and started messing around— all those were like transitional kisses.  They were just where you started before it went further.  But not this— this wasn't a beginning kiss, it was a concluding kiss.  This wasn't a what's next? kiss, it was a this is it kiss.

Because this is it; this is all that matters, that you and him are together, like you always have been— and always should’ve been.

He held your face and pulled back all too soon, looking at you with those big, soft eyes starting to water.

"Please, tell Chrissy," you begged.  "I'm not her biggest fan or anything, but I can't do this to her anymore—"

"She already knows.  I told her, last night."

You froze.  "What?"

"I think she knew— she's really smart, you know,” he mumbled, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

"So, what?  Are you guys over then?"

He exhaled through pursed lips.  "I mean, we haven't said it, but, yeah."

"Then say it.  Talk to her about it,” you insisted.  “Because really, Eddie, you two don't need to love each other but you don't need to hate each other, either.  You went through something nobody else understands— that brings people together, people you'd never expect.  I mean, you're friends with Steve Harrington and I slept with Jason, so…"

He looked away from you for a moment.  "Yeah…"

"I want you guys to be friends, if you still can after everything…"

"I said the same thing to her, actually.”

You cleared your throat quietly.  “And I hope you can still… I hope you can forgive me for what happened with Jason—”

“I guess I really don’t have any right to be jealous, do I?” he tilted his head for a second.  “But still— god, imagining you with him… drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

“I noticed.  It’s why I’m late to Spanish.”

He sighed.  “We can… we’ll talk more later.  Maybe I can come over tonight?  A-after I see Chrissy, I mean.”

“Just call me when you’re coming over,” you nodded.

He gave you another kiss before he left, with his eyes shut tight and his hands still on your cheeks.  “I love you,” he whispered, when he pulled back— his face still an inch from yours, his eyes still shut.  “I’ve loved you for so long…”

This feeling, it was almost like heartbreak, shockingly similar in fact; but it was the polar opposite, it was all the abandoned broken pieces coming together, mending one edge at a time.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promised.  “Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded.  He hesitated for a second before he left, and you stayed in that empty room for far too long even though you were already massively late.

For a while now, you’d been telling yourself not to get your hopes up— not to imagine that Eddie could feel the same way you do.  It was fear, undeniably; cowardice, even.  Maybe if you had thought to just ask, none of this would’ve ever happened.  He could’ve been your boyfriend from the first night you two decided to hook up— back then he told you that he wanted to stay friends no matter what.  It seemed obvious now that he meant that he wanted your relationship to stay strong, and not necessarily that he didn’t want to date… but insecurity had blinded you.  And you almost thought it was too late.

Still, you didn’t want to get your hopes up too high, you didn’t want to believe that this was really happening.  Just in case you woke up and it was all a dream.  Just in case he changed his mind and decided he couldn’t love you like that.  Just in case the world ended tonight and you never got a chance to be together like you’d dreamed.

Yet, you couldn’t keep a small smile off your face for the rest of the day.

~

You waited for him for hours, watching the clock, watching the phone— you had the TV on in hopes of distracting yourself from trying to imagine how it was going with Eddie and Chrissy now.  For all you knew they were making up and deciding to run away together or something…

11:54.  Chewing your nails, you blinked at the clock; it wasn’t even that late yet, but it felt like he should be here by now.  You wanted him here so badly…

Within a few minutes, the TV had become useless as the broadcast had ended with the national anthem before fading to static.  You hadn’t turned it off yet, though— it was the only light in your living room now, and the only sound.  Not a particularly soothing sound, but there wasn’t much else to do.  

12:19.  You stood up instinctively when the door opened, and from where you were in the living room, you had a clear view of Eddie standing there, shutting the door behind him, staring at you.  “Sorry,” he blurted out, “I forgot to call.”

“How’d it go?” you asked.

“It was hard,” he swallowed, “but it went okay— we cried a lot.  She hugged me… I kinda thought she was gonna hit me, so that was a relief.  I think we both knew things hadn’t been right for a while…”

Your heart was racing, for some reason, as he walked up to you; he reached up and brushed his fingers over your face for a second, before wrapping his hands around the back of your neck comfortingly.

“Things are only right when we’re together,” he added.  

You nodded in agreement, eyes falling shut as he leaned in closer, feeling his lips press to yours a moment later.  You melted into it, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  His hands moved down to hold your back and waist, keeping you upright and pressed to him as your knees went weak.  He’d kissed you a thousand times but he’d never kissed you like this; you felt your eyes watering and warm tears running down your cheeks as he pulled you even closer.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I love you too,” you replied quickly, sniffling as he pulled back and wiped your tears away.

“Happy tears, right?” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as he kissed the height of your temple where a new tear was falling.

“Don’t ever wanna make you cry again,” he breathed.  “This is gonna be the last time, okay?”

You nodded again.

"Let me show you how it should've been," he pleaded softly.  "Let me show you what I've really been dreaming of."

"What's that?" you pressed.

"Making love to you," he replied.  "Making you my girl.  No more quickies, no more meaningless fucking with you leaving after— I should've never let you leave."

One more time, you nodded; and he kissed you again, the two of you moving slowly backward towards the bedroom.  He fumbled to open the door behind your hips, but he knew this room like the back of his hand: he pulled you with him onto the bed, rolling to pin you under him as he pushed his arms up and hovered over you.

“Please tell me you’ve changed the sheets since Jason was here,” he sighed, and you bit your lip to suppress your smile.

“Um…”

“Y’know what?  Doesn’t matter,” he decided.  “It’s better, even— I’ll give it to you so good that you and your sheets are gonna forget he was ever here.”

You were laughing as he kissed down to your neck, pressing his body against yours.  Usually this is when you’d start hurriedly kicking off your shoes, the two of you separating to strip just so you could come back together and get this show on the road.

But this time was different— he helped you undress carefully, admiring every new inch of skin he exposed.  He made your skin erupt in goosebumps, tickling you gently with his fingertips and lips, but then he soothed you and warmed you up with palms spread wide and running all over you.  “So fucking beautiful,” he purred, “and all mine, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

You did your best to return the favor of helping when he started to undress, but he had already figured out how to take his own shirt off so really you were just running your fingers up his torso.  Your hands started just above his belt and your fingers spread out as you moved them higher and higher, parting the light dusting of hair as you reached his upper chest, tracing the shape of his tattoos— including your favorite, the one you’d designed for him.

He grinned at you proudly, glancing down as he tossed his shirt away.  His hands moved down past yours to work on his belt next, the handcuff buckle clinking as you watched intently and weaved your legs in between his that knelt on the bed.  “So pretty,” you cooed.

“I don’t know about that,” he defended, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, my pretty Eddie,” you insisted, and he laughed softly.

He descended to hover over you again, his bent arm sinking into the squishy mattress by your head as his hand played with the hair at the top of your head a bit.  “My pretty girl,” he returned.

His free hand was pushing his unbuttoned jeans and boxers down, but he had to sit back up to kick them off completely— apparently this wasn’t the kind of sex you can have with your jeans around your thighs.

Actually, you couldn’t think of the last time you and Eddie were completely nude together like this.  Usually he’d just hike your shirt up high enough and let his pants dangle at his knees or ankles; once he even just took it out through an unzipped fly, yanked your jeans down a bit and had his way with you, but that was because you were in the Hellfire room and had to make it quick.

As fun as all that was, it felt like ages ago— it felt like another life, or even a dream.  This felt so real, almost too real, it made you shiver under him as he pressed his bare skin against yours with a hum.

“You cold?” he asked quietly.

“N-no,” you replied, teeth chattering, “it’s just… I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to, okay?” he promised.  “You don’t need to say anything… just look at me, okay?  Don’t close your eyes.  Keep looking at me.”

It was too much, looking right into his eyes like this— brown and stormy and warm— like he was staring right into your brain, watching all your thoughts swirl around.  Wouldn’t’ve been too interesting to watch, though, since your only thoughts were of him— like looking into a mirror.

He slowly pushed his hips forward, watching closely as your mouth fell open with a sigh; you felt every detail, every ridge and vein of his cock as he split you open on it, and your legs fell open even wider as your hands clutched at his shoulders.  He shuddered slightly, a shaky breath falling from his lips, as his hips pressed up to you and he was fully seated inside your warmth.

“Eddie,” you whispered to him.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just wanted to say it…”

He smiled and kissed you softly, whispering your name back to you a few times— and each time, your insides held him a little tighter, overwhelmed by not just the sound of your name in his voice but the way he said it.  Of course, you’d heard him say your name plenty over the past few years, occasionally in the throes of passion— but there was a reverence to this, a… worshipfulness, maybe.

He started to move carefully, pushing a bit deeper each time as you moaned lowly and wrapped your legs around his hips to keep him from pulling out too far.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he admitted, voice breaking slightly as he kept his eyes trained on you.  “You feel that?  How wet you are for me?  Fucking perfect.”

You whimpered and bit your lip, eyes falling shut, but his hand squeezed your thigh.

“No, baby, eyes on me,” he reminded you, “y’gotta keep looking at me, please— please, darling?”

That pet name was enough to get you to open your eyes again, even though you felt like you were burning up under the heat of his stare— god, it was really too much, but it was exactly what you needed.  You moaned a little louder, and his hand on your hips moved them to just the right angle, lifting you up so his cock hit just a bit deeper.  But wow, what just that little bit could do; you broke eye contact only because you had to, your eyes were literally rolling back.  “God, Eddie, s-so fucking deep…”

“I know,” he breathed, “I know— but you can take it, right?”

You nodded eagerly.

“This is how you want it?” he presumed.  “Tell me— you can tell me what you want, and I’ll do it, I’ll do anything.”

“This,” you promised, “just like this— don’t stop, please…”

“I won’t,” he replied, “just— god, baby— tell me you’re mine, one more time.”

You only hesitated because you were so caught up in the feeling, in digging the heels of your feet into his ass to keep this delicious feeling of fullness from ever ending.  You didn’t mean to get him so worked up that he’d start begging.

"Say it, come on," he demanded, "say you're mine."

"Yours, yours," you promised quickly.

"M'yours too, baby," he sighed, "always was, I swear— just us, baby, please, just gotta be you and me now."

You nodded.

“You and me,” he repeated again, breathless, leaning in to mouth along your exposed neck from your head falling back in pleasure.  “Us.  Way it oughta be.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling that familiar weight sinking in your gut— fuck, you were way too close, it was embarrassing.  Except that it wasn’t, because you didn’t feel self-conscious with him anymore, if anything you were excited to fall apart for him this time.

He didn’t even have to ask if you were reaching your peak, which he normally did— normally he’d be teasing you a little, taunting you, encouraging you to go ahead and let go or maybe tell you to hang on until he told you it was time.  Instead he just watched you, breathing heavy and feeling the rhythmic pulses of your body around his.  “So good,” he praised when the last wave had washed over you and you went limp beneath him, “so good for me— my beautiful girl, all mine, mine—”

“Yes,” you whimpered, choking on a sob, holding onto his back as he fucked you faster.  “God, I didn’t— fuck, wasn’t supposed to come that fast.”

He laughed a little— in a sweet way, not mocking or derisive— and gave you a soft kiss.  “It’s okay, baby, as long as you can do it again.”

You nodded quickly.  “Yeah, fuck yeah— just don’t stop…”

Thankfully, the next one took you a bit longer— but still, your stamina was weak with him filling you so wide and deep, stretching you out and whispering soft praises to you all the while.  “That’s it, that’s it,” he spoke under his breath, “so beautiful when you come for me, can you open your eyes again?  Wanna see you, wanna see my girl, please…”

Your eyes were so heavy halfway through your second orgasm, but you managed to get them open for him, finding his face even closer to yours than you remembered.  He moaned at the sight, fingers digging a little deeper into your skin and chest pressing against yours.

He watched your last moan jump from your lips as the bright-white heat of your ecstasy burned out into a dull warmth, a soothing sensation that made you sigh and relax again.  “Feels so goddamn good when you do that,” he whined, “fuck, I— baby…”

You could tell he was close, finally— you could feel his cock starting to flex, pressing against your walls while he fucked you a little faster.  “Want it so bad, Eddie,” you whimpered, “want it inside.”

“Fuck,” he gasped, “whatever you want, sweetheart, s’all yours, m’yours, I promise— god, I love you so much—”

“I love you,” you moaned your reply, feeling him pick up the pace again, though it was still slower than he usually fucked you even in the beginning.  You didn’t even know he could come while moving this slow— well, you hadn’t known you could come from this, either.  It was overall a learning experience for everyone.

He pulled you closer, he kissed you hard, and you felt everything just… melt.  His movements stopped and you thought you could just sink into the bed and stay forever in this warm, soft, slow feeling.  It did last for a few minutes, the two of you just breathing together, before he eventually rolled off of you and pulled you to cuddle up into his side.  “I wasn’t supposed to come that fast either,” he announced quietly with a little smirk.

“Oh come on,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m more than satisfied.”

“Oh, I know,” he clicked his tongue, “but I’m not.  That was just round one.”

“Of how many?!” you were forced to wonder.

“Mm,” Eddie considered that as he lifted his wrist— but he’d already taken his watch off.  “We’ll see.”

You laughed as he pulled you closer and buried his face in your neck again, his hair getting all over your face and in your mouth as you spluttered to try to spit it out.  “Eddie!” you whined, trying to wriggle out of his embrace.

“Nope, not letting you go,” he promised, holding you tighter.

“Your hair’s in my mouth!” you complained.

“Get used to it,” he purred.  “I mean it, babe— not letting you go again.  Ever.”

You laughed as you wrapped your arms around his thick torso, submitting to your fate.

“Ready for round two yet?” he asked suddenly, making your eyes go wide.

“Fuck, are you?!” you yelped.  “Hardly been a minute—”

“Oh, I’m ready,” he promised, and you whimpered as you felt his hard cock— still wet from his cum and your own— slide against your inner thigh.  “Can you take me again, darling?”

“O-of course,” you answered quickly.

He hummed proudly as he laid you on your back again.  “Fuck, so good for me, always ready, huh?  You still want more?”You nodded, still numb and tingly all over— still sore, even.  But you wanted it, so fucking bad.  “More is all I’ve ever wanted.”

i want eddie to fill me with so much cum that it’s dripping down my legs

-🦑

finally some good fucking food

Eddie would put his soft cock in you just to feel it grow hard

I wanna follow more eddie writersssss will y'all reblog this if you're over 18, write for eddie munson (especially smut and dark fics 💜) and wanna be mutuals??

hii friend, i read your tom grant fic and i’m obsessed with it!! would you ever write for joseph quinn the actor? if you can could you maybe write something about joe and reader trying for a baby? if not it’s totally fine :) have a great day or night <333

trying ~ joseph quinn x reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: smut ofc, 18+ only please <3, breeding kink, unprotected sex (duh), breeding press (aka my weakness), EXTREMELY fluffy and mushy, discussions of pregnancy, multiple orgasms, joe steals the reader's birth control for like 4 seconds, reader is into it but acting neutral because she wants him to beg more lmao, joe makes reader come up with baby names during sex... it's freaky guys

As you turned your head to the side to look at him— laughing gently as he raised his glass to his lips, listening to a friend's story about how she got kicked out of a pub over a complicated misunderstanding— you smiled, too, and reached to give his knee a quick squeeze through his jeans.  He looked back at you, offering a little smile just for you, and the conversation continued.

Later, when dinner was completed and the conversation had moved from the outdoor patio back to inside the flat, you were helping with dishes when the baby monitor went off.  It was just a little at first, just a strange groaning noise coming through it, and then you saw the lights flash brighter and heard a proper cry between bouts of static.  Drying your hands quickly, you popped your head out of the kitchen and saw the hostess first, thankfully.

"Jess, the monitor?" you informed her, interrupting a conversation as she turned.  

"Oh, thank you," she sighed, excusing herself and slipping down the hall.

Joe, a member of the abandoned discussion, gave you a little cringe: "I hope we didn't wake her," he said.

"Oh, I doubt it," you assured him, "babies just wake up often."

Jess came back a few minutes later, and to everyone's pleasant surprise, she brought baby Cleo with her.  Everyone was already in a chorus of "aww"s before she'd even explained why she was bringing her out; "I think she just wants some attention," Jess explained, and dinner guests began to gather around where Jess was standing with Cleo on her hip.

You waited until all the dishes were done to go out there and see the baby yourself, but by the time you came out, you were surprised to see her on Joe's knee— or maybe you were more surprised to see Joe acting a complete fool, making silly faces and noises at her to get her to smile.  

"Oh, just in time," someone else noticed your arrival, "your boyfriend's fallen madly in love with this baby."

"That's a shame," you joked as you sat down next to him, "he was supposed to come home with me tonight."

You gave Joseph a kiss on the cheek, noticing Cleo's massive blue eyes on you as you leaned in closer to him.  You mouthed hi! and waved at her, as she continued to examine you.

Her eyes followed your hand as you reached forward and hesitantly tickled her belly through the star-dotted onesie she had on, and she finally gave you a smile; you'd earned approval, for now.  "Hi Cleo!" you greeted her aloud, tickling her tummy again, and she kicked her legs as Joe held her up on his knee.

"How old did you say she was again?" Joe asked Jess, without looking away from Cleo until he actually heard her answering.

"Seven months," Jess replied.

"Oh," Joe nodded, "is it easier now than when she was born?"

"She sleeps longer," Jess decided, "and I actually have some vague idea of what I'm doing, so that's nice."

Joe smiled and looked back at Cleo, who was looking at you as you talked to her about whatever you could think of.  He moved her in closer to his lap, where her attention was suddenly taken by his necklace; he let her grab and tug on it for a while, until she yanked hard enough to be able to reach up and start pulling on his hair next.

"Ow," Joe frowned, and you laughed at his predicament— he was forced to stay hunched over in his own lap as she balled her fists in his curls.

"Oh, sorry, she's really into hair pulling right now," Jess cringed, reaching forward to try to help unlatch those little chubby hands.  Eventually she was able to get her free, but of course, like anyone forced to stop touching Joseph's curls, she started to get upset.  Just a little pout at first, then a whimper, then a proper cry.  "Oh no," Jess mumbled, lifting her out of Joe's lap— though he started to reach for her again, before he stopped himself.

"Did I make her cry?" Joe asked, the genuine heartbreak in his voice making your own chest tighten.

"No, no, she's just fussy," Jess promised, "she's probably wet— I'll go change her."

Joe turned back to you and you reached up to brush your hand over his hair.  "Looked like she was really going for it there," you noticed.  "She didn't actually manage to rip any out, did she?"

But he didn't answer your question, instead blurting out, "I want one."

You laughed a little.  "Well, when someone picks it up and takes it away to change the diaper, I'm sure it seems very appealing," you noticed.

He pouted a little, but the conversation changed before you could really press him on it— and all too soon, the evening came to a close.  Jess thanked you for your help with everything, you insisted you wouldn’t let her host a dinner party on her own when she had a baby to take care of; Joe asked if he could say goodbye to her, but Jess explained that she was down for hopefully the entire night but promised they’d have another playdate soon.

You could tell Joe really was enamored by Cleo, due in part to how silent he was on the ride home.  Then you got home, and he tolerated you making conversation about the party and the other guests, but there was that distance in his eyes.

“You’re still thinking about Cleo, aren’t you?” you noticed.

“Hm?  Oh,” he sighed, sitting down on the couch.  “Yeah, I am.  She was so little!”

You laughed.  “Yeah, I hear most babies are like that.”

“But she was so cute, god, you saw she looks just like Jess already,” he described, laying his head back on the couch, “but, you know, all fat and adorable.”

“Those blue eyes are her dad’s, though,” you recalled.

“Really?” Joe smiled— his cheeks seemed a little flushed, suddenly.

“C’mon, let’s get our teeth brushed and all so we can go to sleep,” you insisted, grabbing Joe’s hand and pulling him up off the couch, “some of us had a little more work to do tonight than just playing around with a baby.”

~

He was doing that thing he did, where he wanted to say something but he hadn't found either the words or the nerve yet.  But you could never get him to spit it out until he was ready, so you just sighed and let him stare at you as you got ready for bed.

Eventually he got in bed by himself, where he liked to wait for you until you were done with your routine, but you were having a hard time wrapping up since you couldn't find the final step.  I swear I left them right here…

You rifled through the medicine cabinet for a bit, frowning.  "Babe, have you seen my pills?"

"Um, yeah," he called back, "they're right here."

You came out to the bedroom to find him sitting up in the bed, holding the pack in his hand.  "Give me those," you instructed.

"I will— I just wanna talk first."

"Joseph."

He frowned and tossed you the packet, which landed in your hands with a rattle.  Before you'd even started to pop one out, he was jumping up to give you a tight hug.  "Please, darling?" he whined, bending down and laying his head on your chest.  "Please, please please—"

A second later, he was literally on his knees before you, clutching your legs, his chin resting on your hip as you looked down at him.  "You're serious?" you noticed.

"It'll be so great, won't it?  Our baby.  You and me."

"It'll be great—"

"Yes!"

"— and incredibly difficult!  You realize that they just keep growing up, right?"

"That's the best part!" he beamed.  "Kids are even better than babies!"

"And teenagers?" you prompted crossing your arms.

"No no, don't do that," he pouted, reaching up to gently pull your arms open again, "you do that when you're about to say no to me."

You sighed and rolled your eyes, letting him hold your hands down by his face as he squeezed them a little.

"Yeah, teenagers can be annoying, sure," he continued, "but they're fun— you can really talk with them then.  C'mon, I know you think I'm crazy but I really mean it.  I wanna have a family."

"It's all pretty sudden, Joe… you saw one baby today for, like, an hour— and then you stole my pills!"

"Okay, first of all,” he defended, “I just… borrowed them.”

“Right.”

“And second of all, it’s not as sudden as you think.  I've wanted this for so long, you have no idea,” he admitted.  “I mean, really— since we met, I've been thinking about this."

You raised your eyebrows.  "Really?  And did you plan to ever make me privy to those thoughts?"

"Well… I am now!" he smiled, batting his eyelashes up at you.  You sighed, and he stood up again, still clutching your hands.  "It's okay if you don't want this, but seeing Cleo just made me wonder why I've been waiting so long.  If I had it my way, you'd already be pregnant."

And it was impossible to keep hiding your smile when he said that.  "I've been thinking about it too, Joe."

"Really?" he whispered, and you nodded.  He hummed and gave you a kiss on the forehead; you wrapped your arms around his torso, laughing as he pulled you back onto the bed.  "What did you think about?" he asked as he started to kiss down to your neck.

"Well— I mean, I just thought about it sometimes," you sighed.  "What it would be like if you and I…"

"Yeah?"

"But it was just a fantasy!" you interrupted yourself.

"Let's make fantasy a reality, darling,” he purred, “don't take your pills tonight.  Actually, you can just throw them out."

You whined as he rolled you onto your back, pressing his weight into you.

"Please, love?  I want a baby so bad…" he whispered.

"I know," you breathed.

"You want it too, right?  I know you do."

"And you do understand I'm not going to get pregnant tonight just because I'm not taking the pill?" you pointed out.

"So you're gonna stop taking them?" he grinned.

"I mean… I'm thinking about it," you admitted.

"Yeah, it won't be right away— that's the fun part, right?  Trying.  We can tell people we’re trying."

"Ew," you frowned, "let's not tell people that.  It's just a socially-appropriate way of saying that we're constantly fucking."

"Yeah!  That's why it's fun to say," he laughed.  "Even if it won't happen tonight… we can still start practicing for when it really happens."

"Are you out of practice, suddenly?" you snorted.  "Seems like you've been getting some practice in a couple times a week for the last— how long's it been, two years?"

"No, darling, this is different," he explained.  "This isn't just fucking.  It's… making love."

You rolled your eyes.  "Oh, that's ridiculous."

"It's not!  It's supposed to be special, making a baby and all," he whispered.  "It won't be like what we usually do— no… hair-pulling, or anything…"

You frowned.  "Well what's the fun in that?"

"The fun is that I'm going to get you pregnant," he explained, lowering his voice.  "And it's gonna be my baby in you."

You bit your lip.  He smiled, tapping you on the end of your nose with his finger.

“Gimme those pills, love, I’ll go chuck them for you now.”

“Joeeyyy,” you whined, the way you only did when he was doing something that made you wet against your better judgment.

He reached for your hand to take them away, but you laughed as you turned on your side and curled up so he couldn’t get to them.  “You’re not going to make me take them from you, are you, sweetheart?”

“I mean, how bad do you want me off of them?” you challenged.

“Oh, don’t play with me now,” he warned with a purr, “you know I’m dead serious.”

You shrugged.  “Are you though, really?”

He growled and started to 

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you replied.

“Then why don’t we go ahead and make a baby about it?” he encouraged.

You laughed, but nodded.  “Okay.”

“Okay?” he beamed.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” you decided.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, kissing you hard as you kept smiling, “oh god, angel— I love you so much.”

He helped strip you of your pajamas— gently, but efficiently— as he kissed all over your heated skin.  He continued whispering praises and thank yous and promises to get you pregnant as soon as he could

“I can’t wait, I really can’t wait,” he rushed against your neck, hands tight on your waist, “can you?”

You shook your head.

“I just know you’re gonna look so pretty pregnant,” he breathed, one hand ghosting over your stomach.  “My baby, right here, making you all big— you’re gonna be fucking gorgeous.”

That was bad enough, and then his hand started moving lower and lower; of course you spread your legs for him right away, why wouldn’t you?  He still mocked you quietly, though, asking if you really needed him that bad.  You really did.

He just teased your aching pussy with his fingers for a moment, before he honed in on your clit and gave it a few slow circles.  You hummed, letting your head fall to the side.  “You feel ready for me,” he announced as pushed two fingers into you, making you whine and arch your back.  

“God, Joe, I am,” you agreed, “need you inside me.”

“Soon,” he promised.  “Gonna open you up a little more first, love, just be patient.”

He twisted his fingers around, curling them into your spot only for a moment at a time before pulling back and making you sigh in frustration

“Should I make you come on my fingers once, just to get you nice and soaked for me?” he wondered.

“N-no, fuck, wanna come on your cock,” you pleaded.

“Yeah?  You want me to feel it when you come for me, right?”

“Yes,” you groaned, “please… please fuck me.”

“Now, what did I tell you?” he grinned.  “It’s not fucking, darling.”

Funny how you were more embarrassed to say it the other way: “Please m-make love to me,” you whispered.

“That’s better, love,” he cooed as he kissed your cheek before climbing up on top of you; he was still wearing his thin golden chain, and it swung over your face.  “I’ll do more than that— I’ll give you a baby.  You want that?”

You smiled.  “I think I’m the one giving you a baby.”

“Fair,” he chuckled, “okay— I’ll make love to you, and come inside you, and you’ll give me a baby.  How does that sound?”

“Hmm,” you considered, “I mean, it sounds good, but—”

“Oh god—” he dropped his head onto your chest— “love, you’re driving me mad now…”

“I just want to make sure this is what you want,” you teased— and he knew exactly how full of shit you were, but he must have realized that he would have to play along anyway.

“C’mon, darling, I want this more than anything,” he breathed, lifting his head up again to look down at you closely.  One of his hands found the top of your head and stroked your hair, keeping you from looking away.  “I’ve never wanted anything like I want this— like I want our baby inside you now.  Something made from how much we love each other, isn’t it perfect?  And everyone will see us together and know that we’re in love, that we’re a family.”

You sighed a little, appreciating what that would be like; taking such a huge step from being partners, being boyfriend and girlfriend, to being parents together.  It was obviously daunting, but it made you feel all warm and happy inside.

“When it’s here, I can carry it on my shoulders in the park, or you can push the pram, won’t that be nice?” he imagined with a wistful smile.  “And our child will always know how loved it is, how much we wanted them— how desperate Daddy was that he told Mummy he’d do anything if they could have a baby together.”

“Anything?”

“Of course— you’re doing the most incredible thing for me,” he explained, grabbing one of your hands and squeezing it, before he pulled it closer and kissed your fingers.  “We can get married first, if you’d rather do it all in the normal order.  But that doesn’t really matter to me, if I’m honest— we’re a family either way.”

“You’re really into this whole ‘baby makes three’ thing, huh?” you chuckled, but he cut you off with a slow, gentle kiss.  It changed the mood entirely, especially once you relented to it and reached up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he finally agreed when he pulled away, leaving you blinking and trying to catch your breath after a kiss like that.  “I’m really into it.”

You only gave him a little breathless nod, but that was enough of an approval for him: he pressed himself into you, watching your face as your body gave way and took him inside.  He was as deep as possible in less than a second, keeping a focused expression as you moaned and wrapped your legs around his hips.

“Darling,” he breathed, “you feel so perfect— doesn’t it feel different, knowing it’ll really mean something?”

You nodded again, keeping your eyes shut as you focused on the feeling, on how perfectly he fit inside you, on how his hands felt holding you tightly and keeping you close.

He kissed you again, just for a second before he started to kiss different places on your face, moving his hips (finally) though keeping you on edge with how slow he was going.  “D’you want a boy or a girl?” he asked, pressing his smile against the side of your face.

“Boy,” you blurted out— something about the way he was moving inside you made all pretense fall away, and you could speak purely on instinct.

“No, no way,” he laughed, “our first has got to be a girl.  Think of all the sweet little things we can dress her in!”

“Our first?  There’s more?” you gasped— partially because of what he said, mostly because he was holding your hips tight and keeping you close so you had to feel every thrust in the deepest parts of you.  You could barely believe he was keeping up conversation this well while fucking you like this…

“At least two more,” he announced.

“Fuck, and who’s having the other two?  ‘Cause I only signed up for one,” you countered.

“I think you’re going to like it,” he decided, “and you’ll be the one begging me for a second.  For your little boy you apparently want.”

“I just said that randomly,” you insisted, feeling your cheeks heat up.  “Don’t read into it.”

“Yeah?  What would you name a boy, then?”

“Daniel,” you answered far too quickly.  “O-or James…”

“Hm,” he smiled, “I like James better.  They’re both pretty traditional— why not something a little more adventurous?”

“Such as…?”

“I dunno… Wolfgang,” he offered, seemingly off the top of his head, and you snorted.

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were having a German baby,” you laughed.

“Doesn’t matter ‘cause we’re having a girl anyways,” he decided, kissing you just beside your ear, picking up his pace inside you just a bit.  “I know it.  I already know it.”

“Could always name the girl Wolfgang,” you panted, hoping to sound composed even though you were on fire inside.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he warned, gently biting on your earlobe for a moment.  “I always wanted to call a girl Agatha.”

“You’re joking,” you hoped, flatly.

“Or Penelope,” he added.

“We’ll go with that one,” you decided, whimpering when one of his hands grabbed your thighs and held your leg at a deeper angle— it made everything more intense all of a sudden.  You gasped and grabbed his shoulders tighter, digging your nails in, and heard him hum proudly.

“Do you just really like that name, or do you like what I’m doing to you?” he asked playfully.

“Please, just a little faster,” you begged, “jus’ need a little more, Joe, please, please…”

“Shh,” he soothed quietly, moving to hover above you again and lifting both of your legs this time, “m’gonna give you want you need, darling, if you just trust me, okay?”

He lifted your legs onto his shoulders, and leaned down over you— he hadn’t even moved yet and your whole body tensed up, your back arching and your eyes rolling back.  

“How’s that feel?” he asked with a knowing grin as you reached down to grab the sheets under you for dear life.  “It’s not too deep, is it?”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, “I— Joe!”

You couldn’t say anything else because he gave you a sudden, sharp thrust that made you feel like his cock was in your chest or something.  How could it be this deep, how could anything be this deep?

“Fuck,” you cried, toes curling where they were suspended in the air behind his head.  Apparently you were more flexible than you realized— and closer to coming, too.

“You’re so wet,” he noticed with a sigh, “my god, darling, you’ve really soaked my cock, just because I said I was going to get you pregnant?  That’s all it takes?”

Whimpering, you nodded while holding your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I will,” he promised, his own voice finally showing signs of his desperation— he could only keep his cool for so long.  “I will, love, I promise.”

His hands found yours, and pinned them to each side of your head as your fingers weaved together.  It didn’t take much more of that for you to come— intense and nearly overwhelming, yes, but sort of… comfortable, too.  Not as harsh and sudden as it had been with him before, not the kind to make you scream or sob or anything.  Those were like being thrown into the deep end; this one was more like laying on the beach and feeling each wave slide over the sand and wash higher and higher up your body until you were immersed in it— but without that pesky drowning thing.  It was much more pleasant than that.

“Beautiful,” he whispered to you as he watched you go under, “so fucking beautiful— I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“Love you too,” you gasped out.

He choked a little on his groan; “Again,” he demanded, “say it again.”

“I love you,” you promised, “Joe, I love you so so much…”

He squeezed your hands, and you were too weak and limp now to properly squeeze them back.  “I-I’m gonna come,” he stammered between heavy breaths, “please, darling— I can come inside, right?  Let me come inside you, love, I need to…”

“Yes,” you breathed, back arching deeper, “yes, fuck, of course you can.”

He bit his lip, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes that captured you completely.  “I’m gonna come inside you,” he promised, speaking in a low voice that made a shiver run up your spine, “but I’m not gonna stop.  Okay?”

Fuck.  Was that even physically possible?

“Can you take it, love?”

You whimpered, but nodded confidently.  You could hardly tell he was coming when he did it while still fucking you just as fast— his hips rutted into yours and each flex of his cock seemed to be timed just right with when he was deepest inside you.  Even when you thought you were totally spent, you managed to arch your back a bit more without even meaning to.

He’d been putting more effort into keeping himself partially upright than you realized, because when his strength gave out and he partially collapsed onto you, it forced your legs even closer to your chest— and then you were both delirious from the feeling.

He was just as loud as you, moaning into your neck and the pillow under you as he moved way faster than before, letting go of one of your hands so he could grab your thigh instead to keep you still.

“Fuck,” he grunted, “fuck, darling— I can’t stop until I give you everything.”

“Don’t,” you agreed, “don’t stop… that’s what I want, I want everything.  I want e-every drop of you inside me…”

He hissed through his teeth briefly before he kissed you again; this kiss was a lot more feverish than the last, so much more desperate and filled with moans and gasping breaths against each other.

“Oh, fuck!” you whined when he shifted his hips a little lower and forced his cock right into that spot— the one that was all swollen and sensitive from the last time you came.  “Fuck, baby, please—”

Maybe if he were a little more conscious he would say something all witty and mocking like, is that a pet name or a request?  But he was fighting to keep from falling apart already, fucking into you desperately and quickly even though you were both overstimulated and there was a mix of your and his come starting to make a patch on the silk sheets.

His mouth was slack and open right above yours, and he was getting louder and louder as his hands held yours so tight it was almost painful— it would’ve been very painful, actually, if your hands and feet weren’t already going numb.

When you came again, it was the last straw for him— he let go of your hands to grab onto your shoulders, for some reason, and let out a shaky whining sort of noise; he stopped moving and you really felt it now, the pulsing of his cock inside your sore channel.  You felt full and dizzy and sleepy, the outside of your body entirely limp while your insides kept flexing in spite of the exhaustion.

He let go of your hands, slowly, and used his new freedom to carefully guide your legs down— around his waist, instead, and not held up on his shoulders.  You hissed from the soreness in your hips, but relaxed as he trailed slow, gentle kisses along your cheek.

“So,” he began with a sigh, “that was…”

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement.

You both returned to catching your breath for a moment, while his thumb stroked the upper part of your thigh gently— it did more to soothe you than you expected.

“You came twice,” you noticed.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“H-how…?”

His face came back up so you could get a proper look at him— flushed and sweating, a loose curl sticking to his forehead, glassy-eyed and wearing a tilted smile— and you felt yourself clench inside again at just how pretty he was.  “I guess I was just feeling… extra inspired,” he grinned, kissing the tip of your nose as he brushed hair away from your face with his hand.  “Did you like it?”

“Like it?!  Fuck, it was so hot,” you laughed.  “I mean, you barely even slowed down…”

“What can I say?  I really, really want to get you pregnant.”

You shivered.  “Well now I really, really want to be pregnant.”

“I bet it won’t take us too long,” he decided.  “But we should start tracking your cycle and everything, make sure we’re doing everything right… here, while I’m at it—”

He reached past your head and grabbed a pillow, lifting your hips to slide it underneath them before he set you back down— all without pulling out.

“I’ve heard it helps it all stay inside,” he explained.

“You’ve really prepared for this, haven’t you?” you noticed, and he looked at your face carefully.

“If you’re really not sure, it’s not too late to just take the pill tonight and go back to normal,” he reminded you, leaning down closer again.  “I won’t be mad or anything.”

“No, this is what I want,” you promised.  “So, so much.”

He smiled and kissed you quickly, though you reached up and weaved your fingers into his curls so you could pull him back down for more.  “Are we trying again tomorrow?” he wondered, speaking quietly into the kiss.

“First thing,” you smiled.

28 "i’m just getting comfy" with Steve Harrington ? 🥺

warnings: smut (oral m receiving, grinding, semi-public fooling around), mutual pining, steve being a little rough/impatient

It started out relatively innocent: movie night, with a bunch of your friends, on the couch in your basement. Every blanket and pillow from upstairs you could find, popcorn, Junior Mints, all that-- you wanted this to be perfect.

The one thing you kind of forgot to anticipate was that your couch was just not big enough for this many people.

"You look uncomfortable down there," Steve noticed as you shifted around on the pillow on the floor; you'd offered the couch to your friends, but a little decorative cushion wasn't really enough to protect your poor butt from the hard basement floor.

"It's fine," you insisted, "I want you guys to have the couch."

"Shh," someone hissed, apparently (rightfully) annoyed that you were talking during the movie. Steve, sighing, grabbed the remote and paused the tape; some of the group groaned a little bit.

"Seriously," Steve frowned, "it's your house and you're on the floor. There's room for you on the couch."

"Uh, where?" you motioned to the already-full sofa: Stacy and Kyle were squished up next to Evan on the end, who had Claire on his lap since they were dating and all.

"Come on up-- everybody will scoot over," he promised. You sighed and stood up. But, of course, when you approached the couch, nobody moved. "Guys, come on," he instructed them, waving his hands to motion for them to move.

"We never said we were gonna make room," Stacy noticed. "Because there isn't any."

"Then one of you guys sit on the floor!" he decided.

"No, no," you interjected, "you're all guests."

"Why don't you just sit on Steve's lap?" Kyle suggested, looking a little too proud of himself; you knew what they were doing, they'd probably planned all this... the whole group had been trying to wingman for you and Steve for a while now. It irritated you because, one, you told Claire about your crush in confidence, and two, because you were sure Steve didn't feel the same way. Why would he? He had his pick of the litter of the girls at school and you were just his friend. Not that you minded that. It was just a little crush, nothing you couldn't get over.

"I... isn't that weird?" Steve mumbled.

"No, it's fine!" Evan insisted.

"We're doing it," Claire pointed out.

"Yeah, but you guys are, you know--" Steve explained.

"It's not a big deal," Stacy rolled her eyes, "can you guys just work it out so we can watch the movie, please?"

Hesitating for a second, you gave Steve a look. "I mean, if it's okay with you..."

"Y-yeah, I mean, it's fine with me, I just wanted to make sure it wasn't gonna be weird for you," Steve replied.

"Why would it be weird?" you wondered.

"I... I don't know," he shook his head, "just sit down and I'll hit 'play'."

You did, gingerly, hoping to not go too fast and slam into his thighs; when you relaxed, it wasn't super comfortable, but it was certainly making your body react. It felt like everywhere he touched you-- his hips near yours, the top of his legs on the back of yours, your feet bumping together-- you felt warm and sensitive. "Are you good?" you asked him.

"Yeah, totally," he nodded, "you don't have to sit so far forward-- lean back so I can see the TV--"

When you leaned back, your back pressed into his chest, and you found yourself biting your lip... good thing he couldn't see it.

"Okay, here we go," he mumbled, grabbing the remote again and unpausing the film before tossing it onto the table and getting comfortable under you.

You expected him to be... bonier? But his thighs were strong and soft and not as bad to sit on as you thought... that said, you had to adjust once or twice to make sure your legs didn't fall asleep. Each time you moved, you heard his breathing change; wanting to lean back a little more, you gently moved your hips back, and you heard him suck in a breath quickly.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he whispered under his breath.

"I'm just getting comfy," you whispered back.

"Could you... do it less?" he hissed.

"What's the problem?" you asked.

"I... you're just getting kinda close to... stuff," he explained awkwardly.

You really didn't mean to move again, when he just asked you not to, but for some reason you did-- and that was when you felt it. Actually, what you felt first was his hand shooting out to grab your hip and keep you still. Only then did you process that the shape you were feeling pressed against your ass was his erection. Your face heated up in an instant; that's what it was right? Could that be it?

...It almost felt too big to be his cock, but then you shifted again, and you heard him choke out a little noise, and you smiled. Oh god... am I grinding on Steve Harrington right now?

He dug his fingers harder into your hips, and it hurt, but it didn't deter you as much as it should have; it just made you bite back a moan and glance over at your couch companions to make sure they were still paying attention to the movie.

How were you supposed to make it through this whole 90-minute experience without getting caught, or getting so worked up that you had to do something?

Whether it was intuition, good luck, or just a case of being less subtle than you realized, it was Stacy that saved you by pausing the movie about a half hour later. "Who else needs a pee break?" she announced.

"It's your own fault for crushing three Cokes in the first act," Claire noticed.

"So? You had two," Stacy replied.

"Yeah, I didn't say I didn't have to go, too..."

"Okay, uh," you tried to remember the layout of your own house, "there's a bathroom in the hallway by my room, and one by the living room, and another at the end of the hall on the left."

"Great!" Stacy hopped up first, Claire following her. You stood up, too, just to stretch your legs and not look too suspicious, but didn't have anywhere to go. After a quick moment passed, Evan got up, too.

"I could actually use a glass of water," he decided, "mind if I get one from the kitchen?"

"No, go ahead!" you smiled, and he made his way to the stairs as well.

Quickly realizing that you were one person away from being left alone with Steve, who was currently staring at you which you were trying to avoid openly noticing, you decided you needed to make a break for it.

"Uh, you know, I bet there's still a bathroom open... I'll go, so we don't have to pause again later..."

You dashed away and bounded up the stairs, finding the bathroom by your room thankfully unoccupied; you went in and shut the door, running the sink to splash your face when Steve barged in.

"Steve, what the fu--" you frowned, but he slammed the door behind him and spun you around, pinning you to the counter.

"What were you doing back there?" he hissed.

"I... I was trying to get comfortable," you defended.

"Bullshit," he sneered. "What was your plan, huh? Make me bust in my pants during the movie, and then what? What did you think would happen?"

You chewed your lip, glancing away. "Uh, I dunno..."

"Yeah, you weren't thinking, were you?" he sighed. "You didn't think you'd have to deal with the consequences of getting me hard in front of everyone and leaving, right?"

You swallowed as he stepped back, just enough to start opening his belt.

"Get on your knees," he demanded.

"Steve!" you gasped.

"Or you can leave," he offered, "and we can pretend nothing happened-- but I don't think that's what you want, is it?"

Just then, he reached into his jeans and pulled his cock out; just as thick as it had felt against you, hard and flushed and dripping precum already... you absent-mindedly licked your lips.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he scoffed smugly. "Get on your knees, finish what you started."

Carefully, you obeyed, kneeling on the bathmat in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on you, watching you carefully reach out and take his cock in your hand, before delicately licking a stripe over the tip. He only reacted with a twitch of his mouth, a ghost of a snarl, and you nearly whimpered. Opening your mouth wider, you took the head inside and swirled your tongue around it.

"Fuck," he breathed, reaching out to rest a hand on your head-- not forcing you to take it deeper, yet, but guiding you gently.

With each bob of your head, you fit more and more, letting your spit soak him and glide with every motion. He tasted good, maybe it was just because you could smell his body wash, but it was nice; sweet and musky in perfect contrast to the little doses of salt you got each time more precum smeared on your tongue.

"Mm, that's good," he praised softly, grabbing your hair a little more roughly-- not rough, but forceful. A pang of arousal hit right between your legs, making your hips rock in the air against nothing. "Shit-- where'd you learn to do that? I thought you were a good girl, guess not..."

You whined, the sound reverberating through his shaft, and he groaned.

"F-fuck, do that again," he pleaded, and you hummed around him; he let his head fall back, putting his hand on the back of your neck to push his cock right up to your throat. "Oh, we waited way too long to do this... I've been waiting so long for this."

Gently, you ventured deeper, the tip of his cock making you choke at first-- but then you swallowed around it, and it worked. With patience, you took more and more, until both of you moaned when your lips were wrapped around the very base of him.

"You're so good," he whispered, "I'm pretty close-- keep going, we need to get back out there soon..."

Of course, 'keep going' was kind of a moot point when he was fully fucking your throat at this point, keeping your head still as he thrust his hips back and forth; you know, you'd been a little offended when he said you weren't a good girl, but considering the way your body reacted to him using your mouth like this, he was definitely accurate.

"Fuck, m'gonna come in your mouth," he warned you with a whisper. "You'll swallow it, right?"

You weren't sure if you'd be able to nod enough for him to notice it, but apparently he did, because he purred proudly.

"Yeah, that's my girl," he praised, and you whimpered around him again. You wanted to sit down further so you could grind against the floor and get some friction on your aching pussy, but he was too tall, you had to stay on your knees... you tried reaching between your legs to touch yourself, but it wasn't enough-- you needed him.

You could feel his cock pulsing just before he came, and you winced a little when the first spurt of come shot back into your throat just because you didn't see it coming. He breathed through his teeth, clearly trying to stay quiet in case the other people in the house could hear from wherever they were... oh god, you were trying not to imagine that. The idea of one of them walking in right now was humiliating, and terrifying, and sexy.

"Hnng, fuck," he groaned, pumping a few more times before he was apparently done and finally stilled with a sigh. You suckled on his cock while it was still in your mouth, making him wince and pull out. "Fuck," he panted, looking down at you again, "show me."

You opened your mouth and he bit his lip at whatever he saw in there-- it felt like he came a lot, you could feel it moving around your mouth. It didn't taste, like, awesome or anything, you weren't about to go spread it on some toast and dig in, but knowing it was Steve's come in your mouth was just so hot that you didn't care at all. You swallowed it all in one gulp, and he smiled down at you, fixing his hair before he put his cock back in his pants (priorities, right?).

"Okay, see you out there," he offered as he reached for the bathroom door, about to leave.

"W-wait, what about me?" you pouted, standing up.

"We'll take care of you after," he promised, "I think that's the least you deserve after pulling that shit."

Fair enough, but your body was so desperate for him already. "But Steve, I... I'm so wet," you whispered, and he smiled, letting go of the door to step closer to you.

"Really?" he smirked.

You nodded, and he tilted his head. "Well, you know what?" he said.

"What?" you asked coyly.

"That's your problem," he smiled, giving you a peck on the cheek and a 'boop' on the nose with his finger before he left, shutting the door behind him.

You stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the door as if it would make him reappear and say he was just kidding and he was gonna fuck you silly real quick. He was right, there really wasn't time, and this was the least you deserved, but shit... you didn't know Steve could be so mean.

But you liked it.

hey guys, i just found a few minors following my blog and i feel like now is a good time to remind everyone that

my blog is 18+. if you are not 18 or older, please do not interact with my blog or my writing!

NO BC DEADASS THIS WAS ME, HAD TO TAKE A BREAK HALFWAY TO EXCUSE MYSELF😩

𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝘃𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲 | tom (make up) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | you and tom have been two peas in a pod for your entire lives: tommy and birdie, partners in crime. you only fell in love with him a few years ago, though. maybe he'll notice sometime before you die of old age... but probably not.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 15.8k (oops)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only, dry humping, handjob, unprotected sex/loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving), alcohol consumption and tobacco use, best friends to lovers, angst, pining, fluff, tom and reader lacking braincells, extreme cornish, protectiveness/jealousy, There Was Only One Bed, I can't stress enough how fucking stupid these two are, truly no braincells detected in this entire fic

(title's after the song by the greeting committee <3 will always be the song that makes me think of tom the most)

YOU DON'T NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE TO READ THIS! plot of the film is totally discarded lmaooo

“Leave off, m'fine." Tom crinkled up his nose as he tried to brush your hands away, but you fought to keep dabbing the cuts on his face with the washcloth.

before we get started, I'm including a convenient cornish dictionary for you all to use if you're not already familiar with the dialect! other terms might pop up but they'll be explained in the text

teazy - acting grumpy or throwing a tantrum; something you might say to a kid having a fit or an adult who is being childishly negative

tuss - insult referencing male genitals; similar to 'knob' or 'dick' in UK and US english

my 'ansum - common, platonic greeting for men ("my handsome")

my bird - common, platonic greeting for women

rich - lovely, endearing, or beautiful

diddy? - a phrase used to mean 'is that true?' or 'really?'; diddah? and issuh? mean the same thing

wasson? - a greeting; short for "what's going on?"

jumping - very angry

hanging - terrible, gross

scat - (NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING lol) to push or fight someone

geek - a quick look; you can 'take a geek' at something

"Fine?  You look like you lost a fight," you frowned.

"Well, we won the match, so," he smiled, but winced when you went back to the cut just above his eyebrow.  “Fuck off, that hurts!”

“Couldn’t hurt as much as it did when you got it,” you insisted.  “C’mon, it’ll scar if you don’t let me clean it up right.”

“So?  I thought the lasses liked scars,” he grinned.  “Makes me look tough.”

“Makes you look like you got your arse handed to you.”

Tom really wasn’t built for rugby.  Though he certainly wasn’t in bad shape, he was the slimmest of all the guys he played with; he was fast, he had that going for him, but the poor kid got pummelled every time he played.

“Wish you wouldn’t go out there,” you mumbled, one of those rare times that you admitted how much you hated seeing him get hurt.

“Wish you wouldn’t worry about me when I can take care’a meself,” he replied.

And that was how it had always been— Tom was just reckless like that, and you had to try to reign him in as best you could.  You could remember so many nights spent this way, you trying to scold him enough that he might be a little more careful; but considering you’d been doing this since you were just little kids, you eventually gave up on trying to stop him and just decided to be there when he needed a little comfort.

You might’ve always been Tom’s greatest comfort.  So many things in life are uncertain, temporary, fleeting.  Not you; you’d always been there, as long as he could remember— even longer, really.  And not just because he had a shit memory from all those rugby concussions.  

“Aren’t you worried you’ll look beat up in all our holiday photos?” you asked him, speaking quietly since you were so close to his face to treat his injuries.

“Why’d that bother me?” he shrugged.  “You think I’m gonna be lookin’ at me own stupid mug in photos?”

“Don’t say that,” you shoved him on the shoulders as he laughed, leaning back into the couch.  “You’ve got a nice mug, if you didn’t get it all mucked up.”

“You think m’pretty then?” he cooed sarcastically, putting his hand under his chin and batting his eyelashes; you giggled and shoved him harder, this time knocking you both back until he was laying on the couch and you were on top of him.

“Yeah, pretty daft,” you replied, and he snorted.

“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around your back.

“Lemme go, need to get a bandage for your face,” you explained as you squirmed.

“Nuh uh,” he denied your request, “not letting you up— sorry, birdie.”

“Tommy!” you whined through a laugh, struggling harder against him, but he just held you tighter and grinned down at you.  Giving up, you made a pouty face and rested your chin on his chest.  He mimicked your expression, mocking you until you frowned for real and gave up, turning your face again to lay your cheek down on his shirt.

He gave you a kiss on top of your head, and you let your eyes fall shut.

“Maybe just a little rest,” you decided, your voice already slurring— you were more tired than you thought.

“Mhm,” he agreed, brushing his fingers over your hair.  “Just a little, huh?”

You nodded groggily.  

“Alright— sleep tight, birdie…”

You were only tired because you’d been up way too late, packing for your trip to St. Ives with your and Tom’s families.  Joint vacations were nothing new to the two of you— actually, his parents and yours had been taking trips together since before the two of you were born.  There were pictures of you and Tommy, chubby little babies in your mums’ arms, riding on the London Eye; you’d watched a home video a few times where you were playing in the sand together at a beach in Valencia.  You weren’t sure why they felt the need to fly all the way to Spain for beaches when there were plenty here in Cornwall… but, case in point, this trip was going to be a much more relaxed (and budget-conscious) one: a roadtrip across the county, a couple rooms at a beach-side inn, and some much needed time in the sun for the next week.  Tom promised to teach you how to surf, though you weren’t sure you’d be able to figure it out anyways— but you looked forward to trying.  Really, you looked forward to Tom’s hands on your waist as he tried to help you find your balance.

Truth be told, despite being secretly in love with him since you were fourteen, you never really expected anything to happen with Tommy.  You were like brother and sister— even his parents treated you like a daughter, and vice versa— and you’d always been so close.  There’s always that fear of confessing to someone you’re close with and ruining the friendship, but this was even worse than that.  If you lost Tom, you’d lose everything.

So, it wasn’t sad— there wasn’t a lot of pining anymore, not many nights spent gushing into your diary about it and then crying yourself to sleep because he got a new girlfriend or something.  It was peaceful now, the one-sidedness of it.  You loved him, he didn’t notice, everything went on as usual and that was it.  You kept dating other guys, though Tom never liked any of them, and he dated other girls that you pretended to get along with until they split after a couple weeks.

In fact, dating was the topic of the hour as you and Tom sat in the back of his dad’s suburban, trying to entertain yourselves on the long drive to the beach resort you’d be staying at.

“That girl Dani,” you remembered, focusing most of your attention on a sudoku from the book you’d brought for the trip.  “She was fit— why’d you break up again?”

“Too clingy,” Tommy shrugged, not looking back at you; he was toying with the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one you’d made for him at summer camp when you were eleven with blue and yellow and black chevrons.  Since you gave it to him, you’d never seen him without it, which is why the colours were all faded and dirty now, and why you were glad you made it adjustable all those years ago… he certainly outgrew the original size by now.

“I thought that was Claire,” you recalled.

“Oh, her too,” he nodded.

“This seems to be a problem for you,” you noticed, “clingy girls.  What does that even mean?”

“Means they get, like, possessive,” he clarified, holding his hands up almost like a motion of choking someone.  “Wanna know what you’re doing all the time, want a text every half hour— it’s too much.”

“That just means they like you, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes.  “You shouldn’t dump girls over that.”

“They usually dump me,” he corrected.

“What?!” you squeaked, before you cleared your throat when you noticed what your utter disbelief might imply.

“Guess they just get, I dunno, jealous?” he explained, crinkling his nose as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Jealous?” you repeated, looking away from the page in front of you for the first time.  The way he was looking at you— head tilted to the side, one eyebrow raised and mouth in a small frown— you realised what he meant.  “Of me?”

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, “I mean, we spend so much time together.”

“But we’re just friends,” you noticed.

“That’s what I try to tell them!” he insisted.  “I mean, I say that you’re my best mate and all but I don’t even think of you like that— c’mon, I’d never…”

You looked back at the half-solved sudoku, letting out a sigh that you hoped you could pull off as frustration with the number grid before you.

“Guess they don’t believe me,” he concluded, “or they don’t care.”

“They must think it’s bound to happen one day,” you posited.  “That we’ll get together, I mean.”

“Yeah— but don’t you think if it was gonna happen, it would’ve happened already?” he pointed out.

You bit your lip.  “Yeah,” you agreed curtly.

"Hey— whatever happened to that lad with the crooked teeth you liked so much?" Tommy asked.

"You'll have to be more specific," you huffed, keeping your eyes trained on your puzzle.

"He had specs and a freckle right on the end of his nose," Tommy continued.

"Oh yeah!  Frank," you reminded him of the boy's name.  "What, did you actually approve of him or something?"

"Course not," Tommy scoffed.  "Jus' wondering, 'cause you used to go on about him all the time— 'bout how he was so wonderful and all." Tommy rolled his eyes, just to make sure it was perfectly clear that he didn't approve.

"Erm, well," you stalled, "yeah, haven't talked to him in a while."

Tommy wouldn't buy an excuse like that from you, he knew you far too well.  Leaning in, he titled his head to try to get a view of your face.  "Did something happen with him?" he pressed, and you swallowed.

"Yeah, I mean— nothing really," you shrugged, "he just got upset that I didn't wanna take things too fast, I guess.  Called me a slag and threw my phone— didn't crack, though, got lucky there—"

"Diddy?" Tommy spat, his anger obvious on his face.  He sat back up when you nodded, taking in a deep breath through his nose.  "Shoulda told me, would've scat 'im down and beat his face in.  Can't be talking to my birdie like that."

Your heart skipped a beat.  His birdie.  

"And throwin' your phone, too?  Bleddy tuss," Tommy sneered, shaking his head as he looked out the window, like he was trying to calm himself down.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you get especially Cornish when you're angry?" you giggled.

"Only twice a day, birdie," Tom laughed.  

Did anyone ever tell you that it turns me on?

“We’re here!” your mum announced, and you looked up to see that the car was turning in to a roundabout driveway.  Tom excitedly leaned against his window, looking up at the hotel.  “Wow,” he breathed.  “Look!”

He guided you to lean in right up against him, pressing your cheek to the glass so you could see the tall building.  It wasn’t a skyscraper or anything— this wasn’t that kind of place— but it was at least ten stories, with white bricks on the outside and seafoam-green shutters on each window.

With the car parked, Tom and the dads were going through the boot while his mom ran to use the loo and you and your mom checked in.

You weren’t really paying attention, honestly, while your mom gave the woman at the front desk a credit card for incidentals and all that.  The interaction only piqued your interest when you heard her confirm— “three rooms, then?”

“Yep,” your mum agreed.

“Three?” you repeated, looking up at her.

“Yeah— your dad and I, Gary and Marie, and then another room for you and Tom.”

You cleared your room.  “Tom and I get our own room?”

“You think us old geezers wanna be kept up all night by your giggling?” she snorted.  “Figured you two could entertain yourselves just fine, give the grown-ups some space.”

Before you could decide how to react to that, the opening of the front doors got everyone’s attention.  Tom looked ridiculous trying to carry as many bags as he could— all of yours, plus his and his mom’s— and you snorted as you watched him waddle into the lobby with all of them.

“What floor are we on?” he asked, the strain in his voice apparent and hilarious.

“Ten,” you informed him, and he groaned.

“Kidding!  Three,” you chuckled, “and there’s a lift.”

“Aw, Jesus,” Tom grumbled as he walked past you, struggling under the weight of the bags.  “You’re tryin’ to kill me, birdie.”

“I didn’t tell you to carry all those,” you rolled your eyes, looking at the concierge again as Tom turned the corner to find the lift.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked, continuing before you could answer.  “You two are adorable.”

“O-oh, er— no, actually,” you stammered, “just a friend.”

“Oh!” she mumbled.  “I see, my apologies.”

You looked down at your phone for just a second, only to hear your mom make a strange noise— a little giggle, and you saw her and the woman at the desk looking at each other.  “What?” you asked your mum.

“Nothing, dear,” she dismissed.

“What?!” you hissed, groaning when she hid a cheeky smile but said nothing.  “You’re so weird sometimes, mum…”

“Anyhoo,” the concierge mumbled, “you’re all ready to go!  Three king bed rooms, third floor, ocean view—”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, “all the rooms have a king bed?”  She nodded.  “Just a king bed?”

“Well… there’s a couch,” she offered.

You deflated slightly.  “That might be a little strange.”

“Oh,” she hummed, “well, I could change your room if you’d like.  But they won’t be connected anymore…”

“That’s fine,” you shook your head.

“Okay, there’s a room with two twins across the hall,” she explained, reading from her computer screen.

Ugh, a twin was gonna be uncomfortable, but so would just one bed.  “That’s fine, thank you.”

She clicked around on her keyboard for a bit, and right as she looked up at you again, Tom appeared from around the corner again.  “All done,” she announced, “I’ve changed your room for you!”

“You what?” Tom choked.

“She’s just changed our room for us,” you explained to him.

“Ah god,” he panted, laying his head against the wall while he caught his breath.  “Birdie, I just put all the bags away…”

You sighed, and the woman piped up again.  “I could still change it back for you, if the bags are too much trouble.”

“Please,” Tom breathed, and she nodded and started up with the keyboard again.  Rolling your eyes, you brushed past Tom flippantly.

“I’m gonna change,” you announced.

“Goin’ up to the room?” he asked.

“No, I was going to strip in the hallway and hope nobody walked through,” you replied snarkily.

“I was just gonna give you the key, birdie,” he smirked, pulling the plastic card out of his pocket.  You chewed your lip, regretting being so rude.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking it from him and moving along to the lift.

~

You’d only brought one swimsuit, the new one you’d bought just for this.  Maybe you’d had this crazy idea somewhere in the back of your mind that if you wore a tight little bikini, you’d finally get Tom’s attention and he’d stop seeing you just as the little girl he’d grown up with.  If you’d been a little less emotional and a touch more logical, you would’ve checked the weather first.

Yes, it was a beach, but it was still an English beach… the sky was grey and cloudy, and without sunlight, the ocean breeze was less refreshing and more chilly.  Very chilly, in fact, when you had hardly anything on like this.  You were trying so hard to act natural, to lay there on that chair on the beach and look as gorgeous as possible for whenever Tom came out, but it was so cold… every few seconds you were tensing up your jaw to try to fight off a shiver.

He came down a couple minutes later, wearing his swim trunks, but since he was apparently smarter than you, he was also wearing a half-zip jumper and a t-shirt underneath.  You pretended not to see him coming and laid still, only reacting to his presence with a polite wave when he was too close to ignore.

“Not gonna get much of a tan in this weather,” he noticed with a laugh as he sat next to you.

“I’m not tanning, I’m… relaxing,” you explained.

“Want me jumper, birdie?” he offered.  “You look freezing.”

“I-I’m fine,” you insisted, but your teeth chattered.  Next thing you knew, he was peeling it off over his head anyways— his shirt stuck to it and started to lift, too, exposing his stomach.  He managed to get the jumper off, though, and pulled it down over your face as you laughed and resigned yourself to your fate.  “Tommy, stop it,” you whined, batting his arms away so you could put the garment on yourself— he’d been trying to force it on you and accidentally trapped your face in one of the sleeves.

When you finally navigated your limbs through the borrowed sweater, popping your face out and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck inside the cotton for a moment, you saw him looking at you… different.  Just a little different, but different nonetheless.  You wrinkled your eyebrows together at him, and he shook his head with a little laugh, and it was all back to normal again.  “Should keep you warm,” he mumbled, turning back to the view of the ocean and bringing his feet up onto the chair.

“Thanks,” you nodded, watching him lift his hands up behind his head and sigh.

For a while, you two laid there in silence, the sound of the ocean waves and seabirds like a quiet, slow song.  If you weren't thinking constantly about whether or not Tom was looking at you, you might've been able to relax enough to fall asleep.  Apparently Tom wasn't all in his head because he dozed off within a couple minutes, and after that, you decided to get up and explore the beach a bit.  There were little shops dotted here and there, a gelato stand, a cosy open-air pub playing music over their speakers.

You stopped to watch some boys playing volleyball on the beach, and one of them seemed to notice you staring— and he smiled at you, just before he served; you had to be careful not to make yourself look stupid by suddenly smiling down at the sand and toying with your hair, but you desperately wanted to.  He was cute, and tall and, you know, shirtless.  They all were, but he probably looked the best that way of any of them.

He ended the round with a spike right beside the net, and his side of the court cheered while the others groaned and complained to each other.  You clapped for them, and the boy looked at you again; he said something to his friends, and with the ball still under his arm, he jogged over toward you.

"Hey," he greeted with a sideways, pearly-white smile.

"Hi," you returned.  

"Did you like watching us play?" he asked, glancing back at the net for a second.

"Yeah, you're really good," you nodded.  "Are you a real team or somethin'?"

"No, god no," he laughed, "we just play for fun.  Not many sandy beaches to play at in London."

"Oh, you're visiting from London?  What part?"

"Southeast," he replied.

You nodded.  "Oh…"

There wasn't much you could say to that because you didn't know anything about London; he chuckled, apparently realising just that.  "I guess you're from around here?"

"Sort of— an hour down the way but, yes, I'm from Cornwall," you agreed.

“You’ve got an interesting accent,” he noticed with a smirk.  “It’s cute, actually.”

“Oh, y’think?” you smiled shyly.  “Always heard growing up that a Cornish accent made me sound like a dumb farmer or somethin’.”

“It works on you, though,” he decided.

"Oi!  Come back and serve!" one of the boys by the net called, and your new friend turned his head around.

"Go on without me," he told them, tossing the ball over.  "I'm talking to, er…"

He looked back at you, and you stammered out your name; he repeated it back to you with a smile.

"I'm Devon," he told you.

"Well, hi, Devon," you smiled.

Aaaaand, just in time, you heard Tom’s voice calling after you: “Birdie!” he shouted from down the beach, and you turned and sighed as you waved back.  

In a moment, Tom was beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.

"Where'd you run off to, my lover?" Tommy asked with a tilted smile, but he didn't give you a chance to answer before he looked over at the other young man and back at you.  "Who's the emmet?"

"My name's Devon, not Emmett," the Londoner corrected, and you hoped your polite laugh would break the tension.

"No, Devon, 'emmet' is Cornish," you explained.  "It's what we call tourists."

Except, ‘incomer’ is what you call tourists.  Emmet is what you call annoying tourists.  And you knew Tom was annoyed by him because he was hitting on you.

"This your girl, then?" Devon asked Tom… a little straightforward, but that's just how Londoners are, maybe?

"What's it to you?" Tom wondered.

"Er—" you interjected immediately, "no, actually, Tom's just a friend," you coughed, knowing that even though it was a way to greet a good friend around here, Tom surely intended for it to be misinterpreted.

"Bloody hell.  Can't tell what you people are saying," Devon grumbled, and you spoke up before Tom surely asked what 'you people' was supposed to mean.

"Anyways, point is— Tom and I are good friends, known each other since we were kids," you continued.

"Really?" Devon pressed.

“Yep," Tom replied with a beaming smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, "she’s been me best mate since we were wee babes,” he beamed.  

“A bird’s your best mate?” Devon scoffed.  “Sure you’re not bent?”

“I’m bent?  You’re the one spendin’ all your time with a bunch of blokes with no shirts on, mate,” Tom defended.

Devon stepped forward and you had to jut yourself in between them to keep it from getting too heated.  “Okay, lads, let’s settle down, then—”

“Be careful,” Tom warned Devon, and you jabbed him with your elbow as punishment.

“I said to stop it, alright?” you hissed at Tom.  “Doesn’t matter, Tommy.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Devon snickered, and you literally had to lean all your weight onto Tommy to keep him from trying to dive right over you to pummell the bellend.

"Let's go," you informed Tommy as you scoffed at Devon.  Wrapping a hand around Tom's waist, you guided him to walk with you back down the beach, away from the possibility of a fight.

Tommy could find a fight anywhere— even on the beach on holiday.  It was a real talent of his.

"You're horrible!" you whined as you punched Tom on his side.

"What did I do now?" he groaned.

"You scared that boy off, he was cute and he was flirting with me."

"Exactly!" Tommy emphasised, and you rolled your eyes.  "He turned out to be a wanker, anyhow, you heard him making fun of our accent, didn't you?"

"I think he was just making fun of your accent," you frowned.

"We've got the same one," Tom noticed.

"Well— just stop doing that!  You always do that."

"Sorry, birdie,” he shrugged, not seeming especially sorry.

You sighed and decided to let it go, because it wasn’t worth the argument.  “What’s next, then?  Think I’ve had enough of the beach.”

“Pub?” he suggested, and you laughed.

“Hardly late enough for that, don’t you think?” you snorted.

“Okay, dinner first, then pub,” he offered instead.

“That’s better.”

~

There were a few pubs along your walk back from dinner, but only one that had the rugby match on; so, of course, that was the one Tom picked.  It was almost entirely empty when you came inside, and since the match had gone to commercial break, Tom decided now was the best time to run to the loo.

“Order me something?” he requested.  “Whatever you’re getting.”

You nodded and he dashed off down a hallway.  Sitting at the bar, currently unattended with no other patrons but yourself, you looked up at the telly on the wall and caught a couple seconds of a car commercial.

“Can I get you anything?” 

The voice made you turn your head away from the telly, and you were surprised to find a boy your age on the other side of the bar.

“Oh, erm,” you choked, “just something on tap?  M’not picky.”

“There’s a stout we brew right here in the neighbourhood,” he suggested, “you might like it.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, “and one for my friend.”

“Great,” he smiled, bending down below the bar and reappearing with two pint glasses in hand.  You watched him as he tilted the glasses and filled them from the tape, admiring his tan skin and longer hair— he had that surfer look about him, in a Cornwall sort of way.

“Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?” you noticed.

He laughed, revealing some dimples in the process.  “And you’re one to talk?” he shot back.

“I’m old enough to be served, aren’t I?” you challenged.

“Well actually, I was gonna ask for your ID,” he admitted, “but, you’re cute, so I decided to let it slide.”

You looked down as he set your drink on the bar for you.  “Thanks,” you hummed.  You tried it, giving him a nod of approval when the taste hit your tongue— it was pretty mild, and sort of grapefruit-y somehow.

“In town for holiday?” he assumed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and he clicked his tongue.

“Too bad,” he shook his head.  “When are you going back home?”

“Thursday.”

“And where’s home?” he asked.  “You sound local.”

“Yeah, I am,” you agreed, “about an hour north.”

“Liskeard?” he guessed, and you shook your head.  “Launceston?”

“Closer,” you smiled.

“Bradworthy?”

“Oh, too far…”

“Holsworthy,” he grinned.

“Got it,” you nodded.

“Seems like it’d be easier to just drive up to Westward Ho! wouldn’t it?” he tilted his head.

“I try not to go anywhere that has an exclamation mark in the name,” you explained, and he chuckled a little.  

“I guess that’s fair,” he shrugged, “and it’s a good thing you came here anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I get to look at you,” he cooed.

You took a sip of the beer to hide your warming face.  When you brought the glass back down, he laughed at you softly.

“Got some foam on your nose, my bird,” he warned you, reaching forward to wipe it off with his thumb.

“Oh, th-thanks,” you stammered, watching him put his thumb to his mouth and suck that bit of foam off while he kept looking at you.  What a flirt!  Do it again.

Tom came back from the washroom and sat on the stool next to yours, thanking you for ordering his beer for him before he took a large drink of it.

"O-oh," the bartender choked, and you knew that look— the ‘shit, you've got a boyfriend’ look.  

You sighed.  "Hey, um— this is my friend, Tom," you explained.

"Wasson?" Tom greeted him, nodding his head quickly in acknowledgement.

"Not much, mate," he replied, "Cade.”

“Tom,” he answered back as if he didn’t already know that, not going so far as to shake hands since Tom was holding his glass and Cade was holding a rag to wipe down the bar.

“She was just telling me you're only here for a spell,” Cade recalled, “which is a proper shame.”  

You smiled shyly.  “Oh, yeah, well, I wish our holiday could be longer, too.”

“Always the prettiest maids just here on holiday,” Cade nodded, looking at Tom.  “You know how it is, don’t you?  You’re from a holiday town, too, I heard.”

Not quite as popular as your current location, but yes, vacationers would occasionally appear in town.  You’d never noticed this ‘girls visiting from up-country are prettier’ principle, but your eyes turned to Tom expectantly.  “Uh, yeah,” Tommy nodded.  “Yeah, I know how it is.  And half of them have boyfriends back home.”

It made your heart sink a bit— what you would give to have one of those.  Or to have Tommy say no, the prettiest bird’s right here with me now.  Or both.

“But that doesn’t stop all of them,” he added with a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re awful, Tommy,” you shoved him lightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his bottom lip.

Cade gestured at Tom’s rugby union shirt— “You play?” he asked.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Tom nodded, “you?”

“I just watch,” he shrugged, pointing at the telly in the corner.  “Cooped up in this pub all the time, anyway.”

“That’s no excuse,” Tom chided, “gotta get out there and get roughed up!”

“That’s what surfing’s for,” Cade smirked.

“Okay, now I’m definitely not going,” you shook your head.  “I don’t wanna get roughed up by the ocean!”

“I said I would teach her,” Tom informed Cade, “now look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry,” Cade laughed, “you’ll be fine, and you’ve come at just the right time of year for it.”

“That’s what I said!” Tom agreed.

Oh god, were they actually getting on alright?  Would Tom give his approval, finally?  

You sipped your stout and let them go on about rugby and football teams for a while, letting yourself get your hopes up that Tom would actually like a guy who liked you— and sure, he was a barkeep in your holiday spot, not exactly the foundation for a serious relationship, but it would be nice to have a little fling without worrying that Tom would end up beating him up.

Tom was the one who made fun of you sometimes for being a virgin, anyway.  He never meant it— actually, when he occasionally took the time to be serious, he assured you better than anyone else that it was perfectly normal and fine to still be one.  But still, you weren’t exactly trying to hang onto it much longer.  Tom told you to wait for the right person; but you’d been waiting for him for way too long.

Watching the match together, you and Tom put down a few pints and laughed at some stupid old inside jokes— Cade tended to stick around, chatting with you both, when there weren’t other customers to serve.  You caught him glancing at you a few times, and you liked how you felt when he looked at you like that— desirable, maybe even grown up.  You and Tom had been friends since you were little, after all, and since he treated you the exact same way he always had, sometimes you still felt little around him.  But you weren’t.  It was good to remember that.

The match ended— Cornwall won, thank god, or you’d be babying Tom all night after he drowned his sorrows in something stronger than the local stout.  He still drank a little too much to celebrate, but less too much.

Enough that he had to go to the loo again, though, at which point Cade was suddenly right by you again.  “Your friend’s funny,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “he’s not always that loud, but, yeah, he’s never been very subtle.”

“And he’s just a friend?” 

You rolled your eyes.  “Yes,” you insisted, and you focused your tone on your annoyance and not your disappointment.

“Just checking!” Cade returned defensively.  “How long have you known him?” 

“My whole life,” you sighed.  “Can’t remember a time without him.  He’s just… always been there.”

Cade nodded.  “That’s nice, wish I had a friend like that.  People come and go a lot in a place like this.”

“I bet,” you offered sympathetically.  “And your girlfriend?  Does she come and go, or stick around?”

“What?  I don’t have a girlfriend,” he frowned.

“Just checking,” you winked.

“Why, you think I should get one?” he raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged.  “If you can find one…”

His eyes dragged over you, his smile fading slightly; you pretended not to be totally overwhelmed by it all.

“Cade!” a voice shouted from the back, and an older woman poked her head out of the kitchen as Cade turned his head.  “Come back here an’ clean up!”

“I will, mum!” he called back, before returning his attention to you.  “Listen, I’d better get back to work— but you could come by tomorrow?  If you wanted.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think I’ll find the time.”

“Tom can come too, of course,” he added, leaning closer to you on the bar, “but… I’d rather have some time alone with you, if that’s alright.”

Reaching up to scratch your shoulder, you bit your lip to hide a smile.  “Okay, yeah—” you set your hands back down on the bar when you saw the way he was looking at you, “yeah, I’d like that, too.  I’m sure Tommy can find some way to entertain himself for an hour.”

Cade’s hand landed on yours suddenly, giving it a quick squeeze while he winked at you.  And then he threw the rag over his shoulder and disappeared into the back.  You pursed your lips and exhaled through them; it had been a while since you had butterflies like that.  

Tom came back around the corner, leaning beside you on the wooden bar, and you giggled when you saw how red his nose had gotten from the booze.  “Tommy, you look like you’ve stuck your face in blusher,” you noticed.

“Aw, really?” he scrunched up his nose, wiping it with his hand.

“You can’t wipe it off!” you laughed harder.  “Cade’s gone to the back to work— wanna go on a walk, take a geek at the rest of the neighbourhood?”

“Sure,” he agreed, letting you take his hand and pull him along with you out the door and around the pavement.  You walked in silence for a few moments, glancing at him once, before you just had to bring it up.

“So, Cade was nice…” you trailed off.  You looked at Tom expectantly, wearing a hopeful smile, but you hadn't even said anything yet before he expressed his dissent.

“No, no way,” he shook his head, ignoring your protests, “not good enough for you.”

“What?  Tommy, what’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tom repeated.  “Birdie, what’s right with him?”

“I thought you liked him!” you whined.  “He was so nice to you, and you talked rugby for ages!”

“Was looking at you funny,” he shuddered.

“Well, I’d hope so,” you rolled your eyes, “doesn’t that mean he’s interested?”

“That’s what you want, creepy guys drooling all over you?” Tom snorted.  “Come on, let’s go— I don’t want you seeing that sod again.”

You groaned, but let him drape his arm over your shoulders and guide you away.  “You shouldn’t be so protective, Tom… this is why everyone thinks you’re either my brother or my boyfriend.”

“If it keeps the boys away from you, I don’t care what they think,” he decided.  You rolled your eyes as he pulled your head down with his arm, enough that he could plant a kiss on top of your head.  “There, now they’ll think I’m your boyfriend, how about that?”

“You kiss me all the time,” you laughed.

“Eh?”

“On the head,” you clarified.  “You give me kisses on the head, doesn’t make you my boyfriend.”

“Guess not,” he agreed.  

Halfway along your walk, you passed a park which Tom decided would be the perfect place to share a cigarette— actually, he was just going to smoke it himself, but you made him share.

“Remember your sixth birthday party?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, after a drag.  “You tripped and sprained your ankle running in the backyard that day, but you stopped crying when we gave you your presents.”

You laughed at the memory.  “God, I barely remember— but yeah.”

He handed the cigarette to you and you rested it between your lips.  “Do you remember what I got you?” he continued.

“A Barbie,” you recalled, “wasn’t it?  She was some little princess or something, can’t remember now.”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “Well, I want you to know that before I gave her to you, I took her out of the box and took her clothes off.”

“What?!” you snorted, making a cloud of smoke 

“I had to know!” he laughed.  “I put them back on and put her back in the box and everything first before I gave her to you.”

“Yeah, I think I would remember getting a naked Barbie, Tom,” you scoffed, and he carefully plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took it back.

“Right, well—” he stopped to inhale, and then let it out as he continued— “she had plastic panties on anyway.  Wasn’t worth it,” he shook his head.

You dropped your forehead into your palm.  “The fuck are you talking about?” you giggled. 

“Just that time of night where you feel like confessing things, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” you pressed.  “Any other childhood toys of mine that you violated?”

“Took a geek up the skirt of a Cabbage Patch Kid or two,” he added, “but that’s about it.”

“Well, we all did that,” you rolled your eyes, and he grinned at you.

“Oh, I knew it,” he purred, “I think you were just as much of a pervert as I was.”

“Yeah?  But you’re still a pervert,” you accused.

“Maybe,” he relented, “but at least I’m not a prude.”

You looked away quickly.  “M’not a prude, Tommy…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, handing you the last quarter of the cigarette, “you’re just picky.  And you should be.”

He suddenly laid his head down on your lap, making you tense up a little bit and wonder where you were supposed to put your hands.

“Nobody deserves you anyway,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he adjusted himself to get comfortable on the bench.

“Well, that doesn’t really solve my problem, does it?” you said, speaking a little quieter.

“What’s the problem?” he wondered sleepily.

You sighed, holding the cigarette in your mouth as you reached down and carded your fingers through his hair.  He hummed and smiled a little.  “Nothing,” you dismissed, and he started to breathe slower and slower.  

You finished the cigarette over the course of the next however-long-it-had-been, absent-mindedly touching his head and playing with his hair, and only noticed that Tom had dozed off when you felt a wet patch under his mouth on your legs.

“Eww, Tommy!” you whined, shoving him off of you as he tried to wake up.  “When I said I wanted guys to drool over me, this is not what I meant.”

“Sorry, love,” he laughed, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Think that’s our cue to go back to the room and go to bed, eh?”

~

He didn’t say anything before he got in the shower, so you didn’t know what to expect when he got out: was he going to suddenly realise there was only one bed?  Had he already and just didn’t care?  Were you supposed to protest, or act like it was no big deal, or what?

When he emerged from the steamy bathroom in his pyjamas— aka, just his fuzzy plaid trousers, the ever-present friendship bracelet, and the chain on his neck— he found you standing in the middle of the room, staring at the singular bed, and gave you a confused look.

“I guess you saw when you brought our bags up,” you mumbled nervously.  

“Eh?”

“The bed.”  You motioned towards it, and he wrinkled his eyebrows together.

“What about it?” he shrugged.

“There’s only one of it!”

“Oh,” he nodded, “yeah, guess so.”

“So, we’ll have to share,” you helped him reach the obvious conclusion.

“Oh,” he said again, “you think it’ll be weird?”

“I mean, I figure,” you shrugged.

“I’ll take the couch,” he insisted.

“No, Tommy, let me,” you pleaded.

“You jokin’?  I’m supposed to let a maid sleep on the couch?”

“Didn’t realise you were such a gentleman,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

“Aren’t I?” he smirked.

You felt bad about it, but he was already putting a spare sheet down on the sofa while you were getting through your nighttime routine.  Leaning out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, you caught a glimpse of him laying there on the couch with one arm up behind his head and the other holding the book he’d been reading as of late— one of those fantasy novels that were much too violent for you.  He looked past the top of it to smile at you, and you popped back in to wrap up.

You were just wearing a baggy old t-shirt that was just long enough on you to cover your red panties, which you felt mostly not-weird about wearing around Tom, though walking past him to get to bed made you shiver a little bit.

“G’night,” he offered.

“You too,” you replied quietly, and he reached up above his head to switch off the lamp.

Sure, it was you who had worried about the whole bed-sharing thing in the first place, but that was only because you were pre-emptively worrying that he would worry about it.  It was sort of a lose-lose: if he was against it, then you’d feel dejected, but if he was fine with it, it was another way for him to rub it in that you could hold him but never have him.

Still, now that you were alone in this big old bed, you couldn’t help but think that at least it was nice you could hold him… but he was all the way over there.

You chewed your lip, trying to stay quiet.  You made it about thirty seconds.  “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Think you’ll fall asleep alright on that?” you wondered.

“Should be asleep in a couple minutes, once you’re quiet,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.  You made it a whole minute before you spoke again.  “Tommyyyyy,” you whined.

“What!” he snapped.

“I can’t sleep, I feel too bad!” you pouted.  “Just get in the bed?  We fall asleep together all the time!  What’s the difference?”

“Difference is it’s all night,” he explained, “haven’t done that since we were eight— and you kicked me in your sleep!”

“Are you seriously going to sleep on that musty old sofa, and leave me alone here in the king bed, just because you’re still mad at me for kicking you?”

“Not just that,” he mumbled, “you snore, too.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, “just come over, won’t you?  I’m cold anyways…”

He paused as he considered it.  “There’s room for me?”

“Tons,” you promised.

You heard him throw the blanket off of himself, and you smiled instantly.  In a moment, he was diving into the bed, and you laughed as the mattress creaked; he laid next to you on his back, and you reached an arm around his torso while setting your head on his shoulder.

He smelled so good after his shower, clean and woodsy from his deodorant, and his curls held their shape despite being wet still.

“Should’ve known you’d be like a barnacle soon as I got in here,” he chuckled.

“I said I was cold,” you reminded him, hugging his waist tighter.

“Night, birdie,” he whispered after he kissed the top of your head.  With him holding you, you were asleep in an instant.

It was one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly, like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes.  You would’ve thought it was still the middle of the night when you woke up, if it weren’t for the sun coming in through the open window.

Specifically, you woke up because of a long sigh right by your ear, making you blink your eyes open quickly and start to stretch your legs out under the sheet and blanket.  You were on your side, and Tommy was pressed right up on your back, his arm draped around your torso.

He sighed again, and you felt him shift around against you.  Most importantly, you felt something hard and hot on your lower back.   Eyes going wide, you jolted as you felt him rock his hips against you again.

"Tommy," you whispered, hoping to wake him up.

"Mm," he hummed, smiling against your neck, and you shuddered.

"Tommy!" you hissed, and he snorted as he woke up suddenly.

He pulled back and all but jumped away from you.  “Shit, I—” he mumbled, sitting up as the bed creaked; god, his face was so red, he looked adorably flustered and a bit terrified.  “I’m sorry, birdie, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” you insisted, sitting up with him, “it’s not a big deal.”

“What’d you say?  It’s not big?” he choked.

“No!  Tommy, it’s—” you stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say then.  “I know that happens to guys in the mornings…”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously, “happens when we’re in bed with pretty girls, too…”

Before you could wonder if there was something to read into there, he spoke again.

“I’m fucked,” he groaned, running his hand down over his face, “what’s the time?”

“Ten ‘til 9,” you informed him following a glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“We’ve got that breakfast soon, we’re supposed to meet downstairs in five minutes,” he recalled.  “And I can’t get dressed ‘til he’s gone away.”

“How do you normally get rid of it?” you wondered, watching him look at you for a second before looking away again.

“Well…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.

“Well?” you pressed.

“Y-y’know,” he stammered, “it’s— er— fuckin’ hell, birdie, can’t say it with you lookin’ at me like that…”

“C’mon, Tommy, I know you wank off,” you rolled your eyes, “you and every other bloke on the planet.”

“But I can’t do it with you here!” he yelped, and a pang of self-consciousness hit your chest.  Were you that horrible of a sight that he wouldn’t be able to finish with you nearby?

“I-I’ll leave then, give you some space,” you offered.

“Birdie, I’ll know you’re just outside the door, that’s not gonna help,” he frowned.

“Well shit, Tommy, where’dya want me to go?  Fuckin’ Launceston?”

“No, shit, that’s not what I meant,” he groaned, reaching up and covering his face as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.  “You’ve just got me all messed up— s’not your fault, I mean!  I just don’t know what m’gonna do now…”

You bit your lip, glancing over at the flowery wallpaper on the opposite side of the room, then to the window and its view out over the beach.  “I mean, maybe… maybe if it would help, I could…”

“Jesus, birdie, don’t say you’re gonna wank me off or somethin’,” he pleaded with a concerned tilt of his head, and you stammered as you tried to remember what you were going to say.

“No, I— I was gonna say you could…” you began again, “er— I mean, before, while you were asleep, you were… it was…”

“What?” he pressed, leaning a little closer to you, and you chickened out.

“Nevermind, sorry,” you shook your head, “you should just get dressed— nobody’ll notice it.”

That was a lie: if it looked as big as it felt, a family of four could go camping under the tent in his shorts at this point.  “No, c’mon,” he pleaded, scooting a little closer to you, “won’t make fun of you or nothin’, just wanna know what you were gonna say.  You know I can’t run down to breakfast with my willy tryin’ to jump out, yeah?  Like, ‘hey mum an’ dads, pass me the eggs, then— don’t mind my fuckin’ blood sausage under the table—’”

You laughed, pushing him on the chest— but he just moved closer, again, looking right at your face.  You felt oddly exposed to him, even though he should’ve been the one feeling like that considering the circumstances.  “Fine,” you relented, “I was just… thought maybe you could— well, it could help you if you, um… just… pressed up against me, again?  Like you were before?  And you could, er…”

Dropping your voice to a mumble just above a whisper, you watched your hands clutch the spotted quilt in lieu of meeting his invasive stare.

“You could… grind on me, a bit,” you finally completed, so quiet that you barely heard yourself.  But he was a few inches away— he must’ve heard you.  Literally, he must have, because you couldn’t say it again.

“Eh?” he grunted, and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, Tommy, you’re not deaf, are you?”

“No, m’just… you wan’ me to rub me stiffy on you?” he realised, tilting his chin down and raising an eyebrow.  Leave it to Tommy to throw all the subtlety to the wind and just say it outright like that, ignorant to the way it made your cheeks burn and your throat catch.

“I-I mean, I don’t want you to,” you denied quickly, “I just thought it might go away if you did.  Means to an end, right?”

“Yeah, means to an end,” he agreed, clearing his throat.  “Just feel a little weird about it, birdie, I mean… it’s you.  You know I love ya— don’t wanna be rude to you or, er, disrespectful—”

“It’s not,” you promised, “I’m offering— and it’ll be quick, right?”

“Er, yeah,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, “should be…”

“Okay, then, should we?” you asked, sheepishly raising your eyebrows as you looked at him.

“I mean, fuck, birdie,” he laughed nervously, “I think you know we shouldn’t.”

But you both already knew that you were going to, and the thrill of something so forbidden titillated you further.

“Lay down then, yeah?” he instructed you softly, and you turned back onto your side as you felt him press up to your back.  His arm slipped around your front, the one with your bracelet on his wrist, and you could feel him breathing by the back of your neck as he brushed your hair out of the way.  “This alright?” 

You nodded, and he held you a little tighter; you felt it then, brushing up against your lower back.  You were getting sweaty from how warm it was with him pressed up on you under the thick covers, yet you still shivered.

He hummed quietly, his hand moving down your hips so he could hold you steady.  And he rocked into you again, more confidently, a shaky breath falling from his lips.  

When his forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, you felt your back arch slightly; and then you could feel the ridge under the head of his cock, you could feel it when he moved in one, long stroke and you bit your lip, arching your back deeper.

“Shit,” he grunted quietly, and he started to move a little faster right after he said that.

After just a minute or less of that, you were beyond desperate to have him inside you, you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like— about how he would stretch you open, how he would moan for you as he filled you to the brim.  If he wanted to, right now, he could just lift up your shirt a bit and pull your panties down without saying anything, slip inside you in one go; you were soaking wet, he’d slide in so easily…

“Fuck, birdie,” he breathed, “roll over.”

His verbal command was a bit moot, since his hand was already on your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your back.  He hovered above you for a moment, and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered; you’d only been waiting years for him to say that to you.  You did it unquestioningly, and he slotted himself between them with a low groan.  When he pressed his cock up against your aching cunt— through so many frustrating layers of pyjamas— he shut his eyes and tossed his head back for a second.  It was so perfect, his face in bliss like that, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains and making his curls shine golden-blonde.  He looked fucking beautiful.

A little gasp jumped in your mouth as he started to thrust against you again, each stroke of his hips rubbing right over your clit and making his chain dangle over your face.  You almost felt guilty, for a second, with the little engraving of Saint Thomas right there, like he was watching you do this.  “Sh-shit, Tommy…” you hissed, catching yourself before you moaned aloud when he rocked his hip harder against you and your whole pussy clenched.  If only he could feel that now— if only he could feel around his cock how desperately you needed him.

He descended down upon you, burying his face in your neck.  His hair tickled your cheek, and you fisted at the sheets to stop yourself from reaching up and holding onto him— that would be too much, too needy, right?  It was just supposed to be a means to an end, after all.  “Can I kiss you here?” he asked under his breath.

“Er, why would you do that?” you wondered.

“Just— thought it might make it go faster,” he justified.

“Y-yeah, Tommy, s’fine,” you nodded.  Do whatever you want to me.

He latched on right away, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth all over your neck; everything in you fought to keep your moans down, because you didn’t want him to know how much you loved this, how close you were to coming without even doing anything… without even taking your clothes off!

“Are you close?” you asked him softly, feeling him nod.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and his heavy breathing cooled your skin where it was still wet with his spit.  “Just a little longer?”

“You’re not gonna give me a hickey, are you?” you whispered.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied.  

“Just— make it quick, Tommy, we’ve gotta be downstairs soon,” you reminded him.

“Right, yeah, m’gonna come,” he promised, sending another chill over your body.  One of his hands moved down, holding your thigh as he thrusted faster and faster— fuck, the headboard was about to hit the wall.  Just as you looked up to see it slam once, you saw his free hand reach up and grab onto it tightly, blocking the impact with his knuckles.

“Tommy,” you breathed, an involuntary reaction to how deliberately sexy that was.

“Say it again,” he requested quietly.

“Tommy,” you repeated, and he grunted right against your ear— he didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed down quite a bit as he rutted on you.  

“Fuck,” he sighed, panting.  You swallowed, feeling wonderfully strange knowing that must be it, that he just came— because of you.  His weight sank down onto you, making you let out a little squeal from the air rushing out of your lungs, and he laughed quietly.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up and hovering above you again, “didn’t mean to crush you…”

“S’all fine, Tom,” you promised, closing your legs as soon as you had the chance— before he could see that you’d soaked through your panties

“Oh, ‘Tom’, eh?  Gettin’ formal, are we?” he grinned.  “Now that you’ve got me to bust in me trousers, we’re not so friendly anymore?”

“Shut up,” you laughed as you pushed him aside, swinging your legs off the bed so you could get up.  “Gonna use the loo and then I’ll get dressed.”

“What?!” he croaked.  “You kidding?  Of course I get to use the loo first!”

“Not if I get there before you,” you challenged, jumping up and trying to race him across the hotel room.  He beat you, but only by playing dirty— he ran up behind you and grabbed you, spinning you around as you kicked and laughed and squirmed in his grasp.

two weeks later

Moonshine on the bay had become a tradition on nights like this, when the warmth of summer was creeping around the corner, ever since you were both fifteen and in desperate need of some rebellion.  Now, without the illegality and all, it had lost some of that titillating appeal, but you still loved going out so late and meeting him at your secret spot.  It had the perfect view of the water at night, not that it was a particularly scenic section of the sea since it was mostly cargo ships and docks and all that, but under the flickering old street lamp and the tall field elms, it was almost romantic.

Tommy was currently still standing while you leaned back on your hands, brandishing the liquor he’d secured for the evening.  “For you,” he offered you the opened bottle with a smile, and you took it, but waited for him to take a sip of his first.  He did, and you saw his lips curling as he drank.

“How is it?” you asked, and he stopped drinking to cough a bit.

“It’s hangin’!” he grimaced.  “But it’ll do the job.”

You took a sip while he sat down next to you, and made a face of your own.  “Ah fuck!  That’s terrible!  Where the fuck’d you get this?”

But you knew what he meant when he said it would do the job— one sip was already warming your chest, and the next, though just as disgusting as the last, made you feel tingly at the tips of your fingers.

With your bottles halfway finished, you two sat up in the grass and watched the lights of ships go by slowly in the night.  “Had a date last night,” you blurted out suddenly, just to make conversation.

“Really?  With who?”

“You remember Jack Meyer?”

“God, I wish I didn’t,” he sneered, “what a knob.”

“Could you stop insulting all the guys I go out with?” you frowned.

“Stop going out with knobs and I will,” he bargained.

“Anyways, he was nice,” you announced firmly.  “Took me to the cinema and bought me a popcorn.”

“What size?” he asked.

“Medium.”

“Cheap bastard,” Tom grumbled.

“Shut up!  I’m trying to tell you that it was a nice date!” you yelped, pushing him on the shoulder.  “We actually, um… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“What?” he wondered.

“I mean, I tell you everything— you tell me everything.  You told me when Sharon Caldwell let you feel her tits in eighth grade, and you told me when you lost it to Annie— what was her name again?”

“Annie Shaw,” he finished for you.

“Right… so, point is, I figured I should tell you what happened with me and Jack, right?” you wondered.  When you found the courage to look over at Tommy, his expression was… intense.  Almost angry, a little terrified.

“Don’t tell me you gave it up to him,” he pleaded, leaning in a little closer.

“God no!  I just wanked him a bit.”

"You did what to 'im?!" Tommy yelped.

"W-well, I dunno!" you backpedalled quickly. 

“Aw, birdie, you can do so much better than him,” he groaned.

“Okay, maybe so, but he’s the one I wanted to go out with.  And he was nice and he made me feel— I dunno, pretty?” you mumbled, afraid to sound too girlish.

“Come on, you can’t go rubbing off any guy who calls you pretty,” Tom scolded.

“This isn’t just any guy!”

“Yeah, it’s Jack Meyer.  In fourth year he swallowed a penny and it never came out!”

“Believe it or not, Tommy, it's not fourth year anymore,” you frowned.  “Things are different.  We’re older.  I’m not a little kid— and I’m tired of being treated like one!”

He sighed slowly, taking another swig of the booze.  “I guess that’s fair,” he relented.  “Still… can’t stand thinking about you doing that to some guy.”

"Why?"

He seemed confused by your question, and gave you a look.

"Why can't you stand thinking about it?" you interrogated.

"I… I don't know…"  He coughed a bit, clearly wanting to change the subject, but you kept staring at him as you waited for an answer.  “I guess it’s just that,” he began again, “I worry because it’s Jack, you know?  He’s a little aggressive with girls— or, he was back when I knew him.  He didn’t… pressure you into it, right?”

You thought back to the night before, and how it all happened.  “Erm, no,” you decided, “not really.”

“Not really?  What’s that mean?”

“Well, he didn’t make me do it,” you explained, “but he was… showing me how, ‘cause I didn’t know.”

“Sh-showing you?” Tom repeated.

“He, erm, he took my hand,” you remembered, feeling your heart start to race as you looked at Tom closely.  “And he put it… he put it right here.”

It was the liquor that made you do it; you pressed your hand up to the front of his trousers, feeling him getting firmer under your touch already.  He jumped a little but didn’t stop you.

"He told me to take it out for him…" you continued, voice wavering as your whole body was suddenly shivering from nervousness, and started to open his trousers yourself.

“Birdie,” Tom gasped, and you looked up to his face again.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked him point blank.  He didn’t say anything.  “Can I keep going?”

His mouth was open slightly, and he was breathing heavily through it; he nodded.  You unzipped his fly and reached in, navigating the opening of his boxers to get his cock out.  

Of course, you’d felt it before, but you’d never seen it.  It was as beautiful as a cock could be, you thought: tanner than the rest of him for some reason, flushed at the tip, still just starting to poke out from his foreskin with a teal vein running up under your palm.  Biting your lip, you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around it.  “H-he told me to stroke it, like this,” you stammered, moving your hand gently and slowly from the base to the tip and back— then again, and again.

Daring to glance up at Tom’s face again, you saw him watching your hand with a dumbstruck expression.  You twisted your hand slightly as you reached the tip and he groaned.  "Birdie…" he sighed— his voice wore some impossible mixture of arousal, confusion, scolding, disappointment, and desperation.  It made your knees weak.  Good thing you were still kneeling on the ground, so it didn’t make much difference.  You were so sloshed that standing up would’ve been a bit of an effort, anyway.

“When I was doing it right,” you continued, “he’d tell me I was bein’ good for him… it made me feel weird when he said that, but good.  You know?”

“Y-yeah…” he choked, hissing through his teeth.  

It went on that way for a little while, just his panting and the crickets chirping; though there was clear fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, you thought it might not be enough, so you pursed your lips and let your spit dribble down onto him so you could spread it out with your hand.

“Christ,” he groaned, “Jack taught you that, too?”

You nodded, and he growled a little— the sound made your chest tighten up (as well as a few other places).  His cock was starting to bob against your grip, and his breathing was faster and heavier with each stroke.  "You're close?" you noticed, and he nodded, chest heaving as he stared down at what you were doing to him.  "You can come, Tom.  I want you to."

"Shit," he hissed.  "Shit, jus' don't stop then."

And you didn't, in fact you moved your hand even faster, until it was just a blur and he was bucking up into your palm desperately.

"Ah, fuck!" he gasped, and come started to spurt from his pulsing cock, landing on his shirt and your hand.  "Fuck…"

You watched his face as it tilted back, his eyebrows knitted together, his mouth parted in a little moan.  Your hand was still moving, and his jumped up to grab your wrist and stop you.  Then it was still, and silent, except for him breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

After a moment, he tilted his head down again and came back to reality; he instantly looked mortified.  "God, birdie," he choked, "I made a mess on you— m'so sorry, let me get it…"

He tried to wipe the come away with his shirt, frantically cleaning your hand up as best he could.  "It's fine, Tommy," you giggled.

"No it isn't, I've got your pretty hand all dirty now…"

Examining his focused expression as he wiped up the smears of come, you bit your lip slightly.  You did feel guilty for making up that whole story about a date with Jack Meyer that never did— and never would— happen, but it worked.  You’d never lied to Tommy like that before, but you decided to blame it on the liquor and not your desperation.  

In the two weeks since your holiday, nothing untoward whatsoever had happened between you and it was driving you crazy.  You didn’t even talk about it!  You, of course, thought about it every day— well, really every night, when you touched yourself and tried to remember exactly how his voice sounded in your ear.  That was what drove you to this, to getting drunk and making shit up for a chance to touch him.

"Kiss me," you said suddenly.  He looked up at your face, and you just stared at each other for a second.  

His hand dropped yours— it was clean now, or clean enough at least— and moved up to hold your face.  You sighed slightly; his thumb stroked your cheek and he smiled at you.

He gently tilted your head down and met you halfway, pressing his lips to your forehead.  Your chest deflated and your eyes fell shut.  So this is what heartbreak feels like.  It's not as bad as I thought.

"That better?" he asked as he pulled back, moving his own face down so he could look up at you with a tender smile.  You nodded, willing yourself not to cry in front of him now.  

You were throwing yourself at him and he was throwing you away.  "We'll always be friends, won't we?" you asked quietly.

"Aw, birdie— of course," he cooed, pulling you into a hug.  You clutched at his shoulders, digging your nails into handfuls of his ratty old Nirvana t-shirt.

He rolled back onto the grass and pulled you down with him, making you laugh and try to get away— but he wouldn't let you go.

"We'll always be friends," he promised again, "'cause otherwise who'd keep all those awful boys away from you?"

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes.

"I will," he sighed, relaxing his grip on you slightly.  "I'm gonna ease up on you, I think.  Let you date somebody if you want— even if he's a tosser.  'Cause you're right, you're not a little kid anymore.  And it's not fair to you."

You swallowed, laying your head on his chest.  You'd never actually wanted him to let you date someone else… you just wanted him to finally love you back.  But maybe this was the best you were going to get.

~

“Go, Tommy!” you cheered from the side of the pitch, though he surely couldn’t hear you through all that.. rugby-ing.  Rugbing?

Whatever— point is, you clapped and hollered anyways as you watched him run all over the place, narrowly dodging being tackled a few times.  You winced when he got taken down from the side by one of the biggest guys out there.  Tommy had a high pain tolerance, but you’d rather not see him lose a tooth or something.  What a waste of a perfect smile that would be.

For all their efforts, Tommy’s team lost by just a few points; it was just a scrimmage, hence why there was basically no one else here but you and the actual team members, so you hoped he wouldn’t be pouty the rest of the day after losing.  He didn’t seem to be, from what you could tell this far away— he was shaking hands and bumping fists, sweaty and streaked with dirt and grass as he chugged from his water bottle.  It really should not have been as attractive as it was…

Before you got caught ogling, someone caught your attention: “Hey,” one of the players jogged up to you, and you blinked up at him blankly, not sure who he was.  You’d definitely seen him before, you remembered his dreads and… overall massiveness.  But you weren’t sure what he was talking to you for.  “You’re here with Tom, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you smiled.

“He said you’re an old mate of his,” the player went on.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Sweet of you to come cheer him on,” he laughed, “even though it didn’t seem to do him much good today.”

You shrugged.  “He loses a lot, but he always gets back up.”

“I’m Rhys, by the way,” he offered.  “I’d shake your hand or somethin’, but I’m pretty filthy at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed.  “Surprised you haven’t gone to the showers already, that’d be the first thing I’d be doing after getting that sweaty.”

“Well, I was gonna,” he explained, “but, well, I was afraid you’d be gone before I got back.”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, and he continued on.

“Listen, I asked Tom, but I figured I should ask you… er…” he stalled as he smiled nervously.  “Have you got a boyfriend or anythin’?”

“Er, no,” you answered.

“Issuh?” he laughed.

“Yes!” you insisted.  “You think I’m lying or something?”

“I think it’s a little too good to be true, that’s all,” he explained.  “Girl like you shouldn’t stay single too long.”

You kept waiting for Tommy to come ruin it— to come rescue you.  You glanced over, and you saw him look back at you, but he just smiled and kept working on the laces of his cleats.

“So, I guess I should ask for your number before it’s too late, yeah?” Rhys continued.  You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up at him and dropping your mouth open as you hoped for some words to come out.

“Oh!  Erm,” you began, “well—”

“It’s okay if not,” he promised, “but, you know… I’d like it.  So I can call you sometime or something— maybe I’ll have worked up the nerve to ask you out by then.”

Your cheeks were warm, but so were the backs of your eyes.  You never thought you would miss it, Tom running up and putting his arm around you, shooting whatever guy you were talking to a glare that made everyone feel uncomfortable; you glanced over at him again, watching him chat and laugh with some of the other guys.  He was just going to let this happen, wasn’t he?  And so were you.  “Yeah,” you finally blurted out, “sure— got your phone now?  I’ll put it in for you.”

“Great,” he smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.  “Wow, that went surprisingly well.”

“Are you that surprised?” you laughed as you added yourself as a contact.

“These things don’t normally go right for me,” he explained.

“For you?” you glanced up at him incredulously.

“Now, don’t give me an ego,” he chuckled, and you laughed with him.

You quickly held his phone up to take a selfie with your tongue sticking out, adding it as your contact photo.  “There you go,” you handed it back to him, and he looked at it with a wide smile on his face.

“Aw, that’s rich,” he said, and you bit your lip.  “I really should hit the showers now, but, I’ll call you?”

“Okay,” you smiled, “I’ll answer.  Probably.”

He waved at you as he left, looking down at your contact in his phone one more time with a shake of his head, before disappearing into the little tunnel through the stands.

You told Tom you would wait for him until he was all done, but god, he was taking forever getting cleaned up.  In fact, everyone else had left when he finally came out in his change of clothes and found you leaning against the cement wall outside the practice facility.  “Fuck took you so long?” you groaned as he appeared.

“You know how long it takes to wash off after a match like that?” he laughed.  “You wouldn’t have walked home with me in the state I was in.”

“Okay, fair enough,” you sighed, “can we go now?” 

“Well, um— actually, I have to get my bag from the locker room…”

“Oh my god,” you whined.

“Don’t get teazy, I just have to pack up all my gear,” he scolded.

“I’m coming with you,” you insisted, “and helping you carry it so we can get fuckin’ home already.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, starting back as you followed along with him.  “Lucky for you, it’s empty.”

“Aw,” you faked a pout, “no sexy rugby boys to look at?”

“Just me,” he smiled— and fuck, he was joking, but it scared you for a second.

There was a little awkward pause while he guided you around the bend into the locker area, left surprisingly clean after the boys were finished; it was only Tom’s locker open, with his things all strewn about, and you sighed.  “Look at the mess you made…” you breathed, starting to help him clean it up and get his things together.

“Rhys finally asked you out, then?” Tommy grinned, elbowing you lightly.

“O-oh, yeah,” you breathed, “erm, well— he just got my number, no date yet or anything.”

“Well, it’s a start.  I didn’t want to give him your number for you, but he asked me for it— actually, he’s asked about you a couple times now.”

“You think he’s good enough for me?” you asked.

“I mean, I dunno,” Tommy shrugged, “I don’t know him that well.  But he seems nice enough— figure you can decide the rest.”

You sighed, nodding a little.

“If he tries anything, though, you let me know and I’ll set him straight, alright?” he added, and you laughed.

“Alright, I will,” you agreed, kneeling down to get some of his clothes from off the floor and stuff them into the duffel.  “Not sure how you’re gonna do that when he’s got a metre on you and maybe twenty pounds of muscle—”

“Shut up,” Tom scoffed.  “You know I can take any guy down if it’s got to do with you.”

Your throat caught, and you stood up again.  "Tommy, listen, I actually— I wanted to… talk to you."

He cleared his throat, looking nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yeah?  You're all good, right?  Everythin's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nodded, leaning back against the lockers, "I just… I was thinking about you."

He stepped up closer to you, close enough that your heart started to race.  "Oh… what about me?"

"Well, about us," you clarified, "you and me— I want… erm…"

"Hm?"

"I just— you know how we sometimes…?"

He leaned his head in a little closer, waiting with raised eyebrows for you to get to your point.

"That thing we do, sometimes?" you started again.  "I wanna… do it again."

He nodded, like he understood, but then paused and moved his mouth over to the side.  "You wanna go to the cinema?"

You laughed, more out of frustration than amusement, and tilted your head forward to rest on his chest.  "God, Tommy…"

"What?" he laughed.

"I— I want—"  

You couldn't look up at him as you said it.  You took a deep breath and tried to compose your bravery.

"I want us to touch each other again," you finally rushed out.  You waited for him to say something, or do something, but he didn't.  “Like when we were on holiday,” you recalled, toying with the hem of his shirt.  “And that night on the bay…”

“God, birdie, I— I dunno if I can do that again,” he breathed, and you felt your eyes start to burn a bit.

“Really, Tommy?” you sighed.  “I’m that… repulsive?  Or is it Rhys?  ‘Cause all he’s done is get my number—”

“N-no,” he groaned, “shit, m’not makin’ any sense.  I can’t do that again with you because it’s too hard, okay?”

You looked up at him, knitting your eyebrows together.  “What’s too hard?”

“Touchin’ you like that,” he whispered— even now, the way he said made your spine tingle— glancing down from your eyes to your lips and back, “and havin’ to act normal again.  Not bein’ your boyfriend.”

Of everything you thought he might say then, you never expected that.  You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, even when you bit your bottom lip.  A laugh broke out through your grin, and you had to cover your mouth to try to hide it.

“Jesus, you’re laughin’ at me now!” he lamented.  “I finally tell you and you laugh at me!  You’re heartless, you know that?”

“No, Tommy, v’got a heart— and it’s all yours,” you promised, standing up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.  He gave you a confused look, and you laughed again.  “You don’t get it do you, still?  I’ve fancied you for ages— proper in love with you, really.  Kept askin’ you to do all that stuff ‘cause, well, you’re all I think about anyways.  Thought you were just doing me favours.”

After a pause, he finally laughed with you.  “Am I a fuckin’ idiot, then?  You’ve had it goin’ for me all this time and I didn’t notice?”

“You’re a little stupid,” you mitigated.  “I think I was being pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, and what about me?” he noticed.  “I’ve been all over you forever— kissin’ and huggin’ you, cuddling all the time— you didn’t notice that I think you’re fit?”

You shrugged.  "You've always been like that."

"Yeah!" he emphasised.

"Ohhhh," you nodded, "hm.  Okay, we're both a little stupid."

“Birdie,” he smiled, and your heart melted, because he’d never said it quite like that before.  He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“You can really kiss me, you know,” you told him, and he pulled away just enough to look at you with an impossible-to-read expression.  “I-if you want,” you mitigated suddenly, and he smiled at you, then laughed.

“Aw, fuck, Tommy,” you turned your head to the side, “you’re awful…”

He put his hand on the side of your face, gently turning you to look at him.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  And then he moved in closer and kissed you— properly, finally.  You shut your eyes, your chest emptying with a sigh; his other hand held your face then, too, and you reached up to hold his wrists.  Your right hand felt the worn-out old bracelet that he still wore, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit against him.  He smiled, too.

“Tommy,” you sighed, reaching out and grabbing him by his belt to pull him closer.  He pressed his forehead on yours, looking down at your hands working on the buckle shakily. 

“Birdie, c’mon,” he gasped, “not here—”

You pouted a little, and he laughed.

“We waited all this time and you can’t wait until we get home?”

“Yes!” you whined.  “I need you…”

“Shit,” he groaned, kissing you again— but just for a few very passionate seconds before he pulled back once more.  “We’ll go home and I’ll do this right, I swear.”

“Why can’t we just do it here?” you wondered.

“Because if you told me some guy had taken your virginity in a rugby practice field locker room, I would kill him,” Tom frowned.  

You laughed.  “Fine, fine… let’s go home.”

~ 

Thank god his parents weren’t home.  You didn’t want to try to be quiet.

He had you in his bed the second the door was shut, kissing you voraciously as he helped you undress and tore his own shirt and trousers off.  For a guy who was just preaching patience, he was pretty hasty all of a sudden.

When all you had on were your panties, he set his arms straight to hover over you and stare down at you, looking a little dumbstruck.  You almost felt self-conscious enough to try to cover your chest, but he smiled at you and you felt a little better.  “You’re so… fuck, birdie, you’re pretty.”

It was a simple compliment, but it felt incredibly powerful when he said it like that.  He was in his boxers, and it wasn’t too much more skin than you’d already seen while swimming with him and such, but it was different with his massive hard-on making a visible imprint in the patterned cotton.  

Gently, he spread your legs, and tightened his jaw at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear.  “Oh, fuck,” he sighed.

“I always get like that,” you admitted quietly.  “Should be easy for you to fuck me, right?”

“Yes, yeah,” he agreed, “but m’not gonna fuck you yet.”

You frowned a little, and he laughed as he kissed you again.

“I told you I’m doing this the right way,” he insisted, “it’s your first time.  It’ll hurt if I just go for it.”

He leaned back and sat up, bringing his hands down to the waistband of your panties and gently dragging them down your legs; you felt gooseflesh spread all over your body.

“Oh, darling,” he whispered as he opened your legs again, looking right at you now.  You squirmed a little, but his grip on your thighs was tight.  “I need you to tell me now if you’ve changed your mind about this… ‘cause I can already tell I’m gonna have a hard time stopping once I start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you were sure, you were so sure.  “I haven’t changed my mind,” you promised.

“I won’t get mad at you or anything,” he assured.

“I know— I’m sure,” you breathed.  Wondering if you should return the sentiment, you asked, "You're sure you wanna do this?  With me?"

"Birdie, I've wanted to do this with you since I knew what this was," he smiled.

"And you don't mind that I've never…"

"No, birdie, I don't mind," he laughed.  "Think it's perfect actually.  Couldn't let any other lad be your first.  Couldn't let any other lad touch you like this."

You bit your lip.  “You were gonna let me go out with Rhys,” you reminded him.

“I let you give him your number.  We hadn’t even gotten to you going out with him,” Tom corrected.  “And I was acting fine as best I could but I was really jumpin’, birdie, thinking about if something might happen with you two— something like this…”

You whined as you tugged on his shirt, hoping to hide your face in his neck, but he pulled his face back so he could look down at you with a smile.  "Tommy, please," you whimpered.  

"Please, what?" he encouraged.

"Jus' need you…"

He kissed your neck again, making your back arch and your hands grab onto his shoulders, and pressed his hips down against you.  You whined at the feeling of his erection through clothes, but opened your eyes in confusion when he pulled back again just a moment later, hovering over you.  "Say my name when I make you come, yeah?" he instructed, and you nodded.  "Try it on for size just once, why don'tya," he encouraged with a smile.

"Tommy," you smiled back, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

"That's m'girl," he praised, before crawling back down, kissing a trail over your stomach, moving his hand up your thigh.

He just kept his face right up close to you, watching his finger swipe through your folds, then watching it gently circle your clit.  You whimpered, and felt your insides flex on nothing.  Apparently, that made him want to give you something to clench on— he gently slipped his pointer finger past your opening, and you let out a long sigh.

“So warm inside,” he observed.  He pulled the finger back out a second later, putting it in his mouth and humming happily.  He put his mouth on you at the same time that he put the finger back in, along with a second; that was a lot to take in, and your back arched up off the bed instantly.  He mouthed at your clit, swirling his tongue around while his lips created this wonderful pressure; you had to grab onto his hair, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually, he did have to break away for a second.  "Wondered how you'd taste," he admitted with a sigh.  

"Well?" you prompted.

"Taste like 'eaven, birdie," he purred.  "Sweet little pussy— an' it's all for me?"

"All yours," you nodded, and he growled a little as he dove back in.

The tip of his tongue slid right up from your opening to where your clit was swollen and throbbing— he pushed his tongue flat against it and you whimpered loudly.  He started to really fuck you with his fingers then, rather than just letting the natural movement of your hips force you to ride them; they curled inside you, hitting a spot that made your own fingers curl into fists in his hair.  You didn’t want to hurt him, but he didn’t mind getting his hair pulled, apparently, and just moaned lowly against you.

The pressure started weighing on your gut after a while, your pussy tensing up on him faster and faster until it was just bearing down on him unendingly.  “Fuck, Tommy,” you gasped.

“C’mon, birdie,” he mumbled against you, “wan’ you to come.  Go ahead and come for me, yeah?”

You called out his name one more time, and it all spilled over at once; he shut his eyes tight, letting you pull his face right up against you by his curls as your hips bucked and grinded on him.  You sobbed weakly, and when it was suddenly too much, he broke away and pinned you down for a messy kiss.

It left you even more breathless than you already were.  When he pulled back, his eyes were a little glazed over and his lips and chin were a lot glazed over; he gave you a crooked smile.  “Taste how sweet you are?” he purred.  You wouldn’t call it sweet, really, but it still turned you on like crazy to hear him say it.

“Please, Tom,” you gasped, grabbing his shoulders, “you’ll fuck me now, right?”

He nodded, and you let out a sigh of relief.  “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, laughing when you groaned and punched him on the arm.

“Course I’m fuckin’ ready!” you snapped.  “God, Tommy, you always give ‘em all this rigamarole first?”

He shook his head.  “Just you, birdie… it was always just you.”

Kissing you again, his breath changed as he reached down to push his boxers out of the way and kick them off to the floor.  The way it felt to have his bare skin against yours as he lowered himself down was… euphoric.  Warm and soft and smooth, and when he wrapped you in his arms, it felt like he could just absorb you entirely.  You wouldn’t mind it if he did.

He'd prepared you so well that there was only one quick sting of pain when he pushed inside you— though just that was still enough to make one tiny tear roll down your temple, which he kissed away softly.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.  You nodded.  "I need you to tell me, birdie."

"I'm okay," you promised through a sigh.  "It hurts a little, b-but please don't stop."

"You're sure?"

"Please!"

He pushed his hips flush with yours and you gritted your teeth, though everything in you relaxed just a moment later; and all that was left was the fullness, the warmth of him, the way his eyes sparkled as he looked down at you.  "You're so beautiful," he whispered to you, and you bit your lip.

"I love you, Tommy," you mumbled weakly, and he planted one soft kiss on your mouth.

"I love you too, darling."

He carefully began to move, needing to reach down with one hand to keep your hips steady.  Your moans were shaky at first, but got louder and more even with each movement.  

"You're… so deep," you breathed.  "Tommy, I— I didn't know anything could be so deep in me."

"Well, I am," he grinned.  "I'm right… here."

He pressed down on your stomach, right on the spot where the tip of his cock reached— and your eyes rolled back.  "Ohh, god," you whined.

"You feel it, love?" he cooed.

"Yes, yes," you groaned.  "Fuck, Tommy, why didn't you tell me you had a perfect cock?"

He laughed a little, leaning down to kiss you on the jaw.  "Guess it never came up."

"Does it always… is it always like this?" you wondered.  "It's so good, does it always feel this good?"

He shook his head, kissing your forehead and then trailing down your nose and cheek.  "No, it's not always like this," he answered quietly.  "Not for me, anyway.  It's never been like this."

His lips met yours again, and you reached up to weave your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.  He groaned a little, moving his hips faster, and you smiled.  "Do you wanna fuck me harder?" you asked.

"Fuck," he mumbled, "I— I could.  Do you want me to?"

"I can take it," you promised.

Picking up the pace slightly, he held you tighter; and you felt each impact a little harder, the sound of his skin on yours echoing around the room.  “Like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered— you meant it more neutral than it came out, it sounded proper pornographic the way you said it, and he smiled.  “More, Tommy, please?  Jus’ want more…”

He hissed but did as he was told, latching onto your neck with his lips as he let something a little more animalistic take over, making you cry out and hold onto him tighter.  “Beautiful,” he grunted, “you’re so beautiful, birdie— you sound beautiful.”

“It’s just ‘cause you’re making me sound like this,” you sighed, clutching at his back, too overwhelmed by pleasure to worry about scratching him up.

“I’m giving you a hickey this time,” he informed you.  “You want my mark on you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “always, Tommy— fuck, always wanted it.”

“‘Cause you’re mine, yeah?”

“Always,” you whimpered.

“A-ah, shit— when it’s time, I'll pull out, okay?" he offered.

"No," you whined, wrapping your legs around his hips.  "Tommy, please, want it inside…"

"Birdie," he breathed roughly, "if you say things like that, I-I'll come too fast."

“Don’t care,” you whimpered.  “Promise you’re gonna come inside me.”

“F-fuck,” he groaned, “erm— yeah, m’gonna come in ya, okay?”

You choked out the shortest sob of joy.  “Please, please— fuck, I’ll come again…”

“Yeah, fuck, c’mon then,” he praised, “just say my name, birdie— I wanna hear my name.”

“Tommy,” you cried, feeling him gasp against your neck as another wave of heat spread over your body; feeling him flex inside you right as you hit your own peak was so perfect.  You could’ve never described your emotions in that moment with words, but they found their way out anyways: you started crying, instantly.

“Don’t cry, birdie, shh,” he soothed quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.  “C’mon, darling, don’t cry—”

“N-no, Tommy,” you sniffled, “I’m just happy— I’m so happy, I swear…”

So he let you cry, and held you close to him; he didn’t leave until you fell asleep, even though he said he was just going to get you a washcloth and a cup of water and come right back.  He played with your hair and kissed your face, and just talked about all the normal things you usually talked about— as in, everything.  But this time, it was actually everything, no more hidden feelings.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but after one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly— like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes— you woke up tangled with him and his sheets.  Turning on your side as best you could, you looked at his sleeping face and smiled to yourself.  He woke up just a bit later, cutting your staring short, and smiled back at you.

“Top of the morning, my ‘ansum,” you greeted as you pinched his cheek.  He laughed and batted your hand away, hiding his face from the sun under his arm.  

“You kicked me in your sleep,” he grumbled.

“So it’s all over, then?  Final straw, you’re finally getting rid of me?” you joked.

“Mm, I thought about it,” he snorted, making you laugh.  He popped his face up again and started to kiss your face all over.

“Tommy, stop,” you whined.

“You can’t make me stop now,” he pointed out, “it’s one thing to get your best friend to stop kissing you, but your boyfriend?  Nah, m’not stopping.”

You laughed, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him only making you feel more ticklish and squirm more.  You only stilled when he grabbed your face and gave you a real kiss, and everything seemed to slow down quite a bit.  You kissed him back, properly, reaching up to weave your fingers in his hair.  “So, you’re my boyfriend, then?” you noticed when you broke away.

“No, I think we’re still just friends,” he nodded, and you laughed and shoved him on the chest.  

“Might as well be, everything we did before sayin’ we were only friends,” you admitted.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, birdie,” he promised.

The only way I’d want Eddie to die is if I sucked his soul outta his dick. Send tweet.

ahhhh thank you my love!!! I was just feeling really soft for him and had to make it sweet, esp after vol 2🥹

I Was Made For Lovin’ You

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

song inspo: I was made for lovin’ you by kiss

main masterlist // nsfw masterlist

word count: 3.4k

summary: Eddie believes you’re a “quiet miss goody-two-shoes”. You’re going to prove him wrong.

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI!, both eddie and reader are 18+, fingering (feat. ring kink), oral (m), sub/dom dynamics, PIV, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl), cowgirl to missionary, dirty talk, praise kink, biting kink/leaving hickeys, creampie, language, mutual pining, fluff, eddie being sweet, tattoo tracing, way too many fucking italics and semi colons, it ends real sweet tho

A/N: This is a part two to I wanna be with you but I wrote it so it could be read as a standalone. Also, I’ve never written a smut oneshot, so this was definitely a challenge, but I tried my best. :)

It’s silent between the two of you on the drive back to Eddie’s place. He has the radio tuned to the local rock station, and you can hear Metallica’s Master of Puppets playing through the speakers. You were bopping your head, drumming your fingers, and silently singing along to the song. Eddie could hear you and would turn to look at you during stop lights. He couldn’t fucking believe that you, quiet miss goody two shoes, were in his van and heading back to his place. He thought he was losing his mind but in the best way possible.  

Keep reading

ok now that everyone apparently agreed in completely ignoring that THAT happened, i have to admit that episode 8 eddie made me horny af

I Was Made For Lovin' You

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

song inspo: I was made for lovin' you by kiss

main masterlist // nsfw masterlist

word count: 3.4k

summary: Eddie believes you're a "quiet miss goody-two-shoes". You're going to prove him wrong.

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI!, both eddie and reader are 18+, fingering (feat. ring kink), oral (m), sub/dom dynamics, PIV, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl), cowgirl to missionary, dirty talk, praise kink, biting kink/leaving hickeys, creampie, language, mutual pining, fluff, eddie being sweet, tattoo tracing, way too many fucking italics and semi colons, it ends real sweet tho

A/N: This is a part two to I wanna be with you but I wrote it so it could be read as a standalone. Also, I’ve never written a smut oneshot, so this was definitely a challenge, but I tried my best. :)

It's silent between the two of you on the drive back to Eddie's place. He has the radio tuned to the local rock station, and you can hear Metallica's Master of Puppets playing through the speakers. You were bopping your head, drumming your fingers, and silently singing along to the song. Eddie could hear you and would turn to look at you during stop lights. He couldn't fucking believe that you, quiet miss goody two shoes, were in his van and heading back to his place. He thought he was losing his mind but in the best way possible.  

It wasn't much longer 'til he pulled up to his trailer. As soon as he parked, he turned the car off and got the keys out of the ignition. Then, hopping out of his van, he makes his way to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step out. Eddie led the way to his door, unlocking it and stepping off to the side to allow you to get in first before closing the door behind you.   

He kicks off his Reeboks and leaves them by the door as he explains, "Sorry for the mess, uh, the maid took the week off."  

You mimic his actions while asking, "You live here alone?"   

He shakes his head and clarifies, "With my uncle. But, uh, he works nights at the plant. Bringing home the big bucks." 

Smirking up at him as you took in his words and realized, "Well, at least now I know there won't be any interruptions."  

You've been messing with Eddie's head since your first propositioned this whole thing to change his mind. He really did think you were a saint, though. He thought about you a lot his (second) senior year. He had the habit of watching you, just across the cafeteria or passing by in the hall or your shared English classroom. He tried his best to be subtle, and he was sure you never noticed him because every time he looked in your direction, you were looking anywhere but him. But from what he saw, you were introverted, sweet, smart. Everything about you pointed to being a quiet miss goody two shoes that guys wanted to bring home to meet their parents. And now, here you were, at ‘the freak’s’ trailer, looking entirely out of place.   

"Hey, you know, you don't have to do this. I'll understand if you were just messing around." A selfish part of him wishes you aren't. That you actually do want to be here with him. He started drumming his fingers against his thigh, a little nervous or bored habit he picked up. In this case, it was for the former reason.   

Your eyes went to look at his ring-clad fingers before bringing your gaze up to meet his. You didn't say anything yet, just quietly made your way over to him until you were standing toe to toe. You noticed his breath hitch at your proximity, and there was the start of a light pink blush dusting his cheeks. Your gaze flickered down to his lips before looking back up at him.  

"Can I kiss you?" as soon as the words left your mouth, his nod and whisper of a yes were all you needed before bringing your lips to his. Eddie leaned closer to you, gingerly placing his hands on your hips. You brought your hands up to his hair. God, how you had dreamed of running your fingers through his hair. It was just as soft as you imagined. Tugging on his hair, Eddie groaned in response and deepened the kiss. His tongue making its way past your now open lips; you always thought that he'd be a great kisser, but you never could've known it'd be this magical.   

You pull away a little bit, your hands making their way down, trying to take off that Dio jacket he wore all the time. He took his hands off your hips, and an involuntary whine came out that was soon replaced by a sigh as he fully took off his jacket, and you saw his forearms, his bat tattoos on display. You always wanted to get a closer look at his tattoos, wanted to see just how much ink covered his body and where.   

Before you knew it, he was back on you, kissing you with such fervor that you almost believed this must be his last day on Earth. Your hands slipped under his Hellfire shirt, feeling the warmth radiate off his skin. He was quick at work unbuttoning your blouse and untucking it from your skirt. As he slipped the shirt off your body, he pulled away and let out a groan at the sight of your breasts still contained in your bra.   

"Take it off," he begged, "please."  

You could never deny him when he pleaded with you, so you reached behind to unhook your bra as you watched him pull off his shirt. A moment of silent appreciation passed as you both took in the appearance of each other. You wished he had granted you more time to appreciate the tattoos that graced his chest, but Eddie had other plans.   

He leaned down towards you, hands on the back of your thighs and lips brushing against your ear as he whispered one word: jump.  

With your help, he wasted no time picking you up and leading you the short distance down the hall to his bedroom. He laid you down on your back, trailing kisses down your neck towards your chest. You could feel the sting of his teeth scraping and biting against the sensitive skin of your breast. He was marking you. The dizzying realization sent shivers down your spine and sighs parting from your lips.

The feeling clashes with a new one, the one of his hand trailing up your thigh. Rubbing circles on the soft flesh just below your aching cunt. His fingers start to make their way farther up until you can feel them brush against your swollen clit over your panties.   

"Can I?" He pleaded as he toyed with the seam.   

You nod, choking out the words, "Yes, please."  

Eddie hooks his fingers under the band as he slides your underwear down your legs before dropping it onto the floor nearby. You squirm under his set gaze on your bare pussy, feeling insecure under the full attention he's giving you. Unconsciously, your legs try to close, to shield yourself. Eddie places a hand on your knee, not using any force to open you up again.  

"You okay, sweetheart?" You can see the concern in his deep brown eyes. Those same eyes that just moments ago you felt insecure under. Why? There was such adoration in them that you couldn't imagine feeling anything but secure and safe around him. Without thinking much of it, you let your legs spread open in front of him. A breathy thank you left his lips as he started up his marking again.  

You gasped as you felt Eddie running a finger up and down your slit, teasing you. "Please, Eddie, I need you." You were desperate, whining at this point, waiting for him to give you any sort of relief. Finally, he surrendered to your begging as he slipped a finger inside your weeping cunt.   

"Jesus, darling, you're so wet— all this for me, huh?" All you could do was nod as your mind focused on the coolness of his ring against your skin as he pumped his finger in and out of you at a rhythmic pace. He soon started to stretch you out further, adding a second finger. You clasped your hand over your mouth, trying to stop some of your moans from spilling out. Eddie noticed, shaking his head at you and placing his free hand over yours.  

"C'mon baby, no one's here, just you and me." He started to guide your hand away from your mouth as he went on, "We can be as loud as we want." As those words fell from his mouth, he curled his fingers up, hitting that spot that drew you so close to your release. Once his thumb started rubbing circles on your clit, you were a goner. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders where you were gripping tightly, pulsating clenches on his fingers as your orgasm washed over you and crying out for him.   

You feel Eddie let his fingers slip out; they're glistening in the dim light, covered with your juices. You look up to see him holding your gaze as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean. Your whimper is soon swallowed by his mouth on yours, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. You use this as an opportunity to switch positions, having him lay down under you. Eddie starts to move his hands down to land on your hips once again, but you're off him before he can.   

He sits up at the edge of the bed now, cocking his head to the side in confusion. You lean down towards him, placing a short kiss on his lips before heading further south. You're trailing kisses down his neck, across the expanse of his chest, paying particular attention to the tattoos that litter his skin. As your lips leave kisses further south, you get down on your knees. You hear Eddie gasp above you as you place one last kiss over the bulge straining against his jeans.   

 Your fingers work deftly on his button and zipper, nudging him to lift his hips to help you get his pants off. He takes the opportunity to pull his boxers down along with his jeans. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock, aching and dripping with precum. The moment you wrap your hand around him, his head is tossed back, whimpers and moans tumbling out of his mouth. You wanted to taste him, to feel the weight of him against your tongue. Wrapping your lips around his tip and sucking, you nearly purred at the words of praise from him.  

"Please don't stop." He begged, "You feel so good—" Looking down at you, gazing up at him through your lashes, he can't stand it. Eddie feels like he's going insane. He can't fucking believe that here you are, on your knees, sucking his dick like you've done it a hundred times before.   

"Shit— you're really good at this." But he doesn't want to think it's because of practice. He'd burst at the seams with jealously at the idea of another man ever having been in this position before with you. So, he won't; instead, he's focused on the fact that he can feel a pleasant vibrating sensation whenever you moan with him in your mouth. All the more incentive to get you to make those pretty noises.  

"Oooh yes— just like that, keep going, darling." He's gripping the side of his bed so tight that his knuckles are turning ghostly white. He began gently thrusting into your throat just a few times before you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. Eddie started to whine, saying he was so close.   

His protests soon died down at your request, "Scoot back and lie down." He followed your instruction without hesitation as you started taking off your skirt and made your way back to him. You're straddling him, a hand placed on his chest to steady yourself while the other reaches down to guide his cock right at your entrance.   

"Say you want me, and I'm yours." Eddie looked up at you with those pretty, big, brown eyes, already pleading with you with his gaze. He placed his hands on your hips, not forcing you down but preparing for your actions as he said what you were waiting for.  

"I need you, please— I'm begging you, darling." That was all you needed to hear before sinking down on him, slowly, inch by inch. You can't believe how full you feel; you've never felt like this with anyone before.   

"Good girl, fuck, you take me so well, like you were fucking made for me." And you believe it. You really believe that you must be made for each other because there's nothing else that can explain just how right it feels to finally have him inside you. Right now, you just want to take your time with him, slowly working your way up and down on him, focus on how he pulses inside you, on his praises.  

"Shit, that's my girl." My girl. You can feel yourself flutter and tighten around him just at the thought of being his girl.   

"Mhm— your girl, Eddie." At these words, he sits up, arms wrapped around your waist and flipping you both, your back now pressed against the mattress. He stills for a moment, cupping your face to look into your eyes. Then, running his thumb along your bottom lip before closing the gap between you two. You moan into his kiss, feeling him thrust, slow but firm.   

He pulls away from your kiss, placing his hands under your thighs to push them up towards your chest. You cry out as you feel this new depth, fuck, you didn't know he could get even deeper.   

"Love the sounds you make when I'm 'side you, sweetheart." You could say that same, that you arch and clench for him whenever you hear him. But you can't say anything, not when he's getting rougher, faster— pounding into you with a new force and determination. You can feel that familiar feeling building, that knot getting tighter at the base of your stomach.   

Eddie can sense it too, "That's it baby, I know, I know, c'mon, let go for me." He's all but begging you; he needs it, needs to feel you come on him. There's no way you can deny him or yourself that. That knot finally snaps, your eyes rolling back as you scream out over how intensely your orgasm is wracking through your body.   

"Jesus— You're so pretty when you come all over my cock." And he's still going, still pumping into your sensitive cunt with the same force. Your senses are so overwhelmed; it's like you can feel every single one of your nerve endings.   

"Fuck I'm close, christ, where do you want me?" You're so cock drunk you can't say anything; nothing at all. All you can do is wrap your legs tighter around him, trying your best to send the message that you need him to stay inside you; that's where you want him.   

"Shit shit shit— gonna fill you up, that's what you want, right? Wanna feel full of my cum?" You're nodding desperately as you start to babble nonsense that you want him, need him, everything he wants to give you, you'll take. And with one final deep stroke, your wishes are granted. Eddie holds himself over you as he empties himself inside you, milking him for all he's worth, you feel every drop of him, and you're addicted. Addicted? Can you be addicted after only one time?   

With Eddie Munson? Absolutely.  

You're brought out of your trance as you feel him maneuver to lay down beside you. You turn to look at each other and are met with a dazed, lovestruck smile on his face. You can only assume you look the same way to him.   

"Told ya." Those are the only words you can think of in this hazy moment.  

Eddie's smile falters a bit, and his brow furrows, "What?"  

"Told ya I wasn't a saint." You assume the grin on your face has taken on a cocky demeanor at your statement.  

He laughs, almost in disbelief, "Please tell me you didn't sleep with me just to prove a point."  

You're taken aback, a faux offended gasp leaving your lips, "Of course not! I've wanted this for a while; proving myself right was just a bonus." And it was a great bonus. You loved being right, especially when it proved others wrong.   

Eddie didn't mind much, simply focusing on one part of your response, "A while, huh?" His raised brow had such a smug air to it that you couldn't help but lightly smack him on his chest.  

"Oh, hush!" You left your hand on his chest, placed right over one of his tattoos. So, to avoid being teased further, you moved your attention to the ink on his skin. You began lightly tracing it but soon noticed Eddie squirming under your touch.   

"Are you ticklish?" Your eyes widened at the possibility, already planning on how you could use this to your advantage in the future.  

He nodded, adding, "Just a bit, but I'll hold it off just for you." Sending you a sweet, dimpled smile, like he was doing you the biggest favor in the world.   

You shook your head and laughed, "You're such a dork." Eddie shrugged and just accepted the title. At least it was better than 'freak.'   

After some more mindless tracing, you notice the handcuffs hanging on his wall; nodding towards them, you ask, "Maybe we can use those next time." It was a test of sorts, trying to get a feel for how he'd react to the possibility of this becoming a recurrent thing.  

"Next time? There's gonna be a next time?" His smile soon morphed into a smirk.  

"Well, only if you want to." The ball was now back in his court; up to him to make up his mind about the two of you.   

"Fuck yeah, I do! I've waited so long for this; I'm not gonna let you go now. I can't get enough of you." Of course, that's not entirely the answer you expected, but you gladly took it.  

"Waited so long? Jesus, Eddie, did we like each other this whole time? Are you trying to tell me I had a chance with you a year ago?" There's no way. You spent the entirety of your senior year pining over him. If there was even a chance that something could've happened, you feel like you'd create a time machine just to go back and smack some sense into past you to get the nerve to make a fucking move on him.   

Eddie's eyes widen in shock, "A chance with me? I didn't even know you knew I existed 'til a few hours ago!" Now he couldn't believe it. That entire past year, he was sure that you had no clue who he was. And now? Now he's finding out that you liked him for a year? If he had just talked to you at least once, you two could've already been together.  

You groan out, exasperated, "We're idiots!" He snorts at this because you're right. You two were idiots in love.   

"Well, at least I'm your idiot." His gaze steady on your face, testing his luck with you, "Hopefully."  

You're beaming at him, basking in the meaning of his words, "Wouldn't have it any other way."  

You take this newfound confirmation and comfort to cuddle into him more, sighing against him, "I like being close to you. You're warm." And he was. So warm and soft and comfortable, everything about him felt like home.   

He smiled down at you, "You too, darling, could have you in my arms all night."   

He started to pull you in closer, but you glanced up at him and asked, "You want me to stay all night?"  

He looks at you, baffled, "Did you think I'd kick you out or something?"  

You feel yourself heat up a bit in embarrassment, "Well, no... but I don't know how you're gonna explain this to your uncle when he gets home."  

His smile made his whole face glow as he said, "Easy, my girlfriend spent the night; he'll understand."  

You couldn't fight the smile that mimicked his own at the fact that he now called you his girlfriend. With the knowledge that you could stay here with him, you started to relax more into him, closing your eyes and awaiting the peaceful bliss of sleep in his arms. You were just starting to drift off when:  

"Shit! — I should probably do some aftercare, right?"  

You can't help but laugh. 

  ~~~

Taglist: @ofstarsandvibranium​ // @bubblebuckys​ // @manicflavoredjuulpod​ // @crystalized-drumming​ // @mraisedto3​ // @missfranklinstein​ // @spectorbear​ // @heraclesmaximoff // @auroralwriting // @jxlb // @strictlyliberty // @bonkyboinkybucky​ //

Tagged some mutuals, people who read part one, and my perm taglist

add yourself to my taglist (or send me an ask)

eddie playlist

remember when i said matt could cum untouched because of his heightened senses?? well—

cw: 18+ only || f masturbation, cumming untouched, technically voyeurism but also not really??, a bit of cum play at the end hehehe

the wet slushing sound that fills matt's ears makes him feel lightheaded. he drops his head back on the armrest of the couch with a shuddering breath, his hips bucking up and meeting empty air. he groans in frustration.

"matty," you moan from the other side of the couch. one of your legs rests beside his head. he grabs your ankle and presses his mouth to your calf, sinking his teeth on the tender flesh when a waft of your smell hits him like a truck.

"fuck matty, i'm so close," you whimper, curling two of your fingers inside your pussy, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. it's not the same as his cock— it'll never will be— but it makes do for now.

"i know," he pants like he just ran a marathon. his stubble scratches your skin as he strokes his cheek on your leg like a kitten. "i know, sweetheart. i can smell you from here— fuck." he licks his lips and shivers when he senses a new drop of slick coat your fingers.

"can i cum?" you ask sweetly. he can practically see your pout in his mind. "please, matty, can i cum?"

he's nodding even before you can finish begging. it's all too much for him; your mewl of his name, your pretty little "thank you"s, your smell and the warmth of your skin against his and the sopping, empty sound your little hole makes when you take your fingers out with a spent sigh. it hits him suddenly— the world on fire goes white as he cums all over his stomach and a bit of his chest with a low moan.

he blinks disbelievingly at the ceiling, his mind reeling from the intensity of his orgasm. you get on your knees and crawl over him, matt hissing when your glistening fingers graze his cock.

"can't believe we just did that," you giggle, drawing circles on the droplets of cum that cover his scarred torso.

he huffs out a laugh, searches blindingly for your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth. he licks both of your juices but leaves a little for you, urging you to taste it before pulling you into a deep kiss.

eddie n steve jerking eachother off to a polaroid of you <3

i can’t decide who’s more of a “hand over mouth as i pound you in the back seat of my car so no one knows i’m fucking the loud mouth cheerleader” is that more eddie or steve 🤔

gotta be eddie dude, steve's more of a "kiss you to shut you up" type, but allow me to elaborate on the first for a moment (and by a moment I mean nearly over 1.5k words)

(warnings: smut obv, blood mention, drug use mention, hair pulling, overstimulation, crying during sex/dacryphilia, breath play, extremely vague/not serious breeding kink)

[part 2 here]

"Shh, shh," he soothed, though you could hear the wide grin curling his lips, "don't want anyone to hear, now do we?"

Honestly, though, this was your attempt to stay quiet— digging your teeth into your lip so hard you tasted metallic, gripping the faded leather seats until your nails nearly tore through them. It wasn't your fault that it felt so good, that the weed had made your head all spinny and your insides all tingly and that his dick was slamming right into that spot that made your toes curl. No, that was all his fault; he gave you the joint and he promised it would 'awaken your senses', even if maybe neither of you anticipated exactly which senses it would awaken.

"Don't want anyone shining a light in here, right?" he continued, even though you could barely keep track of what he was talking about. "Don't want them seeing you on your hands and knees getting fucked and screaming like it's the best thing you've ever had, hm?"

"F-fuck, Eddie," you winced, gasping loudly when he tugged on your cheerleader-uniform-mandated ponytail. You breathed through your teeth, wishing you had the strength to tell him not to be so rough, not to fuck you like this... like a whore. But god, this is exactly what you wanted from him, if you were being honest, even if you hated yourself just a bit for liking it so much— for needing it. He dug his fingers into the hair at your scalp, surely ruining your half an hour of styling efforts from earlier tonight, and pushed your head back down against the seats; god, he was really rubbing it in, huh? You almost thought he'd be grateful, that he'd be delicate and careful with you because, well, the opportunity to fuck a cheerleader does not come by for a guy like him. But no, he was putting you in your place, and you were biting your lip to keep from begging him for more.

His free hand held your hips and suddenly his pace changed-- from hasty and rushed to slow but hard, slamming into you and knocking you forward with a loud groan. He did it again, and again, and you cried out louder with each thrust right into the deepest parts of you. "Oh, sweetie," he cooed condescendingly, "are you having trouble keeping quiet? I'll help you, babe— m'gonna shut you up, don't worry—"

He spoke so roughly that he sounded furious, leaning down over you to press his lips up to your ear, and suddenly the hand in your hair slipped around and covered your mouth. He gave you another one, so deep your eyes rolled back in your head, and you finally let it all out— it was muffled behind his hand, anyway, and it felt good to moan as loud as you wanted without it being actually as loud as it would be otherwise.

You weren't quite sure what to think: he was fucking you rather disrespectfully, but the intensity of it, the way he groaned deeply into your ear and mumbled little praises under his breath, the way he held your waist tighter and tighter— you could almost call it passionate, if you didn't know any better. Sure, not exactly sweet, but it could be worse.

Well, actually, it couldn't be better. It was perfect. It was Eddie fucking Munson, and you couldn't quite wrap your head around that yet, but you didn't need to because it felt goddamn perfect.

"Good girl, fuck, goooood fuckin' girl," he hissed into your ear. "Oh, you're still so loud, even with my hand on your mouth— need some more help, babe?"

He squeezed your nose shut with his thumb and the side of his finger, and suddenly you had no air at all; you didn't even care, you didn't need air anymore, you just needed this. It made the numbness that much better, made your eyes well with tears and your throat burn but you wanted more more more— you wanted everything.

"Ohh, fuck, are you coming?" he laughed proudly, fucking you faster right as it hit you. You hadn't even noticed until he said it, but, yep, you were clenching inside and your back was arching deeper and you felt the tears keep flowing over his hand. "Oh my god, that's good— you're so fuckin' tight, Jesus..."

It just kept getting bigger and bigger, it kept twisting in your core and you weren't sure how much more you could take. He let go of your nose and you took a deep breath in, hearing the most deranged noise break out of your throat and peter out in your mouth with his hand keeping it inside. You were crying out his name, at least you were trying to, but it was all just incomprehensible sobs muffled under that thick, clammy hand with the gaudy silver rings that you could taste on your lips.

God, was it ever gonna stop? This feeling, this light show on the back of your eyes, this whole-body spasm that danced under your skin— was it gonna let you go back down to Earth any time soon? Or was this just your new normal, was this just some other state of existence that Eddie had knocked you face-first into, with no plan to rescue you?

It was too much, it was far too much, but you could already see yourself tomorrow morning, staring at the phone, trying to decide how long to wait until coming back for more.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged you, "scream for me, just like that— nobody's gonna hear you, promise."

He couldn't promise that, but he didn't need to. He could fuck you in front of whoever he wanted if it was always gonna be like this; he could fuck you in front of your grandmother and you wouldn't stop him— you were whipped. Like, whipped whipped. Like, 'pearls and heels making a roast dinner if he asks me to' whipped. Like, 'we are so doing this again' whipped.

You heard him gasp, a sound almost like a wince or a cry, almost like it hurt— and you could relate to that right now, certainly. "Fuck!" he grunted. "M'close, I'm so close, babe..."

You were way too proud of that; it wasn't much of an accomplishment or anything, you heard that guys come pretty easy and in your experience so far it was mostly true. But you felt good, you liked knowing he was going to come because of you, you liked hearing that composure falter for even just a second— and, if nothing else, you were looking forward to taking a fucking breather, because you needed it.

"God, no fuckin' way I'm pulling out," he laughed thinly, "s'too good, babe— I'm gonna come inside, you ready, honey?"

You nodded, as best you could, and heard his own moans get higher in pitch slowly until they stopped all at once and you felt it, warmth filling you and just slightly soothing the ache inside you. He gave you a few shallow thrusts, sudden and seemingly involuntarily like a twitch, and dropped his hand from your mouth with a sigh. You gasped, hearing the hint of a moan on each of your breaths even though it was over now; he pulled out and fell back on the seats dramatically, resting his hand on his forehead like a maiden in an old-timey movie about to faint. You couldn't help but giggle, impressed that he could keep up his theatrics at a time like this.

"Oh, shit," he whimpered, "you really took it all out of me. Literally. Jesus. Y-you're on the pill, though, right? Cause I can buy you something—"

"S'fine," you croaked, clearing your throat when you heard how broken your voice sounded. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

"'Don't worry about it,' she says," he narrated while he raised an eyebrow, "yeah, that's not ominous at all— nine months later you're knockin' on my trailer door with your curly-headed new mini-me and a whole lot of questions—"

"Shut up," you laughed, rolling your eyes. You adjusted your panties to hopefully catch some of the mess before you left a puddle on the seats, then pulled your uniform skirt back down and finally leaned back with a long sigh. The radio was on— you forgot about that— and you heard Black Sabbath mixing in with the sounds of Eddie's belt jingling while he got himself back into his jeans.

"Our babies would be cute, though," he grinned.

"Okay, actually shut up," you frowned, smacking him on the thigh. "I should go— the team's probably wondering where I am—"

"Oh, no no no," he chided, "you're not getting away that easy."

He yanked you down quickly and wrapped his arms around you.

"You owe me at least three minutes of cuddling," he demanded.

"Eddie, I—"

He grabbed your head and pulled it down into his chest, stroking your thoroughly-mussed hair. "Shh, shh," he interrupted you, "get comfy, I'm not letting you leave for a while— feel free to fall asleep, whatever, it'll be cute."

"This is so not how I thought this was gonna go tonight," you grumbled.

"What, you thought we'd smoke up and call it a night?" he wondered. "So did I, but you were givin' me those eyes—"

"No, I mean— what?!" you squawked. "Eyes?! I was not giving you eyes."

"Uh, yes you were, missy!" he insisted. "You were all, Eddie, make love to me, I need you," he imitated a smoky-sensual voice.

"That's what you call 'making love'?" you snorted. "I'd hate to see you fucking. Gonna put a girl in the ICU."

"Oh, babe," he grinned, looking down at you, and you looked up at him from his shoulder expectantly, "I'm just getting started."

(part 2)

Teach Me [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Eddie notices you watching him in class and asks you for your help. TW/CW: Smut, 18+ only, minors DNI. Thigh riding, grinding, fingering, PIV, ring-kink, mutual pining, idiots in love, possessive!eddie toward the end A/N: I am down horrendously for this man, your honor

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ms. O'Donnel's class was kind of a bitch. Even you had to admit it, and you did pretty well for yourself in school.

You had been stealing glances at Eddie Munson all year-- the older, charming, slightly dangerous but all-too-fluffy dungeon master with the best damn hair you'd ever seen.

You came from different worlds and two obviously opposite ends of the social spectrum. Eddie was loud and loved to make a scene, putting his humor on display for any and everyone with no regrets. Whereas you tried to stay to yourself and avoid human interaction to the best of your ability.

That didn't stop what was once your little spark of interest with Eddie from turning into a full on wildfire; vibrant flames that were fanned every time you saw that devilish grin of his.

You had to work hard to avert your eyes as he drummed on his notebook with his pencil, twirling the ends of his hair with his free hand. You'd look away successfully, just to feel your eyes slowly drifting back to him moments later.

His rings caught your eye this time as he played with his hair, the different silver bands catching the sunlight as his fingers bent and twirled around the strands of hair. You had to swallow back the audible gasp that rose in your throat when he suddenly turned his head and caught you staring.

You quickly looked down at your desk, scribbling nonsense in your notebook as if you'd been working away the whole class period - not daydreaming about his ring-clad fingers being wrapped around your throat.

You could feel your heart ramming against your ribcage as you willed the bell to ring, granting you a sweet escape into the sea of people that would flood the hallways, hiding you from the piercing doe eyes that were burning into you now.

You glanced back up momentarily to find Eddie still looking at you, a cheeky smirk sitting perfectly on his face. You blinked a few times, suddenly forgetting how to look away.

Hi he mouthed as Ms. O'Donnel drawled on about the book report assignment, rushing to push out details before the final bell rang.

You lifted your hand and waved discreetly as your cheeks burned red.

His smile grew wider as he admired your shyness, something Eddie absolutely adored about you.

The bell rang and you thanked the Gods, hurrying to shove your books in your bag and get the hell out of there. You managed to slip out of the class before anyone else, speed walking to your locker to put your things away despite your first thought to just lug it all home to save time.

You shut the locker, your heart practically leaping from your chest as Eddie stood propped against the lockers behind it. You let out a small yelp that sent a chuckle straight through him.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said as he watched you with an amused grin. "I'm Eddie. We have English together," he says as he motions down the hall.

"Yeah, I know," you say hesitantly. "I'm-"

"Y/N," he finishes for you as he shakes your hand slowly, his cold rings pressing into your hand. "I know," he says as he squints his eyes with a grin.

Your name falling from his lips was a melody you could listen to on repeat. You were a little shocked that he knew your name, but the thought quickly vanished as your focus turned to how intently he was watching you.

You realize you're standing there like an idiot so you throw your bag over your shoulder, trying to appear less like a star-struck loser.

"Well, have a good day," You say awkwardly as you walk past him, taking a deep breath as you feel your nerve endings singe.

"Hey, wait up!" he calls as he jogs up next to you, walking with you down the hall to the large double doors to freedom.

You looked up at him with expectant eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Listen, I'm uh... I'm tanking O'Donnel's class. I really need a D so I can graduate next month," he says quietly, almost with shame in his voice. "Could we, I don't know, maybe study together? This book report is going to kick my ass,"

You stopped in your tracks as you stood outside of the school now, looking up as the sun beamed down on Eddie's frizzy hair. Of course he just wanted help with English. Now that made sense to you.

"Well, I guess I'm free... sure. Why not?" You say, looking down at your sneakers. What did you have to lose?

Eddie burst into an obnoxiously adorable display of excitement, jumping up on the ledge of the stairs to take a victory stance with his arms thrown in the air.

Your eyes were wide as you looked around, feeling the curious, judgmental looks of your peers on you now.

Eddie hopped back down and placed his hand on your back to lead you away from the busy entrance. "Shit, sorry," he whispered as he tried to shield you. You tried to hide the effect it had on you as you felt warmth travel through your whole body.

"Yours or mine?" Eddie asked, turning to walk backwards as he pulled a cigarette out and placed it between his lips to light it. "My uncle is away for a few days, so my place is pretty quiet."

You nodded, a nervousness creeping up the back of your neck when you thought of being alone with him. You mentally shook it out. No, you were just going to study. Eddie smiled as he pulled his keys from his pocket to jingle them, jerking his head to point toward his van.

"M'lady," he said with a dramatic bow as he opened the passenger side door to let you in. You couldn't help but smile, which made Eddie's entire day.

----

"So you're tellin' me this man slayed a dragon just to die like right after?" Eddie asked with exasperation, sat on his bed with books and papers scattered all around the both of you.

You giggled and shrugged your shoulders. "Something like that. Maybe we should read it again," you mused as he cocked his head to the side, observing the way your eyes squinted when you smiled really big.

You look up from your copy of Beowulf to catch him staring, the smile dropping from your face as you realized you were sitting in Eddie Munson's bed... With Eddie Munson. It was surreal, to say the least.

"Thanks again for your help," Eddie said as he put his pencil down and stretched, the hem of his Hellfire Club shirt lifting to show his lower belly. You glanced away shyly as you pretended not to notice his happy trail.

You felt a sudden wave of confidence hit as your curiosity nagged in the back of your mind. "So why did you ask me to help you?"

Eddie smiled, looking down at his hands as he spun his rings.

"You're smart..." he said lowly, leaving it open like he had more to add. You waited, and he obliged. "And you're fascinating."

You felt your cheeks heating up again, looking away from him. "I'm not fascinating," you said with a soft laugh.

You felt movement on the bed as Eddie slid his books and papers out of the way, shifting closer to you.

"Look at me," he said firmly, and you looked because, well, he told you to.

"You are fascinating. And you're beautiful. And you are all the things you tell yourself you're not," Eddie said with a raised eyebrow, as if he wasn't backing down until you agreed with him.

You struggled to maintain eye contact as you felt embarrassment rising to your cheeks once again.

He reaches out to place his hand on your face, furrowing his brow when you flinch at first.

"You okay?" He asks softly as you nod, leaning into his touch.

And with that, he leans forward on his knees, pulling you toward him gently to capture your lips in a longing kiss. You feel your head spin with intoxication and yearning, greed filling your senses as you want more, need more.

A soft moan leaves your throat as you lean up on your knees now, pressing your body into his as he wraps his arm firmly around your waist to hold you there.

You break the kiss as you look over his face, his eyes heavy with want as his other hand loses itself in your hair.

"I can't tell you how long I've wanted this," you whisper as he presses a kiss to your jawline.

"God, me too," he says lowly as he kisses your lips again, his fingers running down the side of your neck.

You feel your core tightening as he holds you tightly, his tongue pushing past your teeth to dive into your mouth, swirling around your own as you feel arousal pooling in between your thighs.

Eddie slowly sinks back onto the bed, pulling you down with him so that you're laying on his chest.

He pulls away to run his thumb over your swollen bottom lip, his eyes darker now as you feel his cock hardening against your hip.

"So pretty," he says as he brushes your hair from your face, his eyes scanning over your features. "What's a girl like you doing with a guy like me anyway?" He says with a hushed laugh.

You sigh as you instinctively grind your hips against his, watching as his eyes roll back momentarily.

"Whatever," you laugh, shaking your head as he bucks his hips, grinding his clothed erection against your throbbing cunt, as if to punish you for your comeback.

"You're out of my league, sweetheart. I had no idea I even had a shot with you," he said as you rolled your hips again, a groan slipped out of his throat and his fingers digging into your hips to hold you against him.

"I'm just... shy," you say as you look down at your hands bracing against his chest.

"I know. It's hot," he says with a smirk as he pulls you down to kiss you with vehemence, flipping you over on to your back.

You feel impatient as he slides his knee in between your legs, pushing your skirt up and granting you access to grind down on his thigh. You wiggle your hips, anxious for friction but still feel that empty ache you desperately need him to fill.

"Touch me, Eddie... Please," you whisper, grasping his shirt as you look up into his eyes.

"I don't want to push you too far," he says lowly as his eyes scan your body now. "God, I want you... I don't know if I'll be able to control myself,"

You grab his hand and slide it into your skirt, pressing his fingers against your wetness as you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut.

"I don't want you to," you huff as your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

It drives Eddie crazy, watching you pleasure yourself with his hand. His mouth falls open as you moan, pressing his digits down on your clit.

"We're gonna have so much fun together, princess," he says as he circles his fingers against your bud, his cock throbbing in his pants.

Eddie's lips crash into yours as he slips his fingers further into your folds, spreading your juices down so he can easily slip a finger inside of you.

"Fuck," you gasp as you throw your head back against the pillow, granting him perfect access to your throat. He sucks a purple bruise into the side, biting gently as he releases the skin, pumping his finger in and out of you at a rhythmic pace.

You reach down and clumsily fumble with his pants button and zipper until you finally make enough room to venture inside and grab ahold of him, hard and throbbing at your touch.

Eddie hisses as you squeeze the base before pumping your fist up and down slowly one time.

"Do you have a condom?" You ask, Eddie quickly nodding as he leans over to find one in his night stand.

He leans back to kick his jeans off before rolling on the contraceptive, an erotic display as he fists his own length a few times to stretch out the latex.

His eyes meet yours again as he gazes down at you: a panting, anticipating mess laid before him. With your skirt pushed up around your waist, he helps you slip off your panties before tossing them off to the side somewhere and letting out a shaky exhale as he leans down above you.

"You okay?" He asks, searching your face with his lovely doe eyes.

You admire his softness, nodding quickly as you pull him in for a kiss. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock.

You gasp as he stretches you open, a mix of pleasure and pain that makes your head fuzzy. Eddie moans lowly as he fills you, lowering his torso down against yours as he bottoms out. He stays still, letting you adjust to him as he slides his arms under your back to hold you.

"You're so tight, baby," he pants, trying hard to keep still so he doesn't rush you before you're ready. "Am I hurting you?"

"No, Eddie, please don't stop" you whine, shifting your hips to feel him move slightly.

Eddie shudders as your walls clench around him, gently moving his hips to see if you're in pain. You squeeze his shoulders, letting out a sound of pleasure that rips straight through his core.

He finally starts to thrust into you, groaning as he pulls out and stuffs himself back in, unable to be still any longer.

He sets a pace that makes you want to drool, lazily snapping his hips so he goes deep deep deeper each time, pulling you onto his cock with his grip on the back of your neck.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asks with a low growl, his eyes roaming your parted mouth and heavy eyelids. "Hm? I saw you watching me in class," he continues, clenching his jaw as he quickens his pace, pulling louder moans from your chest. "But you weren't just watching me... you wanted me, didn't you? You wanted me inside of you, princess?"

You cry out as he slams into you the deepest he has yet, piercing your cunt as he nudges your g-spot, forcing you to see stars as he kisses you jawline. "My sweet, shy girl... not so shy now, are you?"

"Eddie, I- I'm gonna cum," you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as he pounds you into his mattress.

Eddie lets out a chuckle as he watches you with awe, writhing beneath him. He pumps harder, your eyes rolling back as he tests you to see what makes you tick. "You want it harder, baby?"

You whimper a yes, unable to form anything coherent as you wrap your legs around his hips to get him in even further. He slips an arm under your knee, hooking your leg up over his elbow as he slides even deeper, hitting you at an angle that makes you want to cry.

He's railing you now as you snake your hands into his gorgeous hair, pulling his head back as he lets out a deep groan, encouraging him as he slams his hips into yours.

"That's it, princess, cum all over me," he says as he slips his hand down to play with your clit, his thumb expertly rubbing circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You force your eyes open to look at him, his jaw clenched as he thrusts in and out of you wildly, his eyes focused on your pussy as he watches himself fuck you with knitted brows.

He glances up to see you staring, sliding his free hand up around your throat. You gasp as his cool rings press in against your warm skin, cutting off just enough air that you feel dizzy. You feel your whole body tense as your pussy locks around him, your thighs trembling as you cry out his name.

"Oh shit!" He gasps as your cunt clamps around him. He growls something unintelligible as his thrusts become erratic and sloppy, stopping as he rams into you a final time, shooting his hot load into the condom.

He falls down on top of you as his moans mix with heavy panting, carefully shifting his weight so he doesn't crush you. He lifts his head after a moment, his big eyes glazed over with post-orgasmic bliss as he looks at you.

"That was fun," he says with a chuckle.

"You need help with any other classes?" You ask breathlessly as Eddie breaks into laughter, his head falling back down on your chest. You both giggle as you brush your fingers through his hair.

"You can teach me whatever, whenever," he says as he looks back up at you. You watch as his smile fades, his face becoming more serious as he examines your face.

"Be mine."

Your breath catches in your throat as you give him an appalled look. "What?" You ask with an awkward laugh, thinking he had to be joking.

"Be mine, princess," He says again, his eyes looking over you with possession.

-----

End ♡

what about dark mechanic bucky when you forget your credit card. he's all sweaty and dirty wearing a wife beater and jeans. imagine how mean he would be 😳😳

Oh… he would be so mean and so cocky. Wiping the sweat off of his face with the back of his forearm, leaning against the wall making vulgar comments to his co-workers *cough cough* mechanic!Ari while checking you out like a piece of fresh meat.

Warnings: dark/mean Bucky, NON-CON, DUB-CON, misogyny, degradation, objectification, unprotected intercourse, 18+ only MDNI

"Walk in here looking like a fuckin’ prostitute. What do you expect?"

"P-Please, just, please st-stop," your subconscious lets out a moan while you struggle to escape Bucky’s firm grip.

"You left your wallet at home on purpose, didn’t you? Dirty whore’s getting what she wanted," Bucky groans, clenching his jaw. The rivers of defined veins flow down Bucky's muscular arms. His hand covers the whole right side of your head while the old cement wall scrapes deep into your left cheek.

"N-No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whine, your puffy eyes welling up with salty tears. "S-stop, I promise p-please," your groans trembling, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, breaking the tender flesh.

The pungent scent of blood and sweat floods your senses as Bucky mercilessly rams into you. "Oh, don’t act like you don't like it." Bucky ridicules you, the head of his cock rapidly slamming into your cervix. "You’re so wet, you like being used like the worthless slut you are."

You squirm under Bucky’s hold, pulling fearful whimpers from your clenched abdomen. Pressing the rough pads of his fingers to your swollen clit, your knees go weak. "That’s it," Bucky groans. His skin beats against yours, beads of sweat rolling down his toned body. "Can’t even pretend anymore, pathetic."

So glad we brought it back to The Horny. You’re getting so worked up and only over his fingers, I mean Peter really has you desperate for anything he’ll give you. And you’re grasping onto his arm, trying to ground yourself but a thought comes to mind. Two can play at this game. You place a hand on his thigh, sliding it up just to barely graze his crotch. You hear a small gasp from him and it eggs you on. You’re palming him through his sweats, feeling him grow and twitch under your touch. He’s groaning your name and picking up speed with how he fingers you. But neither of you have acknowledged each other, the both of you have your eyes glued to the screen. You guide your hand under his pants and wrap your hand around him. It’s turned into a competition now, who can get the other to come first. He knows he's close, but so are you. You're faltering, and he knows exactly what to do to make you come undone. With his thumb rubbing circles on your clit and his fingers curling up to hit that sweet spot that has you clenching tighter around him. You're coming while chanting his name and the action is enough to send him over the edge too.

fwb tasm!peter x reader and peter just wants to fuck but you won’t until you clean up his wounds and he’s trying so hard to ignore how his heart skips a beat. all he brings is pain to the people he loves, which is why he only tries to bring pleasure to you instead because he can’t bare to think what could happen if he came to accept his love for you. 🥲🥲🥲

@buckys-estrella …help

Flustered (Steven Grant x Reader)

Summary: Steven loves spooning. He loves the closeness, the comfort, and he happens to really love your ass. You do the old "innocent wiggle" a few times to see his reaction.

Rating: Explicit! 18+ only, minors DNI

CW: Smut, fluff, possessiveness, PIV sex unprotected (be smarter), edging

A/N: big thank you to @love-on-the-murder-scene for always giving the best ideas and having the same slutty smutty thoughts as I do. you are an absolute gem and I adore you!

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

You yawned, stretching your arms in the air as you leaned against the back on the couch. Steven pulled his nose from his book, his eyes trailing down your figure as your shirt hem lifted, showing off your belly.

"Hmm," he moaned softly before glancing at the clock. "It is kinda late, innit? I guess I was lost in my reading." He said as he took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose between 2 fingers.

You smiled, watching him with adoring eyes. You loved how much he loved his books.

"Why don't you bring that sexy book to bed?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"I just love you," Steven said with excitement as he rose from the couch, offering you his hand. You stood, and he pulled you to the bedroom.

Steven read to you for a bit about the ancient Egyptians, making little remarks here and there and adding his own two-cents anywhere he could. You admired his passion and the way his voice grew higher when he got excited.

He rubbed his eyes, squinting at the pages.

"You've been reading too long, baby," you said sweetly as you took the book, rolling on your side to set it on the night stand.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, sinking down the mattress so he could cuddle up behind you. He squeezed your middle as he kissed your shoulder, mumbling about the sweet smell of your hair.

You felt his breath slowing as he got comfortable enough to fall asleep against you. He nuzzled the back of your neck as his thumb rubbed back and forth over your hip.

You smiled to yourself as you felt the growing bulge in his boxers nudging your thigh. You couldn't help but wiggle your hips just a little.

He tensed behind you, gripping your hip tighter as your ass rubbed against his erection. He wasn't sure if you meant to or not.

"Love?" he whispered, brushing the hair from your face to peek at your eyes. You kept them closed, wanting to play with him a little longer.

After a few moments, you wiggled your hips again, this time adding more pressure. He whimpered a bit, before biting his lower lip to try and stay quiet.

His breath quickened as he tried to adjust himself, always the gentleman. You couldn't help but tease him. He was sexy in the most adorable way.

You sighed sleepily, rolling your hips backward and against his crotch, settling his cock between your cheeks and moving slowly up and down his shaft. The jig was up.

He moaned gently, throwing his head back against the pillow and fiddling with your Tshirt to get his hand underneath it, eager to find your tits.

You moaned, arching your back to lean into his grasp while grinding even harder against his cock.

"Oh bloody hell," he whined as you grinded against him at a faster pace, reaching back to hold his hip and anchor yourself to him.

His hand slipped from under your shirt directly down past your belly and into your panties, his fingers frantically trying to find your clit. He gasped as he felt your wetness, bucking his hips against your ass.

You hummed in approval, turning your head to look back at him writhing against your backside.

He glanced down at you and attacked your mouth with kisses, his breathy moans growing louder as you slipped your hand into his boxers, wrapping it around the base of his dick. You pumped it a few times as you slipped it out of his shorts.

"Fuck.." he whimpered as he snatched your panties down your legs, leaving them around your knees as he laid his cock against your bare ass, exhaling as his eyes rolled back at the contact.

You sighed at the feeling of skin to skin, especially revelling in how hard he was for you. You shifted your leg forward, leading him to your entrance as you palmed his tip, smearing precum all over it. He placed his large hand under your thigh, lifting it further as he slid into you slowly, filling you completely.

"Oh my fucking god," you gasped as he sank his teeth into your shoulder gently, letting himself sit still inside of you for a moment so your pussy could adjust to his size.

"So tight," he whimpered, "...all mine"

"Mhm," you moaned, nodding quickly and looking up into his eyes. He groaned as that look drove him absolutely wild.

He moved his hips slowly at first, letting you feel every inch of him massaging your walls. He quickly picked up speed as he fucked into you, muttering out unintelligible curses. You wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, clinging to him as he forced your moans from you.

The bed slammed into the wall repeatedly, books falling off the headboard and clattering to the ground. It only encouraged him as he clenched his jaw, furrowing his brow as he pounded you.

"Stev...en!" You cried out in broken moans as your orgasm built inside your core.

"Gonna cum for me?" He asked sweetly, looking down at the mess he'd turned you into.

All you could do was shake your head yes, euphoric tears spilling down your face as he lifted your leg higher, sinking in even deeper at an angle.

"Fuck, that's my girl" he groaned as he felt you tightening around him with every thrust, feeling his own orgasm building now.

You knew he was getting close as his breaths were more sporadic and his thighs began to shake. Glossy eyes and blushed cheeks, he was beautiful in this state. You reached around and gently grabbed his balls, softly stroking them as his mouth fell open in surprise. "Oh, gods.." he moaned out, the face he made was enough to make you cum, and you did.

Steven reached up in an instant, gently wrapping his hand around your throat as you came, forcing you deeper into your state of pleasure as he stilled, shaking as he came inside of you.

The sounds that came out of you were explicit, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and you were sure he'd be embarrassed by it. He seemed quite the opposite as he littered your neck and face with sloppy, wet kisses, rocking himself through the rest of his orgasm inside of you.

Steven collapsed behind you into the bed, holding you close as he caught his breath, pressing his forehead to your back.

He groaned as he pulled out of you, rolling out of the bed. He walked around your side and helped you sit up, to which you protested.

"I know, love, but let's get you to the loo," he said as he helped you and your wobbly legs out of bed.

"No UTIs on my watch!" He said with a silly voice, winning a giggle from you.

-----------

END

A/N: I bet Steven is amazing with aftercare and knows tons about women's sex health 🥰

The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall. 

Word Count: 8.2k 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.

Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece. 

You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts. 

You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you’re doing. You should leave the poor man alone. 

But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-

Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.

Keep reading

sub!steven is literally all I can think ab rn😩

warning: dom/sub dynamic

Steven sits at the edge of his bed in only his boxers. His hands rest in his lap, covering the evident tent in his boxers.

You waltz over to him and straddle his lap, arms locking behind his neck, "You're such a good boy for me, hmm? Doing exactly what I tell you?"

He gulps, "Y-Yes, ma'am. I'm your good boy," he glances at your lace clad chest and you grab his chin, making him look back up.

"You look at me when I talk to you. Understand."

He groans out, "Yes, ma'am again." the pressure of your body on his lap is riling him up even more. He begins to wiggle under you, trying to gain more friction.

You push him onto his back, and he falls onto the bed, "Did I say you could move, Stevie, baby?"

"N-No. I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm sorry."

You tsk and climb off his lap, "And I thought you were my good boy."

"I am! I am! Please. I'm sorry!"

You lay beside him, arm propping up your head as your fingers barely graze his clothed cock, "Mmmm. I like hearing you beg. Do it some more."

(ahahahahahahah...fuck.)

okay but like how do you think Adrian would react to his partner squirting? I feel like he’d be obsessed with it😩

the word OBSESSED is ABSOLUTELY CORRECT

once he's with his partner he's like. okay i know everybody doesn't do this. so i can't be disappointed if it doesn't happen. it's not my fault. i can't just MAKE it happen. like he TELLS HIMSELF that but that doesn't mean it's NOT a GOAL

and then the first time you do it he like. just loses his WHOLE entire mind. like he loses his MIND. he wasn't keeping careful enough track of what, exactly, he was doing to cause it in the first place, and he tries to figure it out, but he was, like, just kind of being IMPULSIVE, you know, so then

then at that point it becomes a THING for him. like an ENTIRE OBJECTIVE. he tries a whole host of different things and studies porn like he's taking a class and attempts to figure out how to make you squirt literally as often as he can. my heart says he keeps a tiny journal or a locked note on his phone to keep notes about everything he tries and how it was received

long story short i fully believe adrian chase sees sex as both an enjoyable activity and a personal success and he would make it a LIFE GOAL for his partner to squirt as OFTEN as possible like he LOVES IT. one track mind sometimes. every track mind the rest of the time. no in between for him

HOLY FUCKING HELL IM AN ABSOLUTE WHORE FOR THIS

Chainsaws and Parking Lots

A/N: Adrian Chase x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.9K Warnings: Rough Smut. Blood Kink. Public Sex. Oral. Sex near dead bodies. Hurt/Comfort ish. Pain kink. Summary: Adrian never knows how to deal with tears. A/N: lol dis is wild and written in a daze

“I do bad things.”

“Correction,” Adrian exclaims. “You do bad things to bad people.”

You shoot a glare at him - your brows knitting together.

He loves the violence of you. He loves watching you tear people apart.

“What the hell did you use?” he murmurs - already hard - already half-blind with it. You turn toward him - your sneakers are stained red. You're not even dressed in your suit. Civilian clothes. Interesting. You wordlessly point to the gore-ridden tool that is nestled between the pieces and parts of dead bodies. Hot as fuck.

“Is that a chainsaw?” He places his hand on his chest - feels the thump thump thump of his own heart beginning to beat too fast. His cock twitches.

You nod mutely.

He wants to breathe i love you against your carnage-drenched hair. He wants to shove you against that tree by the road, ruck your shorts down and lick your pussy. He bets you get soaked - dripping with that punch of girl-flavor he finds addicting. Adrian Chase could eat pussy all day every day. He’s great at it. He thinks - or so he's been told by like three people.

“What I’d do?” you ask no one in particular. Your eyes are round and big and your voice is small and hushed as it slips from your mouth.

He gingerly pulls you away from the massacre you’ve caused. He wants to tell you how Tobe Hooper has nothing on you, but that might not fly. Your shirt is dark and soggy. Your cute white sneakers branded in arterial spray. He needs to be tactful here. He tries to think how Chris would react? If he’d react at all? They’re just extras. They just got in the way. They’re regrettable casualties except they’re not too regrettable because they did work for the mad scientist that we are currently hunting!

He controls himself. Shouldn’t come on too strong.

Instead - he pinches your cheek with his clumsy, gloved fingers. “You’re adorable.”

You blink at him - mouth parting in surprise. “That was - was not adorable.” He sees it - he sees your throat bob and your lashes flutter and your eyes go all glassy with tears. You swallow thickly and scrub a hand over your face. “You’re so fucking weird, Vig.”

He thinks that means that you're fine, but then he's wrong.

Your face goes flat before it collapses. You start melting down. Your chest heaves (he’s totally not looking). You press your hand to your stomach - choking on air.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

He could wax poetic about how the both of you are born killers - how this is strictly the job even though he’s about 92% sure he hasn’t been hired to do any of this in particular. You’re the Waller puppet with the enhanced strength and fighting prowess and he really wants to ask you if whatever experimentation you got as a kid made you like ten times prettier? No one should have tits and bone structure like that and also be able to wield a chainsaw like it’s a baton.

“Okay,” he murmurs as he studies your stricken face. “It’s alright?”

Great. Excellent job. He was making strides in human empathy.

You wrap your arms around yourself. Your face is still screwed up - still very lost and confused and he finds himself stumped.

“Chill out?” he advises as he steps toward you - palms-up like he’s attempting to gentle a bucking horse. “It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”

You chew your lower lip - expression anxious. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to kill them all.”

“Okay...” He slowly peels off his mask. You’ve seen him before. “Just as an FYI, people tend to bleed to death when you cut off their body parts.”

You huff out a laugh. Your teeth vibrantly white against all that dark red. He wants to eat your mouth - your skin. He thinks you're going to cry again - maybe start sobbing.

He makes a decision - selfish as it is.

He can’t help himself. He grasps the curves of your hips and yanks you toward him. You go rigid. He presses his lips to your throat - wet and insistent. You sigh - relaxing into him - going to putty. He trails them up your jaw before he tucks your ear lobe between his teeth and bites. You shudder - your blood-caked fingers digging into the backs of his arms - trying to rip through his tactical suit.

He’s going to fuck you. He’s going to fuck you covered in blood because how fucking spectacular would that be?

You grip his face to wrench him down to your mouth. It’s a saliva-laden kiss. Messy and wet and tastes like metal. He doesn’t mind - not at all. In fact - he really fucking likes it.

***

“Fuck,” you gasp as Adrian rails you into the cold, hard pavement. He’s got you trapped beneath him - pinned like a pretty butterfly on stark paper (but not the alien variety)

He sucks in a breath when you hitch your knees higher over his waist. Your pussy clutching at him - tight and hot as a fist. “Um,” He kisses your cheek - drags his tongue along the ridge of your jaw. “This - like not to be weird - but this is probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever done.”

You arch an eyebrow and he draws his hips back - the head of his cock catching on the fluttering rim of your hole before he drives forward. “Shit, Vig,” you wheeze, which really kind of gets him going (not like he already was). He’s had to think about mile-long CVS receipts in order to keep himself from blowing his load. It’s nearly impossible because the air is swamped with that copper-stench of blood, there’s the evidence of your extremely violent tendencies just above your head, and the stimulating thought of them getting caught screwing in public next to a pile of dead bodies. Fucking cool.

He almost - almost - hopes that Chris would show up looking for them.

He lifts himself up slightly - forearms framing your face. He bears his weight - glancing down between you to watch as his cock disappears inside your sex - the thick of him obscenely shiny with your slick. Your thighs are splayed open - your shirt is hiked above your perfect tits where there’s more gore - more and more red just painting you like an abstract splatter piece.

You’re making really hot noises - high-pitched, breathy uh uh uh’s that stroke him off. “Can we like do this more than once?” he asks as he eases himself out of you. Your expression morphs into displeasure - your teeth click in your mouth. He’s already got you before you can complain. He licks his fingers and shoves two of them into your fucked-out cunt. He grinds his thumb against your clit - making you jerk.

“Sure,” you reply in between hitched moans. “Sure - fuck - whatever you want, Vig.”

He simpers. It could be sort of kind of romantic if he thought about it. The night sky is plumb-purple blue as a liver. The stars faintly twinkling behind the wash of smog that swells from the city. The subtle smell of decay and pungent oil from the chainsaw. His glasses fog up because of the cool temperatures while the two of you remain fever-hot. He finally has to remove them after they slide down his nose for the tenth time. He grins as he watches you writhe on his hand. Each pump of his fingers - straight to the knuckle - creates crude, squelching noises.

“You’ve got the juiciest fucking pussy,” he praises as his eyes bare down upon your exposed cunt - watching it bloom around his ministrations. He’s gotta get his cock back in there, but he also doesn’t mind this honey-slow pause - this moment that he can really look at you fully as he massages in and out and his thumb circles your perky little clit and he smiles at you in the cold dark of this abandoned parking lot outside an abandoned warehouse. “Can I lick it?”

You nod - furiously - desperately - and it really gets him charged up - to watch you splayed on your back - spread out and needy. Fuckk, it's nice.

He removes his fingers and lowers himself so that he can force your knees over his shoulders. Your heels knock against his suit - his spine. There’s your cunt - gaping and glossy and clenching on air. He glances up at you - the heave of your tits - the blood staining your face - caught up in your hair. You’re clean down here - just all wet from him and his fingers and his cock and -

“Adrian,” you plead and it rumbles through him - rides him hard - the delicious bite of your voice calling him by his name.

He goes to town - his lips kissing your parted entrance - his tongue thrusting inside you to taste your heat. You're soapy - the slim tang of salt and sweat and flesh. The brush of cordite and iron in the creases of your skin. He suctions his mouth over your clit - flicking it until you fist your hands into his hair and yank. He sucks a fold into his mouth - he nips the other. You’re panting - nearly grinding down against his face - potentially breaking his nose, which he genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’d be able to tell Chris that it happened because he was tongue-fucking you on the hard cold ground next to a bunch of dead bodies.

He licks and licks and worships. He traces the tip of his tongue over the tiny nub that throbs and swells and sometimes he teases his fingers inside you - relishing as they contract around his knuckles. He feels you come - a muffled scream against the back of your hand. The rush of your liquid - your pleasure - the sticky feel of it on his chin and jaw and the way your eyes dance over him - provocatively - sweetly -

“C’mere,” you demand and he goes - sliding up and over your body - his cock so hard that it bounces against his stomach - the rough texture of his suit. He buries you beneath him - frantically kissing you with his pussy-soaked tongue. Your thighs widen - your heels digging into his ass to maneuver him just right. He sinks back inside the molten ache of your cunt. You gasp at the stretch of it - the slight burn he imagines as he barrels into you without caution because he knows you can handle it. He fucks you hard - leveraging his weight - your nails digging into his throat - his cheeks. “Does it hurt?” He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck - he laps at the spots of blood. “Is my cock hurting you?”

“Yes,” you sigh - hips bucking up and into him. He grabs a handful of your ass - forcing your thigh up higher.

“Let me get deep,” he mumbles as he takes you in long, tortuous strokes. He eases himself out - right to the tip - before plunging forward - forcing a whimper out of your mouth. “My little killer queen,” he calls you. The blood in his nose and the ripple and rock of the Queen song in his ears. The moon glinting off the chainsaw that rests not far from their tangled bodies.

You shudder - going tight around him. The burst of a surprise orgasm pushing through your core and curling around him as he tries to dream up more CVS Receipts and blueberry muffins with tentacles and his grandmother in a top hat, but it does nothing. He drags himself through the dripping clenching bite of your cunt - fucking you relentlessly as you take it like a champ. The sloppy, messy thrusts are met with your lips murmuring don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, Adrian. Vig. Adrian.

His pace stumbles - he hits his high - fills you right up with spurt after spurt of his warm spend. He’s surprised - falling back on his heels while you sit up on your elbows. Your thighs hang open and he watches his own pearly spunk drip from your puffy, swollen pussy. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

He frowns. “At what?” He needs his glasses. He needs a burrito and idly wonders if you’d grab one with him and then let him eat you out again.

“Comforting.”

He forgot that’s how this started. “I’m totally an empath,” he smirks - slapping his hand across your cunt and making you yelp. You kick him in the chin. “Shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Okay - I deserved that.”

“You can make it up to me.”

“Fuck yes I can.”

OH MY GOODNESS THIS WAS JUST PERFECTION??? I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

In the mood to have my honor defended and be passionately, possessively fucked afterwards

relatively alright : marc spector x reader (& steven grant)

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Smut!!! P in v sex, dirty talk, face slapping, daddy kink, choking, light angst at the end, unedited writing because I couldn’t look at this any longer

A/N: Okay two things: One, I’ve written this only seeing the first episode of the series as it’s the only one out, so there could be some inaccuracies if things change later on. Two, if I’ve misrepresented DID in any possible way, please let me know! I’m not an expert. 

You’ve never met Steven before.

Dating Marc, you know about the others. He’s told you about them, at least as much as he can because obviously there are things he doesn’t know himself. He’s conscious of his alters, it’s like he’s sitting shotgun while they front but they’re never conscious of him when he’s the one in control and he thinks it’s the most frustrating shit in the world.

You could meet Steven without giving him a goddamn heart attack if he knew that you were Marc’s. Marc wouldn’t always feel the need to rush you off after too little time together because he gets worried that someone else will take over and he won’t be able to stop it, that you’ll scare them but that most importantly, they’ll scare you.

You’ve told him that won’t happen — you understand that it’s something he has very limited control over. You know that Steven has no memory of what happens when he’s not fronting and of course anyone would be scared if they were just thrown into reality at any given point, never one hundred percent sure what day it is, never sure of the things you’ve done in between your moments of consciousness.

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