#//she's never using another mug again
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satoru absolutely does not know how to ride a bike idk how i know this but i know
cw: suggestive content, mdni
“that was…good,” satoru settles on, still unable to properly articulate. he whines, still a little lightheaded and breathless as you roll off of him with a laugh, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before tucking yourself into his side.
“just good?” you tease, fingertips gliding over his chest. “if i’d known there was going to be a review, i’d have done that thing with my hips that you like.”
you roll your hips against his thigh, sending a warm chill down satoru’s spine.
“don’t do that,” he warns, but his face is flushed and he can feel himself getting hard again. “unless you want to leave the kids at your dad’s for another night.”
“oh! speaking of the kids!” your sweet movements stop abruptly, causing him to peek one eye open to send you a long suffering look. “my father bought the kids bikes yesterday, and i told him you’d teach them how to ride them.”
now, it’s no secret that gojo satoru is good at a lot of things.
he can manipulate the infinity around him and exorcise special grade curses with the flick of his wrist. he knows the words to every avicii song and can make mug cakes that don’t always explode in the microwave.
there’s only one thing he can’t do.
“i remember when my dad taught me,” you sigh. there’s a fondness in your eyes as you describe the memory. it’s something special and cherished, and satoru wants that for his kids.
_____
“this isn’t funny, shoko!”
“you’re right.”
“thank you—”
“because it’s hilarious. gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer of our time, never learned how to ride a bicycle.”
she trails off in a fit of laughter. satoru hasn’t heard her laugh like this in a long time, and he’d be ecstatic if her amusement hadn’t come at his expense.
“i didn’t have anyone willing to teach me!” he tells her, huffing. “it was all cursed technique this and cursed technique that. not to mention bikes are literal death traps on wheels.”
“motorcycles are death traps on wheels. bicycles are for babies,” she corrects, though he can still hear the laughter bubbling in her response. “why’d you even agree to teach them?”
“because she did this super hot thing with her hips, but focus!” he whispers harshly. “i can’t teach the kids how to ride a bike! what if i just bought a car—”
“only you would try to buy a car for an 11 year old.”
“not for megumi. tsumiki’s basically 13. she can start learning so when she’s old enough—”
“so tsumiki is going to learn how to drive before you learn how to ride a bike? you are so tragic,” she snickers.
well, it sounds lame when she puts it like that.
he looks up when the sound of the shower running stops. “and you’re useless,” he growls into the phone. “i’ll ask nanami.”
_____
NOT GOJO
[shoko]: i heard gojo’s teaching the kids how to ride their bikes
[you]: yeah :) i’m so excited!
[shoko]: me too.
[shoko]: can you send videos?
[nanami]: I would also like to see videos.
[you]: sure. but why the interest?
[shoko]: bcs i care about them and want to celebrate their achievements
[you]: you didn’t come to megumi’s violin recital because you said you valued your eardrums.
[nanami]: It will be a fun moment to look back on when they’re older.
[shoko] yeah that ^
[you]: fine i’ll send videos.
______
the sun is just beginning to set and the city beginning to settle when you take the kids to the park.
“i really think—”
“satoru, we are not teaching megumi how to teleport to school.”
“but if he uses the shadows—”
you thrust a helmet into his hands, stern look shutting him up immediately.
“fuck,” he mumbles once your back is turned to help the kids. he shoves the helmet onto his head and buckles it tightly.
the kids walk over to him with their little bikes, the huge helmets on their head making them look like bobble heads.
you document his torture with a quick photo before giving him the floor.
“riding a bike is…super simple,” he tells them, patting the seat of your bike. “you get on, put your feet on the pedals, and…pedal.”
the kids only stare at him, confused looks on their cute faces.
“maybe you should just show them,” you suggest.
“why don’t you show them?” he quickly deflects. please please please—
“no! i’m taking the video!”
fuck.
satoru grips the handles of the bike tightly. he’s faced the worst of the worst, died and come back to life. he could ride a stupid bike.
he kicks at the stand your bike is leaning on, getting it up on the fourth kick. he swings his right leg over so he’s straddling the seat, his feet planted firmly on the ground.
it can’t be that hard, can it?
“watch and learn, kids.”
he takes a breath, then pushes off and places his feet on the pedals.
the bike rolls forward slowly. it’s wobbly at best, but he’s doing it. he’s doing it! he picks up a little momentum, heading off into the sunset—
“satoru! don’t lead them downhill!”
sure enough, the path in front of him leads down a slight decline. he squeezes the brakes and jerks to the side, sending him toppling over the bike and into the grass.
as he lays in the grass, dazed, megumi and tsumiki bike right past him. he’s sure the former even rolls his eyes.
“they have training wheels,” he says when you run over to check on him. “they’re cheating—”
“do you not know how to ride a bike?!”
“i never learned,” he grumbles, cheeks blushing at the admission.
“oh, honey,” you sigh, brushing some grass from his shirt. “why didn’t you just tell me?”
you kiss his brow, unable to hold back your laughter as he pouts. “you were so excited about me teaching them. didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“you could never disappoint us,” you tell him firmly. “now come on, i’ll teach all three of you.”
so you teach him, holding onto the back of his bike until he’s steady, until he’s confident enough to do it on his own.
he’ll get the hang of it eventually.
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#gojo fluff#keeping up with the fushigojos
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BABE i miss badass bau!reader!!! do you feel up to write something about her and spencer? 🫣🫣
—Spencer comforts you, even when you think you don’t need it. fem, 1.2k
You’d think that agents and staff working for the Behavioural Analysis Unit would use a little subtlety when gossiping about their coworkers. It’s in the name. You’re a profiler, after all, but you wouldn’t need to be to know that the sudden quiet that falls over the kitchenette area when you walk in is for a reason.
You’re determined to act unbothered. Only, it’s high school all over again, the whispering and the staring boring holes in the back of your head, and you’re thinking What are they saying about me? What have you done now?
Flustered, you make a cup of herbal tea and forget it on the counter by the sink. Humiliated, you rush back to your desk.
Spencer doesn’t look up as you sit. Your desks are together again for now, but who knows what whim will have Hotch separating you again. Last time it had been for ‘enabling bad behaviour’.
So what if Spencer likes to talk? He’d only think all the things he’s saying to himself. You’re speeding up the process if anything by listening. Plus, whatever the others might think, he’s interesting, smart and funny and he deserves to be listened to when he wants to tell you things.
“Hey,” you say, trying to push the humiliation brewing in your chest back to a quiet place.
“Hey,” he says. He talks to you in a way he doesn’t with the others. He’s more relaxed, less exuberantly friendly and more like a true friend.
He’s the only one in this whole office you’d ever want to sit next to every day. “Hi. What are you reading?”
Spencer folds his novel closed over his hand, an answer on his lips that stutters and fades. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look unhappy.”
It’s that unfortunate moment that Morgan decides to arrive, a cup of coffee in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, eyeing you both where you’ve stopped your conversation, the slight light of smugness to his eyes as he says, “Doesn’t she always?”
“Around you, Morgan, yes,” you say, turning your body fully to your computer. “That would be accurate.”
Morgan laughs heartily. “You love me.”
Maybe. You certainly don’t like him. Or, you’re annoyed with him most of the time. You wonder occasionally if he and the rest of your teammates are emotionally blind, considering the way they treat Spencer. Everybody makes their funny ‘harmless’ jokes, you’ve never understood why. They’re profilers, aren’t they? Can’t they tell it hurts his feelings? And they love to tell you that Spencer’s your soft spot, he is, but he’s also a nice boy who wants to be listened to above all else, so you’re a little bitter about it. You weren’t too sweet to begin with.
Today, you aren’t in the mood. You ignore Morgan and open your emails.
“You want tea?” Spencer asks, standing from his desk.
“No.”
“You always have tea in the morning. I’ll make it. Sit tight.”
You follow Spencer’s figure as he leaves. Morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you from across the divider.
“Do you ever think about taking him out?” Morgan asks.
“That’s an inappropriate question,” you say. You aren’t monotone, but you certainly don’t bustle with emotion either.
“You like him, he likes you.”
That’s exactly what Spencer needs, you think bitterly, the moody girlfriend, another thing to make him an outsider.
“You make each other happy,” Morgan continues.
“You get the same blueberry muffin every day,” you say, clicking an email attachment Hotch sent this morning distractedly, the temptation to roll your eyes at an all time high, “will you marry the baker?”
“I could. His wife might not like the idea.”
You hold in a smile. You sort of maybe do love Morgan, even when he’s prying. Better when Spencer returns and Morgan asks about the younger man’s weekend trip to Quantico’s seven floor library.
“It was awesome,” Spencer says, putting a mug down in front of your keyboard, his palm still warm from the mug taking temporary station on your shoulder. “There were more books about inmate crime than there were dictionaries. Is that okay?”
You take a sip of your tea. “It’s perfect,” you confess once you’ve swallowed. How does he know how you like it? He must steep it just as you do. Even the water level. You’d think it were the tea you’d left behind if it wasn’t in a new mug, scalding hot.
“Morgan, could you excuse us, please? For five minutes?” Spencer asks.
Your eyes widen of their own accord. Morgan makes flirty winky faces to hide his concern and meanders up the steps to Hotch’s office, pointedly looking away from the bullpen and your mess of desks.
“What’s going on?” you ask.
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Spencer says.
He’s wearing his glasses today, a rare sight these days, less so at the office when you’re sure there won’t be a case to go on. His hair curls at the base of his neck and flicks out under his ears, brown eyes like the flat of a mirror against the light, dark and deep. You wince when you realise you’ve been looking him over intensely, averting your eyes to the cup of tea warming your fingers.
“You know you can tell me anything,” he says.
“Sure.”
“I’d defend you. Just like you would for me.”
You drag your eyes to his. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, if you want me to go fight your corner, I will.”
“Who says I need that?”
“It’s Madge, right? The blonde woman with the pearl earrings. She and Andrea monopolise the kitchen in the morning and talk about all of us.”
You hate profilers, but you could never hate Spencer. You can’t find it in yourself to be upset that he’s worked out what perturbed you so quickly.
You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in your desk chair slowly. “There’s no point arguing with them, babe, you’d end up at Human Resources by the end of the day forced to write an apology letter.”
Spencer looks like he wants to touch you again, hand heistant, fingers moving as though he’s typing curled into his palm. “I’ll stick up for you if you want me to. I don’t care if they make me write a letter.”
“Can’t argue over silence,” you say.
It’s a kind offer, and he really is so handsome. Everybody else in the office might drive you up the wall but he’s a sweetheart, through and through.
“I like when you smile. Doesn’t happen much,” he murmurs.
If it were anyone else, you’d tell them to fuck off. “Thank you, Spencer. I like your smile too.”
He leans down for a hug. Again, if it were anyone else, you’d wriggle out of reach and give a speech on boundaries, but it’s him. He folds his arms behind your head and back, encouraging your face into the crook of his neck as he bends to meet you, gentle even when you don’t hug him back. “Don’t listen to anybody,” he says, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb.
“I don’t.”
“Who cares if they’re talking about us?” Spencer asks.
You touch his waist. “Not me.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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baby, it’s cold outside
i ought to say no, no, no sir — at least i’m gonna say that i tried!
eddie munson x fem!reader
3.6k
cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. mutual pining, friends to lovers, eddie convinces reader to stay but he’s not a creep - she’s just nervous, one (1) singular use of y/n, brief mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, protected piv sex, fingering. barely proofread so i apologize in advance if there's mistakes xoxo love u guys.
“No, really! I’m serious,” you laugh, tears springing from the creases in the corners of your eyes. “I had the biggest crush on him,” you add, taking a tiny hit of the joint between your fingers before letting it rest in the ash tray.
The warmth from the tiny space-heater in Eddie’s living room kisses your cheeks, your fingers warming up where they wrap around your mug of spiked cider. You shift your weight on the worn cushions of the sofa, tucking one leg beneath you. You’re home from college for the holidays, catching up with all of your closest friends. Steve had hosted at his place, and when the party died down there Eddie had offered that you come back to his.
“I can’t believe you never told me,” the boy grins, shaking his head as he takes a swig of his beer.
“Yeah, well… I don’t know. We were in high school. Everything feels like such a big deal when you’re in high school. I felt like that crush could’ve been the end of the world if word got out,” you giggle, leaning your head back against the cushions behind you.
“I get what you mean,” he says, leaning to knock his shoulder with yours. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “You weren’t always subtle, you know.”
You shove him, snorting out another laugh.
“Okay, so who was your high school crush?” you ask him, tilting your head to face him, a playful grin on your face.
“Chrissy Cunningham,” he says easily.
“That’s the obvious one,” you roll your eyes. “We all knew that. Robin never let you live it down. I want your secret crush, one you never told anyone about. You have to have one,” you pry.
Eddie swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes shift away from yours, his beer bottle raising to his mouth to take another sip. A way to avoid his answer.
“Well,” he says, his voice gravelly. “It was, uh, it was… you, actually.” He’s quieter now, less sure of himself than you’ve maybe ever seen him. Your heart twists inside of your chest.
“What!?” you ask, sitting upright. You didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but it certainly caught you off guard.
“Forget it, it’s stupid,” Eddie retreats, trying to laugh it off. You stop him, though, reaching out to put a hand on his knee.
“No, no. It’s not stupid. I just… I had no idea,” you say, emphasizing the last few words.
“Yeah. It’s like you said, I thought it would’ve been the end of the world if you found out,” he laughs a little, but you detect a twinge of sadness behind it.
“Eddie…” you say. “You could’ve told me. I— I’m glad you told me now,” you continue, rubbing a soft circle over his knee with your thumb.
“You are?” he raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
“Yeah. But I have one question,” you say, drawing your hand back from him and placing it in your lap.
“Okay, shoot.”
“Do you still have feelings for me? Now?” you ask nervously, glancing back and forth between the contents of your cup and his face.
He’s quiet, searching your face.
“Would it completely ruin everything if I said yes?” he asks, so quietly. His voice a gentle hum in your ears.
Suddenly, words escape you. You feel frozen, not knowing what to say. No, it wouldn’t, is what you want to say. Kiss me, please, is what you want to demand of him. But you find yourself unable to say anything at all. His gaze is overwhelming. Your heart races in your chest. Why is this so daunting?
He’s about to speak again, his mouth opening and closing. The moment is heavy, nerves raised high. Something in you wants to run, to flee. To escape the scary precipice you teeter on, between friends and something more. You welcomed this, but now it’s too much. You glance at the clock, cursing under your breath when you see the time. An excuse.
“Shit, Eddie, I’m so sorry. It’s so late, I really should get going—” you say, scrambling to stand while you set your mug on the coffee table.
“Wait,” a firm but comforting hand grips your arm, stopping you. “Please don’t go,” he says.
“Eddie, it’s almost midnight—”
“So stay with me. Please don’t leave right now, not after what we just talked about.”
“My parents, Eddie, they’ll be worried,” you rush out, slipping on your boots at the door and opening it.
A flurry of snow falls outside, coating the cars and the dirt and what’s left of the grass. The December night air is frigid and harsh where it hits your skin.
“Oh!” you gasp, wincing at the cold.
Eddie’s stood right behind you, his arm reaching over you and pushing the door shut again.
“No way you’re driving home in that, ‘s dangerous,” he tells you.
“Maybe I’ll wait it out…” you murmur, words failing you the longer he stares at you.
Your cheeks feel hot despite the below-zero windchill. Facing Eddie is harder than it had been five minutes ago, and you’re the one who brought on the conversation. He’s so close to you, gazing down at you, his eyes pleading.
“Y/N,” he says softly. “If you want to run, I won’t stop you. But I don’t think you really do. Just tell me, is the world going to end? Or can I have you?”
“I…. Eddie—” you stammer, and you really, truly feel like your heart might hammer through your chest and land on the floor.
His eyes are so big, pools of deep brown that draw you in. You could drown in them if you looked too long, could get lost in his vastness. He’s begging without words, aching for you to say something. Nervous eyes travel over his face, watching the slight twitch of his lips and the way they part just slightly. He’s beautiful. He’s always been beautiful.
“You can have me,” you whisper.
It takes a split second before his hands find your waist, pulling you into him. He noses at your face, watching your eyelids flutter shut. Every exhale from him wafts breath over your face, warm and so incredibly him. The air that he had breathed and put back out into the open space, filling your lungs now. His lips press against yours, featherlight and testing the waters. Your body relaxes fully, mouth melting against his as you let him kiss you.
It becomes needy quickly. What started so soft and tender becomes eager, open mouths devouring each other as tongues touch.
“I had a crush on you, too—” you blurt in between kisses.
“What?” he breathes, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and then to your cheek. The way he says it doesn’t indicate surprise, but rather he just wants to hear you say it again.
“You were my other secret crush in high school…” you confess shyly, eyes wide and blinking at him when he stops his movements abruptly.
“You really weren’t always subtle,” is all he says, smiling as he leans in to kiss you once more.
Teeth clash, both of you giggling into the kiss, your hands wandering up his chest as he holds you close to him. He tugs at the collar of your sweater, pulling you with him as he walks backwards to the couch. Straddling his lap, your hands find their way up his shirt, smoothing over his soft skin. He lets out a satisfied hum, his own hands reaching around to squeeze your ass as he lets his tongue prod into your mouth.
A soft whimper escapes you, your hips grinding on top of his. You can feel the tent in his jeans as he grows stiff beneath them, completely affected by you. It becomes increasingly obvious to you, then, the boundaries that are being crossed right now. You can’t go back after this, things are forever changed between you and Eddie.
You stop kissing him, glancing out the window at the falling snow. “Eddie—” you say, your eyes looking frantic; skittish.
“Don’t you dare tell me you have to get home. It’s cold outside, baby. The weather’s bad,” he says softly, nuzzling his face into your hair by your ear.
“What happens after we do this? Everything will be different,” you say, wishing you weren’t so nervous. So hesitant. So scared to fall completely for him and for it to end badly.
“Sweetheart,” he coos, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek. So gentle, so slow. “We don’t have to do anything. We can take it slow,” he soothes, and you can’t help but melt into his touch.
The blizzard still rages outside, no way you can get home safely.
You rest your forehead against his, your body relaxing once more. “I’m sorry for being so jumpy. I just… I want you in my life forever.”
“You know I feel the same. I’m going to make it my life’s mission to never give you a reason to kick me out of it,” he promises, hands rubbing up and down your sides.
You sigh, rolling your hips once atop his lap. Kisses are left on your cheeks, your jawline, traveling down to your neck. Everywhere his mouth lands is set ablaze, your body giving in to him, craving more. He paws at the hem of your sweater, causing you to pull it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor.
“Fuck,” he mutters, taking in the sight of you.
Your bra holds your breasts perfectly, your chest rising and falling with each breath you take. His hands trail up your skin, fingertips making you shudder as they dance along your torso. He caresses the swells of skin in warm hands, letting his thumbs run over the tops of each cup of your bra, dipping down to roll over your hardened nipples. A delighted, breathy noise leaves your throat, and Eddie revels in it. He wants to pull more pretty noises from you, keep you like putty in his hands.
“Can I take this off?” he asks you, dipping down to place a kiss between the curve of your breasts. His hands reach around your back, gliding along the band of your undergarment.
“Mhm,” you hum, your fingers tracing over the buckle on his belt.
He makes quick work of unclasping your bra, letting it rest on the floor with your sweater. His mouth immediately finds your tits, those big eyes of his glancing up at you as he sucks one nipple into his eager mouth.
You let your head fall back with a soft moan, electricity running through your veins. Your whole body is tuned into his actions, ready and waiting for more. And fuck, he’s barely doing anything yet but he’s so good. You know he’s fooled around here and there in the last few years, gained experience, but god, he’s so much better than you ever could have imagined on those late nights with your hand between your thighs. His hands and his mouth know exactly where to be at every second, making you perfectly pliant for him.
Your fingers start to undo his belt to the best of your distracted-ability, his tongue swirling around your nipple and making you dizzy with arousal. You work the button of his jeans open, fumbling with the zipper right after. You ease your weight off of him, hovering in place so he can slide the denim down till it pools around his calves.
A short, punctuated groan slips past his lips when you palm his stiff length over his boxers, his mouth now focused on your other nipple. Your short skirt does very little to keep you covered, the soft fabric riding so far up your thighs you’re almost exposed. His big palms move down to squeeze them, fingertips grazing beneath your skirt. You whine, bucking your hips slightly, encouraging him to move his fingers higher.
“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” he coos, his mouth so close to your ear, hands rubbing the expanse of your thighs. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna take good care of you.”
It sends shivers down your spine, the way he talks to you. So unaccustomed to hearing him speak this way, and still in disbelief that he’s speaking this way to you — doing these things to you. His hands bunch your skirt up as far as it will go, fingernails dragging along your sheer black tights. He snags them, leaving a run in the material.
“Oops,” he says, smug as his hands climb your thighs, reaching closer and closer to your core. There’s still too many layers between him and you for your liking. Your tights and panties, his boxers concealing his cock.
“Eddieee,” you whine, squirming on his lap.
“What, sweet girl? Where do you need me?” he asks, voice so sugary sweet as he blinks at you, lashes fluttering.
You huff, brows furrowing in desperation. “Do you need me… here?” he asks, letting his fingers trail over your clothed core. They tease, cupping your sex and rubbing soft patterns on the skin.
“Yeah, please Eddie,” you gasp, your hands planting firmly on his shoulders to brace yourself.
“Take everything off for me, baby, yeah?” he suggests, watching intently when you stand momentarily to strip.
You’re grateful for the warmth coming from the small heater, the chill from outside slipping in through the cracks of the trailer’s windows being warded off to the best of the equipment’s ability. You come to straddle Eddie once more, one of his hands immediately grabbing your waist, the other making its way back to your cunt. He ghosts his fingertips over your clit, making your hips jerk ever so slightly. He laughs lowly, not mocking you but instead basking in the spell he has you under in this moment.
His index finger runs through your folds, collecting the wetness that waits for him. “Christ, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours for another kiss.
His tongue pushes gently past your lips right as he slips a finger inside of you, making you moan into his mouth. He swallows your sounds gratefully, his finger curling inside your walls to hopefully bring on more.
“Need more, Eddie,” you beg, grinding yourself on him. He obliges easily, slipping a second finger inside.
The way he stretches you is divine, it feels far too good to have you worrying any longer. You don’t care that one of your best friends has you naked on his lap, you don’t care about what your other friends will think, you don’t care that it’s late and you haven’t called home. You don’t care. He pumps his fingers in and out expertly, your arousal filling the trailer with lewd, wet noises. Your mouths move hastily against one another, kissing and licking and biting, making up for lost time.
“Feels so good,” you pant between kisses, making him smile.
“Yeah? You’re so gorgeous,” he praises, pressing more kisses to your face.
You feel your cheeks warm at his words, your head fuzzy. “Want— want you to fuck me,” you say softly, and he tilts his head, reading your expression.
“You sure?” he checks, stopping the movements of his fingers and instead removing them from you. He cups your face, his cheeks flushing pink when you nod.
“I’m sure,” you reply, reaching your hand down and squeezing the outline of his cock beneath cotton fabric.
He inhales, sharp and fast, his eyes half-closing in pleasure.
“Okay, sweetheart. Why don’t you lay down?” he asks, patting the cushion beside him.
You both maneuver your bodies, you lying on the sofa as he comes to hover over you. A condom had been pulled from his wallet, and he opens the packet with his teeth as he shimmies out of his boxers. You watch in awe as his cock springs free, the size of it surprising you. Your eyes are trained on him as he rolls the condom on, his fingers making quick work of it.
“Like what you see?” he asks, catching the area your eyes are glued to.
All you can do is nod, redirecting your eyes to the smirk on his face. Goosebumps rise on your skin, the icy wind blowing stronger outside now, more persistent in the way it penetrates the trailer walls. Eddie notices, standing up and pulling the thick knit blanket from the armchair in the corner of the room. He returns to the couch, positioning himself on top of you and awkwardly fixating the blanket over both of your bodies with your assistance.
It’s warm, and it’s safe, and it makes your heart swell.
“You ready?” he says quietly, kissing you on the cheek and then the forehead.
“Yeah,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him sweetly, letting your tongue take control this time.
He exhales heavily as he starts to push in, his head breaching your folds and making you both moan. His forehead rests atop yours, strong arms caging you in as he holds himself up. He moves slowly, filling you inch by inch and paying careful attention to your reactions. Your lips part, no sound coming out as he bottoms out inside of you. His head drops to your shoulder, shaggy hair tickling the junction between it and your neck.
“Fuck, Eddie,” you sigh, letting your body adjust to the stretch of him. It feels like he was made for you, your body quickly aching for more.
He starts moving, careful not to go too fast for you.
“Baby…” he breathes, pulling almost completely out before thrusting back in again.
Your hands slide down his back beneath the blanket, nails digging in slightly when he starts to pick up his pace. You can’t fucking believe you have him like this right now, and you think about how different this night would’ve played out if you had just gone home after leaving Steve’s. You’re grateful you didn’t; grateful to be here, being loved on by Eddie.
Your relationship blossoms into something new with each snap of his hips against yours, further solidifying the fact that you want more with him. Something deeper, something intimate.
Moans leave you in short, breathy spurts as he fucks you, filling you up over and over. He’ll slow down, taunting you with drawn out movements before he’s back to thrusting quickly, giving you whiplash. His teeth tug at your bottom lip, his nose brushing against yours. He smells so good and his skin is so warm, it only urges you closer and closer to release. Being so close to him is intoxicating, and you cry his name over and over as his cock hits that perfect spot inside of you.
“Getting close, angel?” he asks, grinning down at you when you nod. “God, you feel so fucking good around me, baby,” he says, kissing you like he simply can’t get enough.
His breathing is heavy, exertion evident in the way he fills his lungs with air. You snake a hand down your body, softly starting to rub your sensitive clit with the pad of your finger.
“Want you to cum for me, baby, give it all to me,” Eddie encourages you, your eyes screwing shut as pleasure builds and builds in the pit of your stomach.
His cock glides in and out with complete ease, your pussy soaking him. He keeps a moderate, steady pace, wanting to savor every last second of this milestone with you. You can feel yourself quickly approaching your release, rubbing more urgent circles around your clit now. Your brows are furrowed in concentration, Eddie’s breath fanning your face as he grunts with each thrust.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you pant, feeling yourself let go completely.
Your walls clench tight around him, tensing up over and over as he helps you ride out the high. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he soothes. “Did so good,” he praises as he continues to fuck into you.
He’s close, you can tell by the way his movements get less precise. You pull his face down to you, capturing his lips in what feels like the millionth kiss of the night. He kisses back urgently, pulling away only to warn you of his approaching climax.
“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum,” he huffs, barely giving you a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of the condom.
His hips stutter, and you can just barely feel the way his cock twitches as he rids himself of every drop. Both breathing heavily, he collapses on top of you, your arms wrapping around him to hold him tight. The blanket keeps the warmth locked in, his skin sweat-slick against yours.
Regaining composure, he pulls back enough to look at you.
“Did you mean it, when you said I can have you? Will you be mine?” he asks, his eyes boring into yours.
“Yes,” you assure him. “I’m yours.”
His grin is brighter than the sun, outshining the glow from the Christmas tree as he smiles down at you. All he can think to do is kiss you, and somehow it feels even sweeter this time.
Once you’ve both redressed, him in his pajama pants and you in his borrowed clothes, he pads into the living room with a glass of water for you.
“Oh, hey. The snowstorm’s died down,” he says, peering out the window. “You still want to try and make it home?”
“No. I want to stay right here,” you say, coming up behind him. Wrapped in a blanket, you reach your arms out, enveloping him in the warmth, too. Your face nuzzles into the space between his shoulder blades, before he turns around so he’s facing you.
“Good. Cause I really don’t want you to go,” he smiles, his dimples peeking out. “It’s still cold outside, after all. A lady like you should be safe and warm in my bed, not braving the elements.” You giggle, nuzzling your nose against his.
“You’ve convinced me. I’ll stay.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction
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Scars – A Joel Miller/Reader Oneshot
“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair.
“Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel.
“Show me.”
Summary: When Joel stumbles into the kitchen at 2am, restless and tense, he doesn't expect to find you at the table, nursing a cold mug of tea. He certainly doesn't expect to end up tracing the scars on your skin, explaining how he got his, your hands mapping the contors of each other's old wounds until something new emerges.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mutual pining, kind of angsty but also fluffy?, descriptions of old injuries, explicit sex, PIV, fingering, dirty talk, body worship, flirting, yearning, mentions of alcohol.
Word Count: 3.3k
It’s late, and the rest of Jackson is asleep.
A single street lamp lights the dark kitchen, casting a soft orange glow over the table and your half empty mug. The tea is long-since cold, but you keep your hands wrapped around it anyway, trying to soak up the last of its heat. There’s a microwave behind you, and a coffee machine, and enough hot water to fill several baths, but after twenty years of surviving by fire light and camping stoves, these modern conveniences still seem like the technology of your childhood, distant and unrealistic. And so the tea remains cold.
You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the normality of Jackson: the routine and order and kindness that seeps into every interaction, every town meeting and evening out. It’s been four months since you arrived – limping and half-dead, frozen almost solid by the bitter Wyoming winter – at the town’s gates.
And now you’re inside on a mild spring night, sharing a house with a man and his not-daughter, healthy and almost whole again. The town council were apologetic about housing you with Joel and Ellie: it was the only house with a spare bedroom at the time, but in truth it had been a relief. There was something overwhelmingly comforting about being around other people again, sleeping only a thin wall away from another human being, sharing meals and chores.
Joel’s quiet and serious most of the time, but you see cracks appearing in his hard exterior when he’s with Ellie, or his brother Tommy. Something of the man that existed before the world ended. And more recently he’s started opening up to you, too; rolling his eyes at you behind Ellie’s back when she swears or insults houseguests, chuckling at your bad jokes, letting his guard down when he gets home from a hard day’s construction work, allowing you to make him hot drinks and massage his sore shoulders.
You’re careful not to push anything too far, but the slow roll into familiarity with Joel has bred something less familial, too. Something wanting and churning that settles deep in your belly when you’re around him. It makes you want to press yourself against him, settle yourself in the crook of his shoulder, lick the thick tendons of his neck. Whether he feels the same is a mystery. He’s older than you by a couple of decades, not that that matters to you – you’re both adults – but he maintains a distance. Lets you massage his shoulders but never makes a sound while you do it. Holds the door open for you but keeps a respectful distance when you walk side-by-side through town. Allows you to rest your feet in his lap in the evenings on the sofa, but doesn’t touch them, or acknowledge them. You’ve heard him moving around in the night, restless and fidgety, but he never comes to your room on those long dark nights seeking comfort or companionship.
He's been quiet since he went to bed several hours earlier on this particular night, which is why it’s a shock when the kitchen light flickers on, illuminating Joel’s broad silhouette in the doorway. You scramble out of the chair onto your feet, heart thumping. He holds a hand up, calmingly, doesn’t move as your eyes adjust to the light.
“Fucking hell, Joel. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” He takes a step into the kitchen, feet bare on the terracotta tiles.
He’s still in his clothes from today, dark jeans under a thin grey tee, both slightly crumpled as though he’s slept in them. He always does. Undoubtedly it’s the same ritual that makes him keep a pistol on his bedside table, leave a packed go-bag by the front door; the same anxiety that casts dark shadows under his eyes, fuels his insomnia and maintains his habitual whiskey drinking. He’s ready for anything, always, because he’s been through shit and he thinks at any moment it’ll happen again. You understand. It’s why you’re in the kitchen at 2am, cold tea clutched between shaking hands.
“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask, as he opens a high cupboard and pulls out a tumbler.
You move around him, tip the dregs of your tea down the sink.
“Something like that,” He replies, voice croaky.
He pours the whiskey out into the glass, swirls it in thick fingers and then rests back against the kitchen counter opposite you, eyes finally finding yours. They hover for a moment on your face, dark and penetrating, then flick to one shoulder, the other, down your arm.
You keep them covered, normally. Wear long sleeves even in the heat of summer, never undress around anyone. You’ve avoided the swimming pond that opened three weeks ago, even though the water looked heavenly in the warm April weather, unwillingly to bear the scars that litter your body to the town, afraid they’ll show the community who you really are, reveal the terrible things you’ve done to survive. But unlike Joel you don’t have a habit of sleeping in your clothes, and the thin vest and shorts you’re wearing now reveals those long-hidden scars to him in the bright kitchen light.
The bullet wound is the worst one; a puckered, deep purple starburst across one shoulder, skin wrought into something alien and terrible. It’s this one that his gaze linger on, dark eyes making heat roll up your spine. His fist is gripping the whiskey glass so tightly that the tips of his fingers and knuckles are white with the strain of it.
“They’re awful, I know.” You say into the silence.
“What? No- God, no. They’re not.” A pause, his eyes flicking away from yours, over to the far wall, back across. “I’ve got ‘em, too. We all have.”
You scoff at this. Move your hand up, place it on your shoulder. His hand twitches where it rests on the countertop, but he doesn’t move.
“You cover them.” He says. It’s not a question, but you feel like you have to answer anyway.
“Yes.” A breath, shaky on the exhale. “They’re ugly.”
“No.” His voice is firm, commanding in the quiet kitchen. Despite yourself, you feel heat pooling between your thighs and you fidget, pressing them together, crossing your feet. The movement makes his eye dart down to your bare legs. You watch the apple of his throat as he swallows thickly, eyes trailing up to the hem of your shorts. There’s a scar there, too, bisecting your upper thigh. Thin and white, a reminder of a long ago incident with barbed wire.
“They’re not…” His voice trails off, eyes searching your face. “Nothing on you is ugly. Not even the scars. Especially not the scars.”
“No?”
“No.” He shifts, puts the whiskey glass down on the counter behind him and lifts his hand to your shoulder. Fingertips trace the edge of the bullet scar, and you feel goosepimples rise in their wake despite the warmth of the kitchen. He runs his hand up past its end, to your throat, along your collar bone and to the other arm. The scars there are paler, older. Shrapnel and grazes from a fall. Each one his fingertips trace reverently, as though they’re a holy text written across your skin. When he reaches the last, the one that loops around your wrist, the indent of a handcuff, you’re sure your heart is thumping so loudly he must be able to hear it, too. Slick is pooling between your thighs, hot and wet against the thin shorts you’re wearing.
“There are more,” You say, so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.
“Show me.”
It’s like a dance. You pull off your vest and Joel’s hand follows the curve of your waist, thumb dipping to press the small coin-shaped scar just below your rib cage. You sigh and he lets his hand run over your ribs, fingertips finding the spaces between like piano keys. When he reaches the curve of your bare breast he pauses, the weight of your flesh resting in the valley between his index finger and thumb. You don’t say anything, just lean into him, holding his eye contact, the pleasure and warmth of his hand making you bold. He moves slowly, carefully, rolling the bud of your nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching just so, pleasure blossoming in your chest, down your spine and to your cunt.
“This okay?” He asks, eyes flicking up from his hand to your face, tracking the pull of your eyebrows as they pitch together, the move of your mouth as you answer him with a shaky exhale.
“What about this one?” He asks, hand leaving your breast to trace across the scar that laces up your thigh under the hem of your shorts. “Can I?”
You’re not sure what he’s asking but you know that you want him to, want him to do whatever it is he’s asking so you nod. His hand grip your waist to lift you, setting you down on the kitchen counter. You grasp at his shoulders, the solid breadth of him hard under your hands. The counter is cold against the back of your legs, but before you can complain his hot hand is wrapped back around your thigh, thumb tracing the scar there again, fingertips inching up to the apex of your legs. He moves to stand between your open legs, still keeping a few inches of distance between you, the extra height of the counter making your eyes level. His burn into your face as he slips his hand higher still, fingers seeking out the wet heat of you, dipping inside, gathering slick and gliding it up to your clit.
“Joel,” You say into the aching gap between your lips and his.
“You’re fucking perfect,” He says, the words hot on your mouth, his breath mingling with your needy sighs. “All of you, you understand?”
You can only nod into his shoulder, head dropping to rest against the broad heft of it, his fingers thrumming a steady rhythm against your clit that has pleasure ratcheting up inside you. You’re still in your tiny sleep shorts, Joel’s hand forcing the crotch aside to palm at your drenched cunt. He slips two thick fingers into you, presses his thumb to your clit, and that tips you over the edge, pleasure coursing through you like fire.
He talks you through it, keeps up the firm press of his fingers, praises falling from his lips like prayers.
Good girl, that’s it, such a good fucking girl for me, taking what you need, so fucking perfect.
It’s only then, as you come down from the high, that he finally kisses you, tilting your head up with a gentle hand and fitting his lips to yours. They’re soft and dry, plush against your own. He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips, into the wet heat of your mouth, pulls back, before driving forward again, breathless and frantic. You thread your hands into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him against you, teeth clashing in your mutual desperation. His pulls his fingers from your wet heat, smears your slick up your sides as his palms your breasts, his earlier gentleness gone. But when you slip a hand between your bodies, seeking out the hard length of him in his jeans, he pulls back. His eyes are dark despite the bright kitchen light, pupils eating up the thin sliver of brown at the edges, but there’s a reticence there.
“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair.
“Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel.
“Show me.”
He steps back, out of the circle of your legs, pulls at the neck of his t-shirt and drags it up, over his head and off. His eyes are fixed on you, watching you as you take in the broad bulk of him, the sloping plains of his shoulders and chest down to a softer stomach. He’s all strength: hard where you’re soft, his scars stretched across thick muscle and tanned flesh. There’s one at his side that canters a jagged line across his stomach, and that’s where your hand goes, holding his waist to rest your thumb against its uneven edge. It looks fairly fresh, no more than a couple of years old, still red.
“What’s this from?” You ask.
“I was stabbed,” He replies, “while I was with Ellie.”
“It looks like it was bad.”
“Well, she stitched it up, so,” He smiles, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes, growing bolder as your hands map his chest and stomach.
“And this one?” An old one, hardly noticeable in the light, to the right of his belly button.
“Appendicitis, when I was twelve.”
“These?” A collection of four or five small white gash marks, peppered across his shoulders and along his collarbone.
“Makeshift grenade.” He says. “Went off in my hand.”
You lean forward, press your lips to the first of the scars and kiss it, drag your lips along to the second, and then the third. At the fourth you let your tongue dart out, tasting the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, salty and warm. He stands stock still as you do so, hands resting at your hips, fingertips gripping the flesh there tight enough to leave bruises. He sighs at the feel of your tongue against his skin, the insistent press of your mouth to his collarbone, your teeth, scraping at the tendon that jolts in his neck.
This time, when you reach for the button of his jeans he helps you, pops the first button, drags the zipper down and pushes them off his hips, revealing thick thighs corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair. He kicks the jeans the rest of the way off, steps forward again into the circle of your hips, letting you knead the thick flesh of his ass, pull him against you so that his hot length is pressed to the crotch of your shorts, two pieces of thin cotton the only thing separating you.
You kiss up the column of his throat, press your teeth to his ear lobe, and are rewarded with a soft groan that sends pleasure sparking up your spine again, cunt clenching down on nothing. His cock twitches against you when you lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. You fit your lips back to his. This kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, teeth clashing, his strong nose pressed to yours, one of his hands fisting in your hair, gripping tight at the ponytail at the base of your neck, holding you to him. You shuffle on the counter, pull your shorts off and down to join his jeans and shirt on the tiled floor.
“Take them off,” You say into his mouth, needy fingers sliding into the waistband of his briefs, seeking the length of him.
He does as you ask, bending to push them down, cock dipping and slapping up against his stomach as he frees it. He’s big, thick and beautiful, veins standing out against the shaft, precum beading at the tip. He hisses into your open mouth when you wrap your fist around him and stroke slowly up and down, thumb seeking out his slit, spreading his arousal and yours over it and down his length.
“Jesus, darlin’,” He sighs against the side of your neck, stubble rough against you, his hands seeking out the weight of your tits again, pressing open mouthed kisses against your skin.
You pull him back against you, press the blunt head of him to your slick entrance and watch him watch himself sink inside you, inch by inch, stretching you open. The burn of it is intoxicating, his thick length opening you up, pressing inside deliciously, white-hot pleasure blossoming up through your body.
“Feels so good, Joel,” You tell him as he shakes against you, bottoming out and dragging himself out only to press back inside.
“Pussy’s so goddamn perfect,” He says, his voice almost cracking with the effort of it.
“Please, Joel,” you hiss, “harder, please.”
The sound he makes then is animalistic, something between a grunt and a growl, teeth clenched, jaw pressed hard to your neck. He tightens his grip on your hips, anchors you to the counter and starts pounding into you. The strength of him is something to behold, his hips snapping into yours, muscles of his back shifting and clenching beneath your grasping hands.
“So fucking good,” he groans, “wanna stay inside you for the rest of my fucking life, darlin’.”
You don’t know how he’s so articulate; it’s all you can do to hold on to his shoulders and let him fuck you, whimpers and moans pouring from your open lips as he does, the slap of his hips against yours filthy in the otherwise silent house. When he slows his thrusts again he pulls back from you to watch where you’re joined, eyes dark, perspiration beading on his forehead. There’s a vein in his neck that’s pulsing visibly, a drop of sweat trickling down beside it, charting a course through patchy stubble. He reaches between your bodies, splays his hand over your mound and presses his thumb to your clit.
“Yes, Joel, please, God.”
“I can feel how close you are, darlin’” He says, “can feel you gripping me so tight.”
He strums his thumb over the swollen bundle of nerves, drawing small, tight circles that have you seeing stars within seconds, tension coiling inside you, ratcheting up until it breaks on a hard thrust of his hips, his cock hitting that spongy place inside you that sends pleasure right down to your toes. You come hard, fingernails digging into the hard flesh of his shoulders, Joel’s mouth clamped to your throat, teeth worrying the skin there, repeating the same phrase over and over as you come down.
There it is, there it is, good girl, I’ve got you.
He thrusts lazily into you as you slowly relax again, little aftershocks continuing for several long minutes, the blunt head of him hitting that same spot inside you again and again. You can tell he’s close now, his hands shaking where they’re gripping your hips again, face set in concentration, squeezing his eyes shut every few thrusts as though he’s desperately trying to hold himself back.
“Let go, Joel. Please,” You whisper, and he hisses through his teeth, pulls you bodily forward on the counter so that the angle changes and he can drive up into you, his pace quickening again.
“Jesus fucking Christ, darlin’” He rasps, thrusting into you once- twice- three more times.
He pulls out then, fist gripping the base of his cock as he paints your stomach and cunt with his cum, hot and thick. His face is a rapture, eyes pitch black, teeth bared with pleasure and need, the strong set of his jaw holding together what little restraint he has left.
He kisses you again after, drags kitchen roll from the holder to clean you up, presses sweet lips to your cheeks and temples, down your neck, across your chest, like he’s trying to taste the ecstasy that’s written across your heated skin.
Outside, dawn is quickly approaching. The weak rays of sunlight that filter into the kitchen illuminate the tan glow of Joel’s face and paint the scars on your bodies in pale yellow light. You don’t think anything’s ever looked more beautiful.
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel x you#the last of us fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfic
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“Darling you’re freezing!”
Dad!Charles Leclerc x mum!Reader
Summary: Charles returns home, and gets comfortable in bed with his two favourite girls.
Warnings: fluff, Google translate!!
Key: Y/N (Your name) Juliette (Yours and Charles little girls name) Jules (your little girls nickname)
Word count: 539
A/N: Another cute short one, I just love dad!charles. 🥲
Humming a soft tune, I delicately traced my finger around Juliette’s face. She was very unsettled, knowing her favourite person was due home soon… I couldn’t put money on the exact time but she knew it was soon.
Curled up in bed with a pile of blankets wrapped around us, the cold was still finding its way in, with my own body heat and the hundreds of layers Juliette was perfectly toasty… me?
Hell I was freezing my ass off.
“bébé?” (Baby?) The sounds of the door shutting brought me out the trance I was in. Juliette’s eyes widened looking around the room.
“In the bedroom.”
“I like the sound of that!” You could hear the smile in his voice, causing myself to smile and roll my eyes.
“You’ll be highly disappointed.”
The bedroom door was pushed opened, and there was our Charles.
“Highly satisfied actually- are you tired amour?” (Love?)
Nodding my head, I then gently lifted Juliette, holding her close in my arms facing Charles. “And someone else couldn’t sleep until you got home.”
Gasping dramatically he closed the door behind him rushing over to the bed. “My pretty girl.” And once he was in her range- I was completely forgotten about.
Scooping her up into his arms cradling her close he climbed into bed next to me, as gently as possible. “This is so much better than what I was thinking.”
“Dirty mare.” Laughing a little I pulled the piles of blankets over us both.
“My Jules, you can sleep now…” whispering softly, kissing the top of her head, her eyes were slowly opening and closing, she really was okay to rest now her dad was home.
Laying on my side I watched them both, I know our Juliette loved me, but the love she and Charles have is unbeatable, and I would happily stand second place to our perfect little girl.
“I don’t think I can ever get enough of her” My eyes glanced up toward Charles, a light smile on my face- cheeks a little warm.
“She’s perfect huh?” Charles eyes met mine, a smile already on his face.
“She is” reaching over, his hand brushed over my cheek.
“Darling you’re freezing!”
Laughing a little, I cupped his hand running my thumb over his knuckles. “Can’t seem to warm up.”
“Guess I’ll have to cuddle closer hm?”
“Just a little bit.” Smiling wider we both moved slightly closer, Juliette nestled comfortably between us both.
“I don’t think life could get any better than this mon amour…” (my love…) whispering he brought my hand over placing a delicate kiss to my knuckles. “Never any better.”
Silence fell between us both, Charles watching Juliette like a hawk, arm now resting around her.
“Want a warm drink?” Nodding his head in response I got up from the bed wrapping a blanket around myself.
—
Once I had us both a hot chocolate made, I brought both mugs upstairs placing them down on Charles side- quickly rushing round and hopping back in carefully.
“That’s freez-” and just like that I fell in love with him all over again.
Charles and Jules were both sound asleep, little smiles on their faces. They soothed each other into a perfect slumber.
#f1 imagine#formula one imagine#imagine#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#dad!charles leclerc#12 days of christmas
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melatonin and oxytocin [ s.r ]
Summary:
You and Spencer pair up in an inn room that just happens to have one bed. Oh, and did you know that physical contact promotes better sleep? Well, that’s what Spencer says anyway. And he’s always right.
WARNINGS: literally none, crazy i know
pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader
genre: pure fluff, friends to lovers
wc: 5.1k
masterlist!!
a/n: here’s my official apology for all of the angst i put you through in erotomania 😭 i dont write pure fluff like ever so please bare with me if it’s a little stunted 😭🫶 also this is very very loosely based of off 05X21 - Exit Wounds.
The team was currently in Alaska working on a case, set up in a small inn during their stay. The issue was, they could only provide 4 rooms despite there being 8 members on the team, meaning that everyone had to double up for the night.
Spencer’s first instinct was to turn towards Morgan, but before he even had the chance to open his mouth Morgan was profusely shaking his head. “Absolutely not,”
“Wha-” Morgan held up his hand before Spencer could question his decision. “Never again. You are some kind of vampire I swear,”
Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in Morgan’s direction, met with a shrug. “This man needs his beauty sleep,”
“Dibs!” Garcia leaned over the back of the couch she was sat on so she could grasp at Morgan’s forearm. “I call dibs.”
Morgan chuckles at Garcia’s enthusiasm, leaning over to place a kiss on the crown of her head. “Alright, me and you babygirl,”
Garcia’s soft giggle is joined by a yawn from where you’re sat next to her, and you rub your eye with your knuckle as you lean your head against the back of the couch. “Can we just all choose quickly? I’m exhausted-”
The end of your sentence is cut off with another yawn, only further emphasising your point. Your words were definitely more blunt than usual, your tiredness most definitely making you more irritable.
“I uh- You can share a room with me if you want,” Spencer’s voice is timid as he speaks, and if he wasn’t stood directly behind you you’re not sure you would’ve heard it.
"Sure great, let’s go-" You drag one of the room keys off the small table in front of you as you stand, throwing your travel bag over your shoulder and walking around the couch, placing the palm of your hand flat on Spencer’s back to push him towards the stairs up to the rooms. “Goodnight.”
Your call back to the rest of the team is more of a custom than a genuine wish for them to get a good rest, and if you were more alert you’d probably hit yourself over the back of the head for being so blunt. But politeness wasn’t on your mind right now. You just wanted to sleep.
You fumble with putting the key in the door through your drowsiness, but eventually manage to push the door open to the room.
It’s about what you’d expect from somewhere small like this in the middle of nowhere.
The flooring was dark, with a small rectangular rug in a wine red colour in the centre, the walls an off-white with a slightly suspicious looking water stain in one of the corners. There was a dark-brown leather armchair leaned against the wall next to an ajar door leading to a bathroom, with a decorative pillow of the same shade of red as the rug on the floor. The arm of the chair had a noticeable rip, most probably from a child who’d got bored whilst staying there.
The room was warmly lit from the two lamps on the two side tables, the only other thing on them a basket-weaved mug coaster. The over head light was notably turned off, unable to be used at all seeing as it didn’t even have a bulb in it.
And of course, there was a single queen-sized bed in the centre of the room, it’s frame the same dark wood as the floorboards and definitely just as worn.
Although, the duvet and its pillows seemed brand new, a clean, sparkling white that stood out against the dis-colouring of the wall behind it, a throw blanket over the end and two decorative pillows on top, again matching the other decorative pieces in their dark red colouring.
You didn’t even have to look over at Spencer to know that he was definitely a little perturbed.
With a sigh your drag yourself into the room, dumping your bag on the armchair and unzipping it to pull out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to change into.
Spencer however, remained stood in the doorway, seemingly considering whether it would be a better option for him to go out and sleep in the SUV.
His rational brain told him to just suck it up and get on with it, but he couldn’t help that subconscious voice in the back of his head that rattled on about how unhygienic hotel rooms are, especially in small rural areas like this.
Not only that, he was also battling the reality that he would inevitably have to share a bed with you, even if it was large enough to house both of you without any unintentional physical contact; He was at least grateful that it actually looked clean.
“Can I- leave the light on?” He breaks his own train of thought as he pushes the door closed with his foot, surrendering to the inevitability of spending the night in this dingy room with you.
You give him a short nod as your answer, joined by your third yawn in the span of five minutes. "God I genuinely think I could fall asleep standing up right now-"
Spencer chuckles at your yawn and nods at your words, leaving his bag on the floor as he takes a seat on the left edge of the bed, pulling out a copy of Les Fluers de Mal and flipping through it until he found the page he’d left on.
“It has been scientifically proven that it is physically impossible to fall asleep while standing, as your cerebellum would be triggered in response to the lack of stimulation which would cause a reflexive response to make you sit down.”
Of course Spencer would know something like that.
You rifle through your bag to find your toothbrush and travel toothpaste. "So what I’m hearing is I could fall asleep standing, but then i’d just end up sitting down," You zip your bag shut again once you’ve retrieved everything you need, pushing open the door to the small en suite bathroom, which thankfully, was much newer than the bedroom. "That sounds like falling asleep standing up if you ask me,"
Your voice muffles ever so slightly as you shut the door behind you.
“Yes, that is a fairly logical conclusion,” He nods slightly as he reads, not taking in the fact that you can’t see him from behind the door.
“Although I still believe it doesn’t quite count as 'falling asleep standing', as when you sit down your brain then activates its natural response to the loss of stimulation in order to put you to sleep. You see, it is impossible to enter the first stage of the sleep cycle within that split second between standing and sitting down, meaning that your body would still be awake.”
You chuckle lightly as you stick your head out of the bathroom once you’ve finished changing, toothbrush in your mouth as you dump your work clothes over the arm of the chair.
“The act of falling asleep occurs when your brain begins to transition from a state of wakefulness to a state of deep sleep. This is signalled by a spike in alpha-waves, which creates a relaxed feeling leading to…” He trails off as he watches you walk past him, figuring you’re not listening to him anymore.
"Why’d you stop?" You straighten your posture as you stop momentarily in your tracks, turning your head towards him.
“Oh, I- thought that you weren’t interested in listening to what I was saying.” His reply betrays his surprise at your engagement.
“I was simply going to add that when you are sitting and the spike in alpha waves occurs and you begin to fall asleep, your brain will automatically trigger a response that causes you to slump forward, hence causing you to sit down.”
Your body subconsciously mirrors your brain’s interpretation of what slumping over means as you walk past him again to spit out your toothpaste.
"Oh- like when you’re in a car and your head falls forwards-"
“Yes, that is a fairly similar example actually. Your brain receives the sign that you are beginning to fall asleep when your head starts to nod forward, and this causes a trigger within the brain’s automatic control system that in turn activates a response that makes you sit up straight so that you don’t fall asleep at the wheel.” As Spencer speaks, he shuts his book, leaving it on the side table as he unpacks his bag so he can also change.
“It’s actually rather surprising how the brain is capable of performing such complex tasks that we sometimes don’t even realise,” He said with an astonished gleam in his eye.
"Huh, the more you know-" You give a satisfied nod at Spencer’s little exposition, taking a seat on the right side of the bed and leaning over to turn the lamp off, allowing Spencer to leave his on as he retreats into the bathroom.
You’d never express it verbally, especially not to Spencer’s face, but you quite liked when he’d ramble about topics he was interested in and knew a lot about, it was both educational and weirdly charming.
You let out another yawn as you pulled back the duvet to lie down, extremely grateful that the mattress of the bed was just as new as the bedding itself. Looked like you might be able to get a good night’s sleep after all.
"Did you know that the human brain has over 100 billion neurons making over 100 trillion connections between them. Each second, a 100 billion electrical messages pass from one neuron to another. It is really quite fascinating." Spencer continued his tangents as he exited the bathroom, now clad in a black t-shirt and a pair of tardis pyjama pants that you found oddly endearing.
"That’s a lot of electrical signals…"
"A lot is an understatement" He chuckled, moving over to the left side of the bed and carefully laying himself down, making sure he wasn’t accidentally making any contact with you.
"It is so complex that it is believed that only a portion of our neurons actually fire each second, meaning that there is potentially trillions of more electrical messages going to unused parts of our brain." He seems to get lost in thought, staring up at the ceiling as he considers the idea further.
You hum softly with a small nod at his assessment, turning to lie on your side so you were half-facing him as he looked up at the ceiling, and you couldn’t help but find yourself tracing his jawline with your eyes as you studied how the dim lighting from the lamp besides him gave it even more definition.
Spencer turns to look at you after a few moments and notices your sleepy expression, feeling a tinge of guilt at keeping you awake since you are clearly exhausted. “I should probably shut up and let you get at least a little sleep. “ He chuckles awkwardly, “Sorry for rambling on, I kind of got carried away.”
"It’s okay… I like listening to you…" You rub one of your eyes with your knuckle as you struggle to keep them fully open, eyelids fluttering as you blink repeatedly to keep them from closing shut. You weren’t done looking at him yet.
Spencer’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink at your confession of enjoying listening to what he had to say.
He then starts to talk again, his voice quieter as he tries to accommodate it to your tiredness. “It’s not the brain’s electrical signals that dictate if you sleep or not, by the way. It is actually a neurotransmitter called melatonin.”
“Melatonin is the hormone responsible for controlling your sleep cycle, and it’s responsible for that sleepy feeling we get when we're tired.”
"Mhm…” You nod softly against the pillow, that was one fact you were definitely familiar with thanks to the joys of university, although hearing it come from Spencer’s mouth just made you want to go along with what he was saying like it was brand new to you.
“Melatonin also helps to regulate your body’s circadian rhythm, which is basically your daily schedule,” Spencer explained.
“Our bodies are naturally conditioned to go through a cycle of sleep and wakefulness. During the day your body will release cortisol and adrenaline for stress management and focus, and during the night your body will release melatonin to help you relax, making you feel sleepy.”
“Well i’m certainly feeling the effects of melatonin right now…” You try to keep up your responses to what Spencer is saying without falling asleep, but you can’t help closing your eyes as you focus on the softness of his voice.
Spencer smiles at your response and nods as he looks at you and notices your eyes are closed. “I should probably stop rambling then, since I don’t want to keep you awake for any longer…” He spoke even softer if that was possible, his eyes trailing over your forehead and down the bridge of your nose.
"I like your voice Spencer, it’s calming…" Your words are half muffled as you mumble them against your pillow. "And your facts are interesting…"
“Huh?” He asked you with a raised eyebrow, having not quite heard what you’d said.
"I like hearing you…" You simplify your words a little bit as you repeat what you’d said, a little louder this time, and you force your eyes back open again to look at him.
Spencer’s cheeks immediately turn pink at the compliment, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He is then quiet for a moment as he tries to process what you said.
“You… like hearing my voice?” He asks, a tinge of confusion evident in his voice, to which you reply with a soft nod and a small hum of affirmation. "I hate it when people interrupt you…"
Spencer’s cheeks remain a light shade of pink as he tries to process what you said, and he stays quiet for a while, trying to think of how he could respond to your little confession.
“I… Well… thank you-” he replies, trying to stay calm whilst also hiding his flustered smile.
“No problem…”
Spencer smiles at your response, eyes studying your expression in an attempt to better understand your feelings. All that he can make out however is your hair, and your tired and half-closed eyes.
“You know, you should probably go to sleep.” He chuckles softly, “It’s quite late after all,”
“Yeah… that’s a good idea…” Your voice is quiet as you mutter out an agreement, but you can’t help from feeling a mild disappointment that your small conversation with Spencer was coming to an end.
“Did you know it takes an average of 7 minutes to fall asleep?” You murmur out the fact as a last resort, half-hoping that it will encourage Spencer to keep talking to you.
“Well, it depends on the person actually” His reply is soft and non derogatory, and his eyes remain locked on the peaceful tiredness in your expression. “On average it takes about 15 minutes of lying down in a relaxing environment to fall asleep, however for some people it might take 20 minutes or more. On the other hand, some people can fall asleep much quicker, with one study finding that it only took an individual 65 seconds to fall asleep.”
“I wish I was that person,” You shift slightly to make yourself more comfortable, pulling your right leg upwards towards your chest and incidentally brushing it against his in the process.
Spencer is lost in his emotions as he stares at you, and it takes you turning your head against the pillow for him to realise that he wasn’t fully listening to what you’d said. “Oh- Yeah, pretty lucky huh?”
His eyes avert from you after that, suddenly very intrigued by the water stain in the top corner of the wall opposite where you were laying down, trying to remind himself that it is inappropriate to stare at his colleagues like that.
But despite all the rationalisation, his heart continues to beat at an accelerated pace and he begins to feel strangely excited seeing you move around the bed. You might be tired, but he certainly wasn’t. Not anymore.
Spencer turns to look at you again as you cover your face with your arm, seemingly protecting your eyes from the light of the lamp on his side table.
He’s silent for a moment as he finds himself staring at you again, mentally punching himself for finding himself getting so lost in your facial features.
"Do you want the light off?" He asks you, keeping the tone of his voice gentle.
“No it’s okay,” Shake your head underneath your arm, “You can keep it on…”
You knew about Spencer’s phobia of the dark. The whole team did. It was pretty much a given after what he went through a few years ago with Tobias Hankel. And you wouldn’t mind sacrificing your comfort of sleeping in pitch black darkness if it meant that Spencer wouldn’t be uncomfortable or afraid.
Spencer gives a nod at your answer, and you can tell he’s relieved that you didn’t want him to turn it off. After a few seconds he speaks again.
"Can I ask you something?" He says, keeping his voice soft.
“Mhm?” You move your arm from your face to rest against your forehead so that you can look at him as he speaks.
Spencer's cheeks immediately turn a light shade of pink again as he meets your eyes. “It's… uh… Well, it's a strange question,” He replies awkwardly
“Would… you mind if I… uh….” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “Would you mind if I put my arm around you?” He eventually manages to say, keeping his voice soft.
“Huh-?” You let you arm fall back down to your side as you process his question, eyes blinking more awake and Spencer’s cheeks only turn more red as he sees your surprised expression.
“Well… You see… I- it's a common thing that people do when sleeping… to… uh… to hold one another..” Spencer replies, still keeping his tone soft and gentle. He begins feels incredibly stupid for even bringing up this topic, hastily trying to explain himself before it has the opportunity to become awkward.
“Is it?-” Your eyes flicker around his face, your eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly as your exhaustion seems to momentarily disappear.
“Uhm… well… usually it’s for romantic reasons,” He replies, his face turning a light shade of pink yet again. “But… uh… I’ve … heard… that some people like to cuddle in a… platonic way… to help them fall asleep…” His voice threatens to waver slightly as he speaks, and he hides the lower half of his face in the bedsheets in an attempt to hide his cheeks, not wanting you to see how red he’s gone.
“Oh- Uh- Well, if you think it’ll help…” Your subconscious mind knew that Spencer was pulling those facts out of his ass, but you didn’t have the mind to care, not when he was practically openly inviting you to drape yourself all over him.
Spencer perks up when you give him the go-ahead, gently wrapping his arm around you and lightly pulling you closer to his body as he turns to look at your face. “Is this okay?”
His expression screams nervousness as he stares at you, praying that you don’t find his actions uncomfortable.
“Mhm…” Your response is short and direct as you nod, adjusting yourself to lie with your head resting under his chin, allowing your arm to drape over his torso like he’d done yours and bringing your leg up to rest over his waist.
Spencer can’t help but smile as he feels you make yourself more comfortable, sliding one of his arms underneath you and moving the other to hold the inside crease of your knee.
“Do you know that physical contact has a calming effect on people’s minds?” He keeps his voice gentle, as he always does.
You give a soft hum that gently vibrates against the skin of his neck, sending a small shudder down Spencer’s back.
He carefully adjusts the position of his head so that he can keep looking at your half-closed eyes, figuring that considering the two of you were practically intertwined like a pretzel that it would be okay for him to gaze at you again.
“You know that skin-to-skin contact promotes the release of oxytocin…. It… uh… it can help to make you feel calm and comfortable,” He says softly.
“Oxytocin…” You mumble the word under your breath as you try to remember what the hormone is, “…the love hormone..?”
Spencer’s voice turns to a whisper as he responds. “That’s correct. A lot of people refer to it as the ‘love hormone’ because it is released at high levels when people engage in romantic activities or are falling in love.”
“It is also responsible for the feeling of trust and comfort,” His hand on your leg begins to draw small circles against your skin, barely feathering over you to the point where you can hardly feel it.
“Would you believe me if I told you that we were producing this hormone right now?”
You sigh softly against his neck at the ghost of his fingers against your leg, only half listening to what he’s saying as you try to focus on the feeling, and Spencer responds with one of his own as he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, leaving small goosebumps in it’s wake.
Spencer’s fingers slowly widen their ascent up and down the side of your leg, brushing along your thigh as his fingertips gently skim your skin.
“Comforting, isn’t it?” His voice is low and gentle as he feels just how comforting your presence is, slightly shocked by how excited he feels when being this close to you.
“Yeah…” You muster up as much of nod under his chin as you can, giving his torso a slight squeeze from where your hand is around it.
Spencer smiles at your gentle squeeze of his torso, noting how light it is as you barely manage to add any pressure at all.
“Do you know that physical touch also triggers a person’s serotonin and dopamine production?” He asks you softly.
As if to test his fact himself, he moves his thumb up and down your thigh with a little more pressure, his fingertips leaving behind a trail of almost unnoticeable goosebumps.
“Yeah… Yeah I knew that…”
Spencer smiles softly at your confirmation. “Then you know the feeling they’re giving you right now?”
You give him another small nod as he pulls you a little closer to him, stroking his fingers a little higher up your thigh. His arm underneath your side shifts to your mid back and starts to gently massage at the tense muscles formed over your last few days bent over a desk to work on the case’s profile.
The slow pressure elicits a soft groan from your lips, a pleasant release from all of the tension you’d been carrying over the last few days, slowly dissipating as his fingers worked their magic over your t-shirt.
Spencer can feel you starting to relax into his body as his fingers work against your skin, and his breath threatens to catch in his throat as your hand moves from resting around his torso to up over his shoulder, fingers curling closed against the fabric of his t-shirt.
Spencer leans his nose against the crown of your head, the trace scent of lavender entering his nose as he took a slow breath in, most likely a trace from when you’d last washed your hair.
By this point, the two of you were very aware that the position you were in was anything but platonic, his hand tracing patterns into your thigh, your head pressed into the crook of his neck, and your hand slowly tracing over the curve of his shoulder to take it’s place cupping his cheek, your thumb pressed against the front of his ear with the rest of your fingers splayed in the soft curls gracing the side of his head.
“I’ve run out of facts…” Spencer laughs nervously at his confession, breaking the small silence between you.
“you’ve run out of facts…?” You force your eyes to blink open again as you repeat his statement as a question, pulling your head out of it’s position under his chin to look up at him curiously as you arbitrarily trace your thumb over his jaw. It wasn’t at all like Spencer to just not have anything to say.
Spencer’s face turns a dark shade of red when he hears your question, made much worse at the feeling of your thumb on his jaw, the feeling sends a shiver down his spine. “I- Yeah….” He says quietly.
Suddenly a thought passes through his brain.
“I… actually…. I do have one more fact…” his voice turns to a whisper as he speaks, a tinge of nervousness still lingering in his tone.
“Hmm?” Your expression brightens a little, and he catches the small glisten in your eyes as the dim light from the lamp reflects off of your irises.
There’s a short pause.
Spencer then clears his throat before speaking.
“...Do you know that right now... at this very moment... I want to kiss you…?”
He remains facing away, his hands trembling ever so slightly against your skin as he mutters out his confession, trailing off at the end to the point where if you were any further away from him you wouldn’t have heard it.
“...Is that okay…?” His voice was barely a whisper, scared that if he were to speak too loudly he’d scare you off and you’d never want to speak to him again.
“You want to… kiss me..?” His confession spurred you further awake, no longer struggling to keep your eyes open as you scanned his expression, your hand halting its movement against his jaw.
The sight of you gazing up at him makes his heart skip a beat and causes butterflies to flutter in his stomach. Spencer then looks down at the space between your noses, and speaks nervously.
“…I- Yes, I want… to kiss you…” His eyes quickly dart over to your lips and back again as he waits for any signal of acknowledgement or refusal.
“Will it help us fall asleep?” The question leaves your mouth instinctively as a way to try an alleviate the mild awkwardness between the two of you, and you internally berate yourself for not taking the situation seriously.
Spencer laughs a small, nervous laugh when you ask if it would help you both fall asleep, moving his hands back over to your thigh and gently brushing his fingertips against it.
Spencer then looks down at your lips again as he speaks. “No, I don’t think so…” He says, his tone once again turning to a whisper. “…if anything it might actually wake us both up further…”
“Just say it will so I can kiss you-“ Spencer remains silent for a moment, face frozen in shock. He then lets out a nervous sigh as he looks down at your lips again.
“…It- Yeah- Yeah it’ll help us fall asleep…” he whispers, his voice barely audible, and he gives you a nod that’s a little too eager.
“Then there’s no harm in trying right?” Your hand cups the side of his face, gently encouraging it down towards yours so you can finally place a kiss on those perfect pink lips of his.
“Yeah…” He slowly leans forward towards you, taking in your faint scent, the warmth coming from your breath, the softness and moisture of your lips.
Spencer’s lips slowly press against yours, just barely ghosting them with the tiniest bit of pressure. He then slowly pulls back, his eyes darting all over your face before again settling on the stain in the corner of the wall. It was just so interesting.
You take his chin in your hand gently to turn his face back towards your own, your thumb gently tracing the line under his bottom lip as your eyes scan his cheeks, pouring over the extremely faint spotted freckles over his cheeks. You’d never noticed them before. But then again you’d never been close enough to.
“I’m not quite sure it worked… Maybe we should try again…” You watch as Spencer’s face erupts into a beautiful pink flush, a soft breath resembling a laugh leaving his mouth. “Yeah, we can try again-”
Spencer nods as he speaks cutting his own sentence short as he leans down to kiss you again, adding a little more pressure this time as he seemingly grows in confidence. The kiss remains chaste and short, and as he pulls away for the second time his eyes remain fixed on you, smiling alongside his mouth.
“Is it working now?” He laughs softly as he speaks, eyelashes gently fluttering as he places a kiss on the bridge of your nose, his fingers slowly sliding into your hair at your temples.
“I’m not sure yet…” You respond with a kiss of your own placed against the curve of his chin. “Maybe we should keep going…” You place another kiss right in the corner of his mouth, and Spencer sighs softly as it misses his lips by a hair. “For research purposes…”
He smiles lightly when you mention it being for ‘research’, and his voice grows even quieter as he speaks.
“Yeah… research purposes…”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#mgg#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fluff
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶"Can I kiss you?"✶
NSFW — smut, blowjob, swallowing, ball worship, cock worship, grinding, dry humping, first kiss, slow burn, flirting, mutual pining, eddie is touch starved, mild angst, 18+
chapter: 10/20 [wc: 25.1k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 10: The Intentional Second Date
Smoke trembled past his lips in stuttered bursts.
It was Eddie’s second cigarette of the morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for him; sometimes he needed a second one when Adrie gave him trouble before preschool, or if he had a bad night’s sleep and relied on nicotine to help delay the impending headache, but that’s not why he was smoking again today. Adrie woke up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and told him she loved him in the carpool lane. She was a dream. His nightmare, on the other hand, was coming to fruition. Because of course he couldn’t remember where he’d set his wallet if it weren’t chained to his pants on a sober day, but drinking enough to where he should’ve been plastered? He remembered it all. He remembered it all.
Oh, he remembered it all.
And when he heard the front employee door to the auto shop unlock, he held his breath, and counted down the routine seconds for you to pop your head out in the alleyway and greet him, and when it didn’t happen.. He knew you remembered too.
The morning smile did not come. No greeting. No laughter. Just nothing. Nothing happened except for the glass door to the lobby opening, and you going inside.
He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up.
He made things weird, and now you were avoiding him, as you had every right to after he tried to initiate phone sex without warning— Consent? Consent. Both of you were inebriated to some degree, and he’d never felt more like a creep.
Oh, God.
His knees went weak.
Anxious bile sloshed in his seizing stomach. His face broke out in a cold sweat. Knots constricted tighter. Heart beating in his throat. Decisions—mistakes—put stars in his vision. His world was ending, and it pounded at his temples. This was it. This was it. He fucked up.
“Good morning, hand—Oh?”
Eddie froze.
You leaned more than your head out the door, and stepped onto the concrete slab. All your tender attention was on him, studying his pale face, and his hunched form. Your eyebrows swooped in worry at how he was crouched to the reedy weeds instead of standing tall with his back against the gray bricks. A frown slighted your smile, insulting your beauty when you saw him bent down, knees to his chest, holding his head while his other hand shook hard enough the cigarette pinched between his fingers fell amongst the rocks.
“Eddie? You don’t look good. Are you okay?”
His lips parted.
Was he dreaming? Was the lift of delight in your tone when you first went to greet him, and then the drop to concern ebbing your voice deeper when he appeared ill a figment of his imagination? Were you about to call him handsome? Was this the second chance he didn’t deserve?
“Eddie?”
“Yeah!” His exclamation helped him stand, and the twitch of your lips battled his nausea. “Yeah, I just had a long night,” he lied.
Lightheaded, he concentrated on keeping balanced in his woozy lurch towards the wall.
Sharp edges of rocks slid against one another under your winter boots. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sincere, as was your silly quirk of swinging your arms to point finger guns towards the garage. “I brought donuts this morning, and went ahead and made coffee, so they’re both fresh if you’re the type to dunk.” You mimicked dunking a donut into a mug of coffee. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”
Endearing. Genuinely, honestly, so fucking adorably endearing.
“Yeah, that sounds great right now.” The pet names returned to their restricted status for now. He had to know for sure. “Did you, uh, like playing with us Saturday?” It was a coward’s way to dance around the real question burning his esophagus, but it was a valiant introduction.
“I did! It was a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me. And, hey, uhm, I didn’t say anything weird to your friends, or anything like that, did I?”
“No, you didn’t,” he responded in an even tone, stomping his curiosity from fluctuating his cadence with hopefulness when you chose that of all things to ask him.
“Good! My memory went a little fuzzy after my fourth drink, you know, when Lloyd kept trying to get us to sing along to that adventuring song he made up. I didn’t know if I said anything weird, or rude, or something by accident.”
Salvation reigned upon him.
Eddie’s lungs allowed him to breathe at the kindness alcohol spared him, and finally, he could relax. Your fretting stemmed from making a good impression on his friends, and with his reassurance, you stopped fidgeting at your nails, and the color returned to his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that. Seriously, they loved you.” His grin struggled to blossom. “Do you not remember anything else?”
In contrast, your grin was a field of wildflowers swaying under the summer sun.
“Not really, it’s pretty spotty around the time they left, but I do remember a few things,” you said, taking another step towards him. “I remember you throwing a napkin at the back of my head. I remember falling asleep in Robin’s car. I also remember asking her to pull over on the side of the road. I remember waking up in the living room, on her dad’s recliner of all places. And boy! do I remember being hungover.”
Closing the few feet of distance remaining, your confidence was established in your ability to pinch the sleeve of his coveralls and tug at it in a playful, flirty way, coasting your frosted sigh over his embroidered name patch.
You claimed him, heart and soul, “But I remember us dancing, too. I’m so glad I remember us dancing.” Softer, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”
“I’m the sweetest?” he repeated in a mumble, complying with the tug to open his arm in a curve, which you fit into.
“Of course you are. You sure you’re not sick? You still look like you’re about to puke.”
As if your grip on his tricep wasn’t enough of an anchor on reality, the backs of your fingers gliding down his cheek were, checking his temperature like he was worthy of being doted on. A fortunate thing, a blessing; having your hand guide him from the river Styx with a simple brush, thumb tracing the edge of his lip.
Yeah, his heart clenched. “I’m okay,” he rushed to whisper, wanting the words to sprint after your fingers falling from his chin. He kept the connection alive by copying the stroke along your spine, over your denim jacket.
The wintry redness returned to his face, he knew. His racing pulse brought it there, splotching warmth to his skin. There was not enough bravery in the world to ask how much of the dance you recalled; whether your memory ended at your head on his chest, or your wrist to his lips, or your foreheads together with your noses smashed to the other’s cheek, but he did gleam one thing for certain.
You beamed up at him with eager eyes, as if those intimacies flashed in the sun’s reflection, and you wanted more of them.
He said, “I think I’ll feel better after a donut. Or three.”
“Or a nap, or three,” you countered.
“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, a rasp present in his throat from smoking, “I’m not gonna waste my time napping when I could be eating donuts with you.”
A wry laugh played at your lips. “How romantic.”
“I’ve been known to be romantic from time to time.”
You hummed in interest, arching an eyebrow. It was a challenge. Oh, really? you asked. Show me, then, you said.
Stepping back, you dragged your hand down his arm and embraced the motion, seeing it through to his elbow, forearm, the heel of his palm. Feeling but a faint outline of his form beneath the thick sleeve of his canvas jacket and light blue coveralls, yet still clinging to him as if he were your heater. Your warmth. Another body laying next to you in a cold bed.
“C’mon, handsome.” You urged him inside by your feeble grip around the stretchy knit cuff covering the plastic bead bracelet around his wrist. “Let's see if getting some caffeine in you helps you look less like a corpse.”
He snorted, and obeyed. “Whatever you say, dear.”
By all means, it seemed you didn’t remember the phone call. No doubt you were stone cold sober for the bad jokes, dorky innuendos, and inappropriate behavior that would be frowned upon at work, but you didn’t bring those up, so he didn’t either. He was in the clear.
Fate forgave him. And now, he could move on with the ‘thank you’ he owed you in good faith.
————
It was days later when your stapler ran out of staples.
You clamped it shut a few more times until you realized, and opened the second drawer on the short filing cabinet beneath your desk. After a cool slide of metal on metal came a rattle. Instead of your extra sticky notes, folders, and office supplies being visible, a foreign object sat on top of them. Perplexed, you reached in and grasped the lime green box. An index card was taped to it, and removing it jolted the waxy candies inside, sliding them against the cardboard in a merry cascade.
Setting the Mike and Ikes aside, you read the thin, angular handwriting on the note, written in red.
DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? (circle one)
YES or NO
ARE YOU ONLY SAYING YES BECAUSE ITS YOUR POLICY?
YES or NO
By outward appearances, your mouth was tugged downwards at the corners, but make no mistake, it was not a frown. No, no. What your expression was overcome with was so sentimental, so empathetic, you had to pout.
Besotted, you hugged the card to your chest, and reflected on the heaviness of his expectant gaze when he passed by your desk this week. The longer eye contact, the anticipatory lift of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead when you waved at him. He must’ve put this in your drawer days ago, and you had kept him waiting by accident, poor guy.
You weren’t about to keep him in suspense any longer.
(Though, maybe he should’ve put it in the top drawer, which you opened daily for your highlighters, if he wanted a quicker response.)
Pen to paper, you selected your answers, jotted a line, and tucked the notecard inside a manila folder with two invoices he needed to fill out. You pushed your rolly chair away from the desk, and dug through your purse before going to the breakroom where Eddie sat hunched over the round table, shoveling a chicken Rice-a-Roni meal in his mouth (haphazardly) with his left hand while writing in his DND notebook with his right.
You stood at the vending machine with your hip jutted out, sinking to one side with utmost concentration on your pursed lips, perusing the rows of choices. There were just so, so many categories to choose from. Chips, candy, chocolates. How could you ever decide? You crossed your arms, and tapped your chin at the dilemma, taking your time. This was a wise use of your work hours, of course. Flirting with your coworker by passing notes, and watching the side profile of his smirk break through his curtain of curls in the glass reflection.
Finally, you settled on F4, and slotted in your quarters, punching those buttons.
The Kit Kat bar was deposited in a loud clunk.
“Hey, didn’t know if you saw,” you started casually, and held the manila folder out to him with an imposing grimace, “but you forgot to fill out a couple of lines at the bottom of these invoices. Can’t have you slipping up, and not finishing your paperwork before working on your little roleplaying game, now can we?”
Eddie shifted his gaze from the bulky folder failing to stay pinched closed, to your face. Fawning, he arched into an overly apologetic expression to match your performance, and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Did I forget to do that? Silly me.”
“Better not let it happen again, Mr. Munson,” you warned, placing it on the table and leaving.
“Never, never,” he promised.
Back at your desk, you sat in your chair, calm and poised. And approximately two seconds later, you kicked off the floor into a fierce spin, dizzying the lobby around you. The place was a blur, your stomach swirled, and still, your goofy grin refused to wane. But, you did stop eventually. The antics had to come to an end. You did have work to do, afterall.. Which you ignored when you heard him rip into the foil wrapper in the other room, and you couldn’t possibly concentrate on calling a warehouse to check on an order of headlights when your ears were tuned to the flimsy chair scraping across the tile, and his heavy work boots stomping down the hall.
“Filled out those forms for ya, sweetness,” Eddie said with a wink.
There was a weight to the manila folder when he dropped it on your desk, and tapped twice on his way out to the garage. Not a physical weight, but a gravity that wasn’t there before, now concentrated in his keen eye contact. An invisible significance.
The relationship had changed, just then, in the trade off of boring invoices.
Opening the folder, the index card was deemed more important than the paperwork. Your gaze stalled on the thick circles around YES, and NO. Yes, you’d go on a date with him, and no, it wasn’t because of your policy. Below them, your thick handwriting flowed together.
what did you have in mind?
I RETURNED THOSE KIDS MOVIES FOR YOU.
YOU CAN THANK ME FOR SAVING YOU
THE LATE FEE BY WATCHING SOME
HORROR WITH ME AT MY PLACE
PICK YOU UP SATURDAY AT 6?
Fighting back another sickeningly stupid willowy sigh at his charm, you wrote a lovesick reply.
In usual Eddie fashion, he left the very last box on the second form blank, so you had to go out to the service area, and address the mechanic bent over a car engine. Not that you were complaining. The back of his coveralls hugged the slight curve of his ass, and his hair was not only pulled into a low bun at his nape, but he wore a bandana tied to keep his bangs off his forehead.
“Hey there handsome, couldn’t help but notice you left the date box on this form blank again.”
“Oh, did I, pretty girl?” He spun, and rolled his eyes to mock himself. Wiping the grease from his hands on his coveralls, he took your pen. “It’s my old age, y’know. Things always slippin’ my mind.” Mumbling to himself, he pressed his palm to the back of the folder, and sketched out a sentence into the page longer than a few numbers warranted. During the arduous process, he looked at you with sorrow, and complained, “These dates are just so tedious to write out, it may just take me all night to complete.”
You refused to give him the satisfaction of a smirk at his (possible) insinuation.
All night? He wished.
Eddie surrendered the folder and pen, and smiled at you, stretching the streak of soot on his chin and cheek. “There you go. All filled out. Not a ‘T’ uncrossed, nor an ‘I’ left undotted.”
“Thank you,” you over-enunciated as a goodbye.
The very second the glass door came to a slow close behind you, you sat at your desk with the folder, and threw a subtle glance out the window to the garage to make sure Eddie wasn’t watching you lose your mind over two short words exchanged in quick succession.
sounds perfect :)
YOURE PERFECT =)
For the second time since you moved to Hawkins, you had a date. And judging by Eddie’s sway from foot to foot with his hands laced behind his neck and his head hung back, listening to the traffic outside echo off the cement walls, he was thrilled for his second date, too. He dropped into a steady bob at music that wasn’t playing. A too-large grin teased at his mouth as he paced to the motor he was repairing, and bent over it. His boyish excitement spilled like an overpoured mug of coffee into his unabashed giggle, and glance in your direction.
Eyes locked, he didn’t steal your breath. You gave it to him willingly.
————
Saturday’s setting sun was just another audience member to your date night routine. Robin and her mom leaned in the doorway of the bathroom the entire time you were shaving, and due to the opacity of the shower curtain, you were unable to convey your glare to the degree it deserved.
“Well, why doesn’t she wear this instead?”
There was a shock of laughter mixed with Robin’s scoff. “Mom, if she wore that Eddie would pass out on the spot. What if he hit his head, and they had to call an ambulance? You know she can’t drive him to the hospital. No, this bra still gives sex appeal without causing an injury. And besides, calling 9-1-1 would put a damper on them—”
“Rob,” you groaned.
“—spending a wonderful evening together,” she finished.
The thunk of a walking cane neared, and her dad’s hoarse voice sounded from down the hallway, “My! The rowdy Munson boy is getting lucky tonight, is he?” he proposed in a faux British accent after watching BBC nature documentaries all day. “Do you think he’d have dinner with us tomorrow? We haven’t seen him since Robin threw that New Year’s party years ago, and almost set the roof on fire.”
Oh dear God get me out of here.
Once you were finished with your shower, freshly scrubbed and smelling nice, you humored them by wearing the outfit they picked out. It was pretty much what you would’ve worn anyway. A short black skirt made modest by nylon tights to stave off the chill from Eddie’s trailer, and an oversized crocheted cream cardigan with tiny pink flowers, the hem of which hit you at your waist, showing a tempting preview of your stomach when you raised your arms to fix your hair. The pale lavender bra (the reason for their debate), was covered by the aforementioned sweater, and you weren’t sure if the sheerness of the lace mattered much when Eddie’s daughter may be present, or in the next room over. It didn’t occur to you to ask if he’d have Adrie with him, so, such is life. The bra may stay a secret despite their efforts to doll you up. But the sudden realization he may see you in it tonight clenched your stomach with excitement..
The clock struck 5:55, and an ominous roll of thunder put everyone on edge. It electrified nerves, and stood hair on end, setting forth premonitions of bad weather and foul fortune. Doom, it was; and it came, and came, neverending. Except.. It wasn’t thunder. It was Eddie Munson’s brutal music.
His little black car came flying down the road, and swung into the driveway, screeching to a halt heralded by flung rocks spat by his tires, and a flock of songbirds splitting the sky.
And yet?
Charm bowed before Eddie’s easy strut. Pebbles dodged his stride. Clouds of hellish dust evaded the shine on his laced up boots. His tight jeans flaunted the subtle flex of his thighs, and his belt sloped on his narrow hips with each uneven stride, daring the world to stare at the extra length of stiff leather flopping outside the confines of the belt loops, attracting all the attention he desired to the places he wanted.
You were still in the living room struggling with the buckle on your Mary Janes when the intense, raw screams of his heavy metal music stopped, and the muffled guitars faded away. He showed up, shockingly, on time, and you shot out the door before the heavy slants of sun breaching the leafless trees could beat down on his trademark jacket rattling with dainty chains.
“Hey there, sweetness.”
“Hey!” you blurted in a huff, racing down the steps. Flustered by his punctuality, you made the first move of the night by snatching his hand and dragging him away.
Slighted by your absence of drooling over how cool he looked, Eddie grunted in objection, but let himself be steered away. He glanced over his shoulder at the three faces peering at him from the window, and spared them a tentative wave. They were nosy, but not in the unkind way he was used to, and for that, he was thankful.
You apologized at a hurried pace, “Sorry, but if you step foot on the porch, they’re gonna ask you a bazillion questions, and never let us leave.”
“Ah,” he said, short of a laugh, “but let me get the door for you. Wanna impress them.”
“Impress them?” Dregs of sleepy sunlight highlighted the twist of your lips. “You come in here like a bat outta hell, blaring your music loud enough that I’m surprised you’re not hard of hearing, and you’re worried about impressing Bobbie’s parents?”
Refusing to let your fingers slip from his when he felt your grip go weak, he tightened his hold, and opened the car door with his other hand, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid the wide swing, towing you around him.
“Is that so strange?”
“It’s a little strange.”
“Good.” He established the bond of your palm cupped to his until you sank into the red plush passenger’s seat. At the groan of the hinges, and a hard slap on the metal, he finished, “I like being strange—” Punctuated by the door slamming shut. His cackle was far away. Shrieking silence filled your ears, interrupted by your elevated pulse pounding in your chest, and the tink of a pebble pinging the bumper when one was unfortunate enough to come into contact with his boot as he strode around the front of the car with his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt over the curve of his stomach.
What a lovely thing he was, truly. To lord the power of sheer captivation over you, and still ground you with a humble gaze and tender smile through a windshield flecked with dirt, as if stealing one of your five senses was a normal feat and returning it to you wasn’t an act of benevolence.
He folded himself into the seat beside you and staggered his legs until he could relax fully into the position, and turned the key in the ignition. His music took residence in the sense he stole. You tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t offensive. The previous song was ending, and with you being boxed in with the speakers bullying your ears from every angle, you heard the animalistic screams as something more haunting, more beautiful. They were organic. Emotional. Conveying a longing which flowed into the next track; a restrained piece laced with sweltering lines, where each croaky utterance heated your cheeks fiercer and fiercer. Carnal of a different nature.
Intentionally avoiding eye contact with Eddie, you twisted enough to see the carseat behind you was empty. “No Adrie?” you asked to confirm a suspicion.
“She was invited to a sleepover for one of her friend’s birthday parties tonight,” he said.
You reeled at the information, but not for the reason you assumed. “Wait, what? There’re people out there willing to have a hoard of five-year-olds running around their house? Like, with the screaming and everything?”
“Crazy, right? Some people still have their sanity, I guess.” He stamped the gas and clutch, revving the engine with an amused answer poised on his plump lips. “Or enough downers to get them through the night.”
The guitars increased in ferocity, drowning out his wistful reminiscing on such substances helping him through the day, pre-Adrie.
It was then you noticed an interesting detail about his compact car you didn’t fully appreciate last time you were in it: there was no center console. You didn’t need to check. The lack of separation was confirmed by the heat radiating from his heavy palm draped over the gear shift, and the blunt edge of his nails skimming your tights when he clicked the stick into a lower slot, dragging it along your leg. The armrests were raised, and they too touched at the base. It was no surprise when his long hair swept your clothed shoulder as he twisted around to look out the back window and put the car in reverse, avoiding the Buckley’s dented mailbox, and lurching you against the seatbelt.
The lyrics peaked in sultry aggression.
So, no Adrie. “Am I meeting your uncle, then?” Oh, how your question was thin against the strong note the singer held. His wavering timbre penetrated you in waves, releasing a ripple of tingles from head to toe. Creating a change in the tension existing between you and Eddie when he answered in a deeper register.
“No, he’s uh, he’s gone for the weekend,” he said, drumming his rings on the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers over the gear stick to shift it into drive. “Out playing poker with his friends. So, uh, it’s just you and me. S’that cool?”
So, no Adrie, and no uncle.
“Yeah—Yeah, that’s cool,” you replied. Whereas his voice went lower, yours went higher at the acknowledgement. Fainter, wispier. Fluttery with the nerves in your stomach. Restless like butterfly wings beating on gusts at the explicit implication matching the subject matter pumping through the speakers.
Tonight was your first real date with Eddie, in his trailer, alone.
Soon, the dense thicket of rural Hawkins was replaced by houses and population; gone were the fields of deer, and approaching in a blur were stout brick buildings, and stop lights swinging in the slight breeze.
He slowed at the intersection where Family Video’s neon sign struck red over the black pavement, and stopped. Eddie, being an opportunist, saw the boring wait for the light to turn green as fortuitous. It granted him the ability to gaze upon you as he wished, ready to take you in after your rushed greeting. You had robbed him of the movie-esque scene where he’d walk up to your door, knock three times, greet you with a stunning grin and compliment you until you were giggling and swooning in his arms. It was only fair he drank you in now, in the low liquid blue of the early night.
Beyond bewitched, he didn't register how methodically he traced his eyes over your body; devouring details the generous neckline of your cardigan allowed him, reaching the narrow channel of shadow where your bra assisted your chest, and the small gaps the tiny pink flowers woven into the yarn created in the chain loops, gifting him a charitable preview of the delicate lavender beneath. Appreciating how below that, your skirt wrapped your legs snugger than his arms had ever been privileged, and your tights graced skin he’d never felt. Perhaps he even lingered on the strap of your Mary Janes draped around your ankle, wondering if he’d be lucky enough to circle his fingers there one day, too.
Flattery raced your heart. You’d never been the subject of someone’s study to this degree, as if you were artwork to be admired. Not from any of the dates you’d been on, anyway. Not in a meaningful way, consumed wholly by someone you considered a close friend. And not while a man sang about vulgar acts in a gorgeous way.
Eddie remembered to breathe when green flashed in his periphery, and his gaze evened the playing field when he caught you dedicating entire prayers to the indecent crease at his hip and inner thigh where he rested his large palm.
“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he exhaled.
Not you look beautiful. You are beautiful.
Meeting him head-on, you smiled. “I don’t have the lexicon to describe you.” His expression faltered to a confused pinch between his brows, and you reassured him, “Handsome isn’t good enough anymore. Never was. No words are. They need to invent new ones.”
Leaning in, he scrunched his nose, and teased, “You can just call me hot.” Which would’ve been a decent line; imposing himself so near his words caressed the gloss on your lips, and finishing the hard plosive—Hot—with the bite of his charismatic wolfish grin. But the aggravated honks killed the mood.
Two cars behind him laid on their horns, and he was startled into the reality of holding up traffic. You openly laughed at his change in demeanor, at how he scrambled to get the car going before they got angry again, all flustered and stomping too hard on the gas, sending you both slamming backwards in your seats.
“Yeah, real hot stuff you got goin’ on,” you teased in return.
He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he checked the rearview mirror, speeding to put distance between him and the other cars. Dangerously, he slid his gaze to you once more, prioritizing you over the road. “Are you really gonna deny I'm the hottest guy you’ve ever met? Even with all your city boys, actors, and freaks who’ve been on bigger stages than me? Guys who took you to fancy sit-down restaurants in a suit and tie? Men who drone on about finances because they chose a viable career not covered in grease? Are they really hotter than me?”
His tone was flat, and his face neutral, cracking a cavern of curiosity wide within you.
Your instinct was to treat the insecurity as genuine, but the moment you opened your mouth to restore his confidence, he smirked.
“Just kidding, baby,” he broke the act. “I know I’m the favorite.”
Glowing with confidence, he took his hand off the gear shift to jab at your ribs, but he underestimated how thick the crochet was. Instead of tickling you, it was more of a soothing stroke along your side. And he didn’t stop. He kept up the intimate gesture, brushing the fabric with his curled index finger three times. Giggling, himself, at nothing other than his own thoughts.
Gone was the swell of empathy clogging your throat. “My favorite idiot,” you corrected in an exasperated mumble, yet leaning into the shy affection.
The cassette played static, then began a new song. Angsty still, but not quite as on the nose as the last. This, along with another dig at each other, eased the pressure preventing you two from relaxing into the evening. The awareness revealing itself in nervous glances and dry swallows digressed into your normal dynamic as friends with the benefit of flirty innocence without the stress of expectations. Those motives could stay locked between your clenched thighs, and aching against his jean’s zipper. Tonight was the first foray into real time together, and if you watched movies and it ended there with no moves made, or romantic elements explored, then so be it. There wouldn't be any unnecessary impatience, or snap decisions made to cross those final platonic boundaries if one of you chickened out. This date would be perfect, regardless.
Right?
You could endure another day of him acting confident in front of others, only for him to buckle under the pressure and pussy out before kissing you, right?
..Right?
Whatever. The night was young, and oh, how Eddie’s giddiness for spending time with you emerged. The instant he arrived at the trailer, he jammed his thumb into the seat belt latch and commanded you to stay put. Naturally, this didn’t go without a snort from you, but it escalated to true laughter when he stumbled out of the car, and sprinted around the front in a flustered jangle of chains beating on jeans, only to play it off as cool once he reached your side and opened your door for you. “You’re silly,” you commented. His chest rose with a panting breath, and his lips jumped into a playful smirk at his own oddities. He stepped back, and swept his arm in a classic bow.
The friction burn from the seat belt slipping through your grip was balmed by the chilled leather beneath your fingers when he offered his elbow to you. You set your heeled shoes on the uneven ground, and wobbled on the deep tire tracks scoring the dried mud, and again, he was twisting this way and that, trying to figure out the best gentlemanly way to help you balance. Not that his brave palm on the small of your back wasn’t warranted in the treacherous battle of shadows in the underripe evening, but even you couldn’t stop your snicker when he, too, met you with a side-ways glance.
“Nervous?” you asked, bringing attention to the situation for what it was.
“Me? Nervous?” He arched his eyebrows up, then brought them into a swift furrow. “Nah, never. I’m just making sure my girl doesn’t twist her ankle before I get to cook for her on our second date,” he ended with a suggestive tone, canting his head to yours. Foreheads near.
Ah, the buzzing of springtime bees was trembling your fingers again, gripping him when the hive in your stomach fed honey to your hungry heart, pumping, pumping a sugar rush.
Acknowledgements. His girl. Cooking. Second date.
He was sweet. And you were trapped in the sticky nectar thrumming in your veins. It was a futile effort, after all, to convince yourself you two could act as normal friends do around each other. Truly, you lost that war when you inclined your head to his, and divulged in the same grin he wore.
“Cook for me?” you repeated in a voice of ambrosia, which he partook.
“Mhmm,” he hummed amongst the drone of television programs filtered through bug screened windows. “I wanna watch movies with you, cook you somethin’ nice, and remind you that I’m not the guy I was at the movie theater—” He flinched at the last part, accepting your weak slap to his chest. Pleased with himself for finally swooning you, he trained his gaze on your giggly sway, and squinched his eyes with mirth.
“Eddie, I’m well aware you’re not that guy.”
“Oh?” he lilted. “But aren’t I? Still got the outdated haircut, stick in the mud attitude, and leather jacket.”
You slipped a finger beneath the jacket, and poked at the macabre skull on his tee. “Got a different shirt, though. Last time you were wearing a rattlesnake, now it’s..?”
“Metallica,” he finished. A softer expression deepend his dimple. There may have been a particular meaning behind it you were missing, but he didn’t share. “Good memory, but may I also bring to your attention that it’s fucking freezing out here?”
Overcome by a shiver, you retracted your prodding, and he removed his hand from your lower back. The warmth was sorely missed. You agreed, it was fucking freezing and pantyhose were not a replacement for snow pants.
Eddie jostled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door for you to enter first, trailing behind you with a welcome to his humble abode, as if you hadn’t been there several times before. But you supposed the circumstances were different when he showed you in, and a certain coziness defrosted your cheeks. The trailer was lit by a singular lamp in the living room and the nightlight from the bathroom. An electric radiator generated heat near the armrest where his pillow stayed, and at the other end of the couch was a messy pile of blankets in varying textures and thickness. A stack of three VHSes sat on the coffee table near a collection of never-used cork coasters. In the kitchen, a spread of groceries occupied the counter, along with a page from a magazine, but Eddie stole your attention before you could puzzle together the ingredients he laid out.
“So, which one do you wanna start with first?” Eddie asked, drawing your gaze to the VHSes fanned in his palms, fingers stretched wide to contain the movies.
Subtly, he wiggled the one on the end. The green HORROR sticker on the cover appeared new; unblemished, without creases or dirt. You recognized the drippy blood stylized title as the same one printed in the local newspaper warning mothers of its gore and perversions. Less subtly, he darted his eyes to it, and made encouraging noises while presenting it closer to you. It's not like you cared what order you watched his surprise selection in, so you went with the new release he was most eager for, as opposed to the other schlocky B movies.
“Sweet!”
Adorably, he told you to make yourself at home, and you both found yourselves bumping into each other in the entryway. You bent to unbuckle your shoes, and he shrugged off his jacket. Maybe you swung your knee into his shin, and he flopped the leather sleeve atop your head in retaliation. And when you stood, he jabbed his elbow into your arm before kneeling to untie his boots, and you picked a long, curly auburn hair off your sweater, holding it out and away from you as if it were revolting. “Is this what it’s like living with you?” you asked with an excessive amount of mock disgust.
“‘Fraid so,” he consoled, looking up at you as he worked the knot out of his laces. “At least—until I go bald.”
You tilted your head as you tried to picture him without his wild haircut, and after some consideration (and curious fingers kept laced tight to discipline yourself from running them through his curls to test the tamability of such rowdy layers cut without rhyme or reason), you concluded, “I think you’d still be the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”
His expression widened at your honesty. Pushing himself upright, he rocked side to side as he toed off his boots, and stepped beyond them, narrowing the distance between his ego and your lifted eyebrow. “Most attractive? Yeah?”
Before his head swelled to hot air balloon status from a compliment he pried out of you, you stopped him.
“Bald or not, you’re still Eddie,” you expressed. “And that’s what I like about you the most; your Eddieness. Regardless of your hair, you’re still that guy that’s willing to trip over his own feet so he can open a door for me.. and cook for me, apparently.”
You drove your gaze to the ingredients on the counter, but he distracted you from venturing into that part of the date.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Movie first, then dinner. I’ve been wanting to see this one, so make yourself comfortable. Get some blankets too, I know the radiator sucks.” The warmth it gave off rarely brought circulation to his toes when he was sleeping, much less kept him from shivering on the windy nights. “Lemme get us something to drink, and I’ll put on the movie.” He chose to fill two bright red plastic glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. They were the type of textured cup one would find at a pizzeria, and he set them directly on the wood, because why bother with coasters when most of the varnish had been worn away over the years.
Water itself shouldn’t be a surprise, but the fact he chose it over beer stood out.
Interesting. You made yourself snuggly as instructed, and sat in the middle of the couch where two cushions met. Amongst the pile, you picked the thick blue and white striped comforter, and draped it over your not-quite-numb legs. He crouched in front of the TV, and popped open the VHS case, brushing his calluses over the frosted plastic cover, and shut the case with a satisfying snap. Lining the movie up with the VCR slot, he pushed on the flap, and it was accepted into the mouth of the machine—kuh-chunk, slide, whirring reels, a fuzzy high-pitched noise—staticy snow played, then the first commercial started, flickering a woman’s face mid-scream across the screen.
Eddie turned off the lamp, and in the sudden darkness, he slid his socked feet in timid steps across the carpet to avoid a pinky toe colliding with the coffee table, and he fell into place next to you.
The cushions sank with your combined weight. The seams separating you clashed. Hip, thigh, shoulder. Layers of clothing blazed from the heat of his proximity, setting fire to your cheeks. You weren’t touching, not really, not yet, and you both stared at each other with lips slightly parted.
Your voice went unnaturally airy as you offered him the blanket, “Want some?”
And his voice was lost to the sensation of his bare arm making contact with your sweater.
He nodded.
Predictable for the genre, the next commercial advertised a pair of tits before the camera cut away, and the woman was assumed to be brutally stabbed by a masked serial killer.
He shifted. You shifted.
The comforter slid across your lap. He stole the warm pocket of air you were generating for yourself, and replaced it with the cold half of the blanket. It may have been an innocent movement, but him yanking it caused you to press against him more than you already were. His arm went rigid with tensed muscles the further you sloped into the crevice where the cushions met, stiffening against your soft body like a brick wall you had no choice but to lean on. You tried to help the situation by breaking the silence between the next commercial.
“Do you want to know another Eddieness I find endearing?”
During the first part of your sentence he didn’t react. He watched the TV; jaw tight but not clenched; it was only on the last word did he turn his head, and set those big eyes of his on you.
You went ahead and answered, “It’s how shy you are.”
The hint of a deeper emotion eased from his gaze when he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and raised his brows, processing what you said. “’M not shy.” His smile grew at that, stretching half his mouth in shadow, making his nose appear larger, rounder.
“And awkward.”
“I’m not awkward,” he complained, tone soft and playful.
Lit by the soft grain of the movie starting on a scene of a young boy running inside pitch-black house, Eddie’s eyelashes clung to the remnants of light, curling longer, and longer. His lips lifted at the corners, testing a sneakier grin at the idea of you finding him both shy, and awkward. Words he hadn’t heard in years. Descriptors he would’ve called himself when he was still in high school and dipping his toe in the dating pool, but not since then. Not since he dabbled in liquid courage at parties and gained some experience from the confidence alcohol afforded him.. and lost when he discovered the consequences of acting impulsively, and his casual assuredness was ripped from him when his daughter was born.
Or, yeah, maybe he was always shy and awkward as you presumed, he just didn’t care about people’s opinions when he wasn’t invested in starting a future with them. Which was fine by him, you could call him dorky if you wanted, because here he was in the midst of a boyish rush of adrenaline when the lack of stressful music coming from the TV became ominous, and the excitement of his plan working vibrated in his chest.
“Oh! And you’re—” Whatever adjective you were about to use was bitten short.
Paying more attention to him than the movie, you missed the build up of the masked killer’s reflection in a mirror, and were caught off guard by the boy’s sudden blood curdling scream trilling above the heart-racing violin screeches. It wasn’t even a good jumpscare—totally predictable—but you still jolted from it.
Eddie lurched into a devious smirk. “Movie getcha, pretty girl?”
It was your turn to be defensive. You pouted, “No. It just surprised me, is all.”
“Aw, come on,” he implored in a gravelly urge. Under the thinning comforter, between the mountains of compacted cotton from overwashing it, there was movement, and the unmistakable contact of the back of his hand on your nylon tights. He bumped you once. “Here, if it’s that scary, you can hold my hand, okay?”
As snarky as his teeth glinted, as teasing as his words were, both of your chests rose with a mutual suspended breath.
This was the line. The barrier. The emotional boundaries were dust, only the physical ones remained. He invited you over them as gingerly as a grown adult man could when on his first true date in years, and the fresh fear of making a move on his crush spiked his rejective-sensitive nerves.
“Yeah, you’re right,” you exhaled. Holding his gaze with the same fondness which existed in your heart, you found the edge of his hand after some sightless venturing. At the graze of skin on skin, you dropped your head to the side, and appealed to him, “It’s so scary.” Across the room, the TV played a calm, serene daytime scene with birds chirping in the background. “So terribly scary,” you repeated, facetiously pitiful. “There’s no way I’ll get through to the end all on my lonesome.”
But rather than hold hands perfectly between the both of you like the pious churchgoing teenagers you’d felt yourselves become, you went in for the kill.
Drawing back, you wedged your fingers between his arm and his ribs, and after a beat, he understood and lifted his elbow. You snaked your hand along his forearm, and down to his awaiting palm. His jeans were rough; his palm was too, torn asunder by his trade to ensure a roof over his and his family’s head, but the spaces between were softer. Love gentled the joints digging into your bones. Your fingers had to stretch to accommodate him, and the wintery dryness pulled at your unlotioned knuckles, but the twinge was forgotten when you focused on your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand.
You dragged your attention away from the entanglement of your selves finding a missing half under the blanket, and searched his face. His eyes flicked from the same knot stirring under the comforter, and the wrinkles in his expression flourished. He thinned his lips into a tight smile. His cheeks were never that full, but there was a roundness there you’d give anything to discover by touch. You’d been closer to him before, like in the kitchen when you counted his freckles after your painfully geeky dagger innuendo, but if you leaned in any further, your vision would blur.
An obvious awkwardness dwelled in the intimacy of your entwined arms, and tensed bodies.
“So, so scary,” you promised during the exposition dialogue taking place on a sunny morning between the characters eating cornflakes at a large dining table. “I’ll probably have to cling onto you the entire time with my eyes shut.”
His voice cracked high pitched, “Yeah?” Feathery soft, on the verge of disappearing altogether. “Guess I’ll have to be the brave one, then.”
“So very brave,” you said, sweet as sugar.
He snorted whereas you giggled, converging with heads together, and a laugh shared, hands held so very bravely. A breakthrough. One second at a time, you melded into his shadows, as you belonged. You angled yourself toward him and tucked your legs onto the couch, freely huddling your knees against his thigh. Your joined hands were nudged onto his leg more, and the clasp became sticky from perspiration. That was okay. There was a thrill in being the reason each other sweated. He curled in his fingers harder, nesting them between the peaks of your knuckles, and you returned the honor by hooking your fingers between his, lightly squeezing him back. One second at a time, he sought your sunshine, as he belonged. He made sure the pressure of his arm and elbow boxing yours in against his side wasn’t painful, slouching a bit so the top of his leather belt wasn’t digging into your forearm. He was thoughtful that way. Concerned for you and your comfort. Didn’t matter if his lower back would be killing him by the end of the first movie, you were wrapping your free hand around his bicep and rubbing your thumb under the short sleeve of his shirt, back and forth. Back and forth. Then, you were resting the side of your head on his shoulder.
He heard you—felt you—inhale deep. Why? Was it to fill your lungs with the scent of his deodorant, the cheap cologne he spritzed at his chest, the drip of Old Spice aftershave on his shirt collar? Was any of that better than oxygen?
Curious, he tilted his head as if something in the movie had him stumped, and he put his nose to the top of your hair, and took a small breath.
A different shampoo than usual hit him first, but below that, clinging to your clothes, was the smell of Robin’s home. He was struck with the thought of what his home smelled like. Was it good? Bad? Could, over time, over months, over difficult questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, could maybe by the end of summer your two homes combine to make one unique scent?
That would be the dream. And a dream, it may remain. But what a lovely reality it would be; you staying, and your scents mixing to create a new one.
So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t predict the fake-out jumpscare of a murder of crows taking flight after an eerie bout of silence, and he was the one to flinch.
“Aw, movie too scary for ya, big guy?” you cooed.
Eddie sealed his lips in a frown, and tucked his chin to create the maximum amount of wrinkles when he looked down at you. “Maybe a little. Good thing I have you here with me, though. Right?”
You nodded most ardently, squishing your cheek over his scorpion tattoo—just another place on his body you made your home—and grinned up at him.
“Of course, babe.” You called him babe. He smiled so fucking hard. “I’m here if you ever need me to hold your hand.”
You squeezed.
He squeezed back.
Scenes went by on the tiny TV across the room beyond the condensation pebbling on the plastic cups threatening to fall on the coffee table where Adrie’s box of crayons spilt into her coloring book. A story unfolded in the flash of blade, a clatter of piano keys, and a quiet neighborhood who knew no better. The movie played, but neither of you paid attention.
Your gaze was keen to the way his lips stayed parted after he licked them. His gaze was invested in your expression, how you viewed him with such kindness he was seldom shown. A tenderness he was rarely given. He tried to show you the same sincerity, but your eyes were fixated on his mouth.
Self-conscious, he asked, “Is there something on my—?” He rubbed the back of his wrist over lips.
You answered him with a belittling pat on his chest. “No, big guy. You’re good.”
Your tone didn’t sound ‘good,’ but you pulled the blanket up to your chin, and laid your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your other hand around his bicep until your fingers were stuffed between his arm and side. He interpreted your change in mood as a signal the conversation was over, and put his eyes on the movie. Though, his brain was busy toiling over why you were staring at him, and wondering if the pats on his chest were still echoing beneath your ear, or if it was simply his heart threatening to strangle him from the angst of not understanding if he did something wrong already.
At least he was holding your hand like a real boyfriend would. That had to count for something.. Right?
~~~
The credits rolled, and neither of you moved until you pointed out a name scrolling by, and a laugh so akin to a man being punched in the gut wheezed out of him, it caused you to erupt into your own embarrassing goose honk laugh, causing you to both double over in a fit.
Somehow, his nose was nuzzled to your hair. His inhale was cool on your scalp, and his words were a humid huff. “Bart Horsedick,” he said, “Whatta name.”
“You should name a character after him in DND.”
“Mm! You know what? I will. He’ll be a local legend with all the ladies, and tries to charm his way into the party by constantly making passes at the girls. Erica will kill him for sure.”
With a groan and a wince, he sat up straighter, and you lifted your head off his shoulder, making similar complaints about your neck. It was tough work being brave during the scary parts for each other, regardless if neither of you were paying enough attention to care about the reveals.
He asked, “How’d you like the movie? Even that last scene kinda got me.”
“Yeah, it was good,” you answered in the same tone, searching for anything to say that wasn’t, If you don’t kiss I’m going to fucking scream. “I wasn’t expecting the second killer to be the news reporter. That was kinda cool. And that final death was super gory, with the guts ‘nd all, but uh, I’m starving, and ready for something campy.”
Heeding his lady’s request, Eddie dashed around the room, turning on a few of the eclectic lamps, and jabbed the backwards arrow button on the VCR until the movie was playing in reverse at a hilarious speed. “Be kind, rewind, y’know.” Once it clicked, he took the tape out, and put the next one in.
You followed him into the kitchen where the groceries were laid out on the counter. Some were things he already had, like the half-empty bottle of olive oil, and two government supplied cans of vegetable stock, but from the fridge he added an unopened tub of butter, a container of mushrooms, and a wedge of parmesan cheese. He put them beside the onion, fresh sprigs of parsley, and special bag of rice. Ingredients he bought specifically for a meal he didn’t know how to make, but knew it was impressive, and wanted to try cooking it for you.
You picked up the magazine clipping and raised your eyebrows at the recipe.
He fidgeted, spinning his rings. His voice was hesitant; falling back on self-deprecating humor as a crutch, “I know you’ve probably been to France, or, uhh, Italy or whatever,” he guessed, “and’ve learned from experts on how to make it perfectly, but I thought maybe I’d give it an attempt and hope it turns out edible. Just forgive my shit knife skills, and if I pour too much broth, or don’t stir it the exact number of rotations, or some pretentious bullshit like that,” he finished, gaze solidly on the floor, toeing at a scuff on the vinyl to occupy himself. “‘M not exactly a chef outside a can of Boyardee, so..”
Some of his mumbling was lost on you as you read the bottom of the page. Narrowing your eyes at the title printed beside a number in the corner, you put your fist on your hip. “Edward Munson.” He snapped out his worrying at the use of his full name. “Did you rip this out of one of my lobby magazines at work?”
He rolled his lips inward to curb his grin. “No, no, of course not, dear,” he promised, finding it the most opportune moment to turn away, and organize the ingredients in no practical order.
“I swear if I go to work Monday and find Better Homes and Gardens missing page 57—”
“Okay, okay—I’ll tape it back in, but give me some credit, will ya? I didn’t rip it out like some animal.. I cut it out neatly with scissors.” He eyed your harmless smirk, and plucked the mushroom risotto recipe from between your fingers. “Now, if you’d like to get out of my hair, you may,” he said, gesturing at the TV with a knife. “Skedaddle. Go watch the movie.”
“You don’t want me to help? Or at least to keep you company?”
It wasn’t often he was tripped up on what to say, so when his mouth hinged on a mute excuse to get you to leave, you registered what he was going on about earlier, and shook your head.
“Wait, Eddie, I worked in kitchens prepping vegetables when the cooks were too drunk to come in on time because they went home with some random woman from a bar, and were too hungover to know what day it was. That’s why I’m like, okay-ish with a knife. You don’t really think I’d judge you for how you chop an onion, do you?”
A few words were stammered. You shushed him from bothering.
If his confidence had trouble surfacing when everything was out in the open and not hidden under a blanket, then you’d give him another nudge; a single stroke of your knuckle along the monster tattooed on his tricep. The muscle reacted to you, flexing the wyvern’s clawed feet. You did it again. And again. Pinching his sleeve and tugging at it, doing all the cutesy, flirty things you’d learned over the years, including dropping your gaze to his pretty pink lips. Employing your best strategies, you laid it on thick; swaying your hips, and bringing in your arms to frame your chest. “You could heat me up a can of Chef Boyardee, and it’d be the best meal I’ve ever had, as long as I got to share it with you.”
Shy, shy, shy. He brought his shoulder up and ducked his face from your view, giggling at your heavy adulation. “You don’t have to flatter me like that,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike he was wrapped in a ball of lovesick yarn. Overly smitten, ooey gooey with the warm fuzzies in his chest. So very, very adorable, sneaking a glance at you with an unbelieve amount of precious crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
How sweet.
It’d be sweeter if he could take the hint and share those kinds of things with you, but you could be patient and wait until he was ready. Again..
Just.. keep making everything so obvious for him, and try to ignore the sting of rejection when the guy you’ve liked for months finally invites you over for a date, and still won’t kiss you.
At least you were saved from the worst of your downward spiral by the bad B movie and its body melting scene.
“Ooh!” Eddie pushed the cutting board away. “That effect was really cool!”
Since he was already making his way to the TV, you trailed at his heels, and crouched beside him, sinking to your knees while he pressed the rewind button, and clicked Stop/Play twice. The lead up to the moment played again. You sat in anticipation, wholly aware you’d just watched this interaction between the college girls putting their best effort into delivering their lines, only for them to fall flat when their acting was off the charts horrendous. Eddie regarded them with the same sort of awkwardness, rotating his hand in hurried circles until one of them got obliterated into a goopy pile of human remains, and you began to dissect the undulating puddle of sludge.
“How do you think they made that one?” he whispered, mesmerized. “The way it pulses like that?”
“I think it’s from a balloon inflating beneath it. Watch the way the flesh cracks, and the blood oozes out. I think it’s something like that pushing it up from under.”
He hummed, and rewound the tape a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, tapping his finger on the thick curved glass. “And look at that bone. It actually looks like a charred, brittle skeleton instead of those cheap femurs everyone gets at the party store for Halloween.” You also agreed with him in a hum. The extra touches of effort were impressive for a low budget film like this.
The movie continued inches from your eyes. You rested on your calves, flattening the plush carpet under your shins. The harsh fibers were dulled by your pantyhose, and if this was a spot Eddie had to scrub clean after Adrie spilled juice, you weren’t aware of the stain; you were only aware of the hair-raising sensation of being watched.
You directed your attention to Eddie’s pointed stare on the side of your face, about to ask if there was a reason behind his adamant inspection when—
He dropped his gaze to your lips.
Sparks ignited behind your ribcage. Hopefulness latched onto each long second wherein he resisted flicking his eyes back to the screen. Each passing breath a choice to follow the gentle curve of your mouth, and stay there to revel in the simple pleasure of studying the unspoken language evolving between you two, sinking into his own warm grin for you to decipher. He was still crouching on the balls of his feet, and you had to wonder if he leaned over to kiss you now, would he lose his balance and cause you both to fall to the floor? Would he catch the back of your head in his palm to soften the crash? Would his hips fit perfectly between your legs? Would his jeans drag along your inner thighs? Would he whimper when you held him? Would he grind down on you at the first sign of reciprocation? Would he already be hard?
Your thigh muscles ached at the racing thoughts, clenched so tight in response to the needy throb between them.
Was the unspoken language shouting now?
Eddie’s throat bobbed on a stuttered exhale; his chest shook at fractions of his inhale, as if he was experiencing the same tightness there from the rosy desire blooming so greatly, struggling to cope with the oxygen in his lungs when there were far sweeter things they’d rather be filled with. “I—” He stopped. “I read a review on the back of the box that said this movie was scary too,” he informed you in whisper, right when a godawful green alien appeared and shot the worst CGI laser you’d ever seen from your peripheral vision. “Better hang out with me in the kitchen, where we can keep each other safe.”
You urged your yearning away from his mouth to the neon colors of a spaceship glancing off his cheeks, to his large nose, to the tips of his bangs skimming his eyebrows, to the bags under his eyes, and finally, you caught the last moments of him roaming your features with utmost care before your gazes locked.
The floor beneath him creaked.
Briefly, you considered closing your eyes.
The carpet flattened in a muffled rustle.
Briefly, you considered uttering his name.
The dry air in the room vanished with his humid huff coasting over your forehead.
Briefly, you considered begging him when he pushed off his knees, stumbled slightly towards you, and stood, offering you a helping hand.
He said, “Gotta make this dinner for you before I starve, sweetness.”
Kissless, you fought against your inner bitterness, and accepted his fingers. To hide your wilting resilience, you put a swing of vigor in your voice, and happiness on your face. “Yeah, watching hot blondes perish into goo really makes one hunger for sloppy rice with mushrooms.”
Well, at least you could always make him laugh.
~~~
Onion skin crunched under Eddie’s heavy chop. The papery layer was discarded. Laying the halves on the textured cutting board, he dragged the knife in long slices out from the root, then rotated to dice it into cubes. He blinked away fresh tears, and beside him, you scraped the sweated mushrooms into a bowl, and placed the pan back on the burner for him to sweep his prepped vegetables into. They sizzled on impact. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and made sure nothing seared to the bottom.
Steam rose from the bowl of cooked mushrooms. Slippery oil slicked their surface, adding to the smells of onion and garlic. Condensation fogged the tiny window above the sink. The rice began to toast. A burnt popcorny, yet pleasantly floral fragrance mixed with the sour note of cheap white wine bubbling down to nothing, and salty splashes of broth.
Mostly, the continuous stirring was done passively because you were both watching the movie from across the room. When it was your turn at the stove, you grasped the skillet handle and moved the spoon around in some sort of pattern, but your upper body was twisted towards the TV. When it was his turn, you took his place at the wrap around counter, bending over to rest your forearms on it, savoring his body heat baked into the surface under your palms before it faded and was replaced by your own.
The last VHS was inserted. No commercials on this older tape.
You grated the last of the cheese into the rice, and tipped in the mushrooms. Behind you, there were two metallic latch sounds followed by two loud bangs. Eddie sucked in a hiss, and apologized. You were too busy portioning out the risotto to see what in the world he was doing, but the sharp clicks of his lighter were distinct, as was the notch turns of the unnecessary lamps being turned off, casting you in dimmed ambiance.
Garnishing the meal with parsley, you scooped up the bowls and turned.
“Ta-da,” he said meekly, opening up his arms with weak pizazz.
You were stunned at the effort.
The collapsable ends of the green table hung by their hinges, making the surface area impossibly intimate. On top, there were three lit candlesticks to set the mood, and underneath, the seats of the chairs almost touched. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. Thoughtful. Endearing. He had trouble meeting your eye.
Eddie glanced at the unscented candles burning bright for practicality’s sake. The first wet drip of wax joined the others melted down the side since the last time he used them when the power went out. Not exactly romantic. “Has, uhm, anyone made you risotto before?” he asked, and tacked on, “At home?” when the fear of not being the first smacked the words out of him.
“No,” you stated. “No one's ever done something so sweet for me.”
His lower lip twitched, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to quell the giddiness from exploding. And to stop himself from celebrating too soon.
As you carried the bowls towards his attempt to recreate a fine dining experience, he tried to push aside the thoughts of inadequacy—the candles, the fact he couldn’t take you to a real restaurant, the flowers he decided against because he no longer had a vase, the nagging voices in his head that told him this whole idea was stupid—and instead, he focused on anything else. Anything, anything else.
“Here, lemme help you, sweet—Ow, ow, ow, ow—Jesus, do you have hands of steel or somethin’?” The candles wobbled when he dropped the bowl on the table, and you both froze as they teetered back and forth, praying your second date didn’t go up in literal flames.
When they came to a rest, you both sighed.
“Hands of steel, huh?” you mused. “I think they feel kinda soft compared to yours.”
Quickfire, he picked up on the age-old flirt you used on him months ago (back when he was dumb, and genuinely thought he was the one flirting with you by suggesting you come back to him when you found a spider as big as his palm), and he concurred, “Maybe we need to compare them again. Y’know, really get in there and make sure I have the toughest hands in the Midwest.” Adopting a southern drawl, he stuffed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and puffed out his chest. “Can’t let a lil’ lady who answers phones with ‘Yellow?’ have stronger hands than me, now can we?”
You pinged him with a wry expression twinged with cringe, and sat down, scooting your chair in, and looking up at him still standing. “You are so pitifully dorky.”
“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said proudly, falling into the chair across from you.
Your knees collided under the table; bone on bone due to his inability to wear jeans without holes in them. They knocked painfully, and while he did remember to apologize when you winced, he was distracted by the silly notion that his bare knees were the second body part to make contact with your tights. The back of his hand during the movie didn’t lend much to his senses, now he had a better feel of the texture, and how it rubbed against his skin. A strangely marvelous thing. And he was getting ahead of himself, sure, but he wondered how your tights must feel under the same rugged palm he was offering to you upturned on the table while below, his thoughts were erring away from respectful visions of circling his thumb over your knee cap while you were stretched across the couch with your legs in his lap, to something he felt unworthy to ask for.
Oh, but how he ached to be the one who was trusted to keep you warm when you were undressed..
Your chair squeaked. You changed the position to where your legs were bracketed by his wide spread. Perfect, because he brought in his stance and crossed his ankles behind yours, locking your thighs and calves between his, as if you were his possession, unable to escape. Indulging him, you giggled, and squirmed to the edge of your seat, taking his hand. His right, your left. A polite union of criss-crossed fingers. Mountainous calluses mapped against rolling hills of satin. Flickering candlelight dancing off the silver band of his ring. Kind, and sweet.
He gripped his spoon in an unnatural way, dragging it through the risotto, and bumping the ceramic.
“I can hold your other hand,” you offered, motioning at where you could link his non-dominant hand in the space between your bowls.
His voice was made of mushy tenderness, but his clipped tone left no room for argument, “Nah, I like it this way.” If you didn’t understand why yet, you did when you traced his gaze to his wrist. The beads had shifted from where they dug into his flesh. Squares from the blocky letters left indents in his skin, as did the corners of star beads interspersed throughout the round ones. Opposite D-A-D-D-Y, your sleeve was bunched up from cooking, baring the precious nickname M-O-U-S-E.
Your eyelids fell half-closed. The fondness on your lips wasn’t a result of the risotto—as delicious as the first bite was—no, the sentiment was much too darling. Almost as if you could hear the dormant vocabulary you awoke running hot in his veins. My girl, my girl, my girl is wearing the matching bracelet my daughter made for us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than another excuse to call you my girl out loud; I want it so bad I could cry.
“You did such a good job on this,” you complimented the risotto after taking another bite.
Fate. “It only tastes good because I had my girl’s help.” Under no circumstance was he about to make eye contact after saying that. In fact, he avoided sound altogether when he angled his spoon so he wouldn’t scrape it along his teeth a second time, and blew on the porridge-like rice before sliding the richness over his tongue, alighting his mouth with mellowed complexities for such unassuming ingredients. As he ate, he listened to you eat too. As he glanced, you glanced too. As he embellished his grin with a secret, you snuck in one of your own through the mysterious sharpness in your eyes boring into his too. He didn’t question it, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound above the panicked yelling happening in the movie in the other room; for now, he was content with holding your hand and calling you his girl.
The pressure to continue conversation waned.
He squeezed.
You squeezed back.
~~~
Dinner was finished in cherished bites. The movie was in the process of concluding, as most of the cast had been killed off by the time Eddie uncrossed his ankles and released you. He blew out the candles and stood, already regretting the act when the imprint of your body faded from his between his legs.
While he filled the sink with soapy water, you put away the forgotten ingredients, and wiped up the counter with a wet rag in absentminded circles, thoroughly invested in the slasher’s “forest chase scene” probably filmed in someone’s mom’s backyard.
Once the frothy bubbles sloshed to the rim with each dish put in, and the clammy air was brightened by the scent of blue Dawn liquid soap, Eddie rolled the stretchy bracelet up his forearm and began dunking the glass cup used for measuring the broth. He ran his hand around the inside to rid it of the gritty residue left behind. Dipping the thin washcloth, he submerged his hands up to his wrists in skin prickling hot water, and brought the cup out, exposing his chafed knuckles to the sting of cold air. He washed it, rinsed it under even colder water, and handed it off to you. You toweled it dry, and put it in the cupboard next to the fridge.
Over and over, he washed, you dried. He washed, you dried.
Routine, monotonous, robotic and quiet.
Outer input died away. No more movie, no more hot water, no more spoken conversation, no more meaningful glances, nor more intimate nicknames, no more inappropriate touches stolen under the guise of a drunken night. Just his thoughts, insecurities, anxieties, and hopes and the instant foreboding stress wrenching his stomach with fear of those hopes never coming true.
The air was thick with awareness.
You were in his home. The date was coming to an end, and so was his bravery. This was his chance, and he was letting it slip by him. Again.
He’d run out of excuses. Or rather, he reasoned with the excuses, and now he was facing the real problem. All the stuff from months ago about him not knowing if you liked him, your flighty lifestyle, the dynamic of being coworkers and worrying if it’d make things weird, the conversation he never had with Adrie; forgoing divulging his hobbies, his music, or his past with you because he didn’t see the point; those things he conquered. Those things no longer bothered him. Those things had answers putting them to rest.
Now, there was nothing keeping him from pursuing you except his own inhibitions..
Sad, how even when he had the courage to get this far with you, the differences in your lives served as a reminder he was just a poor boy from Indiana whose greatest aspiration was owning a trailer of his own so his uncle could have his room back. You had a drama degree—hell, you went to college in the first place. You had real dreams, and achieved semblances of those dreams before coming to Hawkins. A star as bright as you shouldn’t have to peter out in a town in the middle of nowhere. You needed the city to thrive, to perform on stage again. It was your calling, wasn’t it? Munson wasn’t calling you like your previous life, was it? You spoke of your accomplishments so highly. Would you ever learn to speak of him that way? Would he, one day, become one of your stories? A memory you moved on from?
Or did he deserve to ask you to give up everything you loved and earned to settle down in a dead-end shithole that hated him, and help him raise a child that wasn’t yours, tying yourself to his reputation forever?
What if he asked those things of you? Would you say ‘yes’?
Shit.
While the sea of doubt churned in his head, he rinsed off the ceramic bowl you used to eat from, and blinked the sting from his eyes after staring off into space for too long. He waited to hand it to you until you had put a pan away in the lower cabinet under the wrap-around counter, and accepted the bowl, drying it off and ping-ponging to the other side of the kitchen to the upper cabinet above the toaster. You didn’t have to guess. You knew exactly where it went. You were familiar with the precise drawer the spatula went in, next to the cutlery one where you tossed in the spoons. There was a beautiful domesticity to it all; washing dishes with you as if it were a nightly occurrence. Like you lived here. Together. You, him, Adrie, and his uncle—preferably not in that arrangement, and not in this trailer, but the vision.. the vision was there. You and him rejecting the bullshit small town mentality, and creating a life in Hawkins you could both be proud of, free from strife. A do-over, in a way, with you at his side, and his daughter on your hip.
The pit of self-loathing in his stomach yawned.
Those idyllic fantasies were too much to ask for. Too much to even risk speaking out loud. He could feel the rejection welling up behind his eyes as it were, wobbling at his bottom lip. The crushing reality of being a lonely single dad with nothing to offer—
You slammed the cabinet door shut, and tossed the towel aside. “So, are we gonna pick up where that phone call left off, or not?”
Eddie stilled under your loaded stare.
You remembered you remembered you remembered—
“If you adore me so much..” you added.
Jolted into action, the last dish slipped from his fingers, splashing and bouncing sluggishly off the bottom of the sink. Adrenaline hit him in droves. Frantic stings of want pushed him forward. Chores were forgotten. Mind blank. The soft thuds of his stride thundered off the thin walls. Pace quickened. Pulse beating in his throat. Vice grip on his heart. Months, weeks, days, hours of keeping his starvation alive through longing looks and inside jokes and hands brushing hands in fragile innocence, denying the vital comfort he craved to experience with the one person who made him feel special; the yearning reached its peak.
Predatory hunger rushed color to his cheeks at the remarkable sight of his dearest dream going slack with surprise.
He secured his fate with his arm wrapped around your waist, sweeping his hand upwards and dragging your cardigan with it. Water dripped to his elbows, cooling the wicked fever igniting his skin. He poured his strength into bringing you into him at the same time he stepped into you, forcing you back, back, back until the distance keeping you apart was eliminated, caging you where you gave him his final nudge beyond the brink of composure. His hips coaxed you side to side. His legs boxed you in where he commanded. Each motion pressed his strong, needy body to yours, driving the edge of the countertop into your lower back. Sway by sway, a dance of insurmountable patience built over months met its breaking point. You went pliant for him. No fight, only a small noise when he engulfed you in his aggressive embrace.
You gathered the hem of his shirt in your weak fists. His sudden leap over the platonic line broke goosebumps across your exposed midriff, tightening your nipples against the delicate lavender lace. The tremble in your knees was juxtaposed by his steady hand tilting your face up to his.
Sudsy bubbles burst on the peach fuzz beneath your ear from where he cupped your jaw. Droplets trickled to the base of your neck, curving over your breasts, and beading on the surface of your cardigan. He swept his fingers in an untamed stroke over your cheek. He tested a deeper angle, fitting his broad grasp to your chin and compelling you to lean in with the heel of his palm guiding you, drawing you forward, supporting the pout of your bottom lip with the base of his thumb.
His nose whistled when he took a shallow breath. The wet, soapy trails left in his hand’s wake went cold against his sigh coasting over your skin. Again, he tried another breath. Deeper; initiating the unadulterated intimacy of his stomach filling out and pushing against yours. More. The great expanse of his shoulders squared with confidence, and his muscles braced under your tender exploration. Your weak grip left his waist to climb up the confines of his arms, passing over his ribs and the flat plane of his pecs to place the lightest touch at the base of his neck. Closer. The serious glint in his eyes blurred as he neared.
The tip of his nose butted the apple of your cheek.
“Can I kiss you?” he spoke aloud for the first time, words breaking on the whisper.
You answered him in a faint, insatiable, “Yes.”
He imposed himself more. Frame on frame. Unyielding body leaned and curved around your softness, channeling every repressed feeling he’d had since you met into pinning you against the counter. Gradually, he dropped his head into a better angle; grinding forehead on forehead, tracing his perfect nose along yours, tilting so his mouth hovered fractions above a decision.
He teased, “Are you only saying that because it’s your policy?”
You smiled against the edge of his thumb after spying his sly grin through your heavy lashes. “No,” you stressed the single word, speaking through the mild irk of impatience building like an itch that could not be scratched in the marrow of your bones.
Anticipation clung to the prolonged gossamer blinks before they lulled into closed eyes, and slow swallows of air until lungs were poised on a held breath.
Every syllable of his next question dragged his lower lip across yours. “Are you my girl?”
“Eddie—”
The whine. The beg. The genuine plea of his name.
Organically imperfect, he smashed his mouth to yours. It was a harsh collision of teeth to lips, and a startled grunt at the abrupt impact, but neither of you cared. Reservations were off. You clung desperately to his shirt, stretching the cotton around his neck and biting the ball chain necklace into his throat, striving for a needier kiss; sparking a heady rush of awareness to the oversensitive areas reacting to the animalistic push and pull of him gaining control, advocating for his own fight in the flex of his thighs driving you into the creaky doors of the cabinetry. The fervency spurred him on. You combed your fingers through the downy curls at his nape, and he did not hesitate slipping a hand under your sweater to smooth his palm to your bare waist. And fuck, how you arched your back on instinct.
Nasally grunts of pain descended to pleasant hums from the throat.
Unable to divide his attention, the kisses went sloppier. Rushed. Awkward, and clumsy. He slotted his mouth to yours with too much force, to the point of bruising your spit slicked lips, and the wet smack pulled a submissive whimper from the places he’d yet to take. The flush blotching his throat ran hot like flames, heating the Old Spice aftershave on his skin. The scent aided the dizzy lurch in your head, lost to the dull lamplight beyond your eyelids, rocking you onto your toes and falling back on your heels in the swirling give-and-take of his unstated needs reaching levels of crisis only you could solve. A pain you could cure as you crammed your nose to his cheek, spread your fingers firmly against his skull, and kissed your friend harder than he kissed you.
Hums lowered into a depraved moan.
The intensity of your reciprocation fueled his ego. Seeking, he moved his chivalrous hand from cupping your face, downwards. Grabbing, seizing, squeezing. After refraining from so much for so long, he was mesmerized by the curve of your shoulder, the sway of your lower back, the waistband of your scratchy polyester skirt. He roved until he found your ribs, and he molded his fingerprints there, branding you with the sensation of his thumb beneath your underwire bra. It was a messy exploration. His excitement had him bearing his weight down on you, and when your strained feet failed to steady him, your ankle gave. Knees bumped; he stepped on your toes. He fell into you and matched the pain of the counter prodding your tender flesh with the bulk of his leather belt scraping your stomach. No apology. Not with words. It was the safety and protection of his arm crooked between you and the laminate countertop which rescued you, and as a reward, he dropped his forearm from the cusp of your hips and feasted his thick fingers on a handful of your ass, rocking you into him.
There was no other way to react to the blunt suggestion.
Heavy, uneven breaths were panted across the other’s sore lips as you both withdrew to gauge the next step. He scoped your features with urgency, darting from your relaxed brows, to your keen gaze. There was an etching of insecurity marring the honey in his gentle brown eyes when you were too dazed to remember to smile, jumping to conclusions in his worrisome ways.
He really did worry too much.
Bringing your hand out of his curls, you grazed the strained tendon on the side of his neck, and worked your way up. You trailed your knuckles along his cheek, swept them under his wispy bangs, and put your fingertips to his temple, triggering a shivered sigh and fluttering lashes at the new touch.
You answered him as you combed his hair away from his face, “I’m your girl.”
The instant sincerity of his red, swollen lips kicking up into an uneven grin invoked a raw tenderness to his pink nose scrunching in playfulness, and the corner of his eyes going tight with happiness.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice hoarse from the exertion of kissing you senseless.
“Yeah,” you promised in another caress.
For a moment, he held your gaze with the importance of someone understanding what it meant to be by his side and to be seen with him out in Hawkins public; as if he were on the verge of crying from the sheer gratitude of your policy landing you here, in his arms, on this night, wanting to be his.
Eddie peered into your eyes again. His wide pupils and dusky cheeks spoke of the nature of his body, but behind that, lurking beneath his fibrous sinew was the same innate marrow telling him this was okay. This was right. Just let go.
Just let go.
He listened.
As wild as he took you minutes before, he was ready to luxuriate in the nuances of affection. He pressed his mouth closed in a dry swallow, and raised his hand from your ribs, beckoning your cheek into the stifling heat of his palm. The throbbing pulse in his neck beat a rhythm to his chest, rising and falling in a quick cadence until he was able to discipline his attention away from the obvious snag of his zipper on your skirt.
He relaxed into another kiss. It may have been the hundredth of the night, but it was pivotal. Something changed. The frantic clashing lessened, and the cravings heightened.
Consistent as he was in taking things slow, he knew how to make you feel cherished. He took your bottom lip between his and dragged it as he broke the chain from one kiss to the other, as if the extra second he claimed a part of you was crucial to his survival. Truly indulging in the full potential of someone witnessing the many bad days of his life and still wanting to cook dinner with him. Someone enjoying the harmonized hum of your lips converging while you scratched small circles on his scalp above his ears. Someone willing to hear his shameful complaints about fatherhood, and not judge him when he took his lunch break in his car, cranking the seat back to rest his blood-shot sleepless eyes, instead of sharing a coke with them in the breakroom. Someone he’d come to rely on; a constant in his life.
He poured his coffee pot’s worth of trust into you, and you answered him with the blissful endeavor of your fingers scaling his forearm, brushing through the thin hair growing like wheat and pushing the beaded bracelet up to his wrist, cupping your hand over his on your cheek. D-A-D-D-Y. M-O-U-S-E. In turn, you drank his insecurities and added your own, overflowing with the mutual truth that neither of you had been in a stable relationship lasting longer than a month, and this whole thing should’ve been very scary.
But it wasn’t scary.
It was slow and steady.
The heaviness of his body returned. Hands wandered aimlessly. Arms entwined, untangled, confused themselves on who was where. Attentive fingertips glided over woven yarn and cotton, following the dips and curves and slopes; basking in the reverence of married threads and validation. Legs shuffled, spreading and accommodating. Jaws went slack. Languid tongues merged, lazy and hot. He palmed your ass in a lax grip, easing your hips flush against his. You answered with a purposeful roll intending to earn some friction, but you couldn’t reap the benefits on account of one problem..
Your skirt was stretched to the fabric’s maximum allowance, creating a taut buffer keeping him at bay. Any motion was nullified by the hindrance. Noticing this, he shifted to be better cradled by your thighs, and a delicious gift was granted with the tandem action of your bodies joining.
He flattened his hands on the countertop behind you and blessed you with a proper long drawl of his hips; pausing in an open mouthed kiss because the noise you made—the noise you made—the noise the noise the noise you made—
Your quick inhale faltered, flattering the hard press of his cock with a shameless gasp.
Eddie halted at the top of the motion from your involuntary praise, and locked eyes with you. Just like when he made you laugh, he wanted to witness your pleasure, soak in your reverent stare and pride himself on the way you asked for more—by sinking back and away and rutting upwards, instigating a filthy tension on the layers separating you; panties, nylon, polyester skirt, seams on seams on seams of harsh denim, and his choice of boxers; and God, you thrived on the bulk behind his zipper caressing you for the first time where climaxes were born. Your moan hinged on his satisfaction, and in a dare, you pivoted the descent of your roll towards the right, capturing between you his stiff length tenting towards his pocket. And when you arched into a slow grind on the base—sliding him along the curve of your clothed heat—he released his own pretty noise.
“Mm—fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.
Gravitating elsewhere, he left messy kisses on your jaw and brushed his nose over the peach fuzz on your cheek to put his love-bitten lips to your ear. Gravelly with want, he asked, “When did you remember what happened that night?”
A dirty throb pulsed where he buried himself between your legs, striving for the angle which had you grasping at his narrow hips as a silent plea for him to drive into you harder.
“Oh,” you panted into his hair sticking to your mouth. Answering casually as you could despite your face running hot, and your voice straining light with a joke, you answered, “I never forgot. I lied when you asked me.”
“You—?” The word was a quick huff of air against your neck. He pulled away enough to look at you, but not divorce your stomachs from touching. Two deep creases formed between his brows, shadowing his squint with incredulity. “You lied to me?”
A pang of doubt weeded its way into your insecure hands around his waist, forcing you to question if he was really mad at you for pretending you didn’t remember the exact details of last weekend in order to bolster his confidence into asking you on a date instead of wallowing in silent guilt for thinking he did something wrong and end up pushing you away, sabotaging himself from ever acting on this.
You were about to speak your mind—that is, until his lips crooked up, and he invaded your space with his big eyes, big nose, and even bigger grin.
“You lied to me,” he said with a snap of wolfishness, tonguing his sharp canine after the bite of his words; hosting an overabundance of admiration in his half-lidded gaze raking over you, alighting every sinful nerve in your body.
Time to pick up where that phone call left off—
“Yeah, I did.. But you didn’t.” You sank your hand between your bodies, and flattened your palm to the front of his jeans.
His breath hitched.
Skimming, teasing, playing with him, you strung his lust taut, tracking your fingertips over the hardness and sweeping them to the very end, circling an outline around his head like a Siren’s call to his fiery blood. His biceps flexed against your arms. The laminate counter squeaked from his sweaty grip on the edge. Vinyl flooring creaked at his antsy rut into your hand, and you gave in to your own curiosity.
Wrapping your fingers as best you could through the thick denim, a spike of cold excitement washed over you at the sheer girth you struggled to handle—much less the long, long drag of your palm from base to tip—sending an ache to your cunt begging to be stretched by him.
Slightly over seven inches, indeed.
Lacking poise, you blurted an unintelligible word, and his smirk underscored his heavy kiss.
“Told you I didn’t need to overcompensate,” he taunted.
His newfound smugness was allowed. Encouraged, even, by your firm strokes, again and again, creating a damp patch on his pants at every pass of your thumb. You were fascinated by his ability to engulf you in another tender union of lips when your senses were overwhelmed by the impressive size filling your palm. Intoxicated by the gentle glide of his considerable tongue along your bottom teeth. Dazed by his pitiful groan when you increased your pace, building and building the wicked friction burn from his jeans on your soft skin, tending to the flames of your arousal, sensitive nipples peaked and receptive to the warmth of his lean chest pressing down on you.
Needing him, you closed off the kiss and played into your appeal with a saccharine pinch to your expression, and a cloying sweetness to your tone. “You do so much for your family,” you murmured. “You work so hard to provide for them, always staying late at the garage, covered in grease and dirt, fixing cars until your hands are torn and your back aches. Making sacrifices without a second thought. Always putting their needs first.”
Stroking his hard cock, you asked, “When was the last time someone put your needs first?”
Eddie screwed his eyes shut and fit the bridge of his nose to your forehead. When he spoke, his embarrassment influenced his mumble, “S’been a long, long time.”
“Sounds like you need me to take care of you, handsome.”
He tensed to suppress his shiver from your sultry tone, and withheld his whimper at the prospect, meeting your gaze in a nervous flick. “I don’t, uhm.. have..” His assured demeanor ebbed to stuttering shyness. “I didn’t, uh, buy any condoms, and all the stores are closed by now..”
Your face fell flat.
You threw your exasperated stare to the ceiling, and searched the series of events which would lead to him asking you on a date, at his home, at night, without anyone else present, and somehow not think to buy condoms. “Why didn’t you buy any?”
He shrugged, frustration evident in his tone. “I was afraid of being a dumbass and leaving them out in the open where you could see them—like with the groceries or some shit—and give you the wrong impression, like my goal was only to invite you over for that reason, and, I don’t know, think I’m coming on too strong, or something, and make you uncomfortable.”
You gripped your beloved dumbass by the chin with your unoccupied hand, and put an end to his fretting. “Or, I would get the right impression, and we’d have that box opened within ten minutes of me walking through the door.”
He blinked dumbly.
Before he could ask if you were serious, you steered the conversation to its original topic with a gentle squeeze where the dark spot on his jeans bloomed, and said, “We’ll worry about condoms next time.” He throbbed in your palm. Next time. “After all the romantic stuff you’ve done for me, I want to show you my appreciation.” You slid your fingers through his belt loops, and leaned up, nosing your way through his frizzy waves to whisper a fantasy in his ear. “I want you in my mouth.”
You put the power of suggestion in your aggressive tug, snapping your hips together.
Ripples of electric pleasure stood his arm hair on end. The alertness in his expression glazed over. He lazed in the feeling, hardly able to open his eyes to follow the bounce of your eyebrows and the deep cut of your smirk; matching with his own goofy smile going lopsided with enthusiasm.
Since his birth, there were few instances where he felt wanted, or loved, and for his dream girl to waltz into his life and be so brazen about her attraction to him with no hidden motives, empty sweet-talk, or ill intentions—
For possibly the first time in Eddie’s ostracized existence, he felt desired.
Each low tug on his jeans was another boost to his self esteem, guiding him step by step further beyond the platonic line. Deeper, and deeper into new territory. Crossing the threshold from cracked vinyl to plush carpet, and with it, entering the fear of the unknown he wasted countless hours resisting. There’s no going back after this. Acquaintances was a laughable notion, coworkers was a tricky dynamic left to be dealt with on Monday, and friendship was the foundation of him opening up to you.
Every decision persuading you to the edge of his bed was made in careful consideration. Choices were presented and chosen without impulse. Nothing about him was casual. Not anymore. The slow crawl towards this relationship was impeded by his past, and instead of giving up, you stayed true to him. Because you saw him as worthwhile.
Eddie sank to the couch, and before his back made contact with the cushions, he had his fingers cupped to the backside of your thighs, proposing a bend to your knees. In a fluid motion, he dragged his rough palms up your tights and coaxed your legs on either side of him, running his heavy hands over your skirt and up to your waist. He relaxed into the sitting position with an arm crooked around your ass while he treated himself to a handful, gathering you as close as possible until he was satisfied with the places he could reach. Not once did his eyes leave your face. He tipped his head back to watch you go from standing at the end of his knees, to straddling his lap. Wholly enamored.
Blue cast from the TV’s standby mode contrasted the dim glow from the old lamp on the kitchen counter, highlighting his blushy cheeks in eventide colors, and cleaving a defined shadow down his bobbing throat.
Earned muscle and bulky denim and seven inches of bliss prodded the delicate meat of your inner thighs. You sat high on his lap, releasing the tension in your body in increments, settling yourself on top of him. He kissed you. Short and sweet; a brief encounter compared to before, but with your senses amplified by the deeper connection you two fostered for one another, it was the best kiss of your life. And it served as a chaste prelude to his next devotion.
Taking the lead, Eddie moved on from your lips, working downward in a dreamy, drunken daze, reveling in skin-on-skin. Want—more—please. When he couldn’t access the vulnerable underside of your chin, he urged your head up with a determined bump of his nose to your jaw, and continued to praise you in stray kisses and greedy palms. He showed you what he wanted by dragging you forward in his lap, and you didn’t need to be told twice by his white-knuckled grip.
You grinded down on him, and your mouth went slack with a fragmented moan.
“You’re so pretty when you do that,” he slurred, voice husky and low.
The bulge behind his fly parted your aching cunt. With your legs spread wide, you found your perfect middle and worked the stiff seams against your need. Each rut glided him along you, slipping over the nylon and stretching your pantyhose taut. You beared down harder, obeying the faint throbs of desperation, and turned them into inadequate stirs of pleasure, fleeting at each pass.
The first stitch of nylon broke. Then, another.
His generous kisses went wayward, favoring your jawbone as a means to end, tucking his teeth into the pocket beneath your ear and nipping at your vulnerable pulse. You swallowed under the threat, and dropped your head back, revealing the neglected expanse for him to cherish.
Cascades of euphoria flowed down your neck. Teeth grazed, his tongue tasted, the cold tip of his nose drew sentiments on your throat. For every dull sting of his untamed bite, he apologized with a softer, and softer affection. Lessening in aggression. Soothing your sweltering skin with cooling breaths on the streak of spit he left behind. You shivered despite the sudden break of sweat in the humid entanglement and embraced your urges, squirming against his jeans and circling your hips in measured thrusts, tilting into the motion for your own sake and blanketing your thigh over his achingly hard cock by chance. “Christ, sweetheart.” His muffled moan set your blood on fire. Your fingers went tight on his shoulders, digging into the muscle shifting beneath your nails, wrinkling the fabric of his favorite shirt.
More nylon stitches popped.
Too lost in your own efforts, you hadn’t noticed the loss of his possessive hold on your waist until your hard nipples brushed two solid objects.
Yarn fibers tickled overtop the sheer mesh cups of your bra.
Eddie nuzzled at the base of your neck and rested the slope of his broad nose there, moving his lips on your skin when he remembered, but otherwise his attention deviated elsewhere. At his leisure, he thumbed the top button of your sweater through the loop, and drifted to the next. Another, and another, exposing the sheen of perspiration on your chest to the stagnant air in his living room. His deft fingers undressed you with undue ease. Each loosened button raced your heart, and you repaid him by widening your knees and sinking fully onto his lap, laying your plush inner thigh on top of his length in a satisfying squish, and staying there.
A weak whine tinted his pretty, “Feels—good.”
Feels good played off the thin walls stacked with ceramic mugs. Feels good joined the sporadic pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof streaming to the grassless earth outside. Feels good warmed you like the oil filled radiator at the end of the couch, popping and crackling when the heat droned higher. Feels good manifested in your cardigan slipping from your shoulders and falling to the floor in a mute drop; rooted itself in his ringed fingers dipping into your waistband; was proven by his other palm molding to the curve of your hip as if it were shaped by the same artist; and confirmed by the unambiguous focus to your right side.
Feels so fucking good burst forth in his hand’s unyielding snatch on your waistband and decisive jerk forward, ripping through the last of the strained seam trapped against your satin underwear.
The pantyhose split at the gusset, and your plump pussy spilled out, perfectly framed by the gaping nylon hole presenting your wet cunt to the thick denim. You draped him sweetly. Curved over the immense rise behind the creased zipper, creating a stiff peak before sloping to the soft give of his stomach. It didn’t take more than a single experimental thrust for your thin panties to slide into your sticky need, working them snug to your heat and inciting the first true tug at your core. Whispers of relief roused at your center, but it wasn’t until your second try, when you tilted your hips and Eddie guided you down onto him, genuine satisfaction was achieved.
The low rumble from the bottom of his chest filled you with oozy pride.
You concentrated the friction on your clit, and Eddie concentrated on anything else.
He stopped sealing his kisses, letting the envelope of his lips fall open, slack, and inarticulate, never beginning nor ending the ode to your neck. His mouth hovered wherever his head hung, and in his stupor, he could do little more than use his tongue to cut a fat line through the luster beneath the hollow of your throat, letting the salt sit in his mouth before swallowing, grateful. With each movement, the scratchy grain on his jaw from that morning’s shave buffed your sensitive skin, and he lapped at the rawness he caused in apology. The higher you rose over the swell of his cock, the lower he prized you in sloppy drags of his ample lips. He cupped his ringed fingers to the underside of the lavender lace and used his heavenly tongue to lick the top of your breast, accentuating the curve for his teeth to savor you in a lovebite. Your nipples begged for him, and your back arched for him. Your mouth fell open with a gasp—”Eddie”—drawing out the last set of vowels before they devolved into a whimper. Soon, his head was a heavy burden between your tits, and you wrapped him in your naked arms, cradling him there with your fingers in his hair. Spit from his sloppy kisses smeared on your cleavage, wetting the stubble on his cheeks, and he remained smitten, moaning into them with each bounce on his lap.
He was so wrecked on intimacy.
Loading your lungs with another sigh of his name, you rocked your hips in whichever way felt best, not paying attention to the way your inner thigh rolled over Eddie’s fat cock, again, and again. Satin on denim; faster, and faster, tensing your leg muscles and releasing them like a quick stroke down his length. You embraced him with your chin to his hair, panting over the frizz sticking to your lips. Tender, always. Committed to lauding gentle kisses to his scalp even as you chased the one thing on your mind. Grinding in quicker thrusts. Listening to his muffled praise, but not hearing him go quiet, or noticing his body go still when his thighs edged into a hard flex under your ass. You were oblivious to his hand falling from your bra, and his fingers anchoring onto your waist. You were too engrossed in the act, rutting like animals do. Lurching towards the inevitable one desperate grind at a time, quicker.. quicker.. Heeding what your body wanted. Racing, faster.. faster..
Abrupt pain bloomed where he shoved his palm into your thigh to stop you.
“You’re gonna make me cum,” he panted in a ragged breath.
A new heat rushed to your cheeks. The dirty word spoken from his mouth engulfed you. It tingled and danced over your skin, firing signals of excitement in pulses. With clarity, you realized the few direct strokes during what was supposed to be foreplay had him tensing and trembling, trying to keep his release from arriving too early and making a mess of himself before getting to the real deal. Your nipples tightened at the knowledge, and your legs clenched on instinct. You almost made him cum his jeans. What a compliment.
Your puffy clit was sore from the brief friction, and you felt every centimeter of space he put between you and your reward, but it was like a switch flipped in your brain.
The sharp throbs of his fingers clamped onto the meat of your thigh and his thumb jammed into the soft muscle were forgotten when you looked down at the man who shied under your observation; his face aflame with the awareness he ruined your release as well and his, and his bashful eyes worried with remorse. He was the reason you craved the early dawn, and weekday nights. He was the reason your heart crowded your throat when you woke up and your first thought was to reach for the bracelet on your bedside dresser. He was the reason you took a liking to heavy metal and board games. He was the reason your body reacted to wafts of earthy tobacco in the air, only to be disappointed when the person behind you at the grocery store was just another smoker who hand rolled their cigarettes, as if they had the right to smell like Eddie Munson.
You looked down at the man who lived an isolated and thankless life, who found joy in the small things and loved with his whole heart, who had few outlets to express himself and receive love back, and nothing mattered to you more than giving him a reason to look at you differently come Monday morning.
You thumbed the edge of his jaw with a promise. “I’ll go slow, pretty boy.”
He made a choked off noise in response.
Eddie’s eyes followed the nuances of your movement as you rose from his lap and planted your feet on the carpet. His stance widened to make room for you, chest falling with a silent exhale; peering at you with a question between his brows, as if he were contemplating his luck. When you bent over and placed your palms on his thighs, you stole his gaze from the intimate way your cleavage shifted under gravity, and honored his lips a last time for the foreseeable future, about to show him how fortunate he really was.
You sank to your knees, dropping dry kisses onto his shirt in a path to his belly as you went, and lifted the hem. The bottom of the inked sword and dragon greeted you. Sparse hair fanned as you raised the shirt above his tattooed navel, and pushed it to the crease where his sternum and belly met. His stomach wasn’t as flat as when he stood, giving him a slight curve where it pushed past the edge of his belt—a roundness when he sat relaxed. You laid your elbows on his thighs, and avoided touching the large subject in your peripheral, instead shaping your hands to his hips, and bowing your head.
His muscles jumped under your lips.
Finally, you knew his ticklish spot.
He sucked in a breath, and squirmed at the scattered kisses to his sides. You applied more pressure, mashing your mouth to him with a giggly hum, and teased your wet lips through the thick curls leading downwards. The hairs grazed the sides of your mouth and nose. The warm metal from his belt buckle brushed your chin. You’d never guessed you’d come to know these sensations when you first met him and he made it clear your enthusiasm for life was not appreciated, but here you were, stroking your thumbs up his leather belt, bordering your grin with his happy trail.
Eddie skimmed his fingers over your wrists. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.
“That’s fine,” you assured him in a quick peck to the significant outline you’d become obsessed with, feeling him twitch beneath your lips. “We have all night to work on that.”
“What—? Jesus Christ, uh—okay.”
Sitting back on your calves, you held his gaze while you pulled the extra length of his belt through the loops in a smooth rush, and worked it through the handcuff buckle. You tightened the slack and loosened the pin with a nimble finger, undressing him with the ease of an expert.
Asking from a place of your own curiosity, you wondered, “How often do you jerk off?”
His eyebrows disappeared behind his tousled bangs.
Not yet used to you being so forward with him, he stammered on his tongue, but held his composure, much to the surprise of both of you. “Not that often, I guess.. Uh, a few times a month.”
You snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know that, right? You can tell me if it’s everyday, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.”
The two halves of his belt flopped to either side of his waist. With it out of the way, you pinched at the stamped button at the top of his stupidly tight jeans, but you had trouble getting a good grip on it. Here, let me—he mumbled in a small voice, lifting his hips off the couch to undo it himself, popping it through and revealing the waistband of his forest green boxers.
It was with great determination you aimed your gaze above his obvious grandeur when he started talking.
“I’m not lying,” he said during the sturdy grind of the zipper being tugged down. “Not exactly like I have a door to lock when I need some alone time around here, sweetness. Plus” —he grunted at the freedom his unzipped jeans granted him, pushing them lower on his hips— “I’m usually too worn out after work, and just wanna crash on the couch. Not to mention taking care of everything around here is exhausting. Just don’t have the energy most days.”
Reading the precious draw of sympathy between your brows, he sat on the edge of his bed, and reached into the fly at the front of his boxers. “But, uh, there has been a recent change in my life that’s motivated me to.. take better care of myself. More often.” A certain motivator who sat between his legs with her hands in her lap, piqued and obedient. “Lot more often than a couple months ago, before she started working with me.”
He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked upward, moving his knuckles against the fabric. He’d been rambling to ease the anxiety from his nerves until only the adrenaline remained, and with his pretty girl biting her bottom lip at his impure thoughts, his stalling came to an end.
Out came his hand—broad palm and thick fingers stretched full—and you stared in silent awe.
The back of his pale wrist and rosy knuckles were the first to show. Prominent blue veins led to his crooked hand, thumb and foremost fingers grasping his base while the last two struggled to collect the rest. His wet tip grazed the top of his boxers, peaking the fabric and dragging it along in a mouthwatering sweep towards the opening, and out it bobbed in flushed hues of pink and needy red. Below, he used his other hand to lower the fly, and cupped his palm to his heavy hanging fruits. They slipped out one plump roundness at a time to display their greatness against his dark jeans in a weighty sway.
Eddie’s cock leaked a bead of anticipation for you.
Starting with a lazy tug, he stroked himself. The arousing sheen smeared around his tip glistened, shining anew with the pass of his fist. As predicted, he curved to the right, and the fact he could hardly overlap his thumb to get a good hold on himself spoke of his size. All of him was beautiful, and you felt beautiful when another drip of precum swelled from his pretty head, threatening to fall before your very eyes.
He was thrilled by your shock. “Want it?”
“Need it,” you responded in a faint exhale.
With a smirk deepening his smoky tone, he kept moving his hand up and down, and granted you permission, “It’s all yours.”
You snapped your attention to his face, and inched forward until you were snug against the couch, eager and motivated by the lustful stretch in your thighs exposing your soaked cunt to the air. Good and pleasing, you clasped your hands politely in the folds of your bunched up skirt, and framed your arms around your chest.
Dipping your head, you lolled out your tongue for his approval.
His expression was the highest compliment; revering you with crinkles at the corners of his heavy-lidded gaze, lips stretched into a genuine smile which emphasized the elusive dimple on his cheek, and defined the bags under his eyes. Strands of his finger-swept messy curls stuck out at odd angles after you had your way with his hair, grazing his high cheekbones, and thick neck.
His heart pounded louder in his chest the longer he stared at your offering.
Weight pressed down on the plush middle of your tongue. It left, then happened again, again. Again, he tapped the fat head of his cock to the sticky wetness, mixing his salty taste with your spit. Bestowing you the gift, and taking it away. Teasing you. He slapped his heaviness down in a dull throb of owning you, and lifted it off to run his fingers over his own length, jerking himself off at an easy pace he wouldn’t cum from before putting his weeping tip to your tongue once more for you to admire, but not indulge. It was the cruelest, and hottest, thing he’d ever done to you.
When he next rubbed his head along the supple muscle and took it away, you tempted him into giving you mercy.
His lungs stuttered at your first demure kiss to the underside of his cock. You listened to his shallow breath on the second, released in a short ahh on the third. On the fourth, you vied for privilege to spoil him. He relented. How could he not?
To give himself a better angle to watch, he propped one of his hands behind him, and dropped his cheek to his shoulder, where his hair poured in a mass of tangles. The broad grin he wore waned to a subtler emotion as you hummed for the silky skin thrumming against your lips, feeling him shift when he lifted his thumb from taming his hard-on down.
Eddie marveled at how you balanced his cock on your pout. Amusement—and an unending amount of tenderness—gentled his features. He was sweet on you. You were sweet on him.
Treating him how he deserved, you rolled your tongue around your mouth to gather spit, and pushed it past your lips to wet his slick head, making your kisses slip against him in a smooth glide. You showered him in small pecks at first. Short kisses with the cutesy sounds pressed to the sensitive ridges which earned Eddie’s involuntary moan; low and thick, drawing from the months of pining for this moment. Venturing into more, you darted your tongue out to test his reaction when you licked the valley between the halves of his plump tip, and you winced. His cock kicked up, and fell in a smack. It was painful, probably bruising the delicate inner flesh of your lips when it smashed them against your teeth. You thanked him in an acquiescent whine.
It was addictive—a daze. With nothing but gravity to keep him in place, you cherished your favorite mechanic’s cock openly and honestly. You flattened your tongue to him in a loving lap, and chased it with a long drag of your lips up the underside to the round head, struggling to keep your eyes open from the bliss of tasting his reward, and suckling noisily for more.
Eddie accepted defeat in a sudden, disappointed grunt, “Yeah.. I’m not gonna last long.”
He fell backwards in a dramatic flourish.
Sprawled almost flat, his shoulders hit the cushions, and his body melted into the position with his fingers laced over his eyes as a shield. A groan of despair reverberated in his throat. Poor Eddie, can’t last long with his favorite receptionist’s mouth around his cock. A giggle bubbled from your chest, and you were about to repeat your promise to go slow, but the words wouldn’t form.
Your mouth had other plans than wasting their time on reassurances.
In his melodramatic moping, his dick left your lips and flopped onto his belly—which was a loss you felt in your soul—but with how he slouched into the cushions, a fruitful endeavor presented itself. Swung, and bounced, actually.
You leaned in, and became acquainted with your hand around his girth; familiarizing yourself with the naked warmth in your palm, and his airy whimper when you did.
The top of his boxers brushed your knuckles as you drifted your hand up in a single stroke. One fluid glide on the cock which belonged to you. He did say it was yours, after all. And though the thought alone had you wishing it was stretching your tight cunt in a blend of pain and pleasure, you had a yearning for what else moved up and down when you pumped your fist.
“Eddie?” you called. He peered at you from the shadow of his fingers. Innocently, you traced the bottom of his sack, and oh so carefully settled them into the nest of your unblemished palm. “Are these mine too?”
A croak broke his speechlessness. “Y-Yeah, those are yours, too. If you want them.”
Please was written in your grateful lurch towards his cock. Thank you was expressed in your lush moan when he entered your mouth.
“Baby,” he whined in a docile sigh.
You sank his cock into the wet heat he needed, but only for the purpose of curving your tongue to his begging tip and bathing him in your spit, using your hand to work it down his shaft. Except, you got carried away. A few strokes in, and you put your lips tight around his head, and already there was a warning forming between his brows.
You backed off. His face went lax in relief.
“Feels too good, sweetheart,” he praised from the depths of his gravelly voice. “Gonna make me cum like that.”
Your pussy ached to be spoken to that way.
Moving your attention away from how pitifully empty you felt, you loosened your grip and twisted your wrist to massage the base of his slick cock; not exploring upwards, just giving him enough friction to keep him on edge without spilling over. A perfect amount of pleasure, you guessed, from his red face emerging from behind his hands, raising them to comb his bangs off the fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead, and blinking himself out of his haze just in time to see you lower your face between his thighs.
You tended to him first with a kiss. An opening, or introduction, to your lips finding the spot beneath your working thumb where the hardness ended and the velvety skin began. He tensed. His legs flexed around your shoulders, bringing his knees in all shy like, like he was self conscious to have you down there. And maybe it was one thing to have his balls cupped in your palm, but it was another to have you nosing around the opening of his boxers when he hadn’t gone through with his plan of trimming back the hedges.
All he could do was stare when you inhaled his scent after he spent the day cleaning his home, running errands, driving across town to pick you up, and sitting next to you during scene after scene of horrors playing on a screen directly across from the terrifying event of holding your hand while trying not to out-sweat his t-shirt.
His bewilderment was apparent, but so was your enjoyment.
You burrowed your nose at the narrow opening of his fly, and tilted his cock to the side, finding the thick thatch of curls growing around his base, and admiring his heavy musk breaking through the perfumed Dove soap. A heavy purr of pleasure rumbled in your throat, coming out as a nasally moan against the wrinkled skin you kissed. So enraptured by his body, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to part your lips, and run your tongue along the seam of his sack. It was with a dire urge you stopped at the bottom, and flaunted how big he was by snuggling your nose to the heft and lifting.
You draped his balls over your mouth.
It was silly to him, and you didn’t mind the tss of laughter, but to you, earning his baffled smile while your giggle was buried under his sack was vital to your design. Their ripe heat enveloped you. The stripe you licked was wet on the tip of your nose. His natural scent swaddled you. Both corners of your lips were encumbered by the wonderful weight hanging on either side, brushing your cheeks as you swallowed the taste of his tangy sweat. You kissed up into the excess skin stretched over your face, and they rolled to your chin when you changed the angle you were teasing his cock, disciplining him towards his stomach so you had more room to worship the pome.
Warming him to the idea, you flattened your tongue to one side and ran it along the fullness, curving up, and dragging down in a long caress. In a breath, he placed his hand on his stomach where his shirt gathered, and skimmed the other over his body until it laid on top of his jeans, in the crease between his hip and thigh. You could see his fingers work themselves into the loose denim out of the corner of your eye, and heard them relax when you traced the other side of his sack, ending with a murmur to the textured skin.
“Too much?” you asked—he shook his head before you could finish the question, still hanging onto a suggestion of his fascinated squint at what you were doing to him.
With his approval, you indulged.
The gentle licks evolved to sloppy circles, eager to prize and polish, ensuring there was no part of his balls gone neglected. Lapping at, kissing at, making out with another spot on his body out of a necessity to fawn over every inch of him. Willing to nuzzle your way between the plumpness and have your drool drag wetly across your cheeks in his name. Fully content with messier and messier affections, cozying your nose to the base of his curls until he understood how little it bothered you to be smothered by his nature.
Unable to resist satisfying him how he deserved, you dropped an open kiss to the squish of his sack, and suckled on a small section, checking his reaction.
Not an ounce of protest glimmered behind his lashes, eyes falling almost closed at the intimate gesture between two people who were never supposed to be more than coworkers.
You parted your lips, and accepted a mouthful.
Eddie whimpered.
His toes curled into the carpet at the novel sensation. There was an incredible amount of trust required to fight the instinct to pull away. Even his fingers strained the denim when you drew your lips around one of his balls, and slackened your jaw. It was with great respect you brought him into your mouth, and cradled the weight on your tongue, cheeks stretched full and soft. You held him there for a long second. The rain was a steady noise of the roof, but your exhale was loud in the space between his thighs. Quiet suspense followed your hand climbing his shaft.
You wrapped your fingers around his hopeful tip, and fitted your thumb to the valley on the underside. In perfect sync, and with your eyes steady on his face, you hollowed your cheeks and squeezed each of your fingers at the same gentle pace.
“Fuck, baby—”
At once, Eddie’s unabashed groan inspired you, and his balls jerked in response to the direct touch in the places he needed it. From pinky to index, you massaged his fat head in a smooth pulse—matching the strokes of your thumb—and though your grip was light, he was already kneading his hand along his inner thigh and clamping it down close to your face. You soothed him on your tongue as best you could, and eased him into having more pressure from your lips, sucking harder on the most sensitive part of him.
Concentration stressed a shadow between his brows; chest braced on a held breath.
The telltale sign of his skin tightening in your mouth, along with his clenched stomach and abnormal silence, had you testing his limits. But it was too fun feeling his legs squirm at the effortless flow your fingers performed, coaxing him closer to coming undone and still daring to smear the swells of precum over the pleading edge of his tip, again and again, but slower. Slower. Memorizing the metallic slink of his guitar pick running along the ball chain necklace when you released him, and his chest sank with a sigh.
His voice cracked a notch higher, “Jesus, you’re really into this, huh, sweetheart?” he asked, but you couldn’t answer.
Before committing to his other ball, you spat into your cupped fingers, and put them to his cock, adjusting how you held him until you could look past and see the handsome glint of respect in his eyes, and he could gaze into wealth of adoration in yours.
“Love being on my knees for you,” you mumbled sweetly, kissing your way to the other side of his sack. “Love your cock, Eddie.”
His name, spoken where it was on his body, brought out a smugger twist to his already prideful grin. “Yeah? You like it?”
Rushing at the chance to compliment your man, you straightened your spine, and punctuated your words along the thick vein leading up to the drips of seed. “Love it,” you promised in a syrupy yearn, swallowing the bitter salt. “Love your cock; love it so much. It’s my favorite.”
“Is it the best?”
The question was tonally rich with confidence, but just in case there was any doubt woven into the wording itself, you regarded the man who went to work early on a day he had off for the purpose of leaving flowers on your desk, and smiled.
“Yeah,” you confessed, recalling a memory from the earlier months, after your first failed date, when he shared his can of Coke with you at lunch because the vending machine was out, and two sets of chapsticked lip prints were left around the metal rim. “It’s the best.”
You hugged his cock to your cheek, and nuzzled the warmth as you would any other part of him, humming a sunshiny hum, and parted ways to return to your true calling further down.
This time, Eddie groaned in relief when you settled his other ball in your mouth—”That’s it.”
With your newly slick hand, you slipped your palm over his desperately purple tip with ease. His thighs jumped into a flex, and his stomach fluttered with tension—almost like he was going to lose himself right there—but he exhaled hard through his nose, and became better at existing in the mutual pleasure. This was as much for you as it was for him.
There was a scrunch of determination above his nose, and a strong edge to his jaw, but otherwise, his fingers were gentle on your temple.
“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said, tracing his knuckles downward, lacing multitudes of meanings behind the sentence. Physical, and emotional.
He prodded his thumb into the hollow of your cheek, feeling how full you were of him; how his calloused fingerpad rocked in the same rhythm of your lips sealing around him and sucking; and you leaned into the tender gesture of his open palm, to which he cupped your jaw with a sentiment tantamount to what you were baring.
A sweet man through and through, even as he trembled in your fist.
You curved your tongue around the tight skin in your mouth, and moaned prettily for him. Frequent moans, ardent moans, moans appealing to his ego, moans you’d hear on a tape rented from the backroom of a competing video store with a black curtain separating it from the wholesome movies up front. Performing for him, finding what he liked. Which lick, which whine, which speed had his cock leaking over your fingers. Which trick made the creases between his brows mature, and his mouth fall open: the answer was two fast pumps over his throbbing head, and back down to his base for a respite, prolonging his release with a thank you on his heavy eyelids.
Prolonging, at least, until two fast pumps became a naughty blur of more—Oh, fuck, baby—and his brushes along your cheek went rare, and he licked his dry lips in the fog of his ramping high, and he hung his head back to the dense cushions, and his question escaped his throat in a hoarse huff, “You wanna—?” and it wasn’t a question at all.
You pushed your lips in soft goodbye to his sack, and his fingers under your jaw communicated his wish, aiding your chin up with a light pressure until your mouth was tasting the result of his aching lust. Slow and steady, you lavished his head in tame licks, building into a long sweep over the top. Warming yourself up to the painful stretch your lips were about to endure while his kind fingertips coasted over your hair, and found themselves at the back of your neck. Drawing out the seconds he tucked his thumb behind your ear, and rubbed circles. Sitting in the moment of something delicate, before things changed, and the platonic line became a horizon.
You drove his tip past your lips, and channeled all your appreciation into sucking Eddie’s cock.
He whimpered in surprise. A different whimper than before; not a drowsy noise he may make when rolling over in bed, but a sputtered note expelled in bursts of heavy breaths, singing a hymn to your blood.
The pace was not shy.
You descended to meet your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and reached your temporary depth where his hardness caressed the back of your mouth, and your throat clenched. Pulling back, you focused on his head, wetting his length with the sudden drool, and busying your other hand with his balls, cupping and stroking them in gentle passes.
“Ri–Right there, yeah, God, right there, sweet girl.” The syllables were mashed and dropped and disconnected on his whine.
Flicking your gaze up, you thrived on his fixated stare, bobbing your head on his tip only. Sliding your lips back and forth over the luscious ridge which had his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Massaging your wet heat around the center of his pleasure; encouraging a pinch in his expression as if he were in pain when he was in anything but.
Being higher on your knees meant your tits could be seen, and what a delicious sight it was for him to covet. Braced by your bra, your cleavage bounced as you pumped your fist along his cock, grazing your nipples above the opaque floral applique, cresting them beyond the sheer lace. It was enough to make his stomach squeeze, and his fingers tremble in the baby hairs at your nape.
His cock twitched twice in your mouth, conveying a message.
You welcomed him to the back of your throat, gladly this time, accepting the overfulness making it hard to breathe and the soreness surely to come, using your hand for the rest you could not take. No amount of uncomfortableness would make you shy from showing him the recognition he earned. For years he didn’t see the value in himself, and knowing the person who saved a Laffy Taffy wrapper to tell you the joke on the back didn’t prioritize his own happiness compelled you to take him deeper, faster. You shaped your tongue to the outline of his cock, and chased your lips with your fist, hollowing your cheeks at the top, teetering him on the cusp, rousing him until your skin buzzed from the friction and his hips pitched. Bringing him so close to the edge that when you broke away to catch your breath, his muscles shivered, and the shadows between his brows lessened as they arched higher from the mounting pleasure, where every touch on his body felt better and better and better than the last.
In the brief seconds you wrapped both your hands around his length, he made a pleading noise with the added weight of his warm palm at the back of your head—an urgency in his disheveled state, but not without the option of choice.
At once, he was at home in your throat.
In a union, your fingers wrenched his waistband into your damp palm, and he laid his hand across your knuckles. The control was yours, but the pace was his. He fucked himself into your pliant mouth in short, quick thrusts; ever attentive to keep his thumb strokes on your cheek unquestionably loving.
“Gonna make me—” He found the angle to cant his hips so you could watch him unravel; eyes falling closed and face tipped to the ceiling. “—Make me cum, baby,” he finished, voice light as air.
Throat flushed bright pink, cheeks dark red. Eddie panted into a shaky moan of true relief, and your core craved to be the one to take care of his needs, but there was something special about proving your attraction to him in every way you could.
The ridges of his greedy tip found where they were best brushed, and his hips lost their tempo. His stomach sank and stuttered in pulses. A dear emotion clutched your chest, letting loose when he crashed into his climax.
His knees closed you in, crowding you to his lap. “I’m gonna—” he gasped, rough and breathless; presented as a warning for the shot of bitter taste at the back of your throat, filling your mouth and spilling over your tongue with each throb of the thick vein pumping over your swollen bottom lip.
Something undeniable feathered the vulnerability of the position.
You swallowed.
And when more remained after it slid down your throat, you steadied his twitching cock over the offering of your tongue and jerked him off, stealing more drips to satiate you, swallowing with your lips pressed in a kiss to his overstimulated tip. “Baby,” he begged with his head thrown back, legs shifting restlessly around you. He sucked in breaths. Squirmed. Bit his tongue. Tugs of laughter played at his screwed up mouth, so desperate to resist giving in to a true grin when you rode out his high until he was beginning to soften, and the euphoria wore off to a dozy tingles, and the tingles dissipated into you giving him mercy, and mercy gave way to the aftermath.
In all the awkwardness of reality, you unceremoniously wiped your hands on his jeans, and right as he properly tucked himself back into his boxers, he beckoned you with open arms, gripping at your hips and bringing you onto the couch in a clumsy tumble; straddling his lap with his eager kisses seeking your jaw, your neck, your mouth which worked so hard for him. “Fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbled at the corner of your lips. You didn’t need the words—you’d heard them all before—but the reassurance of his arms locked tight around your middle, and the golden rays of honey shining so bright in his eyes allayed the tiny ball of worry at the pit of your stomach telling you he’d next follow it up with an excuse to send you home, as did every man before him.
“‘Mazing, ‘mazing, ‘mazing,” he mushed together on his way to your slack lips, bringing you out of your thoughts and into a kiss. “And dare I say, ‘amazing?’”
His ability to make you giggle when your bare stomachs were pressed together was the sort of tenderness you sought, and he provided.
You rubbed the tip of your nose along his, so very aware of his broad grin, and sweet nature. “You’re silly.”
“That I am!” he stated proudly.
Dipping to complete your gentle smile with his, you sank into the acceptance of him wanting to take your bottom lip between his, and flatter himself with the knowledge of where it’s been, what parts of him it became intimate with, instead of avoiding what was only human. He noticed your cold skin beneath his hands, and ran them along your back and upper arms. There was a motive behind his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, and palming you forward—where your heartbeats hammered together, and heat stirred in the lack of layers separating you—but still, there was one more affection you thought he deserved before the night moved on to your own.
Shivers chased his thumb braving the roundness of your breast, edging closer to the sensation of due pleasure yearning to be released. He spoke straight to your needs by putting the suggestion in your hips, “It’s your turn now.”
You stopped yourself from toppling to the cushions, and upheld your decent balance through your grip on his shoulders. “Wait,” you complained without malice, forgiving him for not reading your mind, “I’m not through with you yet.”
The word choice sparked intrigue across his face, then it cautioned to curiosity at the ominous roll of thunder rumbling through the trailer, clanking the mugs on the wall behind him.
He turned his head to the side, eyeing you. “What does that mean?”
~~~
“God, that feels so good.”
“Yeah, right there.. A little to the left—Oh fuck, right there.”
“So fucking good, sweetheart, keep going.”
Perturbed, you asked him, “Do you ever shut up?” and kneaded your knuckles harder into the knot of muscle between his shoulder blades, earning a louder groan than when you had his dick in your mouth.
One of the horror movies played on the TV, volume turned high for the alien’s gargled dialogue to be heard over the storm. Eddie’s lanky body was limp with sleepiness, melting under the smooth strokes of your palms starting at the base of his neck and gliding downward over his shirt, dragging another grunt out of him when his voice was hoarse from shameless use, not tempering it for a late night where he’d employ his range outside of singing for Corroded Coffin. He mumbled another praise, but his face was smashed to his pillow, rendering what he said unintelligible. His strong back rose with a shallow breath, and you moved with it. The couch was crowded, but you insisted he get comfortable, even if you had to straddle the curve of his ass with one knee fallen to the alarm of crayons and crumbs stuck between the cushions, and your other leg hung off the edge. This worked for him, though. It gave his hand a place to hold you, fingers clasped to your calf and thumb tending to you in little sweeps of truth. I need to touch you. The room was smothered in darkness, save for the brighter scenes highlighting the glossy line of his eye fighting a losing battle one massage of your thumbs into the pockets of soreness at a time.
You worked at the tense muscles with his comforter draped around your shoulders. It slipped down to greet the chafing air, rushing goosebumps over your skin. After the fourth time adjusting it, you left it gathered at your waist. Making sure Eddie was taken care of was more important. And the college girl turning into goo occupied what was left of your attention.
Though, soon, your tendons ached from effort, and staying-up-late stole the water you yawned from your eyes, and the comfort of being with someone who appreciated you wore heavy on your bones.
You grabbed the blanket, and leaned forward.
Brushing back the mess of curls covering the side of his face, you combed through the strands of hair stuck to his stubble, and found his chubby cheek smushed to his shoulder. You kissed him. “I adore you.”
He put a weak squeeze in his palm behind your knee, and spoke through the grog, “I adore you too, baby.”
Adore. Using the endearment in place of another word, and still, the weight was understood by the both of you.
Housed in the cozy heat of his body, sheltered from the rain lashing the windows in sheets, and the howling wind whistling past the corrugated metal roof in gusts, you sighed. Thunder vibrated from the floor, to the couch, to him, to you.
“You’re too sweet to me,” he said, sounding more awake.
“I’m exactly as sweet as you deserve.”
Instead of using his words to express he wanted to turn over, he just started rolling beneath you, forcing you to rip yourself from his divine warmth, and settle upright on his lap.
You were reminded of the reason you were cold when his eyes trailed over your naked skin, not afraid to show their appetite for your chest. The hunger in his hands returned, scaling the plush expanse of your thighs, and feasting his thumbs higher on the sensitive inner haven he’d yet to pay tribute to.
A smirk cut across his mouth. With a slow breath, he rocked his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against your neglected need, now attuned with the perfect tilt to achieve that pretty noise from your mouth which riled him like nothing else.
Oh, he was very awake.
Eddie exhaled with a pitying sound with attentive eyebrows, almost like he was mocking your moan. “You look so good up there, sweetheart,” he admired through his teasing. “Could get used to it..”
“Yeah?” you questioned. Reaching between your joined bodies, you held no qualms about circling your fingers over his cock, and honoring just under his head, ending your stroke just before he could reap the benefit.
He tipped his head back to gain his wits, finding his answer in the darkness behind his eyelids. “But you keep forgetting this night was about you, and thanking you for everything you’ve done for me. And then you go and add that on top of it.” Private fantasies took hold of him, influencing his heavy moan and thumbs climbing higher, higher. “Gotta thank you for so many things, sweetheart. So many.. However many you want,” he said, alluding to his way of showing gratitude. Fresh lust rushed to your soaked heat hugging his length. “Gotta get you out of these, though.” He scratched a nail over your pantyhose.
You snorted, accidentally ushering humor into what was a sexy exchange. “Why bother? You already ripped them.”
“I what?” Plain confusion marked his face.
Treating it like an ordinary thing, you bunched your skirt up to your waist, and drew his gaze to your mismatched black panties. You gandered at them as well, second guessing if you should’ve taken the extra time to find the lavender pair somewhere at the bottom of your drawer.
“Yeah,” he groaned; as his chest fell, his cock swelled. “I’m gonna show you just how thankful I am, again, and again, and again,” he trailed off, each word fluttering the heartbeat at your core—
Lightning struck, and the phone rang.
Jolting, Eddie stared at it from a long moment, breath held as if that alone would will it into submission from ringing a second time. Spikes of prickly anxiety stabbed at your chest, frightened out of the moment worse than any jumpscare.
It rang a second time.
He took the initiative and sat up, consoling you with his hand on your back and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just stay put and make yourself comfortable, sweet girl. I’ll be right back.”
Use your pet names all he wanted, his voice didn’t instill confidence when it went flat and wavered.
He got up from the couch and you were left feeling exposed, nestling into the blanket as the rain picked up, and the buzzy feeling he left imprinted on your skin faded.
“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his stomach above the open fly of his jeans.
As he listened to the man’s voice on the other end, he dropped his hand, and his shoulders sagged at the information.
Turning away, he huddled the receiver to his ear, and asked, “Is she okay?”
His question didn’t have the direness a parent should have if someone were hurt, so you stood up and padded softly to the kitchen, straining your ears, listening intently and discerning a few sniffles. But one little girl’s cry rang above them all. A shrill call for her Daddy to save her from her greatest fear.
Thunder rocked the trailer.
“Yeah.. Yeah, I’ll come get her.”
The phone clicked into its holder on the wall, and like that, the illusion was shattered. It was no longer just you and him spending a night together, carefree. Responsibility took precedence, and when Eddie faced you, his mood was tainted by all the things he explained about being exhausted from just existing his thankless life, judged by all.
He stared into your optimistic gaze knowing this is when you’d get a dose of his reality as a single father.
Fatigue and dread haunted his expression: this date is over.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson smut#mechanic!eddie#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#the yes policy
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Sugar Baby | Jey Uso
Synopsis: Sex is not a big deal. ...You can have a no-strings-attached arrangement with someone you don’t care about.
Pairing: Jey uso X Black Fem reader | word count: 3.1k | warning: smut, toxic behavior , protected sex | 18+ ONLY
A/N This is my first time writing on here so bear with me I’m new to learning the app I hope you all enjoy it it’s also my first time writing a Jey uso fanfic so please go easy on me. A few writers inspired me to want to write about him I’m not sure if they want to be tagged I don’t want to seem disrespectful but if they do I’ll gladly @ them!
Series master list
Lastly , Enjoy
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Dakota groaned in discomfort, "Ugh, jeez, I'm so sore, I can barely stand..." Jasmine chuckled in agreement, "Haha, I know right? I didn't expect that workout to be so intense.
“Me neither, my whole body is killing me right now…girl remind me to never come to the gym with your ass!” Dakota Murmured in a low breathing trying to regain her breath, her hands kneeled down on her knees taking each breath one at a time. Before standing tall grabbing her water to follow jasmine lead to the front desk.
“girl please all that ass you got you should want to be in shape for your old man sugar daddy.”
Dakota stopped in her tracks staring a hole into her best friend of 6 years in the head, with a mug plastered over her face she spoke again “Omg for the last time that man isn’t that old and he ain’t my sugar daddy!”
Jasmine looked back pursuing her lips together looking at her best friend like she was dumb “whatever you say ms.like em’ old.”
“But ion blame you because last time you came to me with your wig completely fucked up after seeing him, fuck he got super dick?”
Dakota chuckled at her best friends antics seemingly use to it but without jasmine in her life she wouldn’t have any entertainment without her silly jokes.
“No he just knows how to work this thang!” Dakota laughed before sticking her tongue out as the two walked up to the front desk.
While Dakota was focused on making another week ahead for the gym next week, Jasmine eyes were stuck on whoever just walked into the gym.
Jasmine Nuged Dakota shoulder before she turned around with a mug irritated already by her bothering her with Dakota already being tired and trained from an intense workout the two just had “Ain’t that your boy or should I say ol’ man.”
Dakota knitted her eyebrows together in confusion and also curiosity as she turned her body and attention to wherever jasmine focused was and there he was.
Jey Uso
In the flesh there he was looking ever so good , his presence so commanding and charismatic that she couldn't help but admire him with his twin brother Jimmy and a little behind them was their younger brother solo, walking. As they approached a group of men, it looked as if they beckoned them over with friendly gestures.
As Dakota glanced over at Joshua, she couldn't help but take notice of his impressive attire. He was sporting a pair of blue Nike shorts that hugged his body in all the right places, along with black Nike socks that were neatly tucked into his white gym shoes. On his head, he wore a fitted black bloodline hat, which was turned backwards and allowed his mullet to peek through the back. The red tips of his hair added a touch of boldness to his overall look, which suited him perfectly. As he stood there with his bare chest on display, his chiseled abs were impossible to miss. Tribal tattoos adorned his arms and chest, with two more visible on his back. All in all, Joshua's appearance was a sight to behold.
She watched as he greeted the three men before grasping both hands onto a pull up bar his palms facing away from him lifting his entire body going up and down up and down as she watched closely.
She couldn’t help but to stare at his bare back moving ever so smoothly, he hung his body up back and forth downwards she got a flashback from their last meet up two months ago which made her bite her lip titling her head slightly watching as he kept going.
Flashback
“Move yo hand this what you wanted right?” Jey responded to Dakota as she pleaded for him to slow down she tried to push him back away from her as he dicked her down so deep she could Hardly breathe.
she burried her head into the white colored sheets of the hotel room she couldn’t help but cry tears of joy but also pain as his strokes got deeper and deeper from behind “Jeyyyy…b-baby slow down…ugh.”
“Nah you talked all that shit on the phone, I wanna see you take all this dick don’t run from it.”
“Ion even know why you like to play with me princess, you know I’ll fly yo’ ass out to fuck you up.” Joshua spoke with Venom in his voice as his chest heaved up and down, chest beaming with sweat. he pushed a hand down on her neck to pin her down further her ass purked up nicely in his view.
It all started with Dakota missing him which resulted in her being a bitch towards Jey, calling him out his name as far as a “bitch” because he hadn’t been paying her no attention at all the past few weeks. She knew he had a tight schedule as a professional wrestler which has his undefined attention at all times but she also wanted his attention as well even with her just being a sugar baby known as a woman he just used for sex and entertainment when he wanted it.
Now here she was ass up face down and burried into the white sheets of his hotel room as he fucked her viciously from behind pining her down to the bed so she couldn’t run with no where to go. He wanted her to feel all of him from anger slightly misplaced with lust.
“Nah baby use this dick and fuck me back , daddy ain’t going no where.”
Dakota did as told throwing her ass back on him but with much more force while she occupied her fingers underneath her playing with herself. She felt so much pressure and pain all in one her feet became hot with them curled up as he went deeper with each stroke he took.
Taking her breath away literally.
“Mhm you taking this dick like a good girl huh?” Jey rasped slamming into her making Dakota let out a loud moan.
She could feel her body become hot as she felt a knot in her stomach indicating she was about to cum.
“shit!” She cursed under her breath, Jey thrusting into her wet gushy insides.
Joshua watched his dick slide in and out Dakota’s hole, her white creams painting his beautiful Carmel dick, his balls slapping against her clit with every hard thrust he took.
Dakota let out beautiful whimpers, her ass and titties jiggling with the rhythm of Jey’s hard strokes.
Jey grabbed Dakota’s hair, wrapping it around his fist as he thrusted into her harder.
Josh pulled on her hair, forcing her head up as she looked at herself through a the mirror which was in the corner of the room. Her make up smeared with tears , hair all over the place she knew she would need a redo on her hair when she got back home to Atlanta. Her mouth agape as she let out loud moans which couldn’t be heard outside of the hotel room from how thick and sound proof the walls were.
“Uh huh, daddy deep in his pussy ain’t he?” he questioned panting, his tattooed chest heaving up and down.
when Dakota didn’t answer Jey yanked her hair making Dakota let out a loud moan.
“shit! Y-yes daddy it’s fucking deep!” she cried out as tears cascaded her pretty Carmel cheeks.
Jey smiled deviously at her through the mirror, sliver jeweled grills peaking through. feeling her walls clench around him he groaned. he sent a hard snack to Dakota’s ass, “you throwing that ass back like a big girl , baby? You gon’ keep taking this dick like one too.”
Dakota did as told, her taking control again as she bounced back and forth on his length, Joshua bit his lip watching his dick disappear into her whole every time.
The one thing he missed the most was her ass jiggling from behind as he buried his dick deep inside her, her smooth toned back arched ever so slight but at the moment her chest laid flat on the bed while he continued his torture.
“fuck!” Dakota moaned with her face planted in the bed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she continued rocking her body.
“Un huh, Baby take this dick.”
“you gotta cum, ma?” Jey questioned, grunting afterwards.
“yes!” Dakota whined reaching her hand underneath her and rubbing at her clit once more, her legs trembling outrageously.
Jey bit his lip harshly, blood drawing as he groaned at the metallic taste.
“gon head Dakota .” He rasped, on cue Dakota and Joshua reached their limits. Her white creams painted all over his dick, her juices squirted out of her and onto Jey’s lower stomach.
Flashback over
“Dakota!” Jasmine's voice echoed through Dakota’s empty ears as she called out to her best friend Dakota, who seemed lost in thought. "Dakota! Dakota, Dakota?!!" she repeated, her tone growing more urgent and annoyed with each call. She wondered what could be occupying Dakota's mind so much that she didn't even hear her friend's voice.
Then it hit her. Jey he was who had her so snapped out of it she watched her best friend bite her lip in daze a, watching him do repeated pull ups.
Finally After staring into the distance for a while, Dakota was brought back to reality when she heard someone calling her name. With a confused look on her face, she looked up and stuttered, "H-huh, what did you say, Jas?"
“I said there go ya’ boy and there he is right now making his way over.” Jasmine said as he indeed was making his way over to them while Dakota mouth hung low she tried her to best to maintain herself. She often felt nervous around Josh and she herself didn’t know why because she wasn’t a shy woman but with him? He had her shy like a school girl.
“Wassup jasmine.” Jey greeted Jasmine with a friendly head nod and a warm smile, before turning his attention to Dakota. With a mischievous grin and a wink “and hey pretty mama.”
With a mischievous grin, he knew exactly what to say to make her radiant smile light up the room. As he gazed at her, he couldn't help but notice the intricate details of her gym outfit, appreciating the way it hugged her curves and highlighted her strong physique.
She wore Black gymshark vital seamless neck sports bra with vital seamless black shorts that hugged her body waist down ever so gently which showed her ass out more flaw. Her breast glazed with sweat as it stucked together almost peeling out of the sports bra her nipples hard as ever from how cold the gym was. Accompanied with white socks and grey gym shoes.
She looked damn good.
“Hey Josh.” She smiled dimples ever so deep into her skin that her pearly white teeth showed all of her teeth from how big she smiled. Gushing with butterflies in her stomach if she was any lighter you could see how red her face was from blushing.
“Hey Josh.” Jasmine mumbled mimicking her with an eye roll immensely laughing at how shy her best friend was. In 27 years of knowing her she never saw her best friend so shy she was always a Fierce Woman, very outspoken. So to see her like this so gushed over this man was surprising and undoubtedly hilarious.
“Shut up.” Dakota mumbled gritting through her teeth while she tried to keep a smile on her face.
To break the awkward silence Josh spoke “Uhh so you leaving?”
“Oh yeah me and jasmine are finished for the day and go grab some food then head home and shower. I see you’re with your brother.”
“Yeah he wanted to come to the gym before the big night Monday.”
“Well it was nice seeing yo— nah we ain’t gon end it like that ma gimme me a hug uce.” Josh insisted opening his arms for a hug she embraced him her hands rubbing against his bare back.
His entire body felt so soft and warm along with his significant cologne he always wore that drove her crazy with how good he smelled.
Josh hands snaked down to her ass grabbing it gently with a soft smack before leaving a wet kiss on her neck before whispering. “You might wanna cover that up uce.” He chuckled at her eyes bucking at the embarrassment she felt when she realized he was referring to the hickey on her neck that her gave her last month.
Gasping she quickly covered it with her hand before grabbing Jasmines hand leading her out the door “Bye Josh!”
“Girllll that man got you whipped huh!” Jasmine joked laughing at how school girl he had Dakota before unlocking the doors to her Mercedes Benz truck both hopping in.
“Whatever.”
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• Instagram story
Dakota.Valentine • 25 secs ago
“Bye Josh.” Dakota chuckled at a TikTok he sent her via message, before hearting it smiling ear from ear. It was a TikTok of a man buying his girlfriend chicken wings when she asked for wings as in pads for her menstrual cycle but he got her wingstop with jey replying with a “Gon be me when you come back over my house, yeet!”
“Oh you in love.” Jasmine affirmed looking at her best friend blush at her phone something she did their whole lunch.
“I am not!”
“Is too!”
Dakota fixed her posture in her seat now facing jasmine directly placing her phone face down on the table giving her undefined attention “and what makes you possible think that?”
“Hmm well for starters the man bough you a mirror vanity with a Chanel purse and a basket of fruit all because you said you wanted to show yourself this year and do beauty content for social media.”
“Then he buys you roses every month even if he misses a few days he buys dozens for each day he missed along with a stack of money, he as well spoils you with gifts, paid for you to go to talum for your birthday, bought you a ring and also rented out a mall for the both of you so you could shop dedicating the whole day to you with a massage, paid for your hair , nails, AND makes sure you eat paying for every meal plus he took you on how many dates?”
“Shall I go on?”
Dakota sat there taking in everything her best friend was saying with nothing to deflect with, she was right Joshua did all those things without her having to asking for anything he just did it because whatever he saw that he thought would look good on her or what made her smile the biggest he got it.
“Then you cook for him everytime he’s in town for his Monday night raw and smack down shows in Atl kota.” Jasmine stated pursing her lips together while she waited for a response. Dakota sat there with a dumbfounded expression.
Thats when realization sat in she realized she was in love, he did so many things for her that she never had done before not even in past relationship. He was there for her in so many ways than just sex, he was there emotionally, physically , and mentally. He cared deeply for Dakota as much as she cared for him. They’ve Had deep conversations about life and marriage something neither ever done with anyone they connected on a deeper level than Just sex he was there for her when she lost her mother a few months back and ever since then he never left her side he was always there.
Despite his best efforts to hide it, Joshua was undeniably smitten with Dakota. Though he was a more mature and experienced man, he couldn't help but pour his heart out to her, showering her with a level of affection she had never before experienced in her life. His love for her was pure and genuine, and she could sense it in every little thing he did.
Despite her best efforts to be difficult and toxic, he always handled her with care and honesty. He was the type of man who never played games, especially when it came to business. He led with authority, yet he had a soft and gentle side. He was dominant without being aggressive but real smooth but you knew he ran shit. His charismatic and funny personality, his loving nature, and his hardworking aura made her focus on him completely. Whenever she was around him, she felt safe and comfortable, knowing that he would always be there to protect and support her.
In past relationships Dakota had never felt safe nor comfortable with men but with Josh it all felt so natural.
The two meet at a bar in Pensacola , Florida where Dakota was in town visiting a client of hers for styling. She was a celebrity stylist, she loved fashion and always dreamed of being a fashion designer or stylist. While she sat at the bar alone josh couldn’t help but stare at the young women, her soft brown legs shined with baby oil along with a black dress that hugged her body so tightly and well , a face a man would die for but he thought her face was better to nut on in his dirty mind.
He walked up to her with a few smooth and flirtatious words which pulled her in instantly jey was always smooth with the ladies. A ladies man of course. With that he prospered to her a deal that he spoiled her of course as well as have sex with her but no string attached as well kinda friends with benefits or a sugar daddy which he wouldn’t call it more so tricking with sex alongside.
Jey was 32 years old and Dakota was four years younger than him at 27. Despite the age difference, the two were still deeply attracted to each other. However, when Dakota was first presented with the proposal that she didn't quite understand or want to accept, she hesitated. The idea of doing something like that was foreign to her, but a little voice in her head, which she recognized as Jasmine's, urged her to "get that money, bitch!" Despite already having her own source of income, Dakota eventually agreed to the proposal.
Starting from the summer of July 2022, the two individuals became inseparable. Their bond grew stronger as they spent time together, and before they knew it, January 2023 had arrived, marking the beginning of a new year that they brought in together. Despite the initial plan to spend only three months together, Josh kept extending their time together, much to the surprise of his companion. She found it odd that he was reluctant to part ways and kept prolonging their time together, but she couldn't help but wonder why.
Was he also in love?
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All I really want to say my darling
Today is a special day we call our own
So take me in your arms and hold me
And tell me you love me
And I'll be there for you
The soft lyrics of Tony! Toni! Tone! Played throughout Dakotas high rise apartment while she finished up on the last touch’s of the cornbread. Dakota was cooking baked macaroni, yams, collard greens, fire chicken with a side of duffeled eggs.
A loud thud on the counter went off as her phone ding with a text message from Jey.
iMessage
Yeet master jey!❤️
I’m here come open the door lady uce!
After meticulously washing her hands, she swiftly dried them off to ensure there were no traces of germs left on her skin. As she reached the door, she saw Josh standing outside, holding a beautiful bouquet of roses in his left hand. A wide smile appeared on her face as she approached him, and he opened his arms, inviting her in for a warm embrace. "Jey, I missed you!" she exclaimed before jumping into his arms. He caught her effortlessly with just one arm, and the two of them burst into uncontrollable laughter, filled with joy and happiness as they held each other tightly.
“I missed you too ko.” Dakota heart warmed at the small nickname he gave her.
“Aww are these for me?” She smiled widely taking the rose from jey she walked towards the kitchen sitting them on the counter. “Of course gotta get my princess something.”
Cheesing to herself she inquired him with a question “Mmhm when were you going to tell me you was in town?”
“Well I was tryna surprise you but I saw you all at the gym looking gorgeous.” He stated wrapping his arms around Dakota from behind he moved her hair out her face leaving a few wet on her neck she responded with a low moan.
“Unt unt let me finish cooking Josh.” She chuckled at his antics of trying to seduce her but she had other plans in mind.
Stepping back with his hands in surrender he spoke “alright alright but how you been? You’ve been eating?” He caressed her cheek staring into her brown hazel nut eyes. “Yes jey I have.”
“You better.” He pecked her lips a few times before moving back looking over her admiring her body.
Dakota has fell into small depression she thought maybe she was too big and wanted to be slimmer so she stopped eating to lose weight and also in the gym but Jey put a stop to that immediately because she was perfect the way she was and she wouldn’t want her any other way.
“I missed you.” Jey spoke with their soft eyes looking directly At Dakota.
“I missed you more.” She responded softly turning her body to face him.
“Missed you so much girl.” He embraced her into a hug, hugging tight as he wrapped his legs around her like spider man hanging his feet in the cabinet while she laughed at his goofy self “It’s all you girl!”
“All you girl!”
“Omg Joshua what is wrong with you.” Dakota laughed once more her stomach hurting from much she laughed her cheeks sore a bit from how hard she smiled. She was in love.
Letting her go he left a few kisses all over her face till she laughed Again before asking her something “So umm…I got a show tomorrow and I want you come.” He asked shyly as if it was the first time he ever took her one of his shows to watch him to wrestle.
“Of course! I’d love to watch you beat some ass.” She smiled punching at his chest playfully.
“Good cause Jimmy been asking about you “where koko?”josh mimicked his twin brother Jonathan earring a small laugh from Dakota.
“Aww my good ol’ friend can’t wait to see him tomorrow.”
“Plus tomorrow is raw XXX tomorrow you know it’s gon be lit.” Smiles thinking about what was in store tomorrow for the fans which included the bloodline with Sami Zayn.
“Oh tell your little girlfriend stop messaging me I’ll hate to beat a bitch.” Dakota scolded Josh rolling her eyes.
Who?
“You know who”
As jey stood there in thought as if he was dumb he then realized who she was talking about “oh Chanel?” He said still acting clueless.
“Who the fuck else Joshua!” She raised her voice slightly removing his arms from around her.
Chanel was an old mistress of Jeys and he broke things off with her two months in but she couldn’t take him leaving her due to the contract ending so she stalked him and was a bitch to every new woman he used for sex and entertainment which was Dakota. It all started in September when Josh and Dakota where out at a restaurant having a few drinks and dinner when Chanel popped up on the two “Oh so this why you’ve been ignoring for this new bitch?!” Channel shouted in the restaurant cashing a scene.
Which escalated in her and Dakota having a back and forth because in all Dakota wasn’t fighting over no man especially not jey no matter how charming he was she wasn’t but the disrespect she took from Chanel wasn’t going to keep happening.
“Look I told you she ain’t my girl and plus ima handle it.” Jey reassured Dakota waving her off.
“You better because I’ll hate to gut a bitch eyes out. Keep fucking with m— What I say?” He cut her off glaring at her with dominance.
“Okay I heard you.” She pouted “but you better handle it cause I don’t have time.” She sighed wrapping her arms around her chest.
Pulling her into an embrace he wrapped his arms around her body rubbing up and down her sides soft and smoothly. “I said I got Dakota don’t worry okay?”
“Okay.”
For a while there was some silence the only thing that could be heard was the music being played from her speaker that was a till she broke the silence with a question “can I ask you something?”
“Yeah , go ahead.”
Dakota started to think back on what Jasmine said was she in love with Josh? Was he in love with her? The question lingered in her mind so much she needed to to know. Even with them not supposed to falling eachother because of the agreement of no strings attached she couldn’t help but fall for him.
“Do your ever….think maybe we could be a couple?” She questioned with pleading eyes but also wanting honesty with anything he threw at her.
Jey thought long and hard for a min before giving her an answer “Honestly no, I mean you’re a gorgeous and talented woman but Dakota we both know this isn’t what we agreed to no strings attached and after a divorce I went through a year ago I ain’t ready for another relationship.”
“You’re just another one of my clients.”
Everything hit her deep in the heart like someone stabbed after hearing those words everything shattered for her. What was she thinking? She didn’t know she even thought he would ever slow down things for her just because he had sex with her but she had hoped
Maybe she wasn’t in love.
To be continued.
I hope you all enjoyed this! More to come let me know if you want chapter two of this series? Also leave comments.
Opinions on jey, Dakota, jasmine , or even Chanel?
How we thinking about the relationship of Jey and Dakota will they fall for each other in the long run?
Lmk and again thank you for reading I hope you all enjoyed! Excuse any mistakes please till next!🎀
Also if you want to be added for a tag-list comment and I got you!
#jey uso#wwe jey uso#jey uso smut#jey uso x reader#jey uso fanfiction#jey uso imagine#main event jey uso#the usos#roman reigns#jimmy uso#wwe raw#wwe smackdown#wweedit#the bloodline#original photographers#fashion#foryou#makeup#black beauty#natural hair#35mm#black girl magic#black girl moodboard#90s aesthetic
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listening to fortnight got me thinking about bakugo and reader having a very brief fling, something that happened in the past during their 20s, but stuck with both of them for years.
i touched you for only a fortnight
i touched you, but i touched you
fast forward to living in the same city, the two of you now in your 30s and end up becoming neighbors by happenstance. you're both married to other people since you only talked in shared friend group settings after said fling.
all my mornings are mondays stuck in an endless february
you watch his wife water her flowers in the garden out back while making coffee in the kitchen every goddamn morning. you have no clue why it irks you so much, that the sight of her stupid smile makes you wanna punch her lights out.
occasionally, you run into bakugo at your mailboxes after a long day at work. small talk is the only thing you two can muster - a comment about the weather or harmless compliments about each other's appearance.
"sure rained like hell yesterday."
"nice sweater, your wife buy it for you?"
"god, it's too fucking hot today."
"that dress looks nice on ya."
one night, both of your spouses are away when a storm comes raging through the city. your power goes out, leaving you in the dark because your stupid husband forgot to replace the generator. from your windows, you see bakugo's household has power and decide to hightail it over for some company.
he answers the door with a confused look on his face. "the fuck you doin' in the rain? get in here!"
bakugo makes you a coffee to share with him in the kitchen, bullshitting through the night like you used to do as twenty somethings. it felt natural, your heart soaring as you watched him laugh and retell jokes from the past. when the conversation died down, you blurted out something you didn't plan to vocalize to anyone.
"i think my husband's cheating. sometimes i just wanna kill the bastard."
caught off guard by your admittance, bakugo quirks an eyebrow at you in response. "little extreme, but i'm sure that could be arranged."
"would be cheaper than a damn divorce. that asshole would take everything from me."
he snickers, taking another sip of his coffee. "think my wife's doin' the same. comes home late and shit, never can tell me why."
"how'd we get stuck with this shit luck?" you retort, forcing a laugh from your tightened chest.
"could be worse. we're neighbors, that's fuckin' lucky for me."
i love you...it's ruining my life.
"oh? i'm starting to think that's not a coincidence anymore."
bakugo sets his mug on the countertop, turning to face you while crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest.
"might'a convinced my wife to move here. thought maybe we could be friends again."
"so you bought a fucking house next to me instead of just calling to go to dinner?" you ask mockingly, a smirk on your face as you awaited his bullshit answer.
he shakes his head with a grin of his own. "sure did."
i love you...it's ruining my life.
"how come you never ask or invite me over then? we're literal neighbors, kats."
"pretty sure my wife's scared of ya. plus, i want time with you, not us."
that makes your heart skip a beat.
"hell of a way to say you miss me." you pause before setting your own cup down on the counter. "i'm glad you're here."
"me too."
right as he's approaching you, the front door swings open.
"babe, i'm home!" his wife calls, handful of shopping bags. she sees you standing in the kitchen aside bakugo - you give her a soft wave.
"oh, hi. i didn't expect company tonight."
"her dumbass husband forgot to replace their generator. just helpin' her out."
she gives him a glare, tilting her chin up at him, almost condescendingly, as she assesses his answer.
"how unfortunate. stay as long as you need, i'm gonna go put this away."
and with that, she leaves for their bedroom to unload her shopping haul. once she's out of earshot, you turn to bakugo and chuckle under your breath.
"oh yeah, she hates me."
bakugo rolls his eyes. "let her be miserable, it's her strong suit. come on, let's go take'a look at that generator."
the generator works just fine, you unplugged it before coming over.
you were curious if there was a spark leftover between you two, only to find the fire was not only stoked, but never fully extinguished.
blasty tags; @slayfics @maddietries @queenpiranhadon @starieq ✨
#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo#bakugou katsuki#bnha bakugou#mha bakugou#bakugo x y/n#bakugo drabble#bakugo imagine#bakugou headcanons#bakugou drabble#bakugou x y/n#katsuki bakugou#☆.rei writes
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A Treat A Day Keeps The Calvin Away
Steph Catley x fem!reader
a/n: little ideas from @occasionallyaurora
“I love mornings like this.” You murmur, nuzzling your face further into your girlfriend’s neck while keeping your coffee still in your hands as Calvin lays at the end of the sofa with his favorite toy.
You and Steph never get to just relax in the mornings whether it’s training, errands, or Kyra breaking in and disturbing both of your guy’s privacy. Luckily today you both have off, you finished everything you needed yesterday, and Kyra is currently annoying Katie and Caitlin.
“Me too.” Steph agrees, squeezing her free arm tighter around you as she takes a sip of her own coffee. “Now why would he do that?” The brunette complains about the show displayed on the television.
“It’s a sitcom, baby. It’s supposed to be stupid.” You giggle at her grumpy expression, placing multiple pecks on her cheek, making her frown turn into a smile from the soft feeling of your lips on her.
Steph swiftly turns her head right as you’re about to place another kiss on her face, causing your lips to connect to hers. Right as you’re about to pull away in shock, the Australian uses her hand to push the back of your head further into the kiss, making you smile at her eagerness.
“Stop smiling and kiss me properly.” She mumbles against your lips, trying her best to capture yours again but you continue to grin.
When her tongue pokes at your bottom lip, you finally pull yourself together and allow each other to indulge in the kiss. As your lips smack against one another’s, you have to keep in mind that you have to balance the coffee that is warming up your hand while your free one cups Steph’s cheek.
Steph blindly sets her mug on the table behind you before shifting herself into a more comfortable position so she doesn’t have to crook her neck weirdly. As you feel Steph’s tongue roam your mouth, you also notice Calvin getting up and off the couch.
After a few seconds of silence, Calvin begins shaking his toy back and forth, making you peek your eye open which your girlfriend somehow takes notice of. The cold feeling of her fingertips against your skin, when she dips them below the waistband of your shorts, sends a shiver through your spine.
“Baby.” Your words are stopped when Steph continues to kiss you, not allowing you to interrupt the atmosphere you both have created. “Steph, no.” You pull her hand away from your shorts, laughing at the look of annoyance on her face.
“Why? We haven’t had a day to ourselves in forever.” She whines, playfully kicking her feet like a toddler.
“Calvin is right next to us, Stephy.” You point towards the oblivious dog who is currently ripping out the stuffing of his toy, causing a mess on the floor that you’ll eventually have to clean up later.
“So?”
“So I’m not going to let our son watch us have sex!” You exclaim with a laugh, watching your girlfriend’s mood contort in several different ways.
“Our son, hmm?” Steph smirks as you toll her eyes at her slightly cocky demeanor.
“Yes, our son. I am not letting you take all of the credit considering I’m the one who takes him on his favorite walks and-“
“I do too take him on walks with you!” She interrupts you with a scowl before she crosses her arms and turns her grumpy face towards the sliding door on the other side of the room.
“After I beg and bargain with you, usually with sex.” You say with a chuckle as the Australian grumbles in annoyance.
With a few minutes of silence between you two, Steph suddenly stands up with a huff, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
“Where are you going?” You ask out but receive no answer in return.
When you hear a whistle and Calvin’s name, the shaggy dog runs into the kitchen, causing you to squint in suspicion. Steph walks in alone with a mischievous smirk adorned across her face.
“What did you do?” You ask wearily, almost scared when you don’t hear any indication that the dog is even in the house anymore.
“Gave Calvin his lick mat treat so I can have my own treat.” Steph says before pouncing on top of you, almost making the coffee in your hand spill all over.
“Steph!” You laugh at her eagerness to jump your bones. “You are no better than a horny teenage boy.” You whisper against her lips before she presses them onto yours roughly.
“So can we?” The brunette bites her lip in anticipation as she watches you place your coffee next to hers on the table. You stare her down for a couple of seconds, enjoying watching her squirm.
“Fine, but we have to be quick before Calvin is finished.”
Steph lets no time pass before she is on top of you, smashing her lips against yours and quickly trying to dive her tongue into your mouth. Your hands gently push her shoulders back, disconnecting your lips from hers.
“Not here.” You scold, nodding your head at the wall which on the other side is the kitchen where Calvin remains.
The Australian huffs for what feels like the thousandth time before standing up and throwing you over her shoulder so fast you almost get whiplash. You giggle as she walks you to your shared bedroom and playfully tap her butt with your hands that hang down loosely along with your body.
Steph throws you on the bed and starts to climb on top of you, but the sound of you clearing your throat makes her tilt her head back with a groan.
“What now?” She needily whines.
“The door.” You point at the opened object with a sheepish smile as she gets up and closes it before looking at you in confirmation.
“Happy now? Can I finally make you feel good please?” The neediness in the woman’s voice makes you smile at how riled up she can get.
“Yes, I’m all good now.” You confirm with a soft nod, allowing the brunette to sigh in relief and make her way back over to you, but not without letting out some quippy remarks at your demands.
When she is arm’s length away, you quickly pull her into a steamy kiss, shutting up her little complaints. She quickly melts into you and rubs her hands up and down your waist as your tongues massage along each other’s.
“Are you going to fuck me or not, Catley?”
“God you’re so sexy.”
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coworker James being protective of reader like she’s just a sweet and kind thing and he’s FINALLY accepting his feelings and reader gets like happy that he cares?
“No, no, it’s okay. Yeah, don’t worry about me, I’m just gonna watch movies all weekend. I might make popcorn. Yeah! Don’t worry about it, just have fun, okay?”
You’re talking quietly but not without pep, hushed to avoid disturbing him. By the sounds of it, your plans for the weekend have bombed. You’re taking it remarkably well.
“Okie dokie. Well, I’ll see you soon, yeah? Love you. Bye.” You don’t lift your head where you’re laying against the desk, but you put your phone gently by your keyboard.
“That blows,” James says.
“Maybe.” You turn your face to see him, before you lift yourself up and return to the pack of biscuits you’ve opened. “Do you want some?” you ask, bringing a malted milk to your mouth.
“Please.”
You gesture for him to take one. In relative quiet, you and James sit there chewing, the sunlight from the open window on your hands.
“You’re not upset about your plans?” he asks.
“A bit, but… I don’t want her to feel bad for me. She should have a good time, she got last minute tickets to see a band and she loves them. We can just hang out next weekend.” You push the biscuits toward him. “I need to stop eating these all the time.”
You stand up and do a big stretch, arm arched over your head before you laugh and point at him. He’s never had someone look at him like this. “Pretend you didn’t see that,” you say, raising your eyebrows just a touch.
You’re being playful. James’ stomach flips. “I didn’t see a thing,” he says.
You drop your pointing. “Really?”
He covers his eyes.
Your following laughter is even richer.
“This office makes me tired. I’m going to make some coffee before lunch is over,” you say.
You walk away like nothing happened. James is left to ruminate.
He pushes a hand into the crop of his hair and ruffles it, stressed, though the scratch of his nails against his scalp relieves some tension. James is used to being annoyed at you, you were always so irked with him, but lately he struggles to find anger for you. He still loves to tease you and watch your eyes change; there’s no better moments than on the mornings he’s here first and he’s found a new hiding place for your mug, and you’re forced to ask him where it is he put it. Asked is kind, really. More aptly, you demand to know where it is, and promise professional retribution.
You could always drink from a different mug, but James has a feeling you like asking. This morning, you found it by yourself, and you put it smugly on your desk with steam rising from the surface. “You’re getting worse,”
you’d said, and that smugness suddenly felt friendly. Your smile was ten different shades of sweet.
You are… quite sweet. You’re kind. You don’t let much upset you that isn’t James, even when it should. And the James stuff is all superficial. When was the last time you guys argued over something that mattered?
Which isn’t to say he doesn’t love arguing with you. But he’s coming to appreciate another side of you, the side that comes back to your desk with a fresh coffee and little happy breath of air when you see he’s made his two figurines cuddle each other.
“They’re in love,” you say dreamily.
“You can be so lovely,” James says. It’s like something takes over his body.
You put your coffee down. “What?” you ask, smiling as though it’s a joke you don’t get.
He’s not sure he should say it again. “I don’t know. When you smile, you’re really pretty. Like, even more than usual.”
“Ha-ha.”
“No, I’m serious.”
“I don’t believe you.”
James takes one of your biscuits. “Then don’t, it doesn’t bother me.” He wishes he hadn’t said it, what a weird thing to say, but he can’t pretend he was kidding, it would be crueller than saying nothing. So he wedges a biscuit in his mouth and laughs when you call him gross, your facade one he doesn’t believe. You wrinkle your nose, but you’re happy underneath it.
Lovely, even.
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter fic#james potter fluff#james potter blurb#james potter drabble#james potter imagine#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#james potter scenario#james potter oneshot#the marauders#marauders era#marauders
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jj being called out by the pogues after they catch him being the little spoon one morning😭
and you would never have that because thats your cuddling time and they’re not going to ruin it!
—
One thing about you and your boyfriend is that you could never fall asleep without your arms around each other, whether you’re lying with your head on his chest or with your limbs wrapped around the other. Last night wasn’t the exception, even if you weren’t sleeping in your own bed but at your friend’s house.
Your arm is thrown over JJ’s torso, your fingers scratching his chest from time to time as you slowly wake up from your slumber. Hiding your head in his neck from behind, you get impossibly closer to him, breathing him in as you sense his muscles relaxing the more he feels your skin pressed against his. The atmosphere is so calming that you don’t even hear the door of the room being opened and then closed again as the person behind it stifles his giggles.
After spending a lazy morning in bed, you two finally decide to get out of the bedroom, JJ’s arms still wrapped around you while you walk through your friend’s chateau to meet the others. Their eyes fall on you two and you absently mumble your ‘good morning’s as you take a seat.
“So,” John B starts, “D’you have a goodnight?”
You’re both so tired that you don’t even see the teasing smile behind his words, therefore you only nod before taking a sip from the coffee that you’ve just poured inside your mug. Finally, you notice Sarah giving a light and warning push to her boyfriend, as if she’s trying to shut him up, and that makes you question the weird behavior.
He clears his throat, “Spooning much?”
“John B!” His girlfriend whisper-yells, but she can’t stop the laughter that erupts from him.
“Alright,” JJ speaks up, “What d’you see, JB?” He crosses his arms over his chest, an annoyed expression on his features.
“Nothing,” he raises his hands in innocence, “I just didn’t picture you as the little spoon, that’s all.” He smirks.
You can tell your boyfriend is pissed without even glancing at him, which is why you decide to remark this time, “Don’t worry, that’s the only time when I can use ‘little’ to describe him,” you admit nonchalantly before you take another sip from your hot beverage. “Can you pass me the sugar, please?”
#jj maybank#jj concept!#obx#outer banks#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank smut#jj maybank outer banks#jj maybank fluff#jj maybank angst#jj maybank fanfiction#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank icons#jj maybank x you#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank x pogue!reader#jj maybank one shot#jj maybank obx
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Getting The Hang Of This “Girlfriend” Thing (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)
A/N: ahhh thank you guys so much for such nice feedback on my last fic! 🫶🏻🫶🏻 this is just a little blurb that’s a lot less heavy haha. I am working on another hurt/comfort fic though 👀
This was inspired by personal hormonal moodiness this month 😅
-Mod Angel
Summary: Spencer is in a new relationship and is learning that there’s more to it than just facts.
CW: discussion of menstruation, implied smut at the end
~~~
Spencer walked into the BAU, walking right to the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. Penelope, Emily, and JJ were standing around the kitchen and talking.
They saw him pouring sugar in his coffee and laughed a bit. “What did you get up to last night?”
He groaned a bit, taking a sip of his coffee. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Can I… ask you guys a question? About… girls?”
They all looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. “Aww, do you need someone to give you ‘the talk?’” JJ asked teasingly.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, not that. I’m doing just fine with that, thank you very much.” Everyone made various disgusted noises, which made him laugh. “No, it’s just… well, my girlfriend’s on her period, and she was basically doing nothing except snapping at me last night. Did I do something wrong?”
They all looked at each other again. Emily spoke first. “Ohh… yeah. You probably did something wrong.” She laughed and pointed to his sugar-filled coffee cup. “Did she make you sleep on the couch?”
He sighed and set his mug down. “No. I asked her if she wanted to be alone, but she said that would just make her more upset.” He picked up his mug and took another sip. “I know that women experience fluctuations in estrogen and progesterone levels during menstruation which can cause feelings of irritability and anger, but…”
“Hold on.” Penelope said. “Did you say that to her?”
“I… might have mentioned it.” He shrugged slightly. “I figured it would comfort her to know the science behind it. She usually loves it when I tell her facts like that.”
Everyone groaned. JJ patted him on the shoulder. “Spence. Did you really think that would comfort a hormonal woman?”
He looked a little confused. “Is there something I’m missing? I’ve never had to deal with a hormonal girlfriend until now.”
“Okay. Then let us tell you what you’re missing” she said. “No one wants to be told that they’re grumpy when they’re on their period. It doesn’t matter if it’s a fact, or if there’s science behind it. That’s like… poking a bear.”
He hesitated before speaking again. “… so, it was a bad idea to tell her that eating sugar would increase inflammation in the body that would cause fatigue and irritability?”
Everyone groaned. “Oh my god, you did not say that to her. Please tell me you didn’t say that to her?” Penelope pleaded.
He shrugged. “I didn’t know that was wrong! Why is that wrong?”
“Look. All the facts in the world could not comfort a hormonal woman.” JJ started. “She doesn’t want to hear why she’s feeling grumpy. She wants you to comfort her. When your girlfriend is on her period, you say nothing about it. Consider this a lesson.”
He groaned and took another sip of coffee. “So, I messed up?”
“Yes.”
“Now what?” He sighed.
Penelope looked at him very seriously. “You’re going to go home tonight, bring her flowers and chocolate, and apologize. And you’re going to say you learned your lesson.”
He thought for a second before nodding. “Okay. I’ll do that.” He looked at everyone and smiled. “Thank you… I’m still new to all this, so this has been very helpful.”
There was a chorus of “you’re welcome” and “good luck” before everyone went to start their work day.
…
When he got home, Spencer walked through the door of the apartment, the handle of a shopping bag hooked over his elbow. “I’m home!” He called out.
His girlfriend walked into the room and smiled at him. She was wearing loose pajamas and her hair was tied up in a bun. “Welcome home… what’s in the bag?”
He set the bag down and took out a small bouquet of roses. “These are for you.”
She smiled and took the bouquet from him. “Aw, honey… they’re beautiful.” She breathed in the floral scent.
He put up a finger to signal he wasn’t done yet. He pulled out a box of chocolates from the bag. “And… here. I got you your favorites.”
She smiled bigger and handed him the roses back so she could open the box of chocolates. “Oh, you’re a saint, babe. What’s all this for?”
He set the roses down gently on the coffee table so he could hug her from behind, resting his head on top of hers. “A peace offering. I… I’m sorry I was so insensitive last night.”
She turned around and gave him an apologetic look. “Oh, Spence… no, that was me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” He patted her on the shoulders. “I told the girls at work what happened and they gave me a stern lecture.” He laughed quietly. “I’ve just never had a girlfriend before, so I didn’t know the… etiquette I’m supposed to have during this time.”
She smiled and put the chocolates down so she could hug him. “I know. At least, logically I know that. Emotional brain takes over when I’m hormonal.”
He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “And I know that now. It’s not something I could’ve learned from a book, so… it’s a learning curve, I guess.” He laughed again. “I know how to take care of you now.”
She smiled and reached up on her tiptoes so she could kiss him. “You know… there’s some more period facts I want to tell you.”
He made a face. “Please tell me it’s not that you’re mad at me again.”
She laughed. “No, it’s not that. I think you’ll like this one.” She moved a little closer and ran a finger gently down his arm, making him shiver a bit. “An increase in blood flow to the pelvic region makes… certain areas more sensitive, leading to an increased libido.” She smirked. “Wanna help me out with that?”
He blushed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I could do that.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss her.
She smiled and dragged him to the bedroom, more than happy to teach him something he didn’t know before.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#fanfiction#mod angel
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Devotion
Wanda Maximoff x Sorcerer!Reader
Summery: You could never escape Wanda, much less the Scarlet Witch. Even bound to a chair, you couldn’t help but fall into her again. Your precious witch.
Warnings: Dark Obsessive Wanda, sorta possessive, you’re tied to a chair, hurt/comfort, Wanda’s been feeling neglected, established relationship? Not really Wanda’s just obsessed with you, toxic relationship maybe
Word count: 1.1k
A/n: I had a dream Wanda tied us to a chair, sue me. This honestly got way softer than I intended LMAO
“I was wondering when you’d wake up…” The words rang through your ears as you regained consciousness again, your eyelids fluttering opening to the sight of Wanda— no, The Scarlet Witch—before you. A sly smirk played on her lips, illuminated softly by the dim glow of red candles flickering around the room. She took a leisurely sip from her coffee mug before making it vanish with a flick of her wrists.
Your eyes squinted against the candlelight, trying to see through the madness that seemed to swirl behind her red irises. Something you tried to search into, only to be blocked out. She simply smiled at you, taunting you, teasing, her eyes darting lower to which you followed her gaze.
Now you understood why you couldn’t feel your arms, they were tied up to the chair, every inch of you. “Wands…what’s going on?” You managed, attempting to keep your voice steady as you tested the restraints.
“Oh Detka, there’s no use in struggling,” She purred, chuckling in such a condescending tone it sent shivers down your spine. You would be lying if you didn’t admit you had found Wanda attractive before.
Right now that wasn’t the time for that, again you tried to reach into your head. Desperately trying to recall what led to this moment, but your memories were clouded completely until all your focus was on her.
And her only.
Your eyes weren’t familiar with your surroundings whatsoever, figuring it was a reality Wanda made for just the two of you. It resembled a home, something the witch had always dreamed of, something you failed to provide with all your lessons.
Still, despite knowing how unfair and neglectful you had been to her, you knew this wasn’t how to fix things, “Wanda, this isn’t right. Let me go.”
But she only laughed, approaching you the next second. She bent down to your level and you sucked in a breath, her cold finger grazing underneath your chin, forcing you to look at her as she slid into your lap effortlessly.
“Mhmm now why should I? You look so good for me, sitting there.” She murmured, her lips brushing against yours as her hands roamed across your body, landing to rest on your shoulders. You’d also be lying if you said you weren’t equally as affected. “You know we haven’t gotten time for ourselves since…well, Strange.” Her nose scrunching in distaste at the mention of your mentor.
“Honey, I'm his apprentice. I have to spend my time there, surely you understand?” You spoke softly, trying to reason for your obligations. “I’ve always devoted myself to you.”
“You call abandoning me devotion?” She scoffed, not for a second believing you, and yet again her eyes returned to their crimson color. Your unresponsiveness only pissed her off further, rolling her eyes and withdrawing from you with a wounded expression written across her face.
With another sigh, you bowed your head, knowing that the little progress you had made had been erased in milliseconds. Biting back the frustration, you reminded yourself of the delicacy of the situation. You had to be careful.
Wanda shifted in your lap, her gaze averted and hurt. Part of you longed to reach out to her, whisper all the things she needed to hear and make her believe you, but your hands were pulled back by their restraints. Damn, you were really starting to hate these things.
“Untie my hands?” You asked softly, gesturing towards the ropes. Wanda’s eyes snapped to yours, looking at you in disbelief.
“No.” She muttered darkly, “You’ll only run from me.” She explained, her words falling heavy. Slowly, she shifted, positioning herself in a way that allowed you to cradle her, her nose brushing your cheek, gently nuzzling against you.
Your lips parted, so that’s what it was? Wanda was afraid. She wasn’t just upset; she was afraid of losing you. You understood what she needed, to be reminded of your so-called devotion, understood again. When her head landed to rest on your shoulder, you took your chances, risking your life to ever so gently place a kiss on her head.
You felt Wanda stiffen against you, but she nestled in closer, tilting her head just the slightest bit. Though the position was quite awkward and strained your neck, you persisted, peppering slow lingering kisses across her face. A soft smile tugged at her lips, and you took the opportunity to ask again, “I just want to hold you, untie me?”
Reluctantly, Wanda opened her eyes, not really wanting to move but deciding to trust you when you gave her a crooked smile. Without much effort, she complied, reaching behind you to loosen the ropes on your hands. As the knots came undone, you sighed in relief, rubbing at your wrist to ease the soreness.
“Thank you.” You whispered, pulling Wanda close as you wrapped your arms around her. She hummed in response, pressing her lips to your neck. You put considerable thought into your next words, you had missed these moments with Wanda, moments where the world wasn’t red it was just green.
“I’ll talk to Strange tomorrow, to let him know I’m pausing my lessons.” You said into the silence, and Wanda’s arms tightened around you.
“Really?”
“Really, I need to show my girl she’s my priority after all.” You affirmed and Wanda smiled, Wanda—no longer just the Scarlet Witch, but the woman who held your heart entirely. With a gentle touch, she pressed her lips against yours in a loving embrace; satisfied with your answer.
You smiled into the kiss, absorbing as much of her as you could. Eventually, you broke away, but Wanda was quick to lean her head against yours, and a breathy chuckle escaped her lips, echoing yours. Unable to resist, you pressed a soft kiss to Wanda’s nose, enjoying the way it scrunched up in response. The witch blushed shyly and buried between the crook of your neck, and you had trouble believing this girl was set to be the destroyer of worlds.
The thought only made you hold her further. The sudden weight of responsibility bore down on you. It wasn’t how you wanted things to go, but it was how it had to be. For Wanda’s safety and the promise of gaining your future with her, undisturbed.
Swallowing hard, you brushed loose strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear and taking one last look. Recalling what you had been taught, you chanted the familiar spell you had been practicing, murmuring it softly in her ear to ease her. Her eyes drooped heavily before she went completely limp against you and all you could hope was that she’d understand.
Carefully, you untied the ropes holding your legs together before shrugging them off. You stood up, mindful of Wanda, tightening your grip around her, lifting her up properly. As you walked down the unfamiliar path, slowly transforming back into what it used to be, you were determined to prove your devotion to Wanda.
But first, you’d help her fulfill her own destiny, no matter the cost.
Even if she didn’t quite understand it.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x you#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff fluff#wanda x y/n#wanda my beloved#wlw post#wanda imagine
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-be still my foolish heart-
Pairings - Abby Anderson x fem! Teacher! Reader
Synopsis - rejoining the firefly’s has given Abby a chance to finally find love. Once she has she has no idea what to do with it.
An - HOZIER HOW I LOVE UR MUSIC
Cw - fluff to smut
Starting over wasnt easy. Anyone could testify to that.
Abby let out a deep sigh running a hand down her face. For the past year Abby had been readjusting to life, a former life she had long forgotten. Lev was helpful Sure but she didn’t know what to do with herself.
After becoming a firefly she had finally built up enough courage to admit that she herself was really only interested in Women.
But what made matters worse was you. Ever since that day in the infirmary where you helped Abby and lev recover You’ve just plagued the poor girls mind.
Washing her face Abby headed down stairs. Turning around the corner she almost fell, standing in the kitchen was you. Laughing with lev, coffee mug in and hand wearing Abby’s shirt— ONLY Abby’s shirt.
Looking over your shoulder you smiled at the blonde “morning, I made tea? Want some”
“Sure..” she mumbled walking towards the other side of the counter, where lev stood. You happily turned walking to the stove to pour Abby a glass.
With your back turned, abby grabbed levs hand dragging him into another room. “Why the hell is she here?!” She whispered yelled.
“She came by last night drunk, threw up on herself so I offered her one of your shirts I didn’t think it’d be a problem” he just shrugged his shoulders not really caring.
Abby however did. “Lev im going to beat your ass”
“It’s not That big of a Deal” lev continued on his stance, just as Abby was going to respond you called for her.
“Abby!” Turning around you saw Abby back at the kitchen counter, waiting like a puppy for your next command. “Here, Two spoons of sugar and a little cream. Just like how you like it” you smiled passing the mug over.
Abby just took the cup to her mouth not saying a word, secretly she preferred her tea without any additives that but she would never tell you. “I have a favor to ask” you tilted your head some to the side.
Abby perked up looking at you once more. “Yeah?”
“So, I know you use to be apart of some group before you came here and the teenagers that I teach are starting to want to get more responsibilities and with that they need to learn to fight. I was wondering if tomorrow you would come by and help me teach my lesson on the outside and how to fight the infected”
Abby kept quiet for a few moment. Mostly in awe that you wanted to ask her out of everyone else to help teach a class. Before she could respond lev did it for her. “She’ll be there” he spoke in his usual monotone voice while taking an apple off the table, leaving the room in the process.
Your shook your head finding lev to just be entertaining. “I got confrimation from your little assistant but I need a yes from you to”
“Yeah, I’ll do it sorry I just got lost in thoight” she tried to play her embarrassment off.
“Thankyou, your doing me a huge favor” you squeezed her arms gently. “I owe you one” you continued to Hold eye contact with her. Jesus fucking Christ Abby was down bad for you. She simply nodded watching as you to left most likely to get a change of clothes.
Now standing alone in the kitchen Abby looked down at her light tea and mentally debated on how to make a good impression tomorrow.
————
Nervously Abby stood in-front of the school house. Letting out a deep sigh she walked in, seeing your back facing her she took in your appearance.
Your natural hair pulled back with a bow, paired with a pair of bellbottoms that showed off your ass and a button down. Turning around finally you waved at Abby.
Making your way over to her you hugged her sweetly. “Thank you again, really I couldn’t do this without you”
“Don’t worry about it” she gave you a half smile back, admiring your body one final time she let you drag her towards the center of the class room.
Soon the class started to fill up, more and more kids coming in until all 15 of them were seated. “Good morning everyone” You smiled causing them to say it back.
“Today we have a Special guess Ms. Anderson, now I know you all want to go out and fight Infected and help keep us all safe so I had her come in today to help teach you all how to properly take care of not only your community but also the infected outside”
The way you held yourself and instructed your class honestly made Abby’s heart soar. Just how confident yet humble you were honestly made you more attractive in her eyes. Once you finished your speech you turned to Abby, allowing her to have the floor.
She awkwardly shifted in her spot not sure how to start. “Um.. hey, so like Ms.LN said uh I’m here to help I guess teach you all about infected.”
Once her sentence ended the entire class erupted into chaos questions with a new one shouted after the other. Stepping in and calming them down a kid named Liam raised his hand. “Is it true you almost killed a pregnant woman?”
“I uh” Abby stumbled on her words. “I highly doubt that has to do with killing infected”
“Liam, this is your last warning one more time and I’m having a talk with your mother” your threat only made the boy cower and Abby become flustered.
Calming her nerves she sighed, the important thing right now was to at least impress you. “I’ve killed people. I’ve killed infected and I’ve hurt alot of people.. a lot of them—
— and I think that’s it, unless you all have questions” Abby finally asked after her lecture. A few kids raised their hands asking important questions. The spotlight ended though once the bell rang.
“All-right everyone thats it, get out Go to lunch” You playfully yelled, saying goodbye to your students giving each their own smile. As the last one left you sat down on your desk, leaning on to Abby who still stood beside it. “They all like You”
“You think” she asked trying to ignore the growing blush on her cheeks.
“Yeah.. I know it” You mumbled taking her hand into yours. Kissing the back of her hand softly you rubbed her knuckles. “You’re coming to the party tonight right?”
Abby looked down at you embarrassed. “I mean I can, I know lev wants to go because he has this crush on a girl but I really wasn’t planing on going”
You kept quiet for a moment still holding her hand. “Well then if you’re not going, could I come by tonight and keep you company?” You sweetly asked.
If her face could of gotten redder it would of. “Yes!” She spoke a little to quickly causing you to laugh. “I’ll see you tonight Abby” you smiled looking up at her with a sense of admiration.
She nodded, awkwardly leaving the school house making you giggle.
————
You sat outside rocking gently on the swinging bench on Abby’s porch. The light from the party happening at the tavern light up the neighborhood.
“You like marshmallows right” Abby asked as she joined you on the bench, passing the cup of hot coco. You smiled taking the cup, taking a sip you let the sweet drink pass through your body.
Letting out a sigh of satisfaction you faced the blonde again. You took the quilt off your body passing it over Abby’s as well, wanting to share the body heat.
“So” you started, turning to face Abby. “You’ve been here for a year now, your hair has grown out into a cute bob and you’ve put half the men here to shame with your muscles.. so I have to ask Ms. Anderson, do You like someone?”
Abby sub consciously reached to her hair that rested just bellow her chin, she normally kept it in a bun though tonight a few strands weren’t wanting to cooperate. She cleared her throat not sure how to respond. “I guess so” she managed out. “I mean I do like this girl but I doubt she’d like be back”
“And Why’s That” You asked leaning into her. “And it’s a girl? Is this you coming out to me Abby” you softly teased.
“Shut up” she chuckled. “Yes it’s a woman and yes I guess technically this is me telling you I like women, more then men at least”
“And Why do You think she doesn’t like you?” You set your cup on the table in front of you before laying your head on your arms on the back of the bench.
Abby just sighed. “Well for starters shes Just beautiful, I mean really she’s just… wow— you know” she smiled sweetly at her mug.
“Yeah?” You playfully flirted.
“Oh yeah, I mean she’s just astonishing, and the nicest woman I’ve ever met. She holds herself with such confidence and grace that honestly she was probably royalty in another life” Abby continued with a foolish smile that was eventually replaced with a more remorseful look. “But I did some not so ok stuff in my past, and if she found out I don’t think she could ever look at me the same”
“Like What?” You asked not thinking that it could be any worse than anyone else. “We’ve all killed people abs, whatever you did it couldn’t of been that bad”
Abby hesitated, to tell you meant telling you all the bad shit she’s done. Closing her eyes she let out a deep breath before speaking.
“I beat a man to death with a golf club because he killed my dad and took away the only man who could of made a cure for the infection then his brother and some girl came after me, killed all my friends. I slept with my friends boyfriend, I shot the brother of the man I killed and beat the girl almost to death, I almost killed her pregnant girlfriend and shot this guy who was with them then I left the group I was with at the time and ran away with lev”
The silence was over whelming. She squeezed her cup in shame regretting even opening her mouth. The silence was replaced however with laughter. Finally looking up Abby looked over seeing how you laughed like nothing happened.
You continued to silently giggle before leaning your head back, looking over at Abby you gave her a dumb smile. “Really? That’s it?”
She just looked at you confused. How could you be so laid back after she told you something so traumatic. “Abby why would I ever care about you killing someone? So what you killed a man that killed your dad, sounds fair. You also got vengeance for your friends, again sounds fair; though the sleeping with your friends boyfriend I’m not sure about that”
Abby felt her face turn red. Looking back down embarrassing she fumbled her words trying to explain. “Look it wasn’t like that, we dated when we were kids and it ended messily. We got into an argument and were just mad at each-other and the only way to express our feelings was through actions, I regretted it and it was honestly shit I hated it the entire time”
“Well as Long as you regret it then I guess there isn’t a problem” you chuckled, leaning over you tucked a stray strand of Abby’s hair behind her ear.
Subconsciously Abby felt herself leaning into you, she held her breath- not wanting the moment to end. You followed her lead tilting your head into hers.
After a short second you smiled “just kiss me already” the was the last thing spoken before Abby crashed herself into you.
Her hands instantly finding themselves on your hips and in your hair, wanting to ground herself in anyway she could. A years worth of sexual and romantic tension building up being poured out all into one kiss.
In response you picked your body up, leaning into Abby you pressed yourself against her, slowly making your way into her lap. With your knee between Abby’s legs and the once heavy quilt now falling off you both you pulled away. Breathing heavily with your lips still close you muttered against her skin “wanna take this inside?”
She quickly agreed following your lead inside, leaving everything else behind the only thing that mattered was having you both against each other. With the door shut you locked your hands into Abby’s hair, kissing her once again.
While the messy kiss continued the stronger woman helped lift you off the ground causing you to wrap your legs around her waist. With her hands on your Ass abby carried you upstairs and to her room.
Once there she gently tossed you on the bed. With how much she’s had to hear about your hookup story’s and how you wish they’d man handle you more often she had a fake sense of confidence going through her body.
You threw your shirt aside, quickly making due with the bra. The confidence broke once Abby realized this was her first time with a woman. Her first time really ever since Owen. Wanting to curl up in embarrassment Abby looked away from your breast.
You laughed noticing her shyness and the distant look of doom. “Don’t worry.. it’s not as difficult as you think” pulling her down by her shirt you gave Abby a gentle, reassuring kiss. “We’ll take it slow”
Abby just nodded, shaking the feeling away she slowly stripped off her shirt, trying to hold the intimate eye contact.
Both taking turns, each stripping out of their clothes until you both were naked all while holding eye contact. You ran a hand up Abby’s chest, giving her sensitive breast a gentle squeeze she moaned, deep and raspy.
“You make me feel good baby and I’ll make you feel like nothing else exist” you mumbled while kissing Abbys neck. She moaned in response, laying on the bed she started to kiss and grab down your body. Every piece of skin that she could touch she loved. From your collarbones, nipples and to your stomach she sweetly kissed.
You took a hand, lacing it into Abby’s now messed up hair. Once she reached between your thighs she was already on her knees admiring what laid between.
“God” she groaned tucking her face into your plush thigh. Kissing it softly she slowly made her way towards your soaking cunt. Your stomach tensed, the teasing feeling of her lips dragging across your skin only riling you up more.
Moving her head towards your core by her hair you let out a small whine. “Please”
You opened your eyes to look down at her, she hadn’t even touched you yet but she was already so pussy drunk. You loosened your grip on her hair as she finally brought herself to you.
She gave a kitten lick on your swollen clit, slightly insecure of her skills before actually placing herself onto your sensitive skin.
Slowly sucking on the bud Abby kept the eyecontact with you, feeling herself getting off with the faces and noises you made. Without realizing it she slid two fingers into you.
“Oh fuck, Just like That Abby” Your stomach tensing up as your chest followed your rapid breaths. You clamped your thighs around Abby’s head not sure how much more you could take. Moaning her name you started to grind your hips on her face. The smell of sex quickly over taking your senses.
With your eyes shutting and your back arcing pushing your cunt onto Abby’s tongue, chasing your high; your legs started to shake as your orgasm crashed over your body.
Relaxing and allowing Abby to pull away from you, you looked down at her with a slight chuckle. Her face red and her pupil’s dilated. “You look beautiful” You smiled tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re one to talk” she grinned in response, kissing you, the taste of yourself in her tongue taking over. You sat up moving back towards the bed frame before laying down again.
“Here” you gestured to your lips. Both still breathless, Abby looked at you confused until it hit her what you were signaling.
It was cute how nervous she was. Straddling your body she bent down giving you a kiss. You let out a muttered moan wrapping your arms around her. While you gently rubbed Abby’s body you helped move her up towards your lips.
Letting her grab the headboard you forced her hips down. Abby was sweet, sweeter than you expected. Her small whines and grunts made you feel like you were going insane. She was just perfect.
You ran your tongue in rhymathic circles, squeezing Abby’s thighs wanting to bring her closer if it was even possible. Her moans. Her taste. Her skin. Everything about her was perfect.
You could tell she was close, from how she gripped the board to her scrunched up face. Her moans becoming louder up until the point she held her head back.
Abby was inexperienced it was obvious from her body language, her finishing faster than you would of thought was kind of expected.
Trying to help brace her body while she came down from her orgasm you helped Move her beside you, you both just looked at one another not wanting the moment to end.
Giving her a subtle kiss on the cheek you sat up, letting out a deep breath you smiled down at Abby who was softly rubbing your arm. You could of gone for a few more rounds but Abby really just wanted to lay down. Maybe another time
After making a shower for you both and getting a drink you laid on Abby’s chest, enjoying how her stronger arms made you feel secure. Softly kissing her neck you smiled against her skin. “I love you Anderson”
Though you weren’t looking at her you could tell her face was red. “Yeah— I uh i love you to” she managed back, her arm growing tighter around you.
#lesbian#wlw#abby anderson fluff#abby anderson smut#abby anderson tlou2#abby the last of us#abby tlou#abby x reader#abby anderson x reader#tlou fluff#tlou smut#tlou2#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction
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santa baby * ls2
it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago
pairings: logan sargeant x platonic!femdriver
notes: hi i know i took forever to write this but uh what r u gonna do? ik u love me B)
| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |
you hum, whirling around at the camera crew settling right by the front of the mercedes racing home. “ah, it’s that time of years again, isn’t it?”
“yes! are you excited?”
you nod with a smile as you see a box being pulled out of the cart they’ve been lugging around in the paddocks for the video. “have you seen the present? got any hints for me?”
“aw, we can’t do that,” she giggles. “where’s the fun in that?”
secret santa is the yearly affair that you find yourself looking forward to as the year progresses. it’s always the santa hat and the fun of guessing who’s gotten you what this year. what used to be a silly game of gag gifts when you first started out, is now an endearing event filled with thoughtful gifts that you keep on your shelf for years to come.
last year, max had gotten your name. he is very thoughtful with his presents. his present sits at the top of your shelf: a paper mache trophy he admitted that he made with penelope (you’ve met her and she loves you) deeming you his toughest competitor in 2022.
you’re curious to see who drew your name this year.
“oh! do i get to keep this one?” you giggle as she hands you a santa hat. you pull it over your head snuggly and clap your hands. “where is it?”
“here.”
a box is handed to you, wrapped neatly in a mercedes green paper. you squeal as you take it into your hands and carefully unwrap it. there is something about wrapping paper that is so incredibly delicate and worth keeping.
you carefully tear at the tape holding the seams and edges of the box.
“any guesses who it could be right off the bat?”
“it could be anyone at this point,” you sigh, shaking your head. “could it be max again? hopefully it’s not charles — who knows what he will give me.” you look up to the camera. “in secret santa terms, of course. he is actually a good gift giver.”
you tear off the wrapping paper, folding it up neatly before pinning it between your body and elbow. “okay. truth time.”
you pull the cover off the box and tilt your head at the array of presents sitting comfortably in mercedes’ coloured confetti.
“what did you get?”
“a ‘best mum’ mug?” you say, coming out in a slight question as you lift up the pastel green mug to the camera. “am i pregnant and somehow it’s passed me?”
you hear a chorus of laughter as you venture further, each of the presents somehow getting weirder by the second. “and a christmas card? seriously?”
you graze your fingers over the 3d design on the card with a small smile, reading ‘merry christmas!’ with a cute doodle of a christmas tree in the centre. “we’ve been instructed to tell you to read that after you get all the presents and guess him correctly.”
your eyes trail to the gold plate in the shape of a star.
“another trophy!” you shriek. you squint your eyes to read the inscription on the plate. you sigh and press your lips together into a thin line. you hold it up. “best grid mum. the spelling alone gives it away!”
you step forward and let the camera zoom into it, the inscription reading “best grid mom”. “logan’s my secret santa?”
“ah, rookie mistake with the spelling there, wasn’t it?” she laughs. “there’s one more gift. he told us to give it to you when you figure it out.”
somebody else reaches out with a frame in their hands. you take it into your hands and smile, a picture of you and logan sitting right outside the mercedes home together for lunch sits tightly behind the glass.
“this is so sweet!” you coo, one hand covering your red cheeks. “do you want me to read the card?” she nods. you open the folded card and read as you speak. “thanks for welcoming me this year to the grid. you’re the best ever. hope i get to race with you longer than just this season. love, your secret santa.”
you look up as tears well in your eyes, looking into the camera. “aw, you’re the sweetest, logan. don’t worry, i’ve already got a present for him this christmas.”
you point to the lens of the camera. “can i grab this thing real quick for dramatic effect?” he nods. you grab the frame of the lens and take a step forward. “james vowles, if you do not re-sign logan hunter sargeant, i know where to find you.”
@cashtons-wife
#logan sargeant#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x you#fem!driver#f1 female driver#f1 x you#disneyprincemuke#disneyprincemuke imagine#disneyprincemuke imagines#disneyprincemuke f1#disneyprincemuke inthaf#logan sargeant platonic#disneyprincemuke 3k celly
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