#also i made the last two the same length for what it's worth (it's worth very little it's just fun) :D

[pocketgalaxies]

C1E70 || C3E66

[kiwi-bitchez]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still no reply.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From bugs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackpot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there he is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[highvern]

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It’s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

��Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

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[spectersgirl]

what if harvey specter’s wife worked from home and has a last minute work emergency, so harvey had to take their daughter to work? hope that made sense 😭.

I loved this prompt! I changed it eeeever so slightly but it doesn't affect the overall product. I'm working on making these longer which does mean that it'll take me longer between posts but I'm hoping length makes up for it?? Or maybe this is too long. Idk. I've been writing it for daysssss. I think I don't love the end quarter or so, but I wanted to get it out there. Also I decided to name the daughter, I'm not sure how I feel about doing that versus just using Y/D/N so let me know what you all think? I'd use a different name each time I wrote something with a daughter in it so that it doesn't feel like a series or the same character in different universes.

-----

Work with Dad

Harvey Specter x Reader (except you're barely in it lol)

You rolled over at the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand, fumbling for it and answering sleepily.

"Hello? Oh shit, okay I'm on my way." Immediately, you got up and began rushing around to get ready.

"Who's that?" Harvey mumbled, having woken up to your call.

"Work, there's an emergency and I have to go take care of it. I know you have to work but, I can't take Olivia with me to the restaurant and my parents work today... Do you think you could bring her with you?"

Harvey sighed, knowing you were right. It would be easier for him to bring the four-year-old with him to his office as opposed to the very high-end restaurant you ran. Normally on the days you worked away from the house Olivia was in preschool, but today wasn't a school day for her.

"Yeah, that's fine. I have a pretty easy day today, and it's been a while since she's seen everyone anyway." He said, getting out of bed himself and heading to take a shower.

You quickly yelled to him before you left, thanking him for taking one for the team.

Once Harvey finished his shower, he pulled a suit from the closet and put the dress shirt and pants on, opting to leave his suit jacket off for now, knowing he'd likely have to do some wrangling of a certain toddler. As he had this thought, tiny footsteps sounded down the hall toward the bedroom.

"Hi Daddy" Said the tiny voice of his daughter as she ran toward him, arms in the air.

"Good morning princess! How'd you sleep?" He asked, lifting her with ease and kissing her cheek.

"Good, where's Mama?" She asked, knowing the two of you normally got ready together each morning. She was pretty damn smart for her age, and Harvey knew this fact would get him into trouble someday.

"Mama had to go take care of something at work, but guess what? You get to spend the day with Daddy at the firm!" He told her excitedly, raising his eyebrows.

Olivia was hesitant at first, she didn't know exactly what it was that her dad did every day, but she saw him on his computer a lot, and that didn't seem very exciting to her. She was about to protest this, but then she remembered some of her most favorite people worked with her dad.

"Can we see Mike and Rachel?" She asked.

Harvey laughed, nodding.

"And Donna?"

"And Donna." He confirmed with a smile. "You wanna get dressed so we can go see them?"

Immediately, she began squirming to get down from his grasp. Harvey obliged, following the girl to her room to help her pick out an outfit. She eventually elected for her favorite pink dress with flowers, and Harvey approved, finding her a pair of shoes to match.

A short while later, Harvey and Olivia were headed up to the Pearson Specter offices. She couldn't stop talking about how excited she was to see everyone, and Harvey had to keep reminding her that they had work to do and that they might not be able to be with her as much as she had hoped. Harvey had packed a day's worth of activities in a backpack to keep the little girl occupied in his office, and hopefully out of everyone else's business.

The elevator doors opened, and Olivia nearly pulled Harvey's arm out of the socket trying to get to her favorite people as fast as she could. He scooped her up into his arms, foiling her plans. She adorably crossed her arms in frustration, making Harvey chuckle as he walked toward his office.

"We just have to drop our stuff off in Dad's office first, then we can go see your friends, okay baby?"

She agreed, understanding that the quicker she cooperated, the quicker she got what she wanted.

Harvey put all their stuff down in a small pile on the couch in his office, telling himself he'd deal with it later. He knew Donna wouldn't be in for a little longer as he was earlier today than he normally was, but Mike and Rachel were more than likely already hard at work.

"Alright princess, wanna go see Mike?"

Her eyes went so wide Harvey thought they'd pop out of her head. He laughed and opened his door, pointing down the hall and following as she ran ahead of him. She nearly missed his door she was going so fast, but stopped herself when she noticed him seated at his desk.

"Knock before you go in, Liv" Harvey reminded the girl, grinning when her tiny fist tapped the glass of Mike's office door.

He looked up, not seeing her at first and waving Harvey in and looking back down at his stack of papers.

"You're in early, something wrong?" "MIKE!!!" Olivia yelled, startling the junior partner before realizing what was going on.

"Livi! How's my favorite Specter?" He asked, getting out of his chair to lift her into a bear hug.

She giggled uncontrollably until he set her back down.

"Well, I'd be offended but she happens to be pretty cool, so I'll let you have that." Harvey said, grinning as he watched his daughter run in circles around Mike's office while he chased her. There wasn’t much space in the junior partner's office, so the chase didn’t last very long.

"Where's Rachel?" Olivia wondered out loud. Mike kneeled down to her level.

"Rachel has school in the mornings, so she won't be here for a little bit longer." Mike explained, but this only confused her further.

"But... isn't Rachel a grown-up?" She asked, making Harvey and Mike smile.

"She's in law school, baby. Some grown-ups go to extra school so they can do their special jobs. Daddy went to law school too, and Mama went to business school and cooking school." Harvey explained.

“Did Mike to go extra school?” Olivia asked

Harvey and Mike share a look before looking back at Olivia.

“Mike’s a long story.” Harvey said.

Olivia seemed to be satisfied, or she stopped caring about his answer. Either way, she nodded and continued laughing and playing with Mike while her dad stood off to the side, only a little offended that she hardly even remembered he was still standing there.

He looked down at his watch, noting the time and figuring Donna was probably at her desk by now.

"Liv, do you want to go see if we can find Donna?" Harvey asked, and the little girl screamed like she was at a Taylor Swift show, jumping up and down with pure glee.

"Did she get this excited to see me?" Mike asked. Harvey chuckled, shaking his head.

"Not even close, sorry Mike. C'mon kid, let's go" Harvey said, lifting Olivia high in the air and onto his shoulders, holding tightly as he walked.

"Oh Donna, I have a surprise for you," Harvey said over the sounds of his daughter's laughter.

"Well, I wonder what the surprise could be! Hmmm, is it a pony? Oh a pony wouldn’t fit in the elevator… Maybe you should give me a hint." She said facetiously, acting as if she had no idea Olivia was there.

"It's me!" Olivia yelled, unable to keep the ‘surprise’ of her presence in any longer.

"Oh it’s Olivia! Hi beautiful! That’s a way better surprise than a pony!" Donna exclaimed. "How'd you get so lucky to come to work with your dad?"

"Her mama had a work emergency so daddy got to take her in with him, huh Liv?" Harvey explained, and Donna nodded in understanding.

Olivia nodded, smiling down at both Donna and her dad, still up high on his shoulders. She reached her arms toward Donna, so Harvey lowered her to the floor. Donna quickly scooped her up and placed her on her hip, giving the girl hugs and exaggerated cheek kisses.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, who let you get so big?”

Olivia pointed at Harvey, smiling happily.

“Umm no ma’am, I specifically told you to stop growing, if it were up to me you’d still be my tiny little baby.” Harvey said, poking her side playfully. She giggled, pushing his hands away with her tiny ones.

"Have you had fun so far Livi?" Donna asked, and Olivia smiled and nodded profusely.

"I ran down the hall soooo fast and Mike chased me in his office and then me and Daddy found you!"

"Wow Olivia! That sounds like a really cool morning!" A voice said from behind. Everyone turned to see none other than Jessica strutting down the hall.

Harvey knew Jessica wouldn’t particularly love the idea of his four year old daughter hanging around in his office all day, but he also knew there was nothing else he could do. He was a parent above anything else, so he was going to do what he had to do.

“Livi, do you remember Jessica?” Harvey asked.

Olivia nodded, a bright smile on her face.

“It’s great to see you again cutie” Jessica said with a smile of her own.

“Look I know you’re probably mad but-“

“Harvey relax, I’m not mad. Just as long as she doesn’t get into anything she shouldn’t, she's welcome here." Jessica stated, easing Harvey's mind. He nodded in understanding and watched as she walked back to her office.

"Alright Liv, I've got some work to do in my office and I brought you some fun stuff to do while I work. Maybe later we can come back out and see Donna if she's not too busy, alright?"

Olivia huffed in disappointment, but she knew better than to fight with her dad. He placed his hands out to grab her from Donna, who regrettably handed her over. She had known the little girl since before she was even born, and she loved her like she was her own blood.

Harvey was actually able to get some work done, and Olivia enjoyed her time coloring in her coloring books and playing with the toys her dad had packed for her. Soon enough, she was hungry for lunch and Harvey took her into the kitchen to retrieve the lunchable he had brought her. Eventually, she grew tired and ready for her nap. When Harvey looked over at his couch after a suspiciously long period of silence, he saw her fast asleep. He smiled, standing and taking his suit jacket off, draping it over her small frame. She napped this way for about an hour, and when she woke up, she was overjoyed to learn that Rachel had finally come to the office.

"Rachel!!!" Olivia yelled in the doorway of Rachel's office, and she was quick to run in for a hug.

"Livi! Hi cutie! I heard you were here today, I couldn't wait to get done with school so I could see you!" Rachel said as she scooped the little girl up for a big hug. Olivia wrapped her arms around Rachel's neck happily.

"Do you have fun at big girl school?" Olivia asked.

"Law school is very different from normal school, so it's a lot harder, but it's what I love doing so that makes it fun!" Rachel explained.

"Do you get to color there?"

"No, theres no coloring. There's lots of reading and talking to other students and learning though!"

"I think I like my school better, we get to color and play and sing!"

This made Rachel laugh, and nod her head.

"Keep it that way as long as you can girly." Rachel said.

"Liv, it's almost time to go home. You wanna come say goodbye to everyone?" Harvey interrupted from the doorway.

Olivia nodded sadly, crossing the room to take her father's outstretched hand.

"Bye Rachel, have fun in big girl school."

"I will, bye Livi"

Harvey led her back through the office, stopping at everyone's offices so she could say her goodbyes, stopping at Donna's desk last. She gave the red-haired woman the biggest hug she could, Donna was her most favorite person after all.

When Olivia got home, she was thrilled to find her mom was there waiting for her and Harvey with dinner in the oven. She couldn't resist telling her mother about every last detail of her thrilling day at her dad's job.

"Well that's exciting! It sounds like you were a good little employee for daddy" You mused, looking up at Harvey with a grin.

"She's the best damn paralegal I've ever had. Might just have to hire her" Harvey joked.

"Does that mean I have to go to big girl school? That sounds really not fun."

You and Harvey laughed.

"Baby, if you don't want to go to big girl school we can talk about that when you're older." You reassured.

"You think with that attitude she has she won't want to be a lawyer like her old man?" Harvey said, smirking.

"Oh, she'll want to be in debate before she hits high school."

[bloodynereid]

Love your jordan fics!!!!! Would you write something for jordan x fem!reader or gn!reader (either one is fine) where r is like a normal human? No powers and all that. I thought about some angst and protective jordan when Rufus gets too close to reader, but you can also make your own plot and I'll love it anyway 💕💕

Inked Souls

pairing: jordan li x gn! reader

tw: RUFUS. also there's like slight allusions to rape because it's rufus but it's nothing explicitly stated, slight angst, mostly fluff, swearing

description: your job at the bookstore had it's ups and it's downs.

a/n: hi! i hope you enjoy this one anon <3 i'm sorry it's really short but i felt like it ended at the right bit and sort of felt more natural this way so yeah. i really liked writing it (even if i had to deal with writing rufus) so tysm for the request. have the best day/night <3

A brief chill ran across the length of your spine. The bookstore was yet to warm up and the cold frost of the early morning covered the atmosphere of the little room. You didn’t own the beautiful store but one day, hopefully soon, you would have the opportunity to find somewhere where you would feel just as at home as you felt here.

Straightening up the books you felt a tinge of disappointment. Shelves were filled with all the information that a supe would need to attend God U. The bookstore you worked at was the only one who housed all the texts. Supes tended to go to the online store which is why you were hired. The owner, Max, was a nice guy, but he was almost never around. He liked to manage all the online stuff while he left the actual physical sale of books to you. Or rather the pick-up of books since you didn’t have a delivery system in place.

It is not that you didn’t love your job but dealing with arrogant superheroes on a daily basis was starting to grate your nerves. You smoothed out your shirt before settling behind the desk after finishing up your opening routine.

The day went by swiftly, mostly due to the fact that you had picked up a new book just that morning and the rich story had sucked you in. A tingling of the bell brought your attention out from behind the pages and towards… your favorite customer.

“Ah, Jordan. It’s good to see you. What can I help you with today?”

“Oh I was wondering if you had anything of the same vein from last time.” A smile lit up your face as you nodded eagerly. 

“I have just the thing. Give me a sec.” You jumped up from your little seat and you heard a chuckle coming from Jordan as they watched you with an adoring expression. Ok, so maybe you did have a little crush on them. Who was to judge you?

“You seem extra cheery today.”

“Well, I just started a new book and… AHA.” Your perusal of the shelves proved fruitful as you plucked out a book from within the confines of the spines.

The beautifully illustrated copy slipped out of your hands and into Jordan’s as you passed the book towards them. A feeling of comfort passed through your body for the millisecond that your fingers brushed theirs.

“It’s called Annihilation, it’s sort of a more modern version of the Lovecraft genre but it’s incredible. This is a special edition so it's a tad bit more expensive than usual but…”

“It’s worth it.” Jordan said with a smile and a wink as they thumbed through the pages. She looked calmer than usual, you thought. Usually they had a certain tense energy surrounding their being.

“What are you smiling about?” Jordan asked as their twinkling eyes met yours.

“Oh nothing. You look nice today.”

“You say that every time I come in.” Jordan said as they leaned over the counter.

“Well it’s always true. Do you-” The sound of loud laughing and the bell made the two of you jump apart. A guy with bleached hair walked in holding up a phone in one hand and pushing the door open with another.

“I'll be right with you, sir.” You said quickly, before turning apologetically to Jordan - only to find them with an annoyed twist on his lips. An expression you thought didn’t belong at all on their face.

“Jordan?” You asked before a sudden assault of something permeated your senses. You felt a wave of dizziness engulf you, making your hand shoot out to grab onto the counter.

“Well, aren't you a pretty one?” Came a voice from the side of you as the same guy who had just walked in leaned over the counter. His fingers etched closer and closer to your face when suddenly his hand was wrenched away from in front of you.

You dizzily watched as Jordan pushed the guy into one of the neighboring book shelves. Low but threatening whispering was exchanged between the two of them as the world started to become less blurry.

You heard a wheeze come out of your mouth as you settled down onto the little seat behind the counter. What the fuck was happening to you?

“Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.” The voice of Jordan materialized next to you and the soft skin of their fingers brushed against your cheekbone. 

“Hmm.”

“Oh thank God, you’re okay. Fuck, I should have killed him.”

“What happened?” You muttered out as you turned your head to look at them.

“Rufus happened.”

“Rufus?”

“He’s a supe… a bad one. He kind of has like control over pheromones so he was-”

“Trying to drug me. Oh my God.” Your horrified voice echoed through the bookstore and you bit into the side of your cheek.

“Hey. I made sure he doesn’t come in here again, okay? You’re safe.”

“Jordan… I- thank you.”

“You never should have to deal with that, no one should…”

“Still thanks. How should I thank my gallant knight?” The question was phrased with a teasing lilt, making Jordan’s eyebrows shoot up as she smirks.

“Oh I can think of a few ways… starting with a date.”

[markhoffmans-certified-slut]

RIDING MARK HOFFMAN THAT'S IT THANK YOU GOODBYE🗣🗣🗣

Maybe starts off innocent then it escalates pretty quickly?

ksksksks i love you and your work 💜💜

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings/contents: Smutty, riding, light submissive/dominance play, strong language. 

Notes: Not me taking a break from writing about riding Mark Hoffman in my story to write about riding Mark Hoffman in this— uh, yeah… I am obsessed with this man and I had fun with this! I hope that you enjoy this! I love you, too 🤍

<>~<>~<>

Your apartment was small, and the windows weren’t exactly great, so you had this little roll-around space heater that you had bought years ago. Any time it started to get cold out, you would use that as an extra source of warmth. Thankfully, because the space was large enough, it never got too hot in your apartment. However, in times like these, the heater was almost too much. The backs of your knees were sweating as you sat on top of Mark, but every second was worth it. 

It was pitch black outside, almost adding to the intensity of the moment as Mark occasionally looked at the windows that were beside your television. The curtains were open, but your apartment was dim and you were on the third floor. Mark had his doubts anybody would be able to peek in and see you riding him here on the sofa. Your hips wiggled against the man as his thumb occasionally pressed to your clit. 

A soft moan came from you as Mark leaned in to press a few soft, scattered kisses along your neck while you worked on adjusting to his size. The movie that the two of you had been watching was playing on the television behind you, but it was the last thing Mark was thinking about; at first he was slightly annoyed with this, only because the two of you spent fifteen whole minutes trying to find a movie you didn’t say “Ew, no,” or “Boring” to. 

But now he could care less. Mark gave a quiet, relaxed sigh and leaned back. He watched your hips move against him and rested his arms back on the sofa lazily. You flushed when you made eye contact with him. Your fingers held tight onto his shoulders; Mark was big, not only in length, but also in girth. It always took you a few minutes to completely adjust to his size, no matter what position you were in. However, riding him meant it would take a few minutes in the least to completely adjust and not almost hurt. 

Sometimes you would use lube, but tonight the only thing coating Mark’s thick cock was some spit and your own wetness. He was certain a little bit of kissing didn’t do all this; you had been clearly thinking about this for awhile now. Mark watched you as you slowly got used to him inside of you. It seemed, no matter how many times the two of you were in this same position, you were never used to the exact feeling of him inside of you for the first few minutes. 

Often it was easier when you were laying down and then when you were adjusted to his size, Mark would let you get on top of him if you were in the mood; but tonight there were limited options. You often didn’t have sex on the sofa, especially not like that; cleaning the fabric wasn’t an easy process, and it seemed when you rode him, it was a little less messy— until he would bring you to bed, that is. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, reaching a hand behind him and holding onto the back of the sofa. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back with a moan as you started to work yourself up a bit more. You were trying to move a little faster, lifting off of him until just the tip was inside of you and then taking all of his length back inside. Slowly but surely you started to actually move on him with soft whimpers and whines. 

Mark reached over, one of his hands holding onto your hip and the other groping at your chest and teasing your nipple. 

“God, you’re so big,” you mumbled through soft pants. “Sometimes I forget.” Mark gave a simple hum and helped guide you to move faster on him. “Fuck, Mark,” you whined, going along with his subtle desires and working up towards a decent pace. He slowly slid down a little bit on the sofa to make it even easier for you and gave a quiet moan as he watched your breasts bounce along with your increasingly desperate movements. You bit down on your lip and returned your hand back to his shoulder to use him as balance while Mark now held your hips in both of his hands. 

“You’re such a pretty little thing.” Mark gave an almost wistful sigh. “You’re getting good at this.” 

“I have a really good teacher.” He sent you a small smile and relished in the flustered, mischievous sparkle that was in your eyes as you looked at him. “He’s also really fucking hot.” Mark chuckled and gave a few soft, slow thrusts up inside of you between your own movements; your eyes rolled back into your head when he did it the first time. Mark was quick to lick his lips when you leaned your head back and allowed yourself to be so completely exposed for him. 

The sounds that left you were blissful, music to his ears as he started to plot out the rest of the night in his head; first, he’d get you all riled up before bringing you to bed and teasing you for awhile. But for now, Mark enjoyed himself while he watched you try and get yourself off on his cock. Your sweet moans grew more desperate— almost with every single move you made. Mark returned his thumb to your clit and gently started to rub little circles against you. 

Your hips wiggled against the man, trying to keep a decent pace while he continued to surprise you with the occasional thrust up; Mark stayed relatively still for awhile and simply watched. He liked to see the desperation growing in your eyes and watch you get so worked up to the point you started to beg him to take control and make you cum. He usually waited for you to break, but it was almost impossible for him to say no to you when you were like this. 

Well, any time really. Mark didn’t often tell you no in your daily life either. 

Mark hummed softly and pressed his hand flat against your back, pulling you close against him and catching your gaze. 

“Do you wanna go to bed?” He asked quietly, but his eyes didn’t stay on yours for long. He was quickly distracted by your hardened nipples as he continued to tease your clit even when you stopped moving. “I think it’s time I make a mess of you.” Flushed, you looked away. Mark was quick to catch your chin and make you look at him. “Now, now— you gotta look at me or else I won’t be able to hear you.” He knew you hated when he made you look at him and ask for things— all the more reason to do it, he thought. “What do you say, babe? You ready for me to fuck you?” Gently, you nodded. Mark softly nodded along with you, almost mockingly. “Use your words, baby.” 

“Yes, please,” you said softly. 

“I can’t hear you.” Mark had to stifle a soft laugh when you looked pleadingly at him; sometimes you looked so desperate. He loved to see you like this, but it was a rare occasion. In your daily life, you weren’t submissive like this. In fact, you had shocked Mark the first time the two of you were in bed together; he had naturally assumed you’d respond to his teasing in a firm way, but when you had initially blushed and looked away and started to stumble over your words, he just knew he was going to have fun with you. 

“Please, Mark— take me to bed and fuck me.” 

“Mmm, good girl.” 

[blorb-el]

Don’t know if you made a post on this but what’s your opinion on DCAU Clark and how unapproachable(?) they made him in the later JL/JLU series without ever resolving it? Like I know the Cadmus arc hinges on him never considering himself a possible threat but it seems there was room for no much introspection outside a couple moments (that were later backtracked).

I've had like 6 half finished posts about this buried deep in the drafts for a year because I have capital B Brain Rot about this, but every time I tried to write it out I got six sentences in and wanted to rewatch the entire DCAU in order to get my facts straight. This time I'm resisting the urge, so forgive me if I forget specific episodes

Also, unfortunately for you, it’s nanowrimo, which means my brain is in Type All The Words Mode, and not Communicate Effectively and Succinctly Mode, and also I need a break from WSBF chapter 8, so. You’re getting a 3.5k essay sort of answering this question but not really. you will see

Thank you to my fellow lawyer for the defense of Rectangle Clark @januariat for helping to put this together

I do rewatch STAS and JL a fair amount, but much less JLU, so I actually don’t have much to say about the specific execution there. I’m planning on rewatching it soon. But for now…

To me it boils down to two answers. The Doylist answer, and what I think the writers really did have in mind, is that they came up with the Cadmus plot, knew it was an absolute banger of a storyline, and decided that it was worth compromising Superman's personality in order to write a good story. which is not something I can fault them for - as a fanfic writer, I make the same calculated tradeoffs every time I set out to write a fic. Characters are tools for narrative, even if these particular characters come with an additional weight of the tradition of collaborative storytelling that their most effective stories honor.

However, I do think it’s possible to, post-hoc, cobble together a Watsonian, narratively satisfying (if fucked up and sad) character arc for DCAU Clark if you also take STAS and JL into account. I think the key to understanding his character arc is his relationship with control. Throughout STAS, JL, and JLU, and then one more time in Batman Beyond for good measure, over and over again, he's manipulated and his powers and body are used as resources for other people. Obviously that’s not much of an excuse for becoming more authoritarian/overbearing/etc, Fascism Is Bad and I personally think a more IC superman would retreat more than double down (as in Kingdom Come), but looking at the totality of things that have happened to him before Cadmus, it's a little more understandable why he'd get close to snapping under the strain. Here's my personal reading of his arc, and the events that might have led to Clark behaving so irrationally in JLU.

cut for sheer length, but also mentions of manipulation, sexual assault, victim blaming, that sort of thing

One of the recurring themes in the DCAU is villains dehumanizing, depowering, and/or manipulating Clark. In STAS, Parasite, Lex via Bizarro, Talia and Ra’s al Ghul use him as a source for their own power. The Preserver and Maxima treat him like some exotic prize, disregarding his wishes. Jax-Ur and Mala use him and then betray him. But the most impactful, by far, is Darkseid.

In Apokolips Now, Darkseid defeats Clark, puts his bleeding body into public stocks, and drags him through the middle of Metropolis. Clark’s only rescued by the last minute intervention of the New Gods, and as a parting shot Darkseid murders Clark’s friend in front of everyone. Even though Clark prevents Earth from turning into Apokolips, it’s a huge emotional loss, and they don’t shy away from showing his rage and helplessness. But it’s when Darkseid returns in Legacy, the finale of STAS, that Clark’s life truly takes a turn for the worse.

Forgive me if this is all plot recap to you, anon, but I feel like a lot of people don’t know that STAS ends with Clark being mind controlled, heavily implied to be sexually assaulted, and forced to try to take over the Earth, killing god knows how many people in the process. When the military finally brings him down with a Kryptonite warhead and imprisons him, they nearly kill Supergirl in the process. Then Lex almost gives him a lethal injection, with a US general looking on, implying that the government approves of killing him. Lois breaks him out, he tries to get help for Kara from Dr. Hamilton, and then goes to Apokolips. Most fights in STAS have him shrug off blows. He ends this one bleeding from his mouth, looking almost dead. When he finally casts down Darkseid, tells the Hunger Dogs (the slaves on Apokolips) that they’re free… they turn away from Superman. They cluster around Darkseid to protect and heal him.

Those universal truths of a lot of Superman stories, that goodness and liberty and the American Way* always win? They don't in STAS. A representative of the US government (as far as he knows) has tried to kill him. He lost his temper and spoke in a harsh tone of voice once, because Kara was dying and he was hurt and desperate, and now his friend Dr. Hamilton, the man he trusted to repair the Kryptonian ship, study his body and his powers, one of the people who knew him best in STAS, is afraid of him - and, as we find out later, takes immediate, drastic, and violating action against Kara and against him. The series ends with the small town man standing on the roof of the Planet, hearing people hate and fear him, wondering how people will ever trust him again.

*I hate this phrase personally when used as a Superman Motto, but it's used here as a contrast to the fascistic imagery of Apokolips Now and Legacy (as well as Brave New World, which, hoo boy, we aren’t even getting into that one).

Six months (iirc) after the STAS finale, in Secret Origins, the US government has agreed to let a visibly older and wearier Superman help disarm the nuclear stockpile - only for this to backfire on him because it was a Plot by the White Martians. Clark’s let down the country again. He’s helped aliens invade again, and to make matters worse, he sped away in the middle of an attack to break into an official government facility to free J'onn. Clark founds the Justice League beginning from a place of personal failure, as a check on himself. Clark has power and wants to help people with it, but he’s been turned against people he cares about, and has twice now failed to protect the world. It’s worth noting that Legacy put him into the world stage; before, in STAS, I can’t think of any true worldwide threats besides maybe Jax-Ur and Mala.

Most of the rest of season 1 of JL isn’t particularly Clark-focused, although he does appear in a lot of episodes, but the themes of some of these episodes are potentially relevant to understanding his character later, so: brief bullet point summaries.

During In Blackest Night, Clark sees his respected colleague turn himself into an authority that turns out to be incompetent investigators looking for a scapegoat. Interesting. Surrendering to governmental authority/oversight didn’t turn out too well here. 

During The Enemy Below, on Clark’s advice, Aquaman tries to solve his problems peacefully with diplomacy and is immediately shot in a life threatening assassination attempt.  Peaceful diplomacy doesn't work so well for him.

During Injustice for All, Lex is dying of cancer. Clark tries to reach out and is rebuffed, with Lex going on to try to found a team to kill him and the rest of the League.

During Paradise Lost, Clark sees his respected colleague turn herself into the authorities and immediately get banished from her home for the crime of trying to save it with all the resources she had at her disposal. Interesting. Surrendering to governmental authority/oversight didn’t turn out too well here, again. 

During War World, Clark’s again captured for exploitation. This is essentially a retread of The Main Man from STAS, doubling down on how some people see him as a thing to be exploited.

During Fury, Clark’s completely ineffective at preventing an attempted genocide of half the world’s population.

Season 2 opens with Twilight, one of the most important episodes for understanding Clark’s mindset during the Cadmus arc. Imagine, if you will, the above happening to you. Darkseid shows up at your workplace. And the man you’ve worked with the longest, your friend, your ally, tells you to cry him a river, build him a bridge, and get over it. Tells you to get over being brainwashed, manipulated, and humiliated. Tells you to get over having your broken and bleeding body paraded around the streets of Metropolis, tells you to get over having your friend killed in front of you for trying to defend you, tells you to get over almost getting your cousin killed. Sure, Brainiac is a planetary-scale threat; Darkseid and Apokolips are in real trouble. Clark was wrong to write off Apokolips and its people, and the League should absolutely have intervened in the situation. But the way Bruce went about it was… one of the harshest things DCAU Bruce has ever done, and one of the only times the narrative seems to actually agree that he was an asshole about it. And even then, you really need the context of STAS to understand why Clark is so furious and hurt in this scene.

Clark relents and goes along with Bruce’s plan to trust Darkseid, only to end up betrayed again, the whole ruse just another ploy for Brainiac to gain control of Clark, torture him, and use Clark’s body to upgrade himself. Clark had spared Darkseid back on Apokolips at the end of Legacy, on Kara’s advice. But now Darkseid’s come after him, again. Used him again to put not only Earth but who knows how many other worlds at risk, now that Brainiac’s even more powerful. It’s the downfall of Krypton, over and over again. And when Clark goes to end it, I think he doesn’t care that the base is about to go, as long as Darkseid goes down with it. That isn’t a price Bruce is willing to pay, so he teleports Clark out. And he’s wrong, again. “No one could have survived that.” Well… no, Bruce. Darkseid does, and Clark knows it.

During Tabula Rasa, Lex manipulates Amazo the exact way he tried to use Bizarro. Clark once again fails to guard against a terrible, potentially world-ending threat, and in fact makes the situation worse by his very presence.

Then we come to Only a Dream, another key episode in understanding this version of Superman. Clark’s deepest fear is that his powers will keep on growing beyond his ability to control them, eventually destroying everything around him. In his nightmare He kills Lois and Jimmy, destroys the Daily Planet, and grows into a brutish, hulking, clumsy figure, first crying out for someone to help him, and then losing hope. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He goes back to the Kent farm and curls up in the spaceship in the fetal position, convinced that he’s only going to hurt anyone who tries to help. Is it any wonder, since that’s literally what’s happened to him in Legacy? Is it any wonder that he’d want to give up, to retreat? If we’re to take the World of Cardboard speech literally, he’s already having to focus on this restraint every day, in every interaction. This is my personal explanation/hc as to why in every single fight he lets himself get knocked around a bit first; he’s calibrating how hard he can hit back without doing irrevocable damage. Anyway. Deeply fucked up 2 minutes of horror. Wish they’d explored this a little bit more in later seasons.

Then, directly after this, it’s A Better World. After we’ve just seen that his worst nightmare is hurting people by being unable to control his powers, we come face to face with a world where he’s hurt people by the precise and controlled application of his powers. Justice Lord Clark uses the same Superman Robots we saw Kara use in Legacy. He’s become quite adept at his lobotomization techniques. Later on in JLU, we see ‘our’ universe’s Clark attempt to lobotomize Doomsday the exact same way Justice Lord Superman did. Again, Clark fails to protect the world from himself, and to make matters worse, the guy to save the day is Lex Luthor. I’d be a little miffed if the maniac who wants to kill me so so bad turned out to be instrumental in saving the world and now I owe him some unspecified favor in the future. Clark’s met with failure and distrust trying to fix things his way, now he tries to do things in an uncharacteristically sneaky way and… gets met with more dislike and distrust.

Eclipsed continues this trend of hurting his friends; he’s temporarily mind controlled and hurts Wally.

In The Terror Beyond, he fucks up and puts the world in danger again, all because from his point of view, he tried to prevent Solomon Grundy being manipulated and used (like he himself has been used over and over again).

In Secret Society, his frustration comes to a peak, amplified by Grodd’s telepathic manipulation. He’s been trying to do his best, but he snaps that he’s had better luck fighting armies alone (dubious plural there, but he did pretty much evaporate an army in Legacy, so at least once, ok) and that he’s had to hold back his abilities in order to be on the League. Again if we take the World of Cardboard speech at face value, this is true, and we see it in the episode when he accidentally hurts Shayera with heat vision despite shouting a warning beforehand. It’s also telling how other members of the League have the ability to constantly voice doubts about its usefulness and cohesiveness as an organization (hi Bruce) but when he expresses the same doubts everyone gasps. When he expresses his doubt and frustration, when he steps away, the organization that’s collectively saved the world several times falls apart; they’re reliant on him, and he has to be aware of the entire existence of the League as an extra burden of responsibility.

Since both this episode and the Cadmus arc as a whole are meant to show his flaws as a leader, it’s worth examining the foundations of that leadership as established in the DCAU. Clark’s the leader of the League, but narratively, Bruce is its brains and its ethics and Wally is its heart. As a result, Clark is filling the role of leader of the League without the narrative scaffolding that gives him the respect comics incarnations of the character are generally accorded. (I’m admittedly only drawing here from the JLA runs I’ve personally read, Morrison/Porter 90’s JLA and the early Fox/Sekowsky 60’s JLA). Superman might not technically be the First Superhero according to these continuities, but he is respected as though he is (and as we comic book nerds know him to be). The League in these comics treat him as something of an ethical standard bearer, a primus inter pares, as well as being the muscle. In the DCAU, Batman, having founded the DCAU with BTAS, is the First Superhero, and the entire plotline of the Justice Lords centers Wally as the emotional anchor of the team. Clark doesn’t have that pre-established stature. What really qualifies him to be the leader, besides the fact that Bruce doesn’t want to do it? His position seems precarious, relying more on Superman’s pre-established reputation than his actual onscreen characterization. Centering Bruce and Wally are legitimate creative choices I don’t even necessarily disagree with, but it means Clark-as-leader functions quite differently than more traditional JL structures.

Hereafter is something of a healing point for him. It’s a little fucked up that Superman almost bashes Vandal Savage’s head in with a rock, but you take what you can get at this point. He comes out of it fine, but everyone else is forced to reckon with what he means to them. Hereafter coming directly after Secret Society is a very good reunification for the League. Shame about what’s gonna happen in three episodes.

In Wild Cards, he’s useful to address the immediate threat but ineffective to stop the real, countrywide (worldwide?) threat. (I should note that of course I don’t expect every episode’s threat to be solved by Clark; I’m just pointing out a trend that I think his character would perceive as failures on his part. If the writers ever let him reflect.)

JL ends as it began, with another massive alien invasion that Clark helped facilitate in Starcrossed, by working with the Thanagarians during the first part of their plan. As a fellow exile, a fellow alien, he’s hurt and angry with Shayera’s betrayal… even though, in the end, in probably one of his best moments, he votes to allow her to stay in the League.

(Sidenote: almost every interaction Clark has had with other aliens have been despotic societies or individuals: Jax-Ur and Mala, Apokolips, Maxima’s planet, War World, and now Thanagar. The Guardians built robotic police/foot soldiers to enforce their will. Even New Genesis is ruled by a benevolent dictator. Martian society is nearly extinct, overrun by… more alien despots, surviving only with J'onn. Argoan society is nearly extinct, surviving only with Kara. At least Lobo isn’t a fascist? Small consolation.)

JLU begins after a short time skip. I’m not as familiar with JLU episodes since it’s been a while since I’ve watched them, so I’m not going to attempt an episode-by-episode breakdown. Also this post is already way too long. But the point of this post is to look at Clark’s overall arc until this point, and see how it informs his decisions in JLU. For a more JLU-specific informed point of view check this post by januariat!

What we have is a man who naturally wants to take responsibility on his own shoulders, a doer and a fixer who wants to get into the ring and solve problems, who wants to use his abilities to help, being confronted over and over again with a string of personal failures, manipulation, and betrayal. When he tries to set a boundary about not being willing to help the man who took over his body and forced him against his home in Twilight, he’s told to get over it by his most trusted ally. When his deepest fears are revealed in Only a Dream, we see them having been already realized in Legacy. And when he’s presented with his dream of a peaceful life farming, a family that loves him, and no responsibility to save the world, it’s ripped away from him in For The Man Who Has Everything.

Ultimately, I don’t have a good answer for exactly how he doubles down in JLU S2, because I need to rewatch all of it with this understanding of the character. But I think you can see the shape of a traditional Superman character in there, trying and trying again and again to do the right thing, putting himself on the line - only instead of learning from his experiences and letting them inform his actions, he’s carrying the weight of years of suppressed trauma while trying to hold up the entire Justice League. This long, long run of failure, manipulation, betrayal, and distrust adds up. And there’s only so much weight one person can hold on their shoulders, even if they are a Superman.

(And then as the nice little capstone to his story, in Batman Beyond's The Call, he’s kept under alien mind control for years! With the way Starro clings to his chest, he probably hasn’t been touched in years! Trapped in his own mind, forced to watch as yet another alien species uses him as a tool to hurt his own teammates and invade the Earth! And that’s the last we see of DCAU Clark! What a fun little ending to his character arc that doesn’t make me go insane whenever I think about it. Very very very normal about this.)

[evan4ever]

Girlll don’t make us wait any longer and write episode 3 of Unlikely Lovers plsssss!!!

(And a smutty one would be the cherry on top ❤️‍🔥)

Unlikely Lovers

Part 3 — part 2 here

Warnings - smutty smut 🤪 unprotected sex, fingering, blowjob, penetration

a/n: honestly can’t believe the popularity this series has 😅 I never intended to make a part 2, yet here I am with part 3 😂. Love it and all of you peeps!! 🫶🏻 also sorry for the length, I always say I’ll keep it shorter but it never happens LOL

Others requesting part 3 minus one or two I already answered

Where’s Unlikely Lovers part 3 girllll??? 🥺🥺

Omg!! Unlikely Lovers pt 3? Do we see this in our future? 🥹🥹

—

It was your turn to visit Evan, though instead of going to LA where he lived, he insisted on a trip to New York City. Of course you were more than happy to take a trip with him. No, you weren’t “official” yet, but there was no doubt in either of your minds that that’s exactly what you both wanted — to be together. To be in a relationship.

You spent the last two months FaceTiming, calling, and nonstop texting. Since the day he left from visiting you in Montana until the day you arrived together at the airport in New York. It was a long two months, but it was more than worth it. Evan never had you questioning if you were wasting your time, since you were giving your all to him. In fact, he made it perfectly clear that his intentions were the same and he, too, was giving his all. He reminded you often, not even to your own asking, that he wanted you. And you wanted him more than anything in the world.

“You booked a hotel already?” You raised your eyebrows as if it was a big surprise, even though it shouldn’t be considering hotels booked fast in NYC. Evan chuckled and nodded, turning his phone screen to you to show you the hotel he had chosen for the two of you to stay at. Your jaw nearly hit the taxi floor seeing the luxurious building, quickly recollecting yourself and letting out a breath. “Evan, you didn’t have to book such an expensive hotel? We could’ve stayed at like.. a Holiday Inn or Best Western?” You urged, feeling guilty at the pricing of the hotel and that you hadn’t pitched in, only because Evan wouldn’t let you. He didn’t even want you paying for your own flight tickets but you insisted and you weren’t going to lose, him finally giving in.

“I didn’t have to do anything, I wanted to. I want your first experience in New York to be amazing and nothing less.” He grinned at you, meeting your eyes that were already on him. You dropped your eyebrows slightly and returned a soft smile.

“My first experience will be amazing because I’m here with you.” You assured, laying your head to rest on his shoulder as you both now looked out the taxi window and watched all the tall buildings go by with every pedestrian walking along the streets and sidewalks. You were in complete and utter awe in being in such a place. You had dreamed of visiting NYC one day, you knew it would be magical, but it was nothing compared to how you felt now being here with Evan by your side.

Soon, the taxi came to a stop at the front of the building that Evan had shown you and it looked even more mesmerizing in person. Evan got out and took your hand helping you out next, your eyes wandering to the people taking your bags for you from the trunk. You had never seen a valet in person, only in movies, so that was quite the experience as well. You felt Evan’s hand on the small of your back as he began leading you into the front doors of the hotel, the lobby alone looking like a place only dreams were made of. It was full of people filing in and out, some standing at the Starbucks, others talking in groups. Many dressed professional, like they were on a business trip. You were flooded with an overwhelming sense of insecurity, like you were definitely not meant to be in the presence of some of these people, but feeling Evan move his hand from your back to taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze, you finally tore your eyes from those around you and glanced up at him. He looked down at you and gave you a reassuring smile before continuing to the front desk.

You stood patiently and quietly while he gave the clerk your guys’ info, watching as he handed Evan the room keys and directed him in the correct direction of your room. Evan retook your hand in his and once again led you down the hallway, the valet following behind with a cart, your bags placed carefully on it. Up the elevator and down another hallway. Once at your hotel room door, Evan gave you the key and turned to grab your bags while you opened the door, revealing the most beautiful hotel room you’ve ever seen. You walked in with Evan following behind, your mouth agape as you take it all in in complete awe. Evan watched you from behind, grinning ear to ear at your admiration. He wanted nothing more than to give you the best of the best.

“This place is just… wow” you sigh out, walking over to the window and looking out. You were on the 18th floor and everything looked like ants from below you. “This is incredible Evan.” You words came out in a whisper of disbelief.

Evan walked up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing gentle kisses up your neck to your ear before resting his chin on your shoulder and looking out the window with you. Goosebumps raised on your skin from Evans gentle kisses, your arms placed around his that were around you.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Almost as beautiful as you.” He spoke against your cheek now, a smile creeping on your lips as you leaned your head into his, turning your face and meeting his lips in a soft kiss, one of Evans hands making its way up and holding your face carefully to him.

When you pulled back just enough to see his face, your smile grew just looking at the beautiful man beside you. “Thank you for bringing me here.” You spoke quietly, Evan only placing a kiss on your cheek and then on your shoulder before stepping away from you and back to your bags.

“There’s so much to do here, so you have any specific places you’d like to go first?” He asks, you walking over to where he was.

You shook your head and shrugged. “I only know of Central Park, from movies.” You chuckle. “Anywhere you want to take me, I’m happy to go.”

He glanced up at you and shot a smile your way before digging through his bag again. You watched curiously until he pulled out a small but long, navy blue box. Your eyebrows furrowed still confused, meeting his eyes when he looked at you.

“I got you something” he stated, walking so he now stood before you. You glanced back down at the box then at him again.

“Evan..” you shook your head, already overwhelmed with what he’s done for you.

“Shh” he grinned, “I wanted to.”

You let out a breath then finally gave him a small smile, looking down as he opened the box and revealed a beautiful diamond heart necklace.

Your eyebrows shot up as you gazed down at the simple yet beautiful necklace, your hand placing itself over your heart. Your teeth bit down hard onto your bottom as your heart pounded like crazy in your chest.

“God, Evan..” you looked back up to him, seeing his famous goofy smile you loved so much. “It’s so beautiful, thank you.” Your hands reached and placed themselves on either side of his face bringing him to your lips again, kissing him much more deeply than the last one. His free hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you into him, your heads tilting opposite allowing you to kiss with more passion.

You honestly couldn’t understand how you got so lucky. One day you were paying for this famous actors coffee thinking he’d never even know it was you who did, and now, you were in New York City with this man, kissing him passionately. The months seemed to be flying by even though the time apart feels like it’s drawn out. You couldn’t ask for anything more than what you have right now.

You pulled back and quickly turned around, pulling your hair from your neck so Evan could latch the necklace around it. His hands felt so soft against the bare skin on your neck as he connected the ends, carefully setting it down against your skin and letting his fingers trace gently down your neck to your back, your backless shirt giving him the access he needed to do so.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, chills being sent throughout your body. You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his lips against your shoulder, kissing your bare skin before placing another one below it.

Your breathing deepened as he continued kissing your skin all over, his hands having placed themselves on your hips holding them tightly. You dropped your head to the side so he was able to kiss back up your neck and behind your ear, wanting him now more than ever.

You hadn’t had sex yet, obviously deciding to wait until you had gotten to know each other better. But after the last two months of learning everything possible about the other, you were ready.

“Evan..” you breathed his name out softly, slowly, feeling him hum against your skin as his kisses began placing themselves from your ear up your jaw. “Please” you whisper, your voice shaky from nerves and neediness.

Evan’s grip on your hips tighten hearing your desperation, slight worry that you may not actually be ready like you feel, but also wanting nothing more than to give into your plea.

You feel him pull your hips to turn you around, doing so and looking up at him. His eyes flicker down to the necklace around your neck, loving how it looks on you and turning him on more before flickering back to your eyes below him.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” He says lowly but completely serious. Your gaze shifts from his eyes to his lips, to his clenched jaw then back up to his eyes. Your hands slowly find their way to his cheeks, holding them gently still maintaining eye contact.

“I am.” You confirm, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss it his lips. You hear him suck a sharp breath from his nose as his lips move perfectly against yours, his hands carefully finding their way around you and caressing up and down your waist slowly, as if allowing you to be sure before he moved any faster.

When you didn’t back out, completely ready to give yourself to him, you feel his hands then move down your legs and to the back of your thighs, gripping them and hiking you up in one easy motion. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, your hands still holding his face to yours while you both deepened the kiss into another passion filled one. Your tongue slips from your mouth and glides across his bottom lip slowly asking for access, his mouth opening to grant it and your tongues colliding against the other for dominance. Though you were eager, you were no match to him, his tongue sliding into your mouth now and tasting every inch of you.

Evan carry’s you carefully over to the bed, lowering you onto and resting above you with on hand holding him up while his other explored your clothed body. Your hands slide down his chest to his torso, lifting his shirt for him to take off, Evan pulling back from your lips and sitting up enough to pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere in the room as he quickly leans down and finds your lips again. Your hands find their way back to his now shirtless body, feeling his warm skin under your touch.

“Sit up” he mumbles against your lips, helping you sit up on the bed, his hands finding the bottom of your shirt while his eyes meet yours silently asking if he could remove it. You lift your arms to grant him his request, feeling his slide your shirt up and over your head. He gazes over your almost bare torso with a smile, your eyes watching him admire your body already.

Your arms reach behind you, unclasping your lace black bra while Evans gaze intensifies, eager to see you bare. You slide the straps of the bra slowly down your shoulders before removing it completely, tossing it aside and looking back up to him. Your body quickly tenses with insecurity, scared that he might not be attracted to what he sees, but he quickly leans back into you and presses a kiss on your lips.

“Beautiful” he breathes out, his hands sliding down your waist gently, reassuringly. Your eyes look up at him through your long lashes, nothing but complete lust filled within them. Your body was trembling ever so slightly from all the nerves you felt, and Evan could feel it under him.

“Is this okay?” He asks quietly, looking sternly into your eyes wanting your complete honesty, ready to make a full stop if you weren’t. But, you only nod, looking between his eyes and leaning your head up to reconnect your lips, carefully pushing you back down against the bed.

You feel his hands make their way down to your legs that were still clothed as his own were, gently massaging into your thighs with his thumbs. You softly buck your hips into him, feeling his bludgeoned against your core and letting out a quiet moan against his lips, causing him to let out his own moan that drives you insane.

His hands quickly unbutton your pants, you lifting your hips for him to slide them down your legs painfully slow. You watch as he pulls them off and begins placing open mouthed kisses back up your legs, the ache between your thighs growing with every touch. You let your head fall back against the bed, your eyes fluttering shut feeling him slide your panties down next, his hands taking ahold of your knees and carefully spreading them. Once again feeling slightly insecure being completely bare and vulnerable to him, you control your heavy breathing and allow his hands to slide up your thighs gently, so close to where you need him the most.

Finally, his thumb presses against your clit making you suck in a sharp breath at his touch, holding it in as he begins rubbing slow circles over it.

“F..fuck” you stutter out, your hands flying to your head and holding your face in them, completely withering in his every move. Evan glanced up at you, the way you hold yourself and the sounds you make for him making his dick throb through his jeans. He bites onto his lip and looks back down at your pretty, wet pussy in front of him, groaning at the beautiful sight. Continuing his thumb movements, he uses his middle finger from the same hand and slides it into you, smiling at your long moan. As he begins pumping it in and out of you, his other hand moves up placing itself on your abdomen and pressing your body down against the bed denying your body from the bucking it had began doing and adding more pressure onto your heat helping your climax build.

“God.. Evan” you moan, lifting your head to watch the picture in front of you, seeing Evan working on your pussy so effortlessly and beautifully. The sight alone could’ve made you cum, but you held it in, wanting to reach your orgasm with him inside of you. Sucking in and letting out a few more shaky breaths, you reach for Evan, grabbing his arm and pulling him back up and onto you. You quickly reach down and fumble with his jeans, eager for them to be off. He helps undo his buttons and wiggles them down his legs, his boxers following. Your eyes immediately land on his boner, clenching your pussy at the sight. Your eyes look up to Evan’s as you reach out and wrap your small hand around him, watching his eyes flutter shut as you begging stroking gently. Seeing him melt in your touch gives you a new sense of confidence, leaning yourself up and licking a strip from the bottom to the tip.

“Fuck… yes” Evan groans, his hand resting against the side of your head for support as you take all of him into your mouth. You bob slow at first, looking up so you could watch his face, his eyes already on you, and allowing yourself to begging bobbing faster. Your hand rests on his stomach, sucking his dick so perfectly that his legs began shaking from under him, his hold on your head tightening and strings of long, deep moans escaping from his beautiful mouth. You pull back and suck on his tip, paying extra attention to the sensitive spot and feeling him tensing up.

You were determined to make him cum right there, but he pulled your mouth from him and let out a breath, light chuckles leaving his mouth as you looked up at him with a pout.

“I wanna cum from that perfect pussy of yours” he said, his voice deep and eager as he lifted you further onto the bed and placed himself between your legs. He took ahold of his dick and slid it through your folds a few times, both of your eyes fluttering shut from the sensation.

“Fuck me” you breathe out, and Evan doesn’t hesitate to line himself up and allow his dick to slide inside of you slowly, looking up to your face for assurance that you give with quick nods, wanting him to continue. He pulls out before reentering, groaning at how perfectly wet you are for him, making it so easy to fuck you.

As he pulls out and slides back in, his head falls onto your chest, one of his hands gripping tightly onto your hip. Your mouth falls open with each deeper thrust, head falling back in pure ecstasy at the perfect tempo.

“So fucking good” he groans against your skin, opening his eyes to find one of your tits and taking your already hardened nipple into his mouth, a moan-muffled yelp from you at the surprise and new feeling and feeling your hand against the back of his head encouraging more. His other hand reaches up and plays with your other nipple, pinching and rubbing his thumb over it and listening to the sounds you make in response.

After a few more thrusts, he removes his mouth from your nipple and leans back, grabbing your legs and resting them over his shoulders so he could fuck you deeper, thrusting hard into you and hitting that perfect sweet spot.

“Yes, oh god.. don’t stop” you encourage him, his thrusts speeding up at your words. You could feel your climax building again, your hands finding your face again as it grew closer. “Fuck Evan I’m gonna cum” you nearly shrieked out, only making Evan slam into you hard repeatedly wanting to make you cum all over his dick.

“That’s okay baby, let it go… cum for me” he encourages, his words sending you over the edge and your thighs attempting to squeeze together but to no avail with Evan between them. You arch your back as your orgasm floods through your body, releasing on his dick while he continued thrusting into you closing in on his own orgasm.

He watches your body react to the way he keeps fucking into you, your trembling legs and heavy rising and falling chest finally sending him over the edge. He thrusts once more before pulling out and pumping his dick while he cums onto your stomach, his head falling back and your eyes on his dick watching as he cums all over you.

You suck your lip into your mouth, biting down onto it while he strokes his dick coming down from his own orgasm, your eyes flickering up to him and watching his face scrunch up before relaxing, his eyes opening to meet yours. You press your lips into a smile, his copying yours as he leans down and connects your lips again, much more gentle this time.

“That was so..”

“Perfect” he finishes for you, grinning down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Perfect.” You nod, agreeing with him. You wrap your arms around him into a hug, his arms sliding under your body and wrapping you up against him.

You both lay there embracing the other for some time, listening to his breaths slow and feeling his pulse calm down. You nuzzle your face into his neck, kissing the skin softly.

“Do you want to go out?” You hear him ask, smiling against him.

“Mhmm” you hum, breathing in his scent before loosening your hold on him. He presses another kiss to the side of your head before he stands to his feet, walking over and grabbing a towel before returning to you and wiping his cum from your stomach, cleaning you first before he cleans himself. You smile at his choice of aftercare, your stomach bursting butterflies at how gentle and caring he was.

“I think I know the perfect place to go” he grins to you before turning and finding his clothes, pulling his boxers up before his jeans. You sigh, so happy and fucked out, sitting up in the bed and admiring Evan as he dressed.

“Where might that be?” You question. He looks back at you and shrugs playfully, walking over to you.

“You’ll just have to wait and see” he says quietly, leaning down to kiss your lips again, your lips smiling through it against his.

“Okay..” you sigh again, breathing in a deep breath before standing from the bed, finding your clothes and going to the bathroom to wash up first.

—

Tags: @evanpetersmood @witchsbitchestime @demxnicprxncess @yes-divine-ruler @shjjpm @evanpsrealwife @iruzias @jangsuzchap @quicksilversg1rl l @submissiveforahsmen @angelmenace @lovelizzie-blog1 @justa19 @daylas-life @simp4petermaximoff @totta69

[auntarctica]

When it comes to your writing how do you see the differences between the reboot interpretation of Dante and Vergil versus their classic counterparts? What parts stick out to you as similar or as different?

So, I'm in the minority camp that thinks Ninja Theory did kind of an interesting thing when they opted to switch storylines and birth order (for whatever that's worth with identical twins) between Dante and Vergil in the reboot.

I know a lot of people hate the idea of Vergil being the "little brother" in the equation and thought it made no sense and was a meaningless change, and I get where they're coming from, because it probably was - what I mean is, it likely wasn't intentional on NT's part, for any other reason than an attempt to instead make Dante the "cool older brother" and to differentiate themselves in one more way from OG DMC.

But what's interesting about both the shift in birth order and the storyline swap is that rather than undermining their innate characters, it actually reinforced them, and proved that no matter the formative circumstances, Dante will act like Dante and Vergil will act like Vergil:

Dante, whether he's the one protected by Eva or disenfranchised from society and family, will become secretly wounded, insouciant, irreverent, sardonic, flippant and cynical. He will be in denial about the true danger posed by Mundus, and determined to avoid his father's legacy, but reluctantly protect humanity when called upon - though not for free, of course. The toilets need flushing.

Vergil, whether he comes from rubble or privilege, will always be ambitious, idealistic striving, driven, calculating but rash, with the overconfidence of youth and a reach exceeding his grasp. He will have an Icarusian fall, and ultimately a phoenix-like redemption. (We presume a DmC sequel would/have follow(ed) the same reconciliation trajectory, because what else would make sense/serve the story?)

It also rather neatly answers and dovetails with the retroactive rhetorical question classic Vergil asks himself at the top of the Qliphoth, whether things would have been different if he'd had Dante's life, and Dante had his.

And the answer we already have from reboot is, no, not really. The outcome could only have been different if the individuals involved were totally different people - but their core character traits, I think, stay true and remain intact in both versions.

Still, obviously there are variations in character within those greater macro aspects, things that make the expression of these personality traits different, which we can attribute to formative experience, and the swapped backstory.

For instance, Classic Dante hides his profound psychological damage by being a party guy and a rock n' roll rodeo clown whereas DmC Dante wears his inside out; we can see his sullen punk-rock defensiveness, his bitterness, and we do not doubt his damage for a minute. Being the disenfranchised one has left its mark on him, and he has no ability or willingness to mask his trauma. Both keep others at arms' length, but ironically, ReDante actually is more receptive to intimacy and connection, possibly because he doesn't have a false front, or a whole circus-like façade, just a default defensive stance he holds as a last resort, after being embattled his entire life. He has been given the classic Vergil backstory, and while he becomes similarly defensive and embittered, he reacts like Dante, not classic Vergil.

Neither Dante is ever canonically shown as having any particular interest in humans or humanity as a whole, so much as a keen interest in killing demons (which is why the ending fraternal conflict of reboot rings so false, non sequitur and hollow). Both shrug off human collateral damage, and if classic Dante is ever bothered by the mass casualties incurred in the raising of the Qliphoth, he never mentions it as he trips over their bodies to run to his brother. ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Of the two, I think Vergil is the more different, with more personality contrast between interpretations - though his core traits remain: curiosity, intrepidity, enthusiasm, perfectionism, impulsivity, absolutism. With the strife removed from his life, Vergil is able to be emotionally open, to express his love for his brother, and his ambition comes from a proactive place instead of a reactive one.

However, like Dante, all his youthful flaws remain intact. He will always be the one who falls - and Dante will always be the one who fails to act at the crucial moment. The tragedy is thus complete.

The greatest difference, I think, is that classic Vergil has even less use for humans than Dante, whereas ReVergil is arguably the only one who actually has any appreciation for humanity as a class (even if he regards them as lesser beings) - which actually puts him more in line with classic Sparda, ironically, than anyone else. Reboot Sparda is never shown as having any particular interest in humans or their fate, and he and Eva are essentially depicted as just hiding out in the human world like it's witness protection.

That said, I'm sure I'm missing something, so I'm actually interested in hearing other people's opinions on this.

[burned-lariat]

Dex Heller is a sad, sad creature.

I've talked at length about how underwritten he is and how little the writers care about one half of a couple they supposedly really, really like. I've also talked about all the wasted potential he has and how he's a glorified Benson prop. But this one's gonna be different because after watching Friday's scenes, I find something quite...nasty in what Dex has become.

So, according to Dex, his two elder brothers beat him up constantly and hospitalized him more than once. His parents were bystanders throughout all of it. And with his parents specifically, with his philandering father and "cowardly" mother, he had a shitty image of love presented to him. While it would be logical for him to think that 1) betrayal and hurt equates to love, and 2) no one will save him - he needs to save himself because of his upbringing, he's actualized that his childhood was, indeed, shitty. So one would think he'd make sure not to emulate a single second of that (AKA one would think he got help/therapy and healed as well as he could).

Friday's scenes...they were rancid. It made feel a bit ill.

Like Dex, I grew up in a terrible household. My upbringing was all about survival, specifically from an emotional standpoint, and I'm still reeling from it to this day. It's affected my mental well-being (duh), my relationships with people, everything important like that. And with those desperation scenes, of having Dex willing to martyr himself so openly so to not cause further pain, I understand it just a tiny bit and I'll give EH a kudo or two for an attempt to display that desperation.

But here's the thing - what Dex claims he can't without is the thing that hurt him all those years ago.

Josslyn was never good to Dex. She belittled him and his thoughts/feelings, stalked him, talked down to him, guilted him, played on his fears of getting caught to keep him attached to her, went behind his back and disrespected his wishes, literally almost killed him, and has as much pleasantry as nails on a chalkboard. Dex is an abuse victim stuck in another abusive cycle, and this show treats it as romantic foreplay. This couple never got actual development. They got a plethora of sex scenes, which is fine if they were meant to be fuckbuddies, but not fine if they're meant to be a real love story. They need actual development beyond sex and that never happened. The "I love yous" and the arguments about needing each other to live are flat and empty because there's no grounded support.

Hearing Dex say that no one loves him like Joss does, that he can't lose her and she makes his life worth living...it just hurts my soul.

I hear that and think about how abused he was, how the only difference between that and how she treats him is the physical violence (or lack thereof). I think about how she harassed him when he didn't want the PCPD involved after the meat hook. I think about her giving him an infection when she didn't back off and adamantly refusing to get him proper help until the last second. I think about her trying to get him fired from his job with Sonny and how she barked at his disapproval, on top of how quickly he forgave her when he was right to be mad. I think about how she disregarded his feelings on working for Sonny and how sick he felt when Sonny got arrested, and expressing contempt for that to his face. It's all these things and more that make the case that she doesn't love Dex as a person. She loves what he can do for her benefit.

We kind of get what Joss sees in Dex, but we don't get what Dex sees in Joss. Her treatment of him is poor, and she hasn't made any concerted effort to genuinely get to know him outside of plot-forced moments (not to mention how she doesn't care/like it anyway). One could argue he sees the same thing Joss sees (sex), and if that's the case, then there is something fairly wicked and depraved for a man closer to thirty to want a barely legal girl like that. I'd know - I was that girl at one point in time. That doesn't make him a romantic lead, it makes him someone who needs to be monitored.

Any which way you slice this, it's not good. You have a Dex who is a bit of a creep (to be nice) and/or a Dex who loves a version of the abuse he claims to despise. This character has been so underwritten, so regressed as a functional player and it's a miracle he's lasted so long. Like I said in a completely separate rant, I've come to resent what Dex Heller has become, and that hasn't changed. If anything, I also feel disgusted by what these writers have done to him, and the end of their scripts can't come soon enough.

[gendervapor14]

I've read a lot of your stories (and liked them a lot) so I'm wondering how you plan out longer fics? I feel like I want to add to the Corazon pile but I don't really know where to start

anon.... [steps closer and kisses you on the head] thank you. i had an entire work shift to think about this and i still haven't come up with a clear answer 😅 but i will certainly offer all the help and advice i can!!

starting is my favorite part!! you need some sort of idea. doesn't have to be anything crazy. (i'm sure you have plenty!) for instance, the idea that inspired me to write 01746 was "i want rosinante to have a proper backstory." for two fights for freedom, the idea was "i want cora and bell-mere to live and have a nice family together". i think vaguer ideas are more likely to lead to larger stories, but as i'm sure you've seen, i tend to write a lot (a decent portion of my multichaps were supposed to be oneshots) but regardless of length, every good story starts with the desire to put an idea out there, and i get the feeling you've got that part covered!

in terms of physically writing, this is where things get a little tricky. bigger stories tend to involve planning. personally, i'm a pantser. my natural writing process involves no planning. nowadays i do a ton of planning, but that's because i've taken on a ton of hours at work, so i don't have the time to sit around and experiment with my writing anymore. if i want a story to go a certain direction, i need to have some sort of guideline to keep me on track with time. so consider how much free time you have. if you have a lot, you might not have to worry too much about outlining or making mistakes, because you'll have plenty of time to fool around and fix things.

(also worth noting it IS just fanfiction, and the post button is not setting your words in stone. i've edited plenty of things after posting, made some major edits too! that's always okay. it's just fanfiction :) i've never had a reader get upset about me tweaking previous chapters.)

in terms of guidelines or no guidelines, it depends on you and your story! like i said, i write by the seat of my pants, so guidelines tend to confuse me. maybe you're similar. or maybe you LOVE a guideline! outlines are good because they're flexible. even if it's a simple breakdown of some basic plot points you think would be neat. for two fights for freedom, i have an outline that lists every chapter and every scene within every chapter. pretty detailed. took a long time to make it though, and i'm constantly tweaking it. for 01746, i used a physical whiteboard with random notes and diagrams, but there wasn't any structural planning until probably the last ten chapters. with 01746, canon provided a lot of substance for me, where with two fights for freedom, almost the entire story is my own, extremely canon divergent, so it's more weight for me to bear. your need for an outline or notes may depend on how much weight you can carry to make the story cohesive.

NOW don't let any of that scare you!! usually when i begin a big multichap, i don't start with an outline. i just write something. i try my idea out, if that makes sense. sometimes what i start writing becomes chapter one, or maybe it'll become part of the summary, or maybe it'll be the plot twist in chapter seventy-two. in the beginning, it doesn't matter what comes out of your hands. get cozy with your idea and let it fill you with excitement and inspiration. you can worry about organization afterwards.

sorry if this was a bit indecipherable or unclear 😅 with every story i write, i try something new! fanfic writing for me is a great way to hone my skills and experiment, so i don't have a scientific method quite yet. i just try to learn about myself as much as possible and have fun along the way! and i hope you're able to do the same!!

i'm around if you ever need more help! you can always DM or shoot me another ask, i don't mind at all! i really flung a lot of words at you here so feel free to narrow me down to a more specific concern whenever. i wish you great luck on your projects 🍀 this world always needs more added to the cora pile ♥ and feel free to hmu if you do end up posting something!! i'd love to check it out 👀

[baifengxis]

What are some of your fave cdramas that you would highly rec? I’m looking for something to watch and I would be grateful if you can share some. Thank you!!

Oh, thanks so much for this question, I love recommending cdramas haha!

LEGEND OF FEI [2020] Gotta start with the obvious, because I'll recommend this drama forever even to everyone who has started and can't get into it, I'll always be like, please try again lol It's feminist, fun, feel-good but with very nicely done heavy moments every few episodes, important messages about life and about becoming who you want to be, it has my, at this point, favorite cdrama ship ever, yunfei my beloved!! relationship goals! friendships, funny dynamics, siblings, AMAZING characters and...so much more, I won't continue because I'll never stop lmao

UNEXPECTED [2018] Such an underrated Drama! I don't know why it's so underrated, especially because it's made by the same writer as a very popular drama (The Romance of Tiger and Rose) and the stories are very similar, which I know can be boring but they also have differences that make each drama unique, there's just the same premise of a writer traveling into their own story.

I'VE FALLEN FOR YOU [2020] The perfect rom-com historical drama, with a very fun plot and with plot twists you don't expect, such good characters and two amazing ships! Comfort drama for sure!

THE LOVE BY HYPNOTIC [2019] If you love palace romance, arranged marriage turned true love, a few crazy (but very entertaining) villains and a love story for the ages! Even though it has some very heavy moments, it's one of my comfort dramas as well, because it also includes some VERY FUNNY moments, like I just love dramas that can somehow balance comedy, romance and serious moments so well!

THE QUEEN OF ATTACK [2021] There's so many short dramas nowadays and 80% of them have the same plot of someone traveling into a story lol and yes, this is one of them BUT it's such a good drama like it's insane, I'll wish forever it was a normal length one, but it's still so good, the episodes are 9-10 mins each but there are two seasons, and the episodes have been combined, so eventually it's like having a normal drama with 12 normal length episodes (6 for s1 and 6 for s2). It's so worth it and the two actors are so talented and have such good chemistry, plus the story is unique too, yes this premise has been done many times but I think they still made it so unique and different from others.

THE STARRY LOVE [2023] A recent drama and quite popular, but I'll still recommend it always. Other than the last episode that was a bit disappointing and rushed (still a happy-ish ending though), it's my favorite Xianxia and it was just so good, the story, the cinematography, THE OST, the actors, the ships, the friendships, the sisters, ALL THE WOMEN, youqin literally making all other MLs take notes from him on how to be the best ml out there, so many reasons to watch this drama, just ignore the last part and pretend we saw what they forgot to show us lol

LOVE LIKE THE GALAXY [2022] Where do I even begin??? (This is the first Zhao Lusi drama i recommend in this list, but I just wanna mention, I recommend almost all of them.) Anyway, LLTG is by far my favorite political drama, and non wuxia/xianxia historical cdrama. It's so different and unique, there's literally nothing like it. It's a slow paced drama, with very long scenes (you might only have 3-4 scenes in one episode for example) and it's the reason why It got me a while to get to it, but now I'M SO IN LOVE WITH IT!!! There is not an episode I don't enjoy, it's pure art. Cheng Shao Shang is one of my favorite girls ever and her and Ling Buyi???? I'D DIE FOR THEIR LOVE. Their chemistry is so so so good, now Zhao Lusi can have chemistry with a tree, it's true but still, one of the best cdrama ships out there. Even though I never truly watched classic cdramas like Nirvana on Fire and those "older" ones, I think LLTG somehow is the closest to those except it also loves its characters and focuses on romance more than any older political cdrama did but it works so so well.

LIGHTER AND PRINCESS [2022] Favorite modern drama! I gotta be honest I'm not verrrryyyy into modern cdramas, I like a few, even love some, but generally it's hard to find a modern cdrama I'll go crazy over...but L&P changed that. Or well, it's still hard, maybe even harder now, to find something that tops it, but L&P is just so so good. Again, a quite popular drama, maybe it doesn't need the recommendation, but I have to mention it anyway 'cause it's my baby and I just cannot make a favorite cdramas list without it! Some reasons to watch: One of the best love stories out there, with such good angst and just everything you need on a ship, two main characters so unique that you'll definitely relate to (at least in some aspects), one of the best OSTS ever, perfect cinematography, directing and writing and one of my favorite endings on any show ever!

Some more dramas I recommend but I won't dig deeper (I talked a lot already):

Couple of Mirrors [2021]

Who Rules The World [2022]

Love Between Fairy and Devil [2022]

Young Blood [2019 - S2 starts tomorrow!]

Wait, My Youth [2019]

Zhaoyao/The Legends [2019]

Arsenal Military Academy [2019]

There's probably more but I think that's good for now, I hope I helped you find something to watch and I'm always here for more recs if you want :P <3

[frodo-with-glasses]

4, 6, 13 (especially 13; love you for the semicolon tattoo Frodo has)

https://www.tumblr.com/frodo-with-glasses/711440150764355584/group-chat-shenanigans?source=share

Ooh, great choice >:-D Let’s go!

(Read the whole comic here!)

4. What part of this piece was the most difficult to draw?

It's exactly what you might expect: Frodo's left arm (the one holding the phone) in the last panel definitely gave me some trouble. I was trying to find a pose that both a) looked natural and b) made Frodo's tattoo visible; you can actually see how many lines I drew and erased in the zoomed-in picture in this reblog.

I also had to try multiple different positions and designs for the tattoo before I found one that I liked. In a few early attempts, the tattoo actually went down the length of his arm! But in the end, I'm glad I kept it contained to the wrist.

6. What is your favorite part of this piece?

Oh man, it's so hard to pick! I love all of the modern designs, and I think most of the drawings turned out really well. (Pippin looks a bit wonky, but that's just because I'm not used to drawing people who are upside down.) In the end, I think my favorite part is just the slew of "Benadryl Cabbagepatch" names. That was a HYSTERICAL day on the Fig Tree Server, and I love seeing everyone's creativity and crazy senses of humor coming together like this! X-D

13. What Easter eggs/small details are hidden in this drawing?

OKAY *cracks knuckles* lemme give you the whole breakdown here.

Usernames and Avatar Icons

Frodo - DownFromTheDoor (referencing Bilbo's poem) - a book (because he's a nerd)

Pippin - tookursnacks (because he's a Took and he likes to eat) - peace sign (dunno, just felt appropriate)

Sam - taterz (obvious) - a potato (also obvious)

Merry - Herbmaster (because he really likes pipeweed) - the Horn of Rohan

Fatty - BigPapa (because he's. he's big) - plus signs (see previous)

Rosie - RoseGardens (cute play on her name) - a rose (same)

Gimli - Rock-n-Roll (dwarves like rocks) - an axe (obvious)

Aragorn - Telcontar (Elvish for "Strider", the dynasty name Aragorn chooses for himself) - crown surrounded by seven stars (part of the sigil of the King of Gondor)

Legolas - TraLaLally (reference to the 1977 Hobbit movie) - bow and arrow (obvious)

Boromir - TEAMGONDOR (in all caps because he is A LotTM) - the Horn of Gondor (obvious)

Tom Bombadil - Tim Bimbadimdim (I thought it would be funny) - a feather (he has one in the brim of his hat)

Goldberry - 💛🫐 (suggested by someone on the server, unfortunately not at all obvious in a black-and-white art style) - a star (seemed appropriate)

Gandalf - Gandalf (obvious) - wizard's hat (also obvious)

Design Choices

All four of the main hobbits (Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin) have a bracelet with a Single Bead, indicating they are part of the Core Friend Group

Merry wears dog tags and a watch. I imagine he has served in the military in some capacity, or aspires to do so; and the watch is there because he's the kind of detail-oriented person who's very concerned with being on time.

Sam and Rosie have matching bracelets: his is the sun, and hers is the moon. (Someone pointed out that the little thing hanging off her phone also looks like a sun. This is correct, but the bracelets were supposed to be the matching set.)

Rosie is also the only one of the gang to have a decorative phone case and a PopSocket.

Aragorn's mug says "GONDOR U", and the icon on his laptop is the shards of Narsil. It's kinda hard to see, but he also has a ring on his left hand, indicating that he's either engaged or married to Arwen.

Frodo gets the most Easter eggs. He too has a watch, because he's the sort to at least TRY to be on time; he has the tattoo, reading "worth f;ghting for", as aforementioned; and his shirt is a polo from the company Hang Ten, as indicated by the little feet embroidered on the lapel! I chose that one for two reasons: number one, little feet is Very Hobbity, and number two, they're my dad's favorite brand of polo. (He likes the little feet.)

PHONE DETAILS. Merry, Pippin, and Legolas are the only ones to have Extremely Fancy New Phones with three cameras on the back, because they are rich kids who can afford to have that sort of thing. Gimli is also rich, but his phone only has two cameras because he's not an Instagrammer. Sam and Rosie only have two-camera phones because theirs are cheaper older models. Everyone has phone cases except for Legolas. Gimli's phone case is a Particularly Chunky Heavy-Duty OtterBox. Aragorn is the only one with a laptop because he's Old. And, as aforementioned, Rosie is the only one who has a PopSocket.

Initial Conversation

I did actually plan the chat in the first panel very carefully! If you look at the time stamps beside the messages, you can see how the conversation picks up speed. It starts with Frodo declining some kind of an activity that night, saying he's busy with something else. Pippin responds, asking what he's doing. Frodo replies and sends photographic evidence, calling Bilbo "Beebo". Sam thinks this is very funny and repeats "Beebo". Frodo, encouraged by Sam thinking this is funny, doubles down the joke with "Beebo Bongos". Then Merry jumps in with "Blorbo Bagpipes". By this point, messages are coming in within the same minute, and then the rest of the chaos unfolds. X-D

Anyway, thanks for giving me an excuse to ramble about this comic! I had a lot of fun drawing it and I'm delighted to share the Deep Lore LOL

ARTIST COMMENTARY ASK GAME!

[kirathehyrulian]

💚🧡Wayward Sons Zine 2022🧡💚 🌧️Alleyway Rendezvous🌧️

(Please do not edit/alter. Feel free to reblog, but please do not repost. At the very least please give me credit.) | Zine•Tumblr | Zine•Twitter | Zine•AO3 | Zine•Download |

Summary: Sam and Dean meeting up in an alleyway for a hunt on a late rainy evening. [Ao3]

For more art from me please check out my “myart” tag here on Tumblr. 👇(Art Notes and Bonus Art below the cut) 👇  

 Art Notes: I've been stuck in a drawing rut so bad lately. It was a struggle making this piece. But, I signed up as a pinch hitter, so I was determined to keep my word when they called on me. It's funny because I find drawing younger Jared/Sam and younger Jensen/Dean to be so intimidating because there's just a big limit on references from their younger years. But, then the mods made a post about being worried people would drop and that worried me. I'm a supporter of gencest and wincest things so I did want the zine to succeed.

So, I signed up as a pinch hitter with half of me hoping that I can do something at least half way decent if they call on me and the other half thinking that they probably won't even need me. I'm just a back up in case someone else can't do their work. But, come to find out for some unfortunate reason someone did drop out of teen section and I was called to make good on my promise. And for what it's worth, I did make good on it.

The mods gave me somewhere around, I guess, 2 months? I got most of March and then all of April to finish. Starting from March 5, I started brainstorming questions and ideas right away. I asked if there was a collective zine theme besides the boys being teens. The mod told me the main theme was them growing up together. And I was going to go for gencest (though if people want to see it as wincest Idc, go ahead) I chose the option to have the boys doing regular teenager stuff with a hunter twist.

After that I asked if there was any additional info I needed and if I needed to be aware of what others were creating so we all didn't create the same stuff, mainly because the last Zine I was in the mods were worried about that. There wasn't any additional info that I needed, but the mod I was talking to did say go ahead and run any ideas I had about what I wanted to do by them and they'd check if I was doing something too similar to another artist. So, five days later I came back with two ideas that I was toying with, "a hot summer day stuck in a cabin/house/motel, or Sam and Dean in some kind of a dark back alley with neon lights". The response I got back was that the latter idea was the most unique. So, I went forward with that idea.

So, before I started sketching Sam and Dean, I obsessively searched for refs of young Jared and Jensen and saving what I could find to my drive for ease of access. In the zine guidelines the teen section said 15-18 years old, which didn't specify if that meant 18 for Sam or 18 for Dean. I took it as 18 for Sam. Which even though gives me a bigger range to work with, ends up making Dean technically a legal adult than a teen. But, I don't specify the ages in this piece so I feel like there's some plausible deniability with Sam being somewhere in his later teen years but before Stanford.

Anyways, I tried to concentrate on refs around those times, but Jared's youth on the internet is pretty much non existent especially compared to Jensen. But, I tried my best even though I ended up mainly using refs from when Jared and Jensen were young adults. I did try to make them look younger than the refs tho, especially Sam. I shortened his chin a smidge and made him noticeable shorter than Dean who's leaning against the wall, not even standing at full height. I also had to brainstorm what kind of hairstyle I wanted to put on Sam. I decided to give him something similar to his main season 1 hair, but a little shorter in length. And that's mainly because I wanted this to look like Sam, rather than Jared and his other roles. I'm not sure how I feel about the final results. A lot of this work was me not really having concrete directions and me just playing around, for better or worse.

When I started, I sketched Sam and Dean first and then tried to sketch out a background that made sense for their positions. I keep trying to do backgrounds, but I don't know if I'm getting any better at them. It's definitely not my worst, but I feel like it could be better somehow.

On March 30th, the first check in was due and I had pretty much finished my sketch. I changed my mind on it being nighttime with neon lights in the background and wanted to color it with daytime in mind. I thought daytime might be easier to color and render. And, I told the mods that "I feel good about my progress, and I'm pretty sure I'll be done before April 25th," which was the final check in on the schedule.

After that I made the line art and colored in the base colors. I put a free texture on the brick wall, and copy, paste, and vertically flipped a reflection of the background building for the background pavement. I added in the signs and fonts with Photoshop Elements 15. But, when I started to add shading and lighting, I changed my mind again. I wanted it to be raining, and the boys are taking cover by some kind of overhang in the alleyway. But, I still wanted it to be daytime, but on like a really cloudy evening where light is barely shining through the clouds. In the end, it ended up being darker than I initially was going for. So, it like full circled back to nighttime by the end.

As some late additions, I added water drops to the foreground, because sometimes water gets stuck to the camera lens, windows, glasses, or eyelashes in rainy scenes and I thought it'd be cool. And, I added a faint passing car light to be the main light for Sam and Dean's shadows on the wall, or at least that was the idea, anyways. I also did try to add graffiti to the wall too, but it felt really distracting so I ended up making it really faint.

Towards the end, I pretty much got sick of looking at and fiddling with it. I get somewhat obsessive sometimes, where I can't let things go. And, it's like the little things in this piece would be driving me crazy, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I was at that point where continuing to try to fix whatever I was bothering me had just as much a likelihood of making the piece worse. So, on April 18th, I turned it in. And then, I waited for May 2nd when the Zine would be officially posted. The next day after I made and submitted my personal art posts. And that's pretty much everything.

Looking back at it now, I'm pretty happy with how my Sam and Dean turned out. I need to work on my background and composition skills (those seem to be what I always struggle with the most) but overall I feel pretty good about the whole thing. I probably need to force myself to experiment more with free flowing, simple, blurry styles instead of my go to where everything has a defined shape. But, saying it vs actually breaking out of my comfort zone is an up hill battle.

Bonus Art:

This is just a peek behind the curtains. I took out the rain, reflection, fog, atmosphere filter, some of the lighting, the car light, and one shading layer. In some ways this version is better for being less complicated, but I do like the moodiness in the official version. I'm mainly sharing this to compare and contrast with the main, and to show that yes, I did intend for daytime initially when coloring, lol.

Enjoy, if you can!♥♥♥

[aineirisha]

Madara smut

He didn’t exactly hire you to be his secretary

Madara brings out the most sinful sub side of me.

He turned to the door when he heard the sound of your highheels on the floor.

As you entered his office, the smug grin on his face made your legs weak. You put the papers on his desk. "Thank you for the job opportunity, Madara-sama."  

"The uniform suits you."

A few days ago he had your measurements taken and had it made two sizes smaller specifically for you. A tight dark grey dress reaching just right below your ass with a deep deep cleavage barely covering your nipples.

But the high heels he had bought for you weren't high enough for you to have to lean in to put the papers on his desk.

He dropped his pen on the floor letting it roll beneath the bookshelf and with the same smug grin, "Pick it up" he commanded. He rested his chin on his hand as he saw you bend over. Your panties peeked between your legs beneath your new uniform.

Satisfied, he stood up, feeling his dick harden with the image, and locked the door.

You put the pen on his desk and froze as you heard him unbuckle his belt.

"Is there anything else I can help you with, Madara-sama?"

"Do you like the new uniform I had made for you?"

Unsure what to say, you nodded. "Very much, Madara-sama" his gaze on you was already making you feel naked.  

"I figured it would match a little slut like you"  He took his hard dick out of his pants and looked you right in the eye, stroking his length.

“Sow me how much you liked it.”

You knelt and put his dick in your mouth to start sucking.

Madara grabbed your hair to control the motion. "SHOW ME HOW. MUCH. YOU LIKE IT.” he said as he fucked your throat. You gagged and your eyes watered and he kept pushing himself deeper into your throat until you could breathe no more.

He took his dick out of your mouth and stood you up. His hands cupped your cheeks and traveled down your neck to the edge of your cleavage, pulling the fabric down to reveal your breasts.

He was pleased. He might not say it, but the way he groaned and played with them let you know.

"Bend over."  

You turned around to put your hands on the desk and did as instructed. In that position, the 'uniform' covered very little of your ass, and the black laced panties you were wearing showed very clearly.

He pulled your panties down to your knees and pressed his hard cock deep inside your dripping pussy.

"You like it, don't you?" Madara could see your face in the mirrored window. He could see you enjoying being fucked like a whore. "Your pussy is soaking wet. You wanted this, didn't you? when you applied for the job you wanted to be my little slut."

The first time he saw you, he knew you were just right, and he wanted a taste, so he asked you to come into his office. You were not applying to be his secretary but you needed a job so you said yes.

Madara is a proud man. He knows his worth, he doesn't like to waste his time and he doesn't like to waste his strength, but there is also another thing most people don't know he doesn't like to waste...

"I'm gonna give you a little welcoming gift," his thrusts grew slower and deeper, "It is also part of your job..." He leaned in to whisper in your ear.

And with one last thrust, he came deep inside you. You could feel his seed filling you up.

"You're my little cumpot now..."

[natsubeatsrock]

I'm Still Thinking About Ships and Zervis After All These Years

[tfw you miss the anniversary of the post... by several months]

HAH! You thought I was just hating on Juvia for no reason with my last one. (It wasn’t even that bad.)

Nope!

This is a series of things I want to do. I hope you don't mind that this is the second time to date I've reused this intro. Honestly, this might be one of my favorite intros to any post. The only one that tops it is starting with the conclusion in another post. (You know the one.)

Even then, this post has a special place in my heart. Over the past [EIGHT] years I've been on this blog, I've had to talk a lot about the ships. Part of it is willingly entering certain discussions. Part of it was ending up in the middle of certain fights. (I've learned not to pick fights with people.) This was my first real foray into talking about the ships to a meaningful length.

Overall, I've come to realize that Tumblr is a very ship-heavy site. Much of the discussions involving any series or topic involve ships. I used to think this was only Fairy Tail fans, but a lot of people have these issues. Almost every moderately active fandom on Tumblr has a vibrant (note: not necessarily healthy) emphasis on shipping. For what it's worth, Fairy Tail has also had its fair share of shipping wars.

So I've heard.

I don't have the same horror stories that so many other people have. I started this blog near the time that the series was ended. A lot of the shipping drama was long settled. A few months into starting this blog, there was some drama caused by some Graylu shipper who was causing beef with the Gruvia fandom. But a lot of the back-and-forth with shipping didn't affect me when I made the original post.

And then, there was the University of Gruvia.

I have to be careful when describing this, especially considering the number of people I know involved with this on both sides. I want to provide a fair assessment of this. Especially being on my side of the Gruvia debate. Luckily, I've done this several times for Gruvia already.

There was a desire among Gruvia fans to share love and information involving the ship with others. This was to manifest itself in a fan university of sorts with fan experts and actual teachers working to educate fans. Concerns came from two different places. Some fans were worried that this would cause more fights with people who didn't agree with them. I was part of the fans who thought that other shipping fandoms should get some shine and recognition first.

If you haven't heard about the University of Gruvia, that's because it didn't get off the ground. Part of it was because another group of fans set up a parody University of Graylu. There were some disputes over fans signing up for one to set the other up. The details were handled outside of my sphere.

Two big things came from it, as far as I'm concerned. I did get called out as a salty Graytear fan by some Gruvia shippers. Even though I didn't particularly hate the idea at the time. I just wanted a week for Albis. (Another rant for another day) My rationale was that whatever arguments Gruvia fans would come up with would become so mainstream it would be easy to deal with the fandom, by knocking out the ideas all at once. I still stand by that, though I get the concern others had about empowering toxic fans.

That leads to the second. I've become averse to talking about the ship. I'll talk about Nalu for any reason I feel like it. I don't handle Gruvia the same way. I am more careful not to do a lot to piss Gruvia fans off. I've noticed that the Gruvia fandom is very protective of the ship from people who disagree. (Occasionally to ironic results.) Fairy Tail is the only series in which I have a relationship with the ships I do. You all know me for not loving the big ships and being involved in smaller ships for characters. I still get kudos and comments on a story involving Laxus and Juvia, of all pairings. A lot of the appeal of the ships I don't like is lost on me. I can make arguments for them, but I don't buy any of it.

However, Fairy Tail is the only series where this is the case. I've mentioned liking Naruhina and Ichihime. But those are fairly popular among fans of their respective series. At the very least, the majority of the fandom knows why people like them. Every once in a while, a series will come where I don't love the main ships. Like, I don't love most of the big ships in RWBY, but I get why people like them. Fairy Tail is the only series where I'm actively going against the grain, in regards to shipping.

Unlike that other post about Juvia, I don't have much to say about my opinions changing. Most of what I said in that post is what I feel about the ships in general now. Like whatever you want and don't be shocked if some crazy stuff ends up becoming canon.

Though, I do need to talk about the other focus of this post. When the original post came out, it wasn't too long after chapter 450. If you don't remember, that was the chapter that confirmed a previous relationship between Zervis. While I already intended to talk about the ships as my next topic, it felt perfect to use Zervis as the lens to talk about ships.

It's not an understatement to say that fandom was going ballistic at the time. A lot of people following me probably weren't fans of the series when these chapters came out. You need to understand that, before the Alvarez Empire arc, Zervis was mere speculation. It was an idea based on one chapter of the main series and a few interactions during ZERO. Like much of Mashima's work, it makes sense in hindsight. However, this wasn't a ship taken seriously by fans until it became canon.

Honestly, I'd argue that fans made it a bigger deal than it probably needed to be because of their history. This isn't on Mashima for revealing it as late as he did. It made sense to reveal what happened between them when he did.

Take a step back and think about how much Zervis matters. No doubt, it's an important connection between two of the most influential characters in the series. It also serves as a driving force for the last arc of the series. Its resolution (somewhat?) redeems one of the main villains of the series. I will not deny any of those things.

But let's compare this to Jerza. Jellal and Erza are more influential characters. The connection between them is shown for longer in the series, both before and after the Alvarez Empire arc. This isn't even noting the ways that their relationship, directly and indirectly, affects the main events of numerous arcs. The romance between the two has been far better built up to what we see now in the sequel.

And this isn't even to mention the most important relationship in the series: Nalu. I'm not going to call it a romantic masterpiece. However, this isn't the first time I've noted that their relationship makes Fairy Tail what it is as a series. Nearly everything that happens in the series happens because these two work together. That's before we go into how either of them is either directly or indirectly involved in and/or responsible for major events in every arc.

One unfortunate thing that has become a point of discussion has been the potential claims of pedophilia on the ship. I dealt with this idea in rewriting Fairy Tail, but I want to repeat myself quickly. As I interpret the ship, Mashima's done too much to make the ship feel skeevy. Still, I don't think the ship is pedophilic.

In Conclusion:

Shipping is fun, but their fandoms can be crazy. Please enjoy both responsibly.

Also, don't ask me about the Zervis age gap.