#and I have ways to get nails to last but like. none of it is great

[ladsrlife2]

Sugar Daddy! Sylus

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

Part 2 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“You think you have a chance with me?”

You can’t help the disgust that floats to your face as you stare down the plain, absolutely mid male specimen standing across from you, face reddening with anger, embarrassment or both - you don’t really care. The audacity to ask for your number. Who does he think he is?

“I- Who do you think you are?”

He stutters in disbelief.

You scoff at his stupid question.

“Someone out of your league. That’s who I am.”

You ignore the growing crowd of passersby, too busy eavesdropping to move along.

You cross your arms, weight on one leg, as your pink, shiny miu miu purse hangs from your wrist.

“That doesn’t mean you can be an asshole?”

He fixes his black backpack, which, is as bland and boring as his looks.

“Actually. It does. Why should I be nice to someone who insults me?”

You rake your shiny nails through your long hair.

“I just asked for your number!”

He exclaims, both hands out in disbelief. ”Exactly.”

You say, flatly. Looking at him straight in the eyes.

He must’ve realized you’re a class A bitch that can’t be reasoned with. Though he looks infuriated, he shakes his head and starts walking off.

“You need a therapist.”

He says, turning his head back one last time.

“And you need a reality check!”

You shout, smug smile on your face as you watch him scurry off in embarrassment.

Head high, you continue down the campus road to your destination.

You ignore people - guys, as usual - staring your way as you beeline for the sleek black Maserati parked by the road.

You open the passenger door and climb in.

“Someone looks happy today.”

A familiar velvety voice greets you from the driver’s seat.

You ignore his gaze on you as you fasten your seatbelt and settle your bag in the car.

“Rather, it’s the opposite.” You open the glove box and roam for your sunglasses. “Some ugly guy just asked for my number.”

You look to Sylus as you wear them.

His easy-going crimson eyes are upturned into an amused smile.

“Why do guys do that?”

“Why do guys do what. Ask for a beautiful girl’s number?” He asks, patiently.

“Ask for someone way out of their league.” You huff.

“A guy can shoot his shot.” Sylus shrugs and answers.

“Well, it’s insulting. Is what it is.” You sink down in your seat as Sylus chuckles and adjusts the gear. The car starts smoothly coursing through and out of the campus.

“So did you give him a lesson, kitten?” He asks you, eyes fixed on the road. “Is that why you look so happy today?”

“What do you mean by that?” You shoot him a sharp look, to which he smirks. “Not as much as I would’ve liked. The more I think about it. The more it infuriates me.”

“Well then,” Sylus says, voice low and easy, “I guess our kitten should buy something extra special today.”

“Oh daddy.” You hide a laugh behind your hand as you stroke his firm, thick biceps, fitted around his crimson shirt, as they flex under your touch. “You spoil me!”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Sylus was a peculiar man. You’d had your fair share of sugar daddys, but none quite like Sylus.

In his early-40s, he was as handsome as they come - well defined, manly features honed into a strikingly, almost obsessive clean cut appearance, alongside his toned, muscular body.

The air he carried himself with asserted dominance without him even trying. There was a particular easy-going nature about him that could only be found in predators at the very top of the food chain.

So when he had suggested the particular relationship, it was like you’d hit the jackpot.

He’d spoil you with the most expensive things - from jewelry to bags, a vacation in Europe with private jets and five star hotel exclusive suites. And you’d also get to enjoy his handsome, funny, gentle, and dashing company!

But for some reason, even after months of meeting, he wouldn’t cross the line like so many others try to do eventually. He wouldn’t ask anything personal, like your family life or your closest friends. He wouldn’t get jealous, or possessive. He wouldn’t be needy about texting.

But most of all, he wouldn’t ask you to do any sexual favors.

Most he would do was place a hand around your waist as you walked or sat beside him, or pull you in for an embrace or a chaste peck on your forehead.

For some reason his gentlemanly stature made you crazy adamant on seducing him. Coerce him, push him over the edge, until he breaks the facade and makes the first move. Begs you to let him touch you.

You wouldn’t do any thing overly suggestive. That would make you the loser.

You’d linger your touches just a slight. Accidentally press your chest into him as you walked through a busy street. Touch his thigh as you laughed at something funny he said. Whisper in his ear when you didn’t really need to. Meet his gaze. Really, meet his gaze, with a suggestiveness hard to ignore.

It wasn’t long until he unraveled.

Now, after a few years into the sugardaddy-baby relationship, sex had become something he’d demanded exclusivity. Of course, with extra benefits alongside the extra condition.

Most times, like today, he’d pick you up and go for a date - some shopping, dining, and then to a hotel or his place. Sometimes, he’d call you impromptu. And you were to drop anything you were doing and visit wherever he was to have sex with him. Sometimes it would be in a car, parked remotely. Or in a fancy hotel where he was in the middle of a meeting of some sort, with some fancy business men, in a meeting hall. Or in the restroom of a fancy restaurant, for some reasons unknown.

But despite all this, he would never tell you where he worked, or what he did for a living. It made you almost certain he was a drug dealer. Or a mafia boss. of some sort.

“Ah, fuck- yes. Daddy, fuck me right there-”

Your scream echoes through the expansive hotel suite as Sylus pounds you from behind. The sound of skin slapping skin, alongside the lewd sound of squelching - from a mixture of your own juices to his cum - play in the background.

“You like that, kitten?” His fingers thread through your hair as he grips it and pulls your head back to face him. You nod, tears in your eyes from the ecstatic pleasure. Through the tears you meet his eyes, dark and focused, almost angry from pleasure and need.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ah- if you clench like that,” A slap comes down on your ass. You moan and bury your head in the sheets. It elicits a groan from him. “-daddy’s going to have to cum again.” His deep, ragged voice scolds you, as he thrusts deeper.

Every thrust starts sending a jolt up your spine. Your body starts to tremble. Your moans muffle in the sheets.

“Raise your hips.” He orders, as your posture begins to falter. You try, but your limbs feel like jello.

He places his large two hands on your hips and sharply brings it up - just in time with a deep, controlled thrust, down to the very base of his length, his pubic bone burying itself in your ass - his glans hits your g-spot so hard, you end up screaming his name while squirting all over his cock.

“Sylus- wait- I’m still cumming-!”

You urgently exclaim as he doesn’t give you a moment to calm down. He grips your hips as you jerk and attempt to run away from the pleasure, and pounds into it relentlessly, ignoring your complaints.

“Ah, kitten, feeling, good?” He growls between each thrust. You shake your head in plea to stop the overwhelming pleasure washing over you. Another slap comes down on your ass. “Don’t lie, to daddy, you’re still squirting, so much. Ah, fuck, I told you I’m gonna cum if you clench like that-”

His groans get deeper and messier, as his thrusts that pound down relentlessly fast. The bedframe rattles as your body slams into the mattress with each fast thrust. You don’t even have it in you to moan anymore. Your mouth is agape while your body jerks and trembles while he pounds into you, until one strong thrust, where Sylus groans, deep and dirty, and you feel his cum shooting inside and coating your walls, thick and hot.

“You’re still shaking.” You hear him say from behind you, breathless, as he pulls out his length from you. You twitch again as you feel him pushing the leaking cum back in you with the tip of his length.

“I think you get more sensitive each time we do it.” He says as he turns you over to inspect you.

Dazed, you meet his languid, gentle eyes.

“Maybe my insides are slowly molding to yours.” You manage to say, swallowing hard to calm yourself down.

He leans in to press a tender kiss.

“Don’t say things like that, kitten.” He warns, after pulling back.

“Why not?” You ask him as he lies down beside you and pulls you in for an embrace.

“It’ll make me greedier.” His lips curl into a smirk.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, for starters. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He states, matter of fact.

You don’t fully understand what he says.

“Not really. Oh- right! I forgot to tell you.” You meet his inquisitive gaze as you excitedly chatter. “I got a marketing internship this summer!”

“Really? Well congratulations!” He pats your head affectionately. “At what company?”

“Onychinus!” You notice his eyes flicker. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s a really big international trading company - apparently mostly for minerals and ores!”

“Oh really? That’s great news.” He chuckles. “When do you start?”

“June first.”

“In two weeks, huh.” His eyes have an amused light in them. “Do they pay you well?”

“As much as a grain of sand compared to you. But what can I do. That’s life, I guess.”

Sylus chuckles like he’s heard the funniest joke all week. “Right, right. If they paid all their interns as much as I do to you, I think they would have a hard time.”

“So what do you do that makes you able to spend so much money on me, huh? boss-man?” You narrow your eyes and attempt to pry his life again. Your attempt at a threatening face seems to have no effect on him.

“Oh kitten, don’t worry.” He says, amused smile playing at his lips, while he gently cups your face, his thumb stroking your jaw tenderly. “You’ll find out when the time comes.”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

On the first day of your internship, you head to the fifth floor of Onychinus head quarters - where your international digital marketing team office is located.

You’re surprised to find out that a lot of the employees at Onychinus are greatly loyal to the company. Everyone welcomes you to the family, and, though it’s only been a couple of hours, you find yourself getting swept up by the company pride everyone feels.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out the reason behind the loyalty though - apparently the CEO is hot. Like, panty dropping hot. Apparently it’s your lucky day if you get to see him walk the first floor lobby to work, where he will then take his exclusive elevator to the top most floor, to the CEO’s office.

So you’re not surprised when a collective gasp erupts from your team mates as you were lounging by the lobby cafe, drink in hand.

“Y/n! That’s the CEO! Look!” An excited co-worker taps you and whispers in your ear.

You turn to look.

You meet eyes with familiar, crimson ones, looking directly at you.

Your jaw drops at the sight of Sylus, your sugar daddy, walking through the lobby with a dozen escorts behind him.

The way the path paves itself, how everyone gawks, how he carries himself, how he commands, there’s no mistake that he’s the CEO everyone’s been talking about.

He smirks knowingly and shares a glance with you, before turning away and heading to the elevators. To his exclusive elevator everyone talks about.

“Geez Y/n, did you fall in love at first sight?” A co-worker laughs and points out, just as the lobby begins buzzing after Sylus leaves.

You press your lips shut after realizing they’d been parted this whole time. Your face flushes from embarrassment.

“He is dashing” Another says, eyes glazed over as if stuck in a daydream.

“I heard he’s not married. Who do you think a guy like him meets?”

“Probably a super model. Or an A class actor.”

You quietly listen in on the gossip for the rest of lunch.

When you return back to your office seat, you wonder if you should send him a text about it.

Something along the lines of, why didn’t you tell me earlier? like, years ago? I thought you were a drug dealer!

You’re bordering on exasperation and anger he didn’t tell you sooner, and curiosity and relief that you finally found out, when an employee quietly approaches your desk.

He’s dressed in a fancy suit, like the ones that were escorting Sylus down at the lobby earlier.

You look at him inquisitively before he leans in and whispers in your ear.

“The CEO would like to see you now. Privately.”

You nod and follow him through the building halls. A small smirk plays on your lips as you rummage through a million scenarios to find the one that will successfully corner Sylus and make him admit his fault for not telling you sooner.

And, just like always, you will get your way.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Posting this again on my new blog :(

[babybluebex]

fuck em all but us pt.1 | tryst (fakes) x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: part 1 of 2! before shit got fucked with zoe and becca, tryst was your best friend. despite highs and lows, will-theys and won't-theys, you were each other's ride or dies, and it felt like nothing could jeopardize that. standing by each other's side for every little moment, you grew up together, and despite always wanting to be more, you were happy with what you got. the weird kids always find each other, y'know? wc 7.5k title stolen from watermelon by john + jane q. public 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: tryst (fakes, 2022) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR FAKES! angst out the ass here folks, underage drinking/drug use/smoking (none depicted but is discussed)(like honestly look at the source material, it's gonna come up), of-age drinking/drug use/smoking, mentions of addiction/dependency issues, discussions of mental health and manic episodes, mentions of sex (but none actually depicted— sorry! that's for part two wink wink), mentions of condom usage (and the consequences if not used)(again look at the source material tryst is canonically a father) 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: prepared for this to get like 5 notes but whatever. think of this as like the prologue to the show, showing how reader and tryst met and became friends, which then will inform part 2, which will highlight parts of the show. i had a lot of fun writing this, and what i've written of part 2 so far is a lot of fun as well eek!! also major thanks to @mustyrosewater who helped me brainstorm some finer details, and @thekid-ofsteel who answered every single canada question that i, as an ignorant american, needed answered <3 hope you enjoy, follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!!

10 years before shit got fucked: weird kids find each other. That’s how you always described the way that you and Tryst met. You went to the same high school in West Vancouver, right after you moved there, a lowly little grade nine kid who was a hint too shy and a hint too black-sheep to have any real hope of making friends. Even before your family moved from Victoria, you knew that high school was gonna suck for you, and the new locale didn’t give you much more hope, but then you met Tryst. 

He was weird too. He was older than you, on his way out as a senior, but you had shop class together and, as it always happened, the two weird kids were made to be partners. The teacher called his name in the roll— “Smith comma Trystan”— and he halfheartedly mumbled “Just Tryst”, then added under his breath “Just like last year…” You remembered back then, he styled his hair in a sorta sideswept 5-years-too-late Justin Beiber type situation, and he always wore chipped green nail polish, but, that first day, he said he liked your Twilight t-shirt and smacked the side of his head when he forgot your name, and he endeared himself to you. 

That year went far better than you could have imagined, all thanks to Tryst. You called each other your Ride or Dies, and you fully meant it. You had never had a friend as good as him— he was goofy and silly, eccentric and loud, but when you would call him in tears, he would shush you softly and sweetly and go “Hey, it’s okay. You wanna come over? I just got the new Mortal Kombat DLC, you wanna come watch me eat shit?” And you always did, sitting on the edge of his bed and wallowing in your sadness as he played his game and made you feel better, just by being there. If watching him fail didn’t work, he’d borrow the car keys from his mom on account of “We need snacks” (you’re so certain Miss Smith thought you two were constantly smoking up in his room, which wasn’t a totally inaccurate statement— perhaps there was a side of bong rips with watching his character get their spine ripped out) and take you out. 

His favorite spot was at the top of a hill that overlooked the bay, quiet and serene, and you would sit on the roof of his car and talk. You and Tryst could talk for hours, and often did, about everything and nothing, serious and not. Some of your favorite memories with him were on that roof at night, admitting things to him that you never would have said to anyone else. You had a joke— if the thing you were about to say could possibly be met with judgement, you would say “Immunity Necklace” like from Survivor, and you’d be safe from judgement from the other. You and Tryst Immunity Necklace’d each other constantly on that car roof, even if it really didn’t warrant it: “Immunity Necklace, I’m worried about my pre-cal test tomorrow.” or "Immunity Necklace, you smell like weed."

Sometimes, though, the Immunity Necklace was completely necessary. Your high school had big three events throughout the year, Homecoming in the fall, the Winter Formal just before Christmas, and prom in the spring. Tryst had taken you to the Homecoming bonfire, but not the dance because “Dances are for nerds and lame-os, and that’s not us”, but you knew that Tryst had brought you out to the overlook that night to ask you to be his date to the Winter Formal. There was just one problem with that. “Alright, Immunity Necklace,” Tryst had chuckled, only half his heart in it. You mimed putting the necklace over your head, not a necessary part of the joke but done when the mood needed lightening, and Tryst sighed. “I, um… I need a date for the dance next week. I was gonna ask Sarah, but she already has a date, so that’s…”

The mere mention of Sarah made venom pop in your mouth; you hated her. She was perfect, an everything type of girl, pretty and sweet, and even though she was nice, she had caught Tryst’s attention instead of you. You couldn’t decide if your jealousy was crush-related or borne simply out of a different girl having your best friend’s attention, but you kept that to yourself. “But, um, I was wondering—”

You sighed, dropping your hands from around your ‘necklace’. “Tryst,” you started. “I… Agh, fuck. Someone else already asked me.” 

“Who?” Tryst was hardly ever serious, not exactly the low voice and furrowed eyebrows type of guy, but he was in that moment, and he asked, “Who asked you? You didn’t even tell me you were seeing anyone.” 

“I-I’m not,” you started, unsure why you felt like you had to clear your name. “But… It’s, um… Alex. From my pre-cal class. He’s been tutoring me, and we’ve been getting along, but we’re not dating, but, um, he asked me a few days ago.” 

“Alex?” Tryst scoffed. “Like, with the…?” He flapped his hands above his head, an obvious allusion to Alex’s fauxhawk hairstyle, and you nodded. “Dude. Ew. He smells like lobster. Are you kiddin’ me? And you said yes?” 

“He does not smell like lobster!” you laughed, shoving Tryst’s shoulder. “And yes, I said yes! I mean, if I had known you wanted to ask me, I would’ve said no, but, like… I didn’t know! I thought for sure you and Sarah were gonna—”

“Nah,” Tryst said, shaking his head. “Someone got to her first too.” He was smiling, but you could tell he was harboring a sadness, a disappointment, and it hurt your heart to know that you contributed to that.

If you were in a movie, one of the ones you and Tryst liked to rent to make fun of and throw popcorn at the TV when the inevitable love story happened, this would be where you leaned over and kissed him. You had thought about it, of course, but Tryst never gave you any indication that he liked you like that, so you clammed up. “Shit,” you whispered, opting instead to take his hand and rub your thumb along his. “Sorry, buddy. That sucks.” 

“Eh, it is what it is,” he said. “But without her, and without you, I don’t know who I’m meant to go with.”

“Can’t you go by yourself?” you asked. “Or, like, not go at all? Back at Homecoming, you said dances were for dorks or whatever.”

“Well, yeah,” Tryst said. “But I was just… I don’t know. I graduate in the spring. I wanted to maybe do the whole high school thing the right way before I leave.” 

You didn’t see Tryst at the Winter Formal the next weekend. You had texted him a picture of you in your dress, and he opened the message immediately but didn’t respond to it. In fact, he only responded to it towards the close of the night, when Alex the Lobster-Scented Wonder (Tryst was right, the dude did smell a little like shellfish) had you in the backseat of his dad’s car. It wasn’t the optimal way to lose your virginity, and you had started to hopefully imagine that you’d open your eyes and be looking at big blues as it happened, but whatever. Everyone’s cherry had to get popped at some point, and that was yours. Tryst’s text just said u look like a million bucks :)

He didn’t make the same mistake twice, though. He seemed to give up on the Sarah fantasy, because he asked you to prom the first day back from holiday break. It wasn’t a grand event, sitting at your designated lunch spot, under the bleachers at the soccer practice field, cross-legged as you stole his carrots and he ate your peanut butter crackers, and he said, “Got a date to prom yet?” 

“Um, considering it’s January and prom isn’t until April, I’d say no,” you laughed. “Why, do you?”

“Depends how you answer,” Tryst said, wiping the crumbs off his hands. “How ‘bout it?” 

You still don’t think your parents or his mom were fully convinced you weren’t dating back then. Prom night started fun, pictures at a park close to your overlook, constantly fixing his hair in the wind of an approaching thunderstorm, going to dinner; a group of kids from your school were at the same restaurant in their little prom-caravan, but you liked it far better just you and him alone. Getting to the event, though, made your palms go clammy, and you bit the inside of your lip, and thankfully, your best friend noticed. “Do you not wanna go in?” he asked. 

“I-I do,” you said. “Just… S’alot of people. B-But you’re a senior, this is the last time you’ll be able to, we should—”

“Stop that,” Tryst told you gently, taking your hand in his. You were no stranger to Tryst grabbing your hand, especially when he could tell you were on the precipice of a spiral, but this was nice, sweet; it felt different, his thumb dragging soothingly on the back of your hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve never been to this thing before; honestly, my heart won’t be broken if we skip. I mean, we skip shop together all the time, let’s just skip prom too.” 

Tears started to well in your eyes, and Tryst was quick to grab the handkerchief from his suit pocket and dab under your eyes. “Dude, you spent so long doing that, don’t fuck it up,” he chuckled softly. “I feel like I make fun of you a lot, but, really, you look fuckin’ gorgeous tonight.”

“Thanks,” you sniffled. “You clean up pretty good there yourself, T.”

“Aw, shucks,” Tryst said. “How about this? We leave this place, run back by my house, I can grab my bong and my fake, we go get some booze, head to the overlook. How does that sound?” 

You laughed. “Worst Shining spinoff ever,” you said, and Tryst smiled, his cheeks going pink. And that’s just what you did. He got you a change of clothes while he was inside, and you laid your head in his lap as you sat on top of the car, surrounded completely by him, his warmth, his smell, his adoration, him. You loved the feeling of that. You moved yourself to look up at him, his eyes fixated on the skyline on the other side of the bay, and you whispered his name. 

“I love you,” you told him softly, and he looked down at you and smiled warmly. 

“I love you too,” Tryst told you, his hand coming to caress your hair. “Fuck, this fall’s gonna suck.” 

“Why?” you asked. “I mean, you’ll be here, won’t you?” The way he bit his lip and looked away from you told you everything. “Won’t you? Tryst? Where are you going?”

Tryst swallowed thickly. “I got accepted to university,” he started. “I, uh, got the letter last week… I had applied way back in September, when I had no friends, no reason to stay in West Van, I was hoping that they, like, forgot about me…”

“Tryst?” you started, sitting up. “Where are you going?”

“—They’re offering me a scholarship, I can’t say no—” 

“Tryst!” you sobbed against your will. Your throat felt tight, your chest on fire. The fact he wasn’t coming right out with it made your stomach lurch. Somewhere in America? Further? 

“U-Toronto,” he whispered finally. You felt like you had been punched square in the chest, struggling to catch a breath. Not America, but still nearly across the country, two-thousand miles away. It sucked to live in a different neighborhood than him, you weren’t sure you’d survive with him so far away, in a different city, a different province, nearly a different country; he might as well have been going to uni on the moon. “They-They’ve got a good business school—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you cried. “When were you planning on telling me this?” 

“I…” Tryst sighed. “Soon. I promise. I was gonna tell you at my grad dinner next weekend, but… Fuck, you gave me those eyes just now, said you loved me, I-I couldn’t keep it from you a second longer.” 

“Christ, you were gonna wait another full week?” you squeaked. Your throat felt tight, and your eyes burned with tears. 

“I just couldn’t break your heart like that,” Tryst told you. “‘Cause I knew you’d be upset, I knew it would hurt you, I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“I am upset,” you gasped. “T, I don’t have any other friends! With you gone, I won’t have anyone!”

“What about the dude who took you to Winter Formal?” Tryst asked. “Alex or whatever?”

“As if I wanna hang out with him,” you sniffled. “He hasn’t spoken a word to me outside of tutoring since then.”

“You never told me that,” Tryst said carefully. “Did something happen?”

You sighed. “I mean, yes,” you started. “N-Nothing bad, don’t flip out, but, like, yeah, something did happen… We, um, we fucked in his car, the night of the formal. And he hasn’t spoken to me since, if it isn’t about math class.” 

Tryst was quiet for a minute. He picked at his green nail polish on his thumb, and he finally mumbled, “You never told me that either. Was it… Was it your first time?” 

Your lip wobbled, and you nodded slowly. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Tryst deflate with a sigh, and you added, “I-It’s not like I’m in love with him. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now, but, like... What did I do wrong?” 

In an instant, his arms were around you, pulling you into his body. You cried into his neck, clutching at the back of his shirt, and, even though you knew you’d see him throughout the summer, this hug felt like your last. You wanted to memorize the way his warm body felt against yours, his strong arms circling you and holding you tightly, his hand rubbing your back. Before you could stop it, whispers tumbled from your mouth, right into his ear: “I wish it had been you.” 

You know that he heard you, his hand pausing on your back for one imperceptible second in reaction, but he whispered “Say that again?” 

You shook your head, terrified that his reaction was going to be one of rejection. “I-I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Just say it again,” Tryst whispered. He moved away just an inch, just enough to look him in his eyes— big, blue with a ring of green closest to his pupil, the ones you had wished in that moment were the ones over you, turned hyper-blue with incoming tears— and he said, “Baby, please, just tell it to me again.” 

“I wish it had been you,” you repeated meekly. He had never called you baby before; he wasn’t really the type to do little petnames, or at least you didn't think he was. 

“No Immunity Necklace?” Tryst pressed. “No shit, seriously? You wish it was me that had taken your virginity?” 

“Y-Yes?” you mumbled. “I-I don’t know, Tryst, I’m, like, spiraling right now, I’m fucking heartbroken a-and, fuck, I don’t know. Back when it was happening, I remember thinking about you, b-but not like that! Just, like, I don’t know what I mean!” But you knew exactly what you meant: you were absolutely in love with him, and maybe you had been since the first day in shop class, when he called you the wrong name and you corrected him and he smacked the side of his head and smiled and apologized. 

Carefully, Tryst put his arm around your shoulders, tugging you in tight, and he landed a soft, barely-there, kiss on your forehead. It wasn’t even really a kiss, just nestling his mouth into your temple for a moment, and he whispered, “I meant it just now, when I said I love you too. You’re my best fucking friend in the whole world. I’d be stupid not to love you.”

You sighed. “But not like that?” you asked. You knew where the conversation was going, and a lump formed in your throat.

“Exactly like that,” Tryst whispered to you. “You remember how I was pissed when Alex asked you to formal? I was jealous. I hated the idea that you were giving any guy other than me attention.” Thunder rumbled in the dark sky above you, and Tryst squeezed your arm. “I never thought I’d get to tell you this, so I kept it to myself, but…”

You pressed your head into his shoulder and sobbed. “I don’t want you to go!” 

But go he did. He graduated, had a part-time job at the mall over the summer, but all too soon, he was helping his mom pack up a moving truck to drive 40 hours away for university. You helped him box up the necessary stuff from his room, trying to keep your sadness at bay. It seemed as if your shared confessions the night of prom were forgotten, but you knew it was out of necessity on both of your parts— you were still in school, and a long-distance relationship of that sort wasn’t bound to work out. Both of you had come to the same, independent conclusion: “friends who wished they were more” was better than “lovers who ended up losing each other”. You had hugged him in his driveway and, even though you knew you’d see him again during holiday breaks, it wouldn’t be the same. “Who am I supposed to sit with at lunch?” you whimpered with a watery chuckle, and Tryst’s arms went tighter around you. 

“You’re the best girl in the world,” Tryst told you. “You’ll find a ton of other friends now that I’m not there to stink up the place.” 

“At least you don’t smell like lobster,” you sniffled.

“I love you so much, dork.” 

You texted constantly. You were worried that the conversations would eventually peter off, until you were just some figment from his past, but that never happened. He kept you up to date on everything— people you didn’t know, parties in places you had never heard of before, presentations for his business classes, what the dining hall served for dinner, everything. You didn’t have nearly as much to report back to him, but he gobbled up every bit you gave him. It almost felt like he had never left. 

You were the first person he told when he got his first girlfriend, and your heart cracked as he talked about her. She was everything to him, and for a guy who didn’t date up until then, it was significant for him, but your conversations about her were laced with an uneasiness on both ends. You wished you were her, and he did too, and you both knew it. That relationship didn’t last very long, just from the new year into the end of term, her saying something about not wanting to be “tied down” over the summer. He didn’t seem too broken up about it over the phone, and, when you went to the airport with his mom to pick him up, he was so cheery. There were some things about him that had changed that he hadn’t expressed over the phone— he did his hair differently now, off of his face, and his nails were painted black and not green, and a burgeoning facial hair situation that you told him did not look great, but it was your same boy, his little patch of acne on the tip of his nose and those gorgeous blue eyes. You ran to each other in that airport terminal, and he scooped you up in his arms and hugged you so tight, you felt like you almost couldn’t breathe. You had seen him at Christmas (but not Spring Break; he had stayed in Toronto that week, to rest up before finals), but that was months ago. This was now, and Tryst was home for the summer.

But back at home, in the comfort of his room, he cried about that girl. It was a totally dickish thing she had done to him, and you didn’t know how else to soothe him other than letting him cry it out. “Hey, I got my driver’s last week,” you told him, smoothing his tears off of his reddened cheeks. “Fuckin’ finally. You wanna go get slushies? Maybe a good cherry will get you to forget her for a second.” That afternoon, you found yourselves on top of your car for a change, at your same outlook— you never went if he wasn’t with you. You had missed Tryst, and he missed you. But neither of you dared talk about your conversation, now a year old. It was unspoken, so unspoken that you truly weren’t sure if it still applied, if he still loved you or not. 

As the years passed, you were still firmly each other’s best friends, but you could hear a friend group forming for him, the same few names popping up every so often. It warmed your heart, even if you lied to him that the same was happening for you. He had more girlfriends after the first one, and even though he never explicitly told you that he was having sex with them, you just knew.

One night, you were upset about something (looking back, you couldn’t remember what, so obviously it wasn’t that important, or maybe the ensuing conversation overshadowed every memory of the incident) and had called him to whine about it. It took him a second to answer, and, when he did, he seemed a little out of breath. “Hey,” he said quickly. “I’m busy right now, but I do wanna talk. Gimme, like, 20 minutes?” You weren’t sure if he knew that you heard the girl on the other side telling him to get off the phone and to come back and fuck her, but your stomach curdled. You agreed to him, but didn’t call back that night, even though he tried to. The next time you talked, you lied and said you had fallen asleep and, even though his voice seemed skeptical, he took your word on it. 

You finished school right around the time Tryst dropped out of university. He was in his third year, nearly finished, but he decided it just wasn’t for him anymore. You were confused by it— he loved his classes, so where did this come from?— but he assured you, along with his family, his mom and gaggle of brothers and sisters all older than him and spread across the country, that he knew what he was doing. Within weeks, he had moved back to West Van, and you grinned every time your phone lit up with his name. Just like old times; he was outside your house, waiting to pick you up and take you to the overlook. 

When you went to a local community college that fall, he stayed by your side, and you by his. Life felt good with him around, and you almost forgot about the brief awkwardness while he was at university. But you never truly forgot, especially once Tryst started dealing. It didn’t surprise you, exactly; he was a good entrepreneur and extremely charismatic, especially as he got older. Getting into his 20s, he seemed to gain some sort of confidence that made him nearly unrecognizable to the kid you met, but he wasn’t a kid anymore— he was a man, and his newfound general attractiveness only served to make your skinny love worse. And the worst part was, Tryst knew he was hot now, and he used it to his advantage. He had consistent customers, and a steady stream of them, but your jealousy grew every time you were witness to a pretty girl flashing him a smile. No! Where were they when he was awkward and weird in high school, acne and MySpace hair and cracking voice? You loved him back then, they didn’t get to reap the benefits of him now. That wasn’t fair. 

A year and a half before shit got fucked, Sarah made her return. Tryst told you immediately that he had seen her again, sold her a little bit of molly earlier that night and got to talk to her, a sort of off-handed “ghost from the past” type thing, and he had flopped onto your couch and scooped your cat into his arms. You had lived by yourself for a little bit by then, and Tryst would come crash at yours frequently enough so that he didn’t have to technically lie and say he still lived with his mom. “She’s gotten really pretty,” Tryst said, half to your cat, whom he called Tiny Homie, and half to you. 

“Yeah, well, so have you,” you chuckled. “Who knew people get more attractive once they’re out of high school?” 

“It’s a crazy notion,” Tryst agreed. He thought for a second, scratching behind Tiny Homie’s ears, and he softly added, “You think I have a chance with her?”

“Sarah?” you asked, and you shrugged. “I mean, who knows? Does she know you had a crush on her back then?” 

“I don’t think so,” Tryst replied. “But, like… It’s been forever since I’ve had a girlfriend. And also, I just sold shit to her, it’s not like she begged me to dick her down or anything.”

“If she did, would you be game?” you asked. “Like, if she were to text you right now, like ‘Oh, Tryst, I love you, come fuck me into the ground’, what would you say?” 

“First of all, she wouldn’t confess her undying love to me in this scenario,” Tryst started, and you groaned. “But also… I don‘t know. I’d want you to be okay with it.” 

“Me?” you asked. “Why? Am I fucking her too?”

“No,” Tryst said, squeezing his eyes shut. The bell on Tiny Homie’s collar tinkled as he jumped away from Tryst, and he scooted himself to lay on your couch, feet up on your cushions, even though you had told him a million times not to do that. “Just, like… I know you have a history with her. One that’s maybe not great. I want you to like whoever I’m with, y’know?”

“I like her,” you started flatly, carefully— too much emotion, and Tryst would know you’re lying through your teeth. It was a petty vendetta to still hold against someone almost 9 years later, but that didn’t stop you.

“Not in high school, you didn’t,” Tryst countered. 

“Well, no,” you tried again. “‘Cause I thought she was stealing you from me or whatever. But I’m not an insecure 15 year old anymore, I can handle you potentially being all moony-eyed over a girl. Just like you’re fine with me dating dudes who are patently not you.”

Tryst sat up in one motion, like Dracula rising from his coffin. “Dating?” he repeated. “Who?” 

“Maybe dating’s a strong word,” you admitted. “I‘ve been on a few dates with this one guy I met at work.”

“You guys fuck?” Tryst asked, cocking an eyebrow at you. 

“What are you, the guardian of my vagina?” you scoffed. “I don’t ask where your dick has been, keep your nose outta my puss.” 

Tryst narrowed his eyes. “An oddly gatekeep-y answer,” he said liltingly, like it was a riddle. “You told me when you fucked that guy in, what turned out to be, his mom’s bed—”

“Which was disturbing.”

“And the dude who you said smelled like soup—”

“He totally did, too.” 

“You’ve got a thing for dudes who smell like food,” Tryst mused. “I mean, that fuckin’ Alex weirdo when you were in grade nine and now Soup Guy? What do I have to do, stuff my pockets with ravioli?”

“Stop it, I’ll moan,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Are you fucking this guy you’re seeing now?” Tryst asked again. “I won’t stop until you tell me.”

“Fine, yes!” you finally said. “We’re fucking, Jesus Christ.”

Tryst was quiet for a moment, grabbing one of your throw pillows and holding it to his chest as he laid back down, dangling his head off the sofa. “Is he any good?” he asked. 

“Why, are you jealous?” you asked. “I get to fuck a hot guy who’s good in bed, and you don’t?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tryst laughed. “Yeah, it’s definitely that. I miss the strong, warm embrace of a man— No, you dipshit! I just wanna make sure he’s treating you okay, that’s all.” 

“You gonna crack some skulls if he’s not?” you asked, and Tryst’s immediate nod sent shivers down your spine. He had always been protective over you, and you loved him for it. You just wish he was protective over you in a more serious way, in a Girlfriend-Boyfriend type way. 

“Of course I will,” Tryst said. “I’ll kill him. Don’t think I won’t.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” you mumbled under your breath. Your phone buzzed on the table next to you at that moment, and you sighed as you saw his name, Zach, light up your screen. Zach was… Fine. Met at work, went to dinner, fucked a few times. You definitely didn’t see anything long-term with him, and you knew he was on the same page, but the sudden text of what # apt r u i can’t remember made your stomach burn. “Time to go, T.”

“Agh, what?” Tryst groaned. “I just got here, I was gonna shower!” 

“You should’ve done that instead of grilling me about my love life,” you told him, tossing him his worn black messenger bag. “Zach’s on his way up.”

“Ooh, Zach!” Tryst grinned. “I receive the pleasure of meeting thine suitor, fair lady?”

“Shut up!” you laughed, shooting off a quick text to Zach with your apartment number. “Unless you wanna join in on whatever the fuck we’re about to do, get to steppin’.” 

“As much as I’d love to know what Zach’s packin’ down there,” Tryst started, and you wrinkled your nose at him. “I’d rather live in ignorant bliss. Text me when you’re done with this sin fest, I can grab a pizza on the way back.” 

“Wait,” you started, reaching for your wallet and shelling out a few 20 dollar bills to toss his way. “Pizza, and stop by the smoke shop and get me a new vape; it’s so dead, it tastes like I’m smoking an email.” 

“What flavor?” Tryst asked, taking your money and thumbing through it, counting it up. He got real serious when he was dealing with money too, intent on making sure he had a good count on it— his eyebrows, the same dark as his hair was back then, furrowed, a crease in his forehead came out. He meant business, and you liked it. You especially liked the way his hands moved with money— something about the sound of the paper against his skin made your nerves light on fire. You often found yourself fantasizing about his hands, his palms warm and soft, his fingers always a little red and dry from the perpetual cold. He didn’t wear nail polish anymore, and you missed that. “Hello? Flavor, please?”

You snapped out of staring at his hands, and the brief fantasy of how they’d feel cupping your tits. “I’m thinking,” you mumbled, trying to explain your journey to space. “Just, like, I don’t know, blue razz or whatever.”

Tryst made a fake-gagging noise. “Christ, woman, grow up,” he chuckled. “I’m getting you an adult flavor, for adults.”

“Cotton candy?” you clarified. 

“You bet your sweet ass,” Tryst nodded, shoving the money in his pocket. “Pepperoni?” 

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Oh, and get me a bottle of nail polish. Bright green.”

“For why?” Tryst asked, shoving his shoes onto his feet. “You just got your nails done.” 

“Not for me,” you said. “I’m gonna paint your nails later. Remember back when you used to do that?” 

Tryst laughed lightly. “I do,” he said. He seemed hazy for a moment, reminiscing, and he added, “Maybe not my fingers, but I’ll let you at my toes.” 

“Oh, goody,” you sighed. “Tryst’s feet, sign me up.” 

A heavy knock landed at your front door, and you rose from your seat to give Tryst a tight hug goodbye. You always hugged goodbye. Maybe it was an escape for both of you, pretending you lived in a world where it was perfectly normal to press your bodies against each other. Maybe it was an ultra-affectionate friendship thing. Either way, a hug was always in order. “Have fun,” Tryst told you. “Use a condom. And, hey—” He tugged out of the hug for just a second to look you in your eyes, the blues with a ring of green boring into your soul, and he said, “If that dickhead tries anything, call me and I’ll come take care of him. Okay?” 

“He’s not gonna…” you started, but quickly trailed off when you realized Tryst was dead serious. Always protective, your best friend was. “Sure thing. Will do.” 

Tryst landed a kiss on your forehead, and he went to the door, throwing it open. “Ah!” he smiled, and turned back to you. “Your suitor awaits, madam!”

“Get the fuck out!” you laughed. Tryst slid by Zach with a quick “Sup, bro”, some mannish greeting that girls could never get away with, and Zach furrowed his eyebrows at Tryst’s departing form before he stepped into the apartment. 

“We need to talk.”

When Tryst got back later that night, he let himself in with the key that you had made him to find you on the couch, crying. Before he could rant and rave too much about if Zach had done anything to you, you quickly calmed him down, telling him that Zach hadn’t hurt you, only broke up with you. Tryst was confused— “I didn’t think you liked him that much?”— and you lied and mumbled something about “Yeah, I was just tryin’ to downplay it”, but the truth was what hurt: Zach was convinced down to his bones that you were cheating on him with Tryst. In his mind, he couldn’t fathom why Tryst was always around, why you were so close to him if you weren’t fucking. 

But you couldn’t tell Tryst that. He would hate himself if he knew he was the root cause of that. In fact, that’s what your past few boyfriends all said to you— Tryst was more than a friend, had to be, what other explanation was there? The Mom’s Bed Guy, Soup Guy, and now Zach. Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence, three times…? Tryst would never forgive himself if he knew he was the reason for your string of failures. That night, you ate your pepperoni pizza, and Tryst let you paint his fingernails green. 

3 months later, shit started to get fucked, and it all started with Sarah. Fucking Sarah. 

Like, literally, the trouble began with fucking Sarah. Or, rather, the fact that Tryst had begun fucking Sarah. You knew it was happening, and you definitely didn’t cry about it on a regular basis, but you were happy for them. Tryst clarified to you that they were not dating, only sleeping together, some sorta FWB-type thing— “Nobody can replace my favorite girl,” he assured you with a hug. “Only that you won’t let me fuck you.” Only because you aren’t asking, you had wanted to respond, but you kept it to yourself. You knew about it the moment it started, and you were with Tryst the exact moment it ended. 

When he got the text from her, he threw up. You didn’t understand at first what was going on, what the fuck was the matter, but Tryst pushed his phone into your grip with shaking hands as he gagged over your kitchen sink. I’m pregnant. It’s yours. Can we talk? You felt sick yourself; you knew you weren’t kids anymore— hell, Tryst was nearing his 26th birthday, that’s firmly Not A Kid status— but this was a whole different level of adult that you weren’t sure he was ready for. He was happy bouncing around jobs and shitty entrepreneur deals, selling drugs and coming up with get-rich-quick schemes that never worked. Fatherhood wasn’t on the table for him, and you had known it for years. He had told you as much, during your own scare a few years ago. As you two sat together on your bathroom floor, letting the test cook, you had confessed that you didn’t want this potential life— “Immunity Necklace… I’m not meant to be a mom.” —and he agreed. “Immunity Necklace; nobody needs me as their dad,” he had said “I’d be such a shitty dad, and I also don’t wanna be responsible for something else like that… Think I’d fuck them up too bad. I’ll stick with being Tiny Homie’s adoptive, deadbeat father.” Your test had thankfully come up negative, but the picture that Sarah attached to her text message told a different story. 

To his credit, Tryst stepped up. Or, at least, he tried to. He wanted to be there for her, help her out, but Sarah wasn’t on the same page. She rejected nearly every olive branch he extended, and it tore him up. He tried to give her money, but she said her parents were helping out; he offered to drive her to doctors’ appointments, and she declined. The only thing she seemed willing to do was bring him to an ultrasound appointment, and let him have the scans of his daughter. The night that happened, he had sat on your bed, backed into the corner of the wall, just staring at the grey blob on the scan. He had tried to point things out to you that he had had pointed out to him by the doctor, alleged fingers and foreheads, and you tried to see it, but you just couldn’t. He wanted to name her Emma, and thankfully Sarah agreed to that. It was in the spring when Tryst got the call from Sarah that Emma was on her way, but she told him to stay home— it would probably be a long labor, since it was her first baby, and she didn’t want him hanging around the hospital for no reason. 

You had never seen Tryst truly snap before then. He had lashed out before, sure, said and done things that he later apologized for, but that night made you feel sick. You just couldn’t help him, and had to sit and watch as he threw his phone at the wall in anger, cursed Sarah’s name to hell and back. He grabbed his car keys, and you finally had to intervene— “Trystan, please calm down, I don’t want you to leave right now”, and his hyper-blue eyes spilled tears at his full name— but it didn’t work. He came back in the early hours of the morning, obviously drunk based on the smell of him, likely high too, based on the everything else, but now with the yellowest-blond hair you had ever seen. “Gotta be a different guy now,” he reasoned out with a slur, slumping down onto your bed. “Gotta be a man, gotta be a dad. Can’t be old me, gotta be new me.” He fell asleep next to you, his arm sloppily around your waist, and you cried silently into his chest. When he woke up hungover the next morning, bemoaning his regret for the manic hair change, he only had one text on his phone: a picture of a wrinkly little newborn and “Emma Louise, born 4:44 AM, six pounds.” He called her his angel.

The immediate next weeks were hellish. Every day felt like a time loop— Tryst waking up in your bed, hungover and sad, calling Sarah to ask to see Emma, being rejected, getting pissed, drinking because he was pissed, being pissed that he was drinking, over and over. She never let him see her, with the exception of one time. You hadn’t gone with him— it didn’t feel appropriate— but he gleefully showed you pictures. He looked good. Happy. His tiny daughter in his grip, the picture he showed you conveyed a million words, and you felt a tug in your tummy that made you land a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Look at you,” you whispered. “God, Tryst, you’re a dad. You’ve got a kid. I never thought I’d see the day…”

“And to think, I got onto your ass about using condoms,” he chuckled softly. His cheek was flushing pink right where you kissed him, and you smiled. He gazed at the picture on his phone of him and Emma, and he sniffled back tears. “Who woulda thought someone as ugly and fucked up as me could make something so fucking gorgeous? Like, look at that baby, she could be one of those Gerber models or whatever.” 

“You’re not ugly,” you told him softly. You couldn’t even focus on adding anything about the baby model thing. “And you’re not fucked up.” 

“My manic episode and the hair bleach would say otherwise,” Tryst chuckled lightly, and you furrowed your eyebrows. “I, uh… The night Emma was born, that bender I went on, it got back to my mom and she forced me to go see someone… I mean, it makes sense that I’m bipolar, my dad was too apparently, but I…” He trailed off, his eyes falling away from the picture. “Do you think I gave Emma that shit too?” 

“I don’t think so,” you told him quickly; one crisis at a time. “But, hey, don’t worry about that. You’re not fucked up, not even a little bit. And I mean it, you’re not ugly either.”

“Got a big-ass nose,” he mumbled. “I look like I’m wearing a plague mask half the time.” 

“Stop it,” you frowned. 

“My eyes are too far apart—”

“Tryst.”

“My hair looks and feels like hay—”

“Tryst, knock it off,” you sighed. “I think you’re handsome. Okay? Is that acceptable? Everyone thinks you’re chopped, except for me?” 

Tryst looked over at you affectionately, adoringly, and he put his arms around you, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. “That works,” he whispered. “Everyone except for you… You’re always my exception.”

And, God, how you wish you could have been more. 

[angelgoeslewd]

Dreams of Crimson

🔮 summary: it starts off small. but Pierrot is nothing if not observant. it's hard to miss the way his color slowly starts creeping into your everyday life.

⚠️ warning: none so far in this fic, but please be aware that this blog (and this game, I believe) are 18+!

💫 a/n: this visual novel has been following me around, much like Pierrot himself. I am completely obsessed with this man clown demon thing. Simping for clown men was NOT on my 2025 bingo list. yes I wrote this all in one sitting at midnight LEAVE ME ALONE I AM CRAZY ABT THIS MAN. yes there is potentially a smutty sequel. and a follow up.

‼️ DISCLAIMER: The Freak Circus (and Pierrot!) belong to @nekoboydreams ! I am simply borrowing him for my own guilty pleasure. ❤️ Please go check out their blog and their amazing game on itch.io!

"Pierrot!"

Your voice is like a melody of untold saccharine promises, sweetly rising above the crowded sidewalks; you’re shouting for him, but you could’ve whispered and he still would’ve heard, heard the familiar beat of your heart, it’s rhythmic pounding as known to him as the back of his hand.

His fingers unwillingly clenched a bit harder, crinkling the flyers in his hand — his heart does too, but that’s another matter entirely. What does matter, is the fact that you are searching for him, out of your own desire, pushing against the crowds of people to find your place in front of him.

“Pierrot!” You exclaim, your voice as light and sunshiny as the summer breeze, chest heaving with effort from your ordeal to get to him, but finally, finally!, within reasonable distance. He can feel his face flush as he raises a hand to greet you, bells on his hand tinkling as he tilts his head in question. Oh, how he wished he could tuck that strand of loose hair behind your ear, how he wished he could embrace you lovingly, feel your heart against his chest, the sweat dripping down your neck as he leaned in and—

You giggle, reaching forward to coyly grab his raised hand with your own and letting the intertwined pair swinging between the two of you. Your actions pull both of you closer and Pierrot nearly squeaks, but he cannot. It is imperative he does not.

“Flyers again today, huh?”

He nods, still trying to meet your eyes and not stare down at your hands. He fails quite often, however, and your smile grows a bit larger.

“Will you have time to come by the shop today?”

He's trying not to keep looking, trying to focus on your question. Still, he can't prevent the way his body is going rigid, trying to keep his twisted devotion at bay, hurriedly attempting to push down the acid he can feel creeping up his throat, his saliva filling his throat, nearly spilling through his lips that he's since pressed shut.

You seem to notice this battle within himself, your head tilting down and to the side, subtly loosening your grip on his hand to stroke your finger up his arm.

Your red-tinted finger.

There, on your nails, is the exact color of Pierrot's coat, painted upon yourself. Like his pin is no longer enough for you. Must you cover yourself in his own color? Do you know what this does to him? Do you understand what this means?

He trembles under your touch. You bite your lip.

"You'll... be there, yeah? Promise...?"

You lean in at the last part, mimicking his own scene at your human workplace, and it drives him absolutely wild.

Mimickry is the highest form of flattery, after all...

Pierrot swallows, his eyes now no longer able to leave your face. The way your own gaze shifts to something... dark, it haunts him. Leaves him burning with a desire to pick you up and carry you off this instant, see if you can handle what wicked form his love comes in. But he knows he cannot do that, no. This town is far too suspicious of them already. Such a scene would cause unnecessary issues. And potential authority involvement. Something he absolutely needed to avoid, unfortunately.

He nods. Your fingers leave a cold, lonely path as they retract.

"I'll see you there," you whisper, no longer quite so innocent, lips puckering in what could be an air kiss as you leave, a last glance thrown his way. Or it could be simply a trick of the light. Pierrot's reality is slipping. He cannot discern which it is.

When he looks down, all the flyers in his hands have holes punctured in them, perfectly aligned with his fingers.

You, on the other hand, would love it if Pierrot could show up more often. It would save you from the utter boredom that is your shift. Another day, another shift, another personality you shift to in order to line your pockets with as many tips as you can get. The wariness gets to you, especially when the frost keeps everyone coming in for another hot pot of coffee. But Pierrot… he’s… different, you think, pressing down the button to brew another batch of black coffee. A unique spice (or, rather, sweetness?) to your day, something… new. You ponder if it’s the trace of intimidation and fear you get when you’re around the mysterious man, or maybe the thrill of exhilaration, as you shake the canister of sugar into someone’s cup, the way his eyes outline your figure, undressing you with nothing but his gaze, like he wants to peel every article of clothing off of you with his teeth.

“Ouch! …oh. Oops.” The cup overflows. Hot coffee burns your finger as you pull it away and wipe down the counter, erasing your mistake with nothing more than burning cheeks.

As the customers idly chat about another missing person, another piece of gossip, your hands and body go through the motions: make, serve, clean, smile, but your heart and mind are somewhere else entirely. The way Pierrot looked at you this morning, the way he said your name with such affection when you were alone... You are utterly enchanted with that man, regardless of what your boss said. You got this sick sort of fulfillment whenever you were near him, like that was where you needed to be. This need to be his. It was almost embarrassingly juvenile. The way you wished for more, more, more of him, like you were a grown-assed person with your own life, your own desires. It was like, ugh, it was like he was becoming a part of you and you were falling right into the trap.

"And did you hear... he was walking around with the same color lipstick she was wearing, right there on his cheek!"

A gasped, "no!" follows suit.

Your eyes blink over to the table next to the counter. Their words catching your ear with an eagerness you’ve never felt before. It gets too many ideas spinning, like a web of unholy strings lacing up your heart.

“Hey… Boss? Can I have a quick break? I need to run out really quick.”

Though, maybe you would regret saying you wanted your devilish red suitor around more often, knowing how often Harlequin followed whenever you had contact with Pierrot.

“Hello, little one.”

“Ugh. You again?”

Harlequin’s smile grows ever wider, but so does the corners of his eyes… or, mask? You still can’t tell. You’re wondering how he does that when he speaks again.

“Don’t sound so disgusted, darling. I know you’ve been missing me.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, clutching the small paper bag closer to your chest, your eyes scanning for a way around the tall man as he corners you between the pharmacy and the sidewalk. “As if. Keep dreaming.” You move to go around him, but his bells jingle as he sticks out an arm to stop you. “What do you want now? I’m still not taking a ticket from you.”

“No… I have something else in mind. Whatever is in the bag, dearest?”

You look away quickly, too quickly, unfortunately, and an emerald colored arm reaches out to grab the corner of your purchase, which you, of course, try to slap away, but he’s too fast, and ends up grabbing the offending appendage.

“Oh, ho, ho! What ever could that be, you’re so eager to hide? Could it be something for that Pierrot?”

“No!” You exclaim, trying to tug away from him. “No, it’s just… something for me.”

“Now, why don’t I believe you? What a naughty little one you are, continuing to lie when I know the truth?”

You feel your face begin to burn and you’re starting to put your entire body into pulling your hand back, when you feel warmth, behind you. You look up, and there, towering above you, is Pierrot, a dark look taking over his face, as he stares directly at Harlequin. In a flash, his hand is taking yours, ripping it out of Harlequin’s grasp with almost no effort. You feel like it should’ve hurt, but he’s delicately clutching you like you’re a petal that’s landed in his clutches.

“Pierrot… that’s not very nice. We were having a lovely conversation! Weren’t we, dear?”

You say nothing, just huff your annoyance, and turn around, pressing your bag to your chest once more.

“How… petulant,” he clicks, though he sounds less annoyed and more amused, he punctuates this with a low, dark laugh, that sends chills running up your spine, “Well. If there’s really no more fun to be had here… I’ll see you around, darling. Try not to keep me waiting.” And you don’t hear him leave, but you just know he’s slinked off into another dark alley to haunt, leaving the two of you somewhat alone.

You end up speaking first. “I… I’m sorry, Pierrot. I didn’t think I’d end up causing you more trouble today.” You sigh, letting your arms fall to your sides, as you raise your eyes to meet his. They softly scan your face, concernedly looking you over. “He didn’t get to me, don’t worry. He was just… pushy today.”

Pierrot pulls your hand up to inspect, and you wiggle your fingers in his grasp, giggling as his attention. “I promise! I’m fine, nothing hurts!” He nods, but moves your hand up to his mouth, gently pressing your hand against it. “A kiss for my boo-boo? Awww, Pierrot! Well… I’ve got something for you too.”

He lets you take your hand back and you rummage around in the bag you were so desperate to preserve a minute around, curious eyes following as you pluck out… a tube of lipstick.

A tube of red lipstick, to be exact.

Your eyes flutter downwards as you explain, “It- It was supposed to be a surprise… But Harlequin is good at ruining my plans.”

You can’t tell what Pierrot is feeling for a moment, because he just goes still. And then… he’s shaking, head to toe, gloved hand reaching out to pull the container from your grasp, his breathes coming in loud and heavy, louder than you’ve ever heard them, and he’s using a finger to push up your face, uncapping the lipstick, and shakily tracing over your lips, though, he begins to shake too hard near the end and you have to reach up and guide his hand over the last part of your lips. And when it’s done…

He drops the lipstick so fast you don’t even have time to exclaim, his arms go around your waist, hoisting you up onto him, your legs wrapping around his torso in reflex, “Pi-Pierrot!” His eyes are locked onto yours, reflecting a gaze that’s just as full of desire, and then he presses his mouth against yours, pulling back, letting you see the way your lipstick smeared on his mouth before dipping his head back in for another, and another, and another.

You’re laughing by the end of it, as he takes his second-hand lipstick covered lips and places kisses down your neck, red marks blooming all down your jugular, incomplete and messy and all around gorgeous because they’re from him.

“I, I was supposed to do this to you! Pierrot! Stop! We’re still in public!” Though it’s hard to believe you really want him to, as you playfully hiccup with giggles every time he does it. Eventually, he pulls away for a final time, you still in his arms, and Pierrot simply grins at you, nodding his approval.

“I’m surprised you can hold me this long. You’re really strong, Pierrot. But… you liked it then?” He eagerly nods. “Good. I was hoping you would. I, uh… gotta get back to the coffee shop. I took my break to do this… and I was planning on doing this later but… you know. Maybe later we can… do some more?” He nods, again, more resolutely this time, and you expect him to simply let you down, but he doesn’t. Instead, he dips you down, making your arms fly up and around his neck, and presses one more kiss to your mouth, before he lets go of your legs, but keeps one arm on your waist in order to lower you to the ground, mouths still connected.

You pull back, hoping people don’t notice your bashfulness, and wave Pierrot goodbye. Well. You didn’t expect your teasing to backfire, but… that was a good thing, right?

And Pierrot… he watches your form leave, utterly dumbfounded. His fingers come up to touch his lips, wondering if this was real, or another dream he’s conjured up about you. But the way they tingle when he presses against them has him growling lowly. It’s not enough. He needs more of you. And you… are so pliant, letting him trace over your life in red colored ink, tugging him further and further into a fate from which there is no return. Just how far will you take him into these depths…?

[sugawhaaa]

Han Jisung Drabble

•.•.•Morning after•.•.•

Warnings:: SMUT

Pairing:: jisung x fem!reader

Genre:: morning after, fluff, mentions rough sex,

A/N:: I'm back from the grave...✨️ anyway this is a bit of a teaser thing for a fanfic I'm writing for Han, this is kind of like part 2 of the fantic I haven't even posted yet 😭

Skz masterlist:: 🧡

When you first came to everything felt kinda fuzzy. You and Han had been dating for a while now and you'd slept in his bed many times so waking up beside him wasn't anything new. However, waking up next to him, naked, covered in hickeys and bruises was new.

Han was still balled up in blankets, sleeping away. He had a few marks on his neck as well. His cheeks were puffed out as he slept, his breathing heavier than average. Something about the way he looked right now was so endearing. However when you sat up all that endearment seemed to dwindled.

It seemed as though every bone and muscle in your body ached from his behavior last night. Jisung got a little jealous and possessive of you and when you showed that you were into it, he went to town. Your jaw ached and the corners of your mouth were undoubtedly red fron friction, your hips and upper thighs were stiff and potentially bruised. Your head throbbed, probably because you were dehydrated and perhaps because Han was pulling on your hair half the night.

You manage to drag yourself out of bed and put on some clothes, baggy mismatched clothes, half of which belonged to Jisung. As you head to the door you glance back and Han, noticing the redness of his back. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was scratch marks, scratches from your nails... seems like the both of you have lots of marks to prove your fun last night.

After leaving his room you're greeted by a few of the members sitting at the dinner table eating what they call breakfast. At first, none of them seem to notice anything odd about you until you sit down. Dark circles under your eyes, frizzy hair, and marks all over your neck and upper chest. Lee know smirks to himself before taking a sip of coffee.

"Have a long night?" Felix tilts his head, trying to be a good sport about this but deep down he finds it humorous.

"That's one way to put it," you groan before resting your head on the table, arms supporting your head. With your head down you suddenly feel a hand slide up to your head and fluff your hair. When you pick your head up you see Jisung, a tired smile on his lips. He wears a grey hoodie and black sweatpants, a typical Jisung morning outfit. He leans down to talk to you on a quieter level.

"How you feeling this morning? Was it too much?" A guilty smile spreads across his face and it's somehow endearing.

"A little stiff...very stiff," you rub your hip bone and Han blushes before giving you a hug. The members ignore the two of you having your little moment and leave you be.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles but his words are sincere. You put a hand over his.

"It's okay, it was amazing," you peck his cheek. Changbin then claps his hands together.

"Okay let's get today rolling," he smiles awkwardly before drawing everyone's attention. Jisung steals one last glance at you before giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

[flawlesslogic5]

What If Ford Had Been Arrested in 1982?

Ford is SO lucky that the cops in Gravity Falls didn't go a lot harder on him while he was possessed by Bill.

Public indecency, disturbing the peace, property damage, messing with an officer, any one of those could and would get you arrested, not to mention the fact that he probably seemed like he'd been taking something to act that way.

I'm sure Bill wouldn't have allowed them to arrest Ford, but he was still trapped in the body of a sleep-deprived, probably at least semi dehydrated and malnourished guy up against fully rested cops with weapons, numbers, and society on their side. If they really wanted to, the police could have incapacitated Ford and taken him into custody.

I mean, they could have taken him in on suspicion of having taken drugs alone, the rest is just icing on the cake.

So if they had taken him in, I'm not sure what the exact policy would be. Stick him in the drunk tank till he sobers up? Take him to a hospital? Gravity Falls is a small town, it's late at night, they might not have the resources to take him out of town. I'm inclined to think they decide to just keep him there for a bit till they can sort out their next steps.

I'm between Bill fighting tooth and nail to get out of letting them take him in because he finds the human 'justice' system hilarious. Sitting a dangerous person in a small, easy to escape from room with other dangerous people? Sounds like a fun evening to him!

Once they do prisoner intake (and boy, does the officer on duty feel a little sick after that one- between the disturbing marks on his hands to the yellow eyes, this might be the worst intake that he's done in a long, long time), Bord (Bill as Ford) requests a phone call- surely he's entitled to one under meat sack legal laws!

So they let him have one. Maybe they just don't want to fight him on it. Maybe they're hoping he'll call his dealer so they can nip whatever this is in the bud. But he clumsily keys in a phone number and stares at a wall like it's a person as he makes the call.

Across the country, in a shitty New Mexico motel, Stan Pines answers the vaguely crusty phone in his room, thinking it's the front desk asking for payment he'll need to dodge. He answers, because it would be way too suspicious not to.

"Hello?"

"Hey, brother, it's Sixer. I'm going to take a swim in the frozen lake tomorrow, and I might not ever come back, so if you don't hear from me, I just want you to know that it's because I never loved you. BUH-BYEEEEE!"

Before Stan can say anything, before Stan can do anything, before Stan can breathe the line dies. He's left with nothing but a high pitched ringing on the line and someone screaming.

Oh wait. It's him. He's screaming.

Meanwhile, the police wince at each other while dragging Bord to the drunk tank to cool off. They quietly decide to have someone stick with him, just in case, since that phone call was... really something.

Once he's out of the room, one of the officers quietly decides to redial the number their prisoner called.

Once he realized he was screaming, Stan quickly stopped and began to punch in a number he'd memorized front and back- Ford's number. He'd say something this time, he had to.

But before he can key in the last number, ironically enough a 6, the phone rings. Stan answers it, hoping, hoping, hoping. "Sixer?"

"Hello, this is Lieutenant Winston from the Gravity Falls Police Department. I'm calling in regards to a, er, phone call you may have just received."

Well. Unexpected, but Gravity Falls sounds about right, Stan's pretty sure that's where Ma told him Ford was living. "Is my brother there?" he asks, cutting to the chase.

"Stanford Pines? Yes, we have him."

"What happened?"

"He's been arrested for public indecency, disturbing the peace, assaulting an officer, and suspected drug usage."

Stan whistled. "Damn." Ford was as much of a troublemaker as Stan was as a kid, but public indecency? Drugs? None of that sounded like Ford. Stan, sure, but not Ford, not the golden boy, not the genius, not the one who was going places.

"Frankly, sir, we're very concerned about his mental health, especially after... what he just said to you a minute ago."

Well, Stan may hate cops with a burning passion, and he sure didn't like the idea of one listening in on his conversation with Ford, but at least this one seemed to understand that this wasn't normal.

"You have him in custody?" Stan asks to confirm his suspicions.

"Yes. He's been arrested but we haven't formally charged him with anything just yet."

"Got it." That would keep Ford at least a little safe, for now. No jumping in the lake for him, at least. Stan knew better than most that there were still... opportunities... that he could take in a cell, but this might just buy Stan a little time to get there.

"Frankly, sir, I'd feel much better releasing him into the custody of a family member than keeping him here. It's his first offence, and he seems unwell. Do you know of any history with substances he may have?"

Stan knew better than to tell a cop anything. Especially since he didn't know. Best to be evasive.

"Honestly, it's been a long time since we've seen each other," he says instead. "You're in Gravity Falls, right? In Oregon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, I'm in New Mexico right now but I'll be there tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. By the way, what's your name? I have to keep a record of who the outgoing calls go to."

Stan panics for a moment. He's wanted in Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and probably still West Virginia if he's being honest. He's not sure if word of that would get to Middle of Nowhere, Oregon, but he doesn't want to chance it, not when Stanford needs him.

Before he can second guess how stupid this is, he blurts out "Shermie Pines, I'm his brother."

[theloveinc]

I’ve actually really been enjoying no-glue press ons lately

[heyitslapis]

Even when I thought we had boundary of just friends, she confuses me.

I tell myself to ignore it. That it's just a game for her and that she really is just comfortable with me as a friend.

But we all went out Sunday night (you, me & Sam). You asked us again if Sam & I were still "not a thing." We both told you the truth (for like the 10th time): we're not a thing. There's no sort of situationship or anything like that. We're just friends.

**((also I fucked up one of my tags I meant to say that Alice told buddy boy that I threatened to kill *him* again, not that I threatened to kill her. He sounded really serious when he said "i promise v, im leaps and bounds better than anyone shes had before. I would never hurt her." I said "Oh, im sure. Its because thats who you are Ty. Thats what you and I do. We protect people." I'll be so honest yall i was crossfaded as fuck because i was running iff 3 hours sleep & literally no food almost the whole day leading up to our outing. NOT doing that again jfc))**

[ddejavvu]

Helloo!! Sooo I have a picture of mgg as my lock screen but his face isn’t in the picture and I was wonderinggg if you could write about the girls at the bau seeing your background of your phone and it’s some guy but they don’t know it’s spencer and they ask all these questions about this mysterious secret boyfriend you have and asking to meet him and r is just like maybeeee idk knowing that they have in fact met him and maybe spencer is near by and hearing all this and is just all shy and flustered. If you do write this THANK YOUUU you’re writing it phenomenal, one of a kind, it’s so good!!! <333

"Woah, hubba hubba," JJ's eyes bug out at your phone screen, and Emily, forever on JJ's wavelength, snatches it out of your hands before you can properly dim the screen.

"Who is that?" Emily asks everyone's burning question, and one of Penelope's hands squeezes yours, with nails, to emphasize her urgency.

Your lock screen is a picture of Spencer's bare chest clad only in a blazer, the front open in a lewd V that showcases the dark pink kiss marks you'd spread across the smattering of wiry curls he's grown. It's not something you'd meant to flash your coworkers with, and Spencer chokes on his water while Derek hoots and hollers at it.

"There are some things that should be kept private," Rossi drawls, eyes wide and haunted as he stands, "I'm going to get Aaron and myself another refill, just in case any worse pictures get shown around the table."

Hotch laughs at the older man, amusement lining his features handsomely as the group continues to tease you.

"So, when are you bringing this guy around? Not that we'd recognize him anyways, unless he showed up shirtless with lipstick all over him."

"Derek, you-" You barely stop yourself from saying, 'you have met him', instead swerving into an easy insult, "You're the last person I want to introduce him to. You'll never let us live this down."

"None of us will." Prentiss promises, her grin wolfish, "You'll be lucky if Garcia doesn't manage to track him down using nipple-recognition software."

Your technical analyst cackles into her drink, and Spencer makes a hasty getaway.

"I need the bathroom," He paws with burning cheeks at Derek's leg, ushering the man out of his way so that he can speed-walk to the bathroom. You watch him go, hearing Hotch let out a rare laugh at his urgency.

"Poor Spence," JJ croons, "Did you see how red his face was?"

"That kid's almost thirty and I bet he can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing." Derek scoffs.

"He can't. I've seen it." Garcia confirms, "It's pathetic."

"Pathetic," You snort, but what your team hears as agreement, you mean as contradiction. Spencer was nothing close to pathetic that night- sweet and tender, yes, but pathetic, no. He'd cupped your face while you'd spread a smattering of sticky kisses across his chest, and he'd stared into your eyes when you'd taken the picture, a smile on his face even though he'd known his grin wouldn't be in frame.

"Well get all of it out now," Hotch advises, a teasing tone in his voice, "Spencer won't come back if we're still talking about it."

"I'm happy for you." Dave states, setting his and Aaron's drinks down, "But so help me, Y/N, if I ever see your boyfriend's naked torso again, I'll kill myself."

You refrain from telling Rossi he had just seen your boyfriend's bare torso, last week when Spencer had needed to be stripped of his cold, wet clothes, and thrust into a heated blanket for warmth. No one had batted an eye at his brief nudity, and neither had you, because you'd memorized every inch of his skin. You didn't need to ogle him; you could recall his body from memory.

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod at Rossi sagely, "Just don't go through the rest of my camera roll." You see Spencer exit the bathroom, peering cautiously at your table to see if he can predict the conversation before returning, "Or you'll find a lot worse than his chest."

[yuujispinkhair]

MONSTER - Modern!Sukuna x Reader

When you meet a sexy, tattooed stranger in a club, you can't bring yourself to care that he looks like he might be bad for you. In fact, you wouldn't mind if he became the monster in your bed

Inspired by "Monster" by Lady Gaga. A while ago, someone sent me an ask about this song and Sukuna. I can't find the ask anymore, but I hope you will see this story! This is one of my favorite Sukuna songs, and I always feel so insane about him when I hear it. I wish he was the monster in my bed uwu 🖤 Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). 3.5K words. 18+, smut, oral, rough sex, squirting, cumshot, mentions of alcohol. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

You meet him in a club downtown. He's leaning casually against the bar, sipping his vodka, looking so sexy, with all those tattoos adorning his face and his body. He's dressed all in black with tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt to show off his gorgeous muscles. He is confident as hell. Arrogant even. But it makes him even more attractive to you. That smug, playful smirk on his tattooed face drives you crazy.

His face is beautiful, like an angel's, but you can tell that he is the opposite.

A bad boy. The type of guy your parents would tell you to stay away from because he is bad news. The type of guy your friends would fuck in the bathroom of the club because he is too irresistible to turn down, but they would never go for more because he surely brings all kinds of trouble into your life.

But none of that matters tonight. Not to you.

Not when he is so enticing, and there is this intense eye contact between the two of you that makes you feel light-headed. As if his eyes are full of a wordless promise.

You can't stop staring at him, giggling nervously at the way his gaze seems glued to you as you dance with your friends a few meters away. There's a look in his eyes that makes goosebumps rise on your arms. No one has ever looked at you that way. With such hunger in his pretty eyes. Like a powerful predator, a monster watching its prey.

It makes you shiver but, at the same time, you feel like an emptiness you have felt all your life seems to get replaced by something else. Something you have been missing and craving all your life. A kind of desire, a kind of want you have only read about in books or seen on TV screens. The kind of desire and attention you have been dreaming about but never thought would ever be directed your way.

But here he is. The sexiest guy you've ever seen. Like a devil, beautiful and seductive. As if someone overheard all your stupid little fantasies, all your nightly yearning, and manifested it into one person. You want him like you never wanted anything before.

Your friend says something to you, but you don't even hear her. All your focus is on him. And he smirks at you as he sets his empty glass on the bar counter, unashamedly looking deeply into your eyes, making your face feel so hot that you feel like you have a fever.

His eyes and his smirk seem to challenge you. Beckoning you to come over to him. Like a Venus flytrap, which sends out its seductive lure to attract its victims. And you are oh so willing to fall victim to this man.

You are so drawn to him, unable to stop yourself from dancing closer and closer. He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, smirking that sexy, arrogant smirk again. A smirk that becomes wider when he lifts a large, tattooed hand and makes a beckoning gesture with his index finger. There's black nail polish on his nails, you notice, and small tattoos and rings on each finger.

You slip out of your friend's arms and take the last remaining steps toward the handsome devil who's been calling for you all evening. He is so tall that you have to tilt your head to look at his tattooed face. You are met with that arrogant, knowing smirk again. He looks good enough to eat, but you are sure that if anyone devours the other, it will surely be him who sinks his teeth into you.

He exudes confidence and danger, but you want him so bad, and you don't have the willpower to push him away when he puts a large hand on your waist and grinds against you in rhythm with the new song that is playing.

He looks intimidating with his tall height and broad shoulders and all those tattoos and piercings. But somehow everything feels so easy with him. He takes your hand in his much larger one and pulls you closer, drags you into his world, so all you see, feel, and know is him.

And he feels so good against you. Firm and strong, and smelling so good that it makes you bite your lips as you look up at him, trapped in the intense gaze out of those beautiful maroon eyes that almost glow red in the neon lighting of the club.

The bass is thumping loudly, making the whole club vibrate, sending a delicious feeling through your body. Or maybe it's because of the boy in front of you. Because of the way his large hands wander over your body.

His lips claim yours after just a few minutes, kissing you feverishly like you've never been kissed before. He grabs your chin, his thumb brushes over your lips, pulling down your lower lip, and then his tongue licks over your lips, hot and wet and so enticing that it makes you moan.

His kiss is savage. He licks deeply into your mouth, making your head spin as you feel his large, calloused hand cup your chin and tilt your head back, claiming you.

He has a tongue piercing. It feels amazing in your mouth, when he lets the small metal ball glide over your tongue with every deep kiss. It's arousing. It makes you get bolder and run your hands hungrily all over his tall, buff body, feeling him up, feeling all those firm muscles under your fingers, making you wish this dance will never end and you can just keep your hands on him forever.

The fact that he is so tall that you have to get on your tiptoes to even be able to kiss him makes it even hotter somehow. And his hand is on your chin, holding you in place, a long finger caressing your jaw, making you open your mouth even further for him, wanting more of him, wanting to give him more of you. And he takes it. He takes everything you offer him, and maybe even more than that.

Maybe he takes a part of your soul that night. But you don't care. At this point, if he told you he is a monster, a demon, or the devil himself, you wouldn't run, but instead sign over your soul to him oh so willingly, just for one more kiss, just for one more touch.

It feels exciting to be with him. He takes control so naturally, and it feels so comforting somehow as if you can finally let go of everything that has been worrying you. Nothing matters anymore apart from him, apart from this sexy stranger and his skilled tongue in your throat.

At some point, you shout over the music, asking him for his name, and he grins at you and leans down, teasingly licking the sweat off your neck, letting the metal ball of his tongue piercing glide over your sensitive skin before he bites your earlobe and murmurs in your ear,

"Sukuna."

He doesn't ask for your name. Maybe he doesn't care. Or maybe he doesn't need your real name because he already picked a name for you,

"Come closer, princess."

His voice is a low, velvety caress that sends shivers down your spine. Another light bite, his teeth gracing your earlobe, his lips spreading in a smile against your heated skin. No, you don't need him to know your name. You are quite happy with being his princess.

Somehow, it makes things even more exciting, even more forbidden. You are just two strangers dancing and making out in a club, and Sukuna's kisses and body feel so good, and that's really all you need to know.

His tall, firm body is pressed tightly against yours, grinding slowly against you. His large hands wander over your body, wrapping around your waist, his thumbs dipping lower, even in the middle of the dancefloor, teasing you, making shivers run through you. And his breath is so hot on your skin when he whispers in your ear. Nasty promises of what he will do to you.

Sukuna is a monster. He knows exactly what he's doing. He knows exactly how sexy he is and how crazy he drives you with everything he says and does.

He asks you to leave with him, smirking that sexy smirk that has you all crazy for him, and before you can even think twice, you already nod and smile up at his tattooed face.

Usually, you don't go home with strangers. Usually, you don't take any risks. Usually, you are always too scared to enjoy life to the fullest. But tonight, something is different. Or maybe it's not the night that is different, but the boy in front of you.

Sukuna pulls you along toward the exit while your heart beats so fast that you feel light-headed from it. This is the craziest thing you have ever done. It's exciting and scary, but you want it so badly. You want him so badly.

You stumble out of the club behind Sukuna, your hand in his, laughing, feeling so exhilarated, almost high, even though you didn't take any drugs. It's just the effect he has on you. He makes you feel so free, so invincible. As if this whole city belongs to you. As if he is laying it at your feet with the way he looks at you when he turns to grin at you.

"Let's go to your place, princess. Or do you want me to fuck you right here in the back alley?"

You shiver, not sure if all of it is from the chilly night air and the light rain coming down or also from the adrenaline buzzing in your veins. Sukuna's words make everything more real, and your head is spinning, but you refuse to let your fear win. You have never wanted anything so bad as you want this night with Sukuna.

Your face feels hot when you look up at him and tell him,

"We can go to my place."

You have to avert your eyes a split second later, too shy to keep looking into those smoldering maroon eyes after he announced he will fuck you.

Sukuna's low laugh fills the dingy back alley. He puts an arm around you and pulls you flush against his side as he leads you out of the dark back alley and into the glittering lights and the streets filled with a nameless crowd.

You have never done this before. Your mom always warned you about leaving with a stranger. But you feel like you will never forgive yourself if you let this chance pass.

And a little voice in the back of your mind whispers that maybe you won't even mind if Sukuna turns out to be a real monster. You want him to devour you. You are tired of always holding back, of always being the good girl, of always playing it safe. You want to let go for once. You want to experience all the things you have missed out on until now. Even if it means the monster will eat you alive.

And so you smile up at Sukuna as your heart thunders excitedly in your chest, and your small hands grab his tightly, telling him that you only live a few stops away from the club.

You sit on Sukuna's lap on the subway train, not caring about the other passengers, when Sukuna gives you nasty, open-mouthed French kisses that make you squirm needily on his muscular thighs. Your laugh comes out breathless, and you put a hand on his chest, clawing hungrily at his shirt, digging your nails impatiently into the defined muscles beneath it. You have never wanted any other boy in your bed this much.

You put your other hand on Sukuna's neck, fingers running over the short stubble of his undercut and into his soft pink hair, pulling firmly on it and pushing your body tightly against his, humming softly when your tits press against his pecs. This time, you are the one who claims his lips in another passionate kiss while Sukuna's low, amused laughter fills your senses.

Maybe what Sukuna shows you is that not only are you into monsters, but you are some kind of monster, too, driven by a dark desire, desperate and hungry for anything that Sukuna is willing to give you. Desperately craving his tongue in your mouth and his large, rough hands all over your skin. Craving his dick that's pressing hard against your thigh through his tight jeans.

He shoves you against the wall next to your front door, smirking against your lips while he kisses you deep and nasty while you try to find your key in your small handbag. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest when you slip inside the house, taking Sukuna's hand and tugging him along and up the staircase.

No going back.

He tears your clothes right off the moment you step into your apartment, making your pulse flutter when you are standing in front of him completely naked while he is still fully dressed, and his burning gaze trails hungrily over your naked tits and pussy.

He licks his lips, a lopsided grin lifting one corner of his lips as he looks deeply into your eyes,

"You look good enough to eat, baby."

It sends an intense longing through you, making you moan and press your thighs together. Thighs that get pushed apart a moment later by Sukuna's rough hands when he throws you onto your bed, exposing your embarrassingly wet pussy to his smug gaze.

You are in a daze, heart racing, moaning breathlessly when Sukuna buries his handsome face between your legs, kissing and licking your pussy hungrily, teasing you with his tongue piercing, and sucking on your swollen clit in a way that makes you sob and squeal and tug needily on his soft pink hair.

He is unrelenting, holding you down even when your hips buck wildly. Sukuna devours you. Kisses and licks and fucks your pussy with his mouth and his tongue, filling the room with obscene wet noises that make your cheeks burn. He makes you cum twice on his tongue before he lets go of you, smirking lazily at you as he straightens up and pulls his shirt over his head.

You lose your mind all over again when you watch him undress, revealing his broad chest and defined abs and even more tattoos. You moan when his large hands unbuckle his belt and push down his pants.

He puts your hand on his bulge, laughing when he hears your sharp intake of breath when you feel the heat of his hard cock through his boxer briefs.

"Don't be shy, princess. You can touch anywhere you want."

But his laugh turns into a sexy low groan when you rub your face against his abs, trailing kisses down his sharp v-line while your nails scratch his muscular thighs.

You find the courage to pull down his underwear and your mouth instantly wraps around his cock, sucking hungrily on his gorgeous swollen mushroom head. You moan around it, wondering why you find such bliss in feeling Sukuna's dick in your mouth.

You feel high, looking up at Sukuna's face as you suckle lovingly on his swollen tip. Your eyes meet Sukuna's, and it's the most intense eye contact you have ever had with anyone. He smirks down at you, one large hand wrapping around the back of your head, long fingers caressing your hair oh so lightly, making you shiver deliciously.

You suck his thick cock devotedly, holding eye contact, feeling your spit run down your chin and your arousal run down your thighs, basking in the soft groans coming from Sukuna's parted lips.

But he stays in control the whole time. Only lets you suck his cock for a short while, pulling you off it before you can make him cum, pushing you back down onto the bed, but this time he follows you and covers you with his tall, heavy body.

Sukuna is the monster in your bed, who knows how to touch you to turn you into the biggest mess. Deep, hungry kisses and dirty words whispered against your skin. Warm lips suckling on your sensitive nipples and calloused fingers caressing your throbbing clit.

And finally, his hot, thick cock glides teasingly slow between your pussy lips, massaging your clit in a way that makes you moan his name shakily. He fucks you open just around that gorgeous thick mushroom head. In and out. In and out. Giving you just a taste, driving you crazy.

Sukuna truly is a monster. Someone who doesn't just take you but makes you beg for it. Makes you so wild for him that you sob his name and look at him with big pleading wet eyes, abandoning all shyness, begging him to fuck you for real, begging him for his heavy cock. Begging him to fuck your brains out.

When he finally fucks you, it's like you entered a dark paradise. Sukuna fucks you rough and deep, so good that your eyes roll back. You have never been dicked down like that. No other cock has ever made you act this way. Turning you into such a horny mess. Uninhibited, unrestrained, squealing loudly while the headboard of your bed bangs against the wall in rhythm with Sukuna's deep strokes.

It's almost feral how he fucks you, how his hips snap against you, and his lips and teeth mark you up, his large hands restraining your wrists, his low grunts and moans in your ear. Savage. But he never loses control. His dick makes you cry, every thrust so precise, so calculated, making your legs shake and heat coil deep inside you.

It almost feels too good. Sukuna rolls his hips, and he hits that spot inside you that makes you splutter embarrassedly, squirming beneath his heavy body, ashamed of the way your body is reacting, but Sukuna doesn't let you go. He doesn't slow down. He doesn't stop making you feel so fucking good. He doesn't stop until you squirt all over his cock with a loud cry of his name.

And he watches you with a smug smirk playing around his lips. He pulls out after you stop clenching around him, but only to smack his heavy cock against your swollen clit, laughing at the nasty, wet sound of it.

"So messy. Sweet little thing got so excited for me, huh? How cute."

He drives you crazy, makes you lose your mind with everything he does. You're not even able to feel embarrassed anymore when Sukuna kneels over you with those strong muscular tattooed thighs on each side of your body, one hand wrapped around his enormous cock, stroking it with fast, long strokes, while his other hand pushes between your legs, rubbing your clit, spreading your wetness all over it, having you on the brink of another orgasm only seconds later, moaning and whimpering his name as you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

And Sukuna smirks down at you, licking his lips as he moans and tells you to keep looking at him,

"Open your mouth for me, princess. And stick your tongue out like a good girl."

You follow his every command, lost in the rush of the pleasure he is giving you, already feeling the familiar tightening deep inside you again as Sukuna toys with your clit while he jacks off unashamedly over your face.

Two long fingers get shoved into your twitching pussy, right when a low guttural moan escapes Sukuna's lips, and his warm, sticky cum shoots down on you, nutting heavily all over your face and tits, thick and milky. And you cum so hard on his fingers that you almost black out, screaming your soul out.

He silences your screams with another savage kiss, leaning down to cover your much smaller body with his. Your bodies are sweaty and sticky from Sukuna's cum, but you still pull him closer, craving him, wrapping your arms around him and sighing when he rests his weight on you and presses you down into the bed.

His lips claim yours again, kissing you deeply. He tastes addictive, like maraschino cherries and smoke, and somehow you know you will search for this taste all of the rest of your life, in every other person you kiss, but you will never find it again.

Maybe that is the true monstrous thing about Sukuna. He is the best, and everyone else you meet will never even come close to what he gave you.

And tonight, Sukuna is yours, and you can get as much of him as you want. And so you keep kissing him, and touching him, and letting him push his hard cock into you again, letting him fuck you another round, over and over again.

He stays the whole night, blessing you with more kisses and more sex, fucks you from behind, and bounces you on his thick cock until you start crying from the bliss of it.

Finally, he rolls over, grinning lazily at you before he slumps down half on top of you, falling asleep and trapping you under his heavy body, his face buried in your neck and one large hand sprawled over your tits possessively.

He leaves your bed in the morning with your marks on him, deep scratches on his broad back, and dark red hickeys all over his tattooed neck. And you know when you walk past a mirror, you will find the testament of your night spent with Sukuna on your body, too.

But Sukuna's mark isn't just physical. It's much deeper, and you fear you will never get rid of it again. That boy is really a monster, and he consumed you whole.

KUNA, PLEASE BE THE MONSTER IN MY BED!! 😘😘

I hope you enjoyed your wild night with Sukuna!! Thank you so much for reading, and thank you so much to the person who sent me the ask about this song.

Comments and reblogs would be sweet 💗

[jj-one]

r/offmychest: gooning to your friend’s/roommate’s girlfriend is a DISEASE !

this is smut, do not interact if under 18 !

pairing: skz x fem!reader genre/tags: smut, crack(?), perv!skz, they’re all losers in this tbh, chan is aged up to 31 bc that’s #hot, lots of gooning (obvi), obsessive thoughts, questionable morals, jealousy, breeding kink, just overall weirdo behavior words: 5.5k

[ note. ] — this is what i write instead of working on my wips LMAO, i’ve always wanted to do a reddit-style fic so this was sm fun to make :3 lmk what y’all think guys, i’m kinda nervous to post this aghhh </3 (i also kinda wanna make a part 2 of this where reader finds out what they’ve been doing but we’ll see lol)

u/Gnab0325 • posted 2h ago

She’s my best friend’s girl and I edge for hours to the thought of breeding her. I think I’ve broken my brain.

I shouldn’t want her. I know that. She’s not mine. She never has been. But the way she‘ll randomly tug at her lip mid-conversation? The way she stretches when she wakes up on our couch? The way she looks at him like he’s everything. God, I’d kill to be on the receiving end of that look..

And it’s not just want anymore. It’s undying need. I jerk off to her like it’s my fucking religion.

I don’t even touch myself normally now, I prepare. Lights dimmed, music low, lotion warmed. I open a private folder that’s titled “hers” which have subfolders that include:

“T-shirt & no bra”

“Sleepy morning voice”

“When she wore my hoodie once and I couldn’t breathe for 3 days”

I’ve got notes, man. I script it all out in my head like I’m directing some porno. Her on top while she’s riding me, nails dragging down my chest, stuffing her little cunt full while she’s telling me, “it’s okay, baby. You can cum inside, I want it.”

That line alone has made me edge for 4 hours straight. No breaks. No finish. Just throbbing, leaking, begging myself like I was under some spell, I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the sun came up. My sleep schedule was already fucked before this but now I’m lucky if I even get 3 hours.

The worst part? I’m not some dumb teenager. I’m (31M), I lift, I meal prep. I give actual advice to friends about love and self-control. But then she shows up in those tight yoga pants and calls me “Chris” all soft and playful and my dick’s like, “time to worship.”

I had to excuse myself last weekend during game night because she licked whipped cream off her thumb and I felt precum soak through my boxers. I lied and told them I had a call. I was in the bathroom for 45 minutes with her Instagram page open, stroking it in silence like a fucking monk.

I’ve whispered her name into my pillow while cumming so hard my vision went white. I’ve imagined hitting it from the back while I pull her hair and slap her ass and she’s screaming, “fill me up, daddy,” like I won’t put in a baby in her.

Sometimes I imagine her going through my phone and accidentally stumbling upon my secret folder, but instead of her being disgusted by it she’s intrigued. She climbs onto my lap saying, “let me help you finish this time.” If that ever happened? I’d probably pass out mid stroke and die with a hard-on. Bury me in it.

She’s not mine. But in my head, she always calls me first.

Top Comments 💬

u/FertilizedToes: The secret stash of folders was sooo real. Every man has been guilty of having doing it but none of us wanna actually admit it. Thanks for your honesty. You are our prophet.

u/TiredLawStudent: so you imagined her watching you jork it and helping you finish? that’s not edging my guy, that’s astral projection into sin.

u/IfYouSeekAmy123: Wait this is so relatable bc I stroked myself to my friend’s wife yesterday. She was sitting around the corner at the kitchen table and I was around the corner in the hallway. It was a little risky but don’t regret it, would 100% do it again.

u/Lino.Saurus • posted 8h ago

I humped a pillow thinking about my best friend’s girlfriend and cried out of frustration after. I’m not okay.

She’s always touching him and it drives me fucking nuts. She’ll just casually grab his arm during conversation and rest her head on his shoulder, whispering shit in his ear that makes him laugh when I know for a fact I would’ve laughed harder.

I shouldn’t even like her. She wasn’t initially my type (not looks wise), it’s just she’s annoying. She talks too much. She calls everyone “sweetie” or “honey” and chews gum way too loudly, but when she walks into a room, I can’t think straight. When she calls me the nickname she gave me in that soft teasing voice, I get hard so fast it makes me dizzy.

Last week was hell for me. It was like she was purposefully provoking me just to get a rise out of me. And it worked. I vividly remember the other day where she leaned over to pick something up, I saw the outline of her panties through her leggings due to how sheer they were and I had to dip out of there before I did something irreversibly criminal.

I can’t even remember how long I was jerking off that night, but I didn’t stop until my hand physically cramped up. I thought about roughly fucking her on my friend’s bed while he was in the shower. Imagined her whispering “don’t stop, don’t tell him” while I’m balls deep inside. I came dry. No lube. Just my palm and pathetic desperation.

I’ve gooned to her laugh, her stupid lip gloss, her chewing the end of a straw, even her biting her nail. I’m so far down the rabbit hole I’m jerking off to things that aren’t even sexual anymore. Her sneezing once turned me on. I wish I was joking.

Two nights ago, I humped my pillow imagining it was her like some freak virgin. I came so hard I got lightheaded. Then I cried into the same pillow that I just violated. Not because I felt guilty, but because I know she’ll never fuck me the way I want her to.

The thing is… it’s not just sex. I’m jealous. I see the little glimmer in her eye when her gaze flickers up at him, looking at him like he holds her entire world in his hands and I want to scream because I want her to look at me like that. I want her in my bed, wearing my hoodie, lying under me as she’s calling me an asshole for making her cheat but continues to furiously make out with me.

But instead, I’ll just keep pretending to be the sarcastic best friend while I edge to her voice memo from two weeks ago like it’s my last drop of water in a desert.

Top Comments 💬

u/IJustStoleUrBitchx: holy shit this is disgusting. no amount of torture would ever get this kinda info out of me. u still got my upvote tho.

u/ChiliChiliCrabCrab: You fantasized about fucking her on your best friend’s bed while he’s in the shower??? Nah dude that’s not horny that’s top ten anime betrayals.

u/WinterSoldier24: tbh i can’t even laugh at this bc i’ve BEEN there. i’ve wept into the same pillow i defiled. i’ve heard my own moans echo off my laptop screen like a haunting. guess we’re all rotting together.

u/Jutdwaee99 • posted 10h ago

I goon to my roommate’s girlfriend for hours like it’s a full-time job and I think I’m losing my grip on reality.

I don’t even know how I got to this point.

It started normal. Just a little crush, harmless admiration. She’s sweet, always super polite. Wears those cute little pajama shorts when she spends the night, has this habit of playing with her hair while she’s talking, calls my roommate cringey petnames in this sugary, sleepy voice that makes me wanna gnaw on drywall.

But now it’s out of control. I edge to her every night. Every. Single. Night. I’m not even horny anymore— I’m possessed. There’s no porn. No nudes. Just the memory of her walking down the hallway half asleep, shirt riding up, no panties, scratching lazily at her thigh. She didn’t even know I was behind her. She didn’t know I stood there, frozen in the dark, watching the sway of her hips like some sick, twisted perv.

I stay up for hours scrolling through her page, looking at her pics. Sometimes I watch the same Boomerangs on loop like it’s some high-art cinema. I even synced one of them to my goon playlist. I set a timer and 37 minutes in, her hair flips in time with the beat drop, and that’s when I tighten my grip and almost pass out.

She kissed my roommate goodbye this morning and I speed ran to the bathroom and jerked off with the hand lotion he keeps under the sink. I’ve been edging for so long my balls hurt and feel like they’re gonna explode in protest.

The most fucked up part of it all is that I don’t even want to stop. I like the torture. I like sitting in my dark room, whispering her name while I stroke it like some goddamn lunatic.

If she ever finds out what I’ve done, what I’ve imagined, I’ll be on a list. Hell, I’ll make the list.

But right now? I’m getting hard again just thinking about her leaving her toothbrush in the sink.

She’ll never be mine yet I treat her like a shrine.

I need help. Or maybe I need her to break up with him so I can ruin her properly.

Top Comments 💬

u/GojosLeftTesticle: Nah that’s a new level of disrespect. You came and moisturized with your roommate’s lotion?? I hope he kicks you out LMAO

u/DeezNuts7: i started this post giggling. then i got scared, then aroused, then scared again. i wish i never read this. you win.

u/SuperSmashUrBro: be honest bro, are you trolling? is this satire? are you karma farming? bc if not… you are edging to boomerangs. like… vertically looped 1.5 second clips. send the flood.

u/HHJThrowaway • posted 5h ago

My best friend’s girl is my obsession and I’ve ruined my life over it.

This will be my first and last post in this sub (hence why I’m using a throwaway account) because I intend on taking this shit to the grave with me. I don’t know if this is a cry for help or some final confession before I self destruct, but it’s been eating me up inside and I need to get it out. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend, but she’s perfect.

The minute she walks in it’s like the lighting changes. I’m not even exaggerating, there was this one day where the sun hit her skin like she was some glowing goddess and I literally forgot how to breathe. Her scents intoxicating, like warm sugar and vanilla. She laughs at all my jokes, even the shitty ones. She called me pretty before and I think I saw God.

And I’ve been edging to her every night since March.

I don’t use porn anymore (not that I watched it a lot anyway). Just the flashback of one night where she licked salt off her wrist before downing a tequila shot. The way she presses her thighs together when she’s cold. The time she hugged me goodbye and the scent of her perfume still lingered on my shirt for two days and I didn’t wash it until I’d cum in it twice.

I don’t just jerk off. I goon. Long sessions. Hours sometimes. I hum her name, talk to myself like she’s watching, I’ve even came to the thought of her crying while coming undone on my cock more times than I can count.

There was one night she fell asleep on our couch in those tiny short shorts she always wears and I stared at her thighs for so long I nearly passed out from holding my breath. I got so aroused that I immediately went to my room and stroked my dick with one hand and held my phone looking at the pics I snapped of her with the other. I just kept chanting , “You’d let me ruin you, wouldn’t you?” to myself like I was in a trance.

She told my friend I’m “sweet” and “artsy” and now I can’t get the image out of my head of painting her nude and licking the brush clean. I’m so far gone that if she ever moaned my name on accident, I think I’d just nut on the spot and die. Heart attack. Instant cremation.

I have dreams where she kisses me in secret, all desperate and trembling, telling me she wishes she was dating me instead. I wake up hard and aching, tip already leaking, so sensitive I have to breathe through it like labor.

I can’t keep doing this. But also? I’ll never stop. I’ll die gooning for her.

Top Comments 💬

u/YoMama43: ngl i once nutted to a voicemail my coworker left me by accident and i thought i was down bad LMAO. but you? you’re the goon king. i kneel to you.

u/ObscureLemonXx: so no one’s gonna talk about the part where he said breathing through his hard-on like labor??? like SIR. why is this the most erotic and deeply upsetting thing i’ve ever read?

u/IFucktUranus: Bro. I read this shit twice. Once as a gooner, once as a romantic. You ever edge so long you feel like you could speak in tongues?? You’re not sick. You’re transcendent. I’ve moaned into a towel while looking at my neighbor’s old vacation photos. You’re not alone.

u/_DoolSetNett • posted 11h ago

I’ve created an entire goon archive for my friend’s girlfriend and idk who I am anymore.

I (24M) think I blacked out the first time I saw her. Not even kidding. She walked in wearing a giant hoodie and the tiniest shorts that barely covered the crease of her ass, I felt faint just from the sight alone. My friend introduced her all casual like, “hey, this is y/n,” and I shook her hand with the same fingers I jerked off with not even ten minutes earlier. I deserve jail time for that.

I told myself it was a one time thing and it would never happen again, but now I have 13 folders— and that’s just on my laptop. There’s more on the cloud, a backup drive, on my phone, etc. I even made a fucking spreadsheet to track them.

They’re all labeled in alphabetical order:

Folder A: candid pics she’s posted (IG stories, old selfies, this one pic where she’s wearing nothing else but his shirt)

Folder B: voice clips I secretly recorded of her saying random shit, laughing, talking to the dog.

Folder C: audios I spliced together to sound like she’s moaning.

Folder D: my own goon notes that include detailed fantasies. I treat them like mini fanfics.

There’s a “date night” folder. A “nap time” folder. One called “bite marks I wish I gave her.” The worst is a private one just called “sacred.” That one has screenshots of the way she sits, the curve of her waist when she leans over, the outline of her tits when she’s not wearing a bra under those thin tank tops she loves.

I edge to her for hours. No music needed, just her voice. I put her on loop. Thinking about her face, wearing those little fucking shorts. I swear she’s doing it on purpose because the entire bottom curve of her ass cheek is always out. Every time she bends down to get something my dick jumps. I’ve memorized the way the fabric rides up. Sometimes I start at 10 pm and don’t cum until 3 am. I’ve hallucinated her saying, “cum for me, baby,” in her cute, whimpery voice. That happened about a weeks ago and I still think about it every time I touch myself.

Half the time I don’t even cum, I just leak and whimper and catalogue. I edge until my thighs tremble, timestamp my leaks and track how many fap sessions I’ve had in one day. I’ve become a professional goon archivist. I’d jerk off to her selfies and pretend like she’s watching. I stare at my screen like it’s a portal, fisting my cock with one hand, breath shallow, and blow my load like I’m marking her. One time I came so hard to her pics I didn’t even aim, I just let it hit the screen. Watched it drip down her face like I’d bred the pixels.

I try and concentrate on other things too but I can’t, all I can think about is fucking her cute little pussy. What it looks like under those shorts, whether or not she’s shaved (it doesn’t matter, I’d still eat her out anyway). She probably tastes so good, I wanna fuck her until her voice is hoarse and her thighs are shaking. I’d be so gentle at first, but once I get inside her? I’d lose my fucking mind. Every time she leans over and her shirt dips low I can’t help but wanna know what it’s like to fuck her pretty tits. I wanna make her cry on my cock and then I’d apologize but still keep going.

I never act suspicious around her, I talk to her normally like a regular person. I held the elevator for her yesterday and when she smiled at me I nearly jizzed in my pants. She hugged me once after I helped her carry groceries and I had to walk backwards out of the kitchen like some Victorian virgin. I was leaking pre all the way to my room.

I know it’s wrong. I know I’m sick. But she’s become this deity that I worship in my head. I serve her. I spill for her without her ever asking. If she ever found my folders, the audio edits, the moan loops? I’d have to legally change my name, burn all my hard drives, go off the grid, and live in the woods.

But until then? I’ll keep building my archive. For her. For me. For the goon gods.

Top Comments 💬

u/NoticeMeSenpai69: Bruh… you’re not alone in this. I goon to my homie’s girl daily. She walks around in those tight ass leggings and calls me “dude” like I won’t nut thinking about it for the next 3 days straight. You’re just chronically down bad, it’s honestly normal. We’re visual creatures. Ain’t our fault they’re walking around looking like bait.

u/1diotS4ndwich: This might be the most mentally unwell thing I’ve ever read. You’re edging to voice clips you secretly recorded?? Man.. that’s not down bad, that’s felony flavored. Go outside. Touch grass. Eat it. Bake it into bread. You need something holy in your system.

u/Rizzler420: yo drop the link to folder C thooo. i ain’t even mad. i just wanna see how real your splice game is maybe we can edge together. virtual goon circle. you bring the audios, i’ll bring lotion and red bulls.

u/Y0ngLixx • posted 9h ago

I jerk off to her laugh. Just her laugh. That’s all it takes.

It started off with pure intentions, just as a joke. I (24M) recorded her once on my phone because she made a dumb pun and my friend (the one she’s dating), wasn’t there to hear it. She has a cute laugh, it was harmless.

Then I listened to it again, and again like it was some lullaby that would put me to sleep.

Fast forward a month later and now I’ve accumulated over 40 audio clips. Its nothing sexual, just her laughing, her soft giggles and stupid jokes. Her doing that little gasp-then-snort combo when she really loses it. There’s one clip I have where she says my name mid-laugh and I kid you not I almost passed out from how hard I got. I thought my cock was gonna split open.

I used to not masturbate a lot, but now I’m doing it practically everyday. Just to the sound of her being happy. I’ll close my eyes, pull up her laugh, and stroke myself into oblivion while whispering things like “you sound so pretty,” and “keep laughing, angel. I’ll make you moan next.” It’s not even about sex anymore. I’m addicted to the idea of her, the sound of her.

One time she tripped over something and fell right into my lap, purely innocent, she’s a clumsy little thing. She looked up at me with those big doe eyes and said, “oops, you okay?” and I just simply said yes, but I got an insta boner.

I edged for four hours straight that night, didn’t stop until my thighs were trembling and my toes were cramping. There were no visual, just her voice on continuous loop. I was begging the ceiling for permission to cum like she had me tied up and giggling over me. She doesn’t even know the power she possesses.

She asked me once if I had a girlfriend. I told her the truth and said no and she was shocked, telling me how someone as sweet as me shouldn’t be single. I smiled at that. Then later, I stroked it raw to the idea of her calling me sweet while bouncing on my cock and tugging my hair.

I have this sick fantasy where she catches me in the act and finds the audio clips. But instead of being mad, she kisses me softly and says, “I’ve always wondered what your moans sound like,” I think I’d cry, or cum, or both at the same time.

I’m a soft gooner.

I light candles, put on a playlist full of her favorite songs, and stroke myself slow and romantic like we’re in love. I know she’s taken, but in my imagination we’ve been dating for months.

Then after I cum, that’s when reality hits. I sit there in silence, staring at my phone screen and can’t help but feel ashamed and disgusted with myself. Her laughter still plays on loop in the background, but now it sounds far away, like I’m hearing her from behind a door I’ll never be allowed to open. I wipe up the mess, lock my phone, then tell myself I’m done.

Until the next time she smiles at me and the cycle continues all over again.

I’ve thought about stealing a pair of her panties. My favorite is the pink lacy ones she likes to wear, I’ve seen the waistband peek out when she wore baggy sweats that sat below her waist. I’ve fantasized about pressing them up to my face, even stroking myself with the fabric wrapped around the base of my cock.

But I haven’t done it, at least not yet. I’m scared she’ll find out, that I’ll get caught or that if I succeed it’ll become a habit. Maybe one day that’ll change and I finally build up the courage.

Or maybe I’ll just keep edging to the sound of her joy, pretending I’m the cause of it.

Top Comments 💬

u/CumSlushiez: Been there before. Not with the laugh stuff but… I’ve got 12 folders for my coworker’s wife. The “I think I’d cry and cum at the same time” line? Too real. You’re not the only building archives. Stay strong, edge long.

u/LonelyyVirgin234: 40 laugh clips is crazy but also… not enough. you gotta diversify the catalog. get some sighs. a yawn. a sleepy hum. build a soundscape. turn her voice into a fucking symphony while you leak into your sheets. this is art tbh, unholy art, but still art.

u/Only1BrainCell: This feels like reading someone’s diary in a psych ward. You’re not soft. You’re sick. You fantasize about sniffing used panties and whispering her name like you’re in a cult. You are one pair of lacy underwear away from a Netflix doc.

u/Minivrse • posted 16h ago

I edge to my roommate’s girlfriend while she reads books on the couch. Fully clothed. I’ve officially lost it.

She was wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with a coffee stain on it. The blanket was half-tucked under her thighs and had a chipped mug with tea balanced on her knee with a book resting in her lap.

And I came in my fucking boxers just from watching her turn a page.

She hadn’t even spoken a word or anything, just the sound of her breathing and flipping through a paperback was enough. I had to lean against the kitchen counter pretending to scroll on my phone, but my cock was already stiff as a board. I muttered “Jesus Christ” under my breath and shuffled back into my room like I just committed something illegal.

I’ve been gooning to her every night since. Just to the idea of her. Fully dressed and completely oblivious. She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and she doesn’t even try.

She’s not just pretty though, she’s extremely smart. Brains and beauty, the complete package. She’s always reading something dense, annotating margins, scribbling thoughts like her brain runs on overdrive. And every time she shares one of those little ideas with me, some fact about dolphins or a throwaway line from a novel, I get hard. Instantly. It’s like she weaponized intelligence and wrapped it in cozy clothes and Burt’s Bee’s chapstick.

She collects these stupid little trinkets that I think are kinda ugly. Like ceramic frogs, miniature teapots, one of them is just a rock with googly eyes glued onto it?? But I think it’s adorable because it’s hers. I want to fuck her next to them on the bed while they watch.

I never really gave a shit about relationships. Never cared to be in one. Until I met her. I’m constantly fantasizing about making her mine in the most depraved ways possible. Ripping her hoodie off, spitting on her tits, fucking her so dumb until she forgets her own name and only remembers mine. I wanna hear her beg, make her say “please” while I ruin her slowly. I wanna press my hand over her mouth while I’m cumming deep inside her and whispering a bunch of filthy shit in her ear.

It’s gotten to a point where I’ve developed a whole routine. 9:30 pm: she usually comes over after work. 9:42 pm: She kicks off her shoes and says something like “God, I’m so exhausted,” and I’m already hard. 10:00 pm: I’m in my room preparing my little set up and edging myself to the sound of her voice echoing from the living room.

Last night I jerked off for three hours just listening to her eat chips and argue about movie plots with my roommate. Once, she laughed so hard she snorted and I had to physically stop myself from jerking off or I would’ve blown my load without permission. I tried to take a break but it only lasted for day and a half, I couldn’t control the urges anymore.

I feel like such a shithead for doing this because she genuinely thinks I’m a good guy. She talks to me like I’m safe. Calls me “the funny one” or “so chill.” One time she ruffled my hair and said, “you’d make such a good boyfriend,” and I blacked out mid-convo. Couldn’t remember what I said back. I just nodded and prayed my boner didn’t show.

I treat her like my girlfriend in my head. Goon scenarios where she climbs on top of me in those baggy clothes she always wears, telling me, “I need you” where she rides me slow and sleepy while my fingers strum down her back and say, “you’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

But then I walk out to refill my water and see her cuddling and kissing my roommate. Laughing with him like she’s not the sole reason why I haven’t cum properly in weeks. I just go right back into my room, lock the door, and edge to her reflection in the microwave glass.

She isn’t mine, but my cock doesn’t know that. And at this point, I’m not even sure I do anymore.

Top Comments 💬

u/PizzaSlut662: bros a hopeless romantic and a sex criminal at the same time. “she collects trinkets that are ugly but i still love them bc they’re hers” had me kicking my feet until the next sentence said “i wanna fuck her next time while they watch.” i need to go lie down.

u/StrawberrySodaaa: “9:42pm she kicks off her shoes” Um, are you tracking her like she’s the moon?? I’ve never been this aroused and terrified simultaneously.

u/ChrolloLuciferStan: every day i log into this app thinking “surely it can’t get worse” and then i read shit like this..

u/I.2.N.8 • posted 4h ago

I nutted in my pants when she tied her shoe. I didn’t touch myself, just vibes.

We were walking from the convenience store and she bent down to tie her sneaker. That’s it. I didn’t get a peak of her cleavage, didn’t touch her, nothing. She was just bent at the waist, ass slightly arched while she softly grunted and double knotted her laces. I creamed my pants on the spot. Hands stuffed in my pockets, my sweatshirt covering the damage, but there was a wet spot and everything. I walked back home like I’d been shot in the dick.

She’s dating my best friend and he brings her over all the time like she’s not a walking wet dream designed to destroy my sanity. I’ve always had a thing for older girls so shes literally my type to a T. I’m so fucking jealous of him, I’ve grown resentment towards him for it.

It doesn’t help that she’s always calling me “Innie” like I’m some little boy that she’ll never take seriously, like I wouldn’t ruined her in a hundred different ways. I’ve told her a million times that just my name is fine, but she giggles it off then continues to do it again.

Porn has always been an escape for me, a coping mechanism when college gets too stressful (I know some of y’all can relate). I’ve developed an addiction— multiple tabs open, Twitter accounts bookmarked, late night goon sessions with my AirPods in and my shirt bunched between my teeth to muffle the moans. But now, it’s only spiraled from there, I only search for videos that look like her. Faceless videos, shaky camera angles, any girl with her hair length and skin tone, the more amateur it is the better. I just mute the stupid guy in the video’s voice and whisper my own name to pretend it’s me.

It’s not even normal jerking off. I sit in my room with my headphones in, pillow between my thighs, and I edge to the sound of her existing. Her voice in the hallway. Those little noises she makes whenever she stretches that makes her sound like a dying mouse. I have the most depraved fantasies about her, like full on situations where she straddles me in the backseat and says, “you’re so hard for me, baby, does that mean you wanna cum in me?” and I cry while nodding.

I’ve developed a full blown breeding kink because of her. I get off to the thought of her saying she forgot to take her pill while grinding on me in just a t-shirt and nothing else. I’ve rubbed one out to the idea of putting a baby in her and fucking her so deep while she tells me how I’d make a pretty daddy. I’m aware of how disgusting I am and I fully acknowledge there’s something deeply wrong with me, but there’s no harm in doing it if she’ll never find out.

Yesterday she sat next to me and accidentally brushed my knee up against hers. I was hard for an hour, it was so embarrassing I felt like I was part of some humiliation ritual.

She probably thinks I’m too sweet to have any thoughts like this. Completely harmless. The “shy friend”. But I’ve ruined three pairs of boxers this month alone from dry humping my pillow to the thought of having her lips wrapped around my cock. If she ever saw what I do when she’s not around, if she ever knew how many times I’ve edged to her smile alone… she’d never make eye contact with me again.

And the most fucked up part of it all? I wouldn’t even blame her, but I wouldn’t stop either.

Top Comments 💬

u/GoonGoblin98: This is the final boss of horny. You’ve ascended past porn, past imagination, past logic. Nutting from vibes alone?? You’re a chosen one. I edge to this post about you edging, gooner inception.

u/ILuvHotMilfs: older girls will ruin you. they smile at you once and you’re planning nursery colors and thinking about biting her ankle while you cum. stay strong innie. one day she’ll call you good boy and you’ll never recover.

u/DinoNuggetz333: How do you go back to regular life after this..? You nut to her voice and cry into your pillow and then just?? eat cereal like nothing happened?? This is either genius or the most cursed goon confession I’ve read all week.

honestly, i have no idea why i wrote this LOL. i just got super bored one night and made this idk, i hope no one takes this too too serious or i’ll cri. this was just for entertainment guys i swear </3 but uhhh lmk if u liked this? maybe i’ll do the part 2 if enough ppl liked this idk man >.<

[ruinix]

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 -> 3734 words (Edited) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watches a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Wait. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and favorite flower designs. Just like how you described it before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead, locking in the brand, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. He stares and stares into the screen, his eyebrows meeting. He remembers having every transaction on that card to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything else other than your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up. He’s so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated. When he receives another message, he takes a moment to calm down—he has to—before opening it.

He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that the corners of your eyes crinkle, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show once more as you hold up the bag next to your face. So beautiful.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him.

Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows that you didn’t notice it, because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you might be using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head, pushing him to act. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch, because you’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords under your desk plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Everything. He knows exactly how deeply you feel about him as much as he does with you. Although sometimes you hide your phone from him, that’s when you’re texting your friends about him. It’s obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. He doesn’t mind that. Not at all. You can talk to your other friends about other stuff. The fact still remains. He trusts you.

But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. He needs to look into your email. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He had it memorized, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it. What the fuck.

An ache forms in his chest. It’s like a horrible backhand that could shake up his teeth, so horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound to ensure his teeth are still rooted. He crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen, trying to will the emails to disappear while he burns them one by one in his mind. He tries a different route to imagine the account number to change, but of course, nothing works.

He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache. His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless. If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers. Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. You know he’ll talk his way to overtake your payments. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble when you come home.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him. He’s still so angry, yet instead of vibrating and burning outwardly, it settles deep inside his bones until nothing comes up. It’s an odd feeling. It’s not heavy. It’s not light. It just is. A calm before the storm.

He undoes his second top button. If you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person. Still, you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely impressive, because you have your arms full already. When you put them down, you only leave to get more of them until you get a little pile in the living room. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not realizing that he’s sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer.

Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you start with one bag with the little nightgown that looks so fucking sexy. You’re clearly distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. He obliges you, his amusement growing the more you ramble. You’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step. Your happy energy radiates from you in waves while you continue taking everything out of bags which you fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time.

Quinn’s aware that you are genuinely delighted that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he has already lost it. The calm that his anger turned is what’s keeping him from pouncing on you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your bare ass until you got handprints that will bruise and ache for a couple of days. Just like how you want them.

He still can’t believe that you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down his lean abdomen, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, stalking towards you while you’re crouching next to a pile of paper bags. You’re still rambling a pottery workshop you’ve come across. You’re saying that you want to go back there so you can make mugs for each other. When you’ve already successfully built a mug collection in one of his cupboards.

So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him, do you? Then he sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs your arm. He swiftly pulls you up then lifts you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass.

  “Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused. “I love you?”

He spanks you on the same spot again, making you moan and whine. Even more when he slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trail up and up, then he puts you down on the bed. Instantly, you flip over, looking at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do.  Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls over you.

His hand flattens over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips and up his eyes again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, your tongue darting out to entice him.

Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks. He kneels up, flipping you over your stomach, pressing a hand on your lower back to keep you from whatever you’re planning which is being  a brat.  

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering when he slips his hand into your shirt. He unclasps your bra without exerting an effort, so used to your undergarments. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care even if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. Many times. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the inevitable punishment.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear. He slides his thick fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so taut from anticipation and his attention. He pinches the sensitive peaks, your hips coming up to grind against him. He pulls away, receiving an unsatisfied groat. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits. He slides down one hand down your abdomen, down into the waistband of your skirt, down until he reaches and feels the wet patch on your panties. He presses and teases along your clothed slit. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting for more.

Why are you still not repeating your broken promise?

He’s getting so annoyed. He forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing on your beautiful body. He ignores how much you complain, ignores your little ‘ouch’ because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it’ll hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way?

He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs by kneeling between them, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers, begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds. You feel so fucking good, so fucking soft, so fucking wet.

You gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. You’re just so sensitive, aren’t you?

Then he gives you a slap right there. On your dripping pussy. On your clit. His other hand grips your hip to keep you there when you attempt to crawl away, but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another.

You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop, when you’re the one pushing your wet cunt against his palm. You keep seeking, even after briefly reeling away from every hit. Your eyes look over your shoulder, meeting his, begging and begging, mentally conveying, “More, more, more.”

Such a good slut.

His slut.

You’re his.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. Your cunt is so red from his spanking. His thumb teases your other hole. You writhe, wantonly moaning, pathetically grasping the sheets for support.

You’re not running away now, huh?

Not when he is fingering you. Not when he pounds and puts pressure on that specific spot that has you screaming breathlessly. You want this so much. You’ve been waiting for a relief that he can easily give you.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your pussy. Harder. Deeper. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans.

Then he feels the familiar pattern of your pussy walls. You’re going to come soon. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quiver, how your toes curl, how your back arches into the bed.

He knows it.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly. You look betrayed as your breaths come out choppy. Disbelief reflects in your eyes, not used to him not letting you come. He always makes you come. Not now though. Quinn takes his fingers from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them, like he’s feasting on your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. “You didn’t…”

He flips you over your back. He rests your ass over his thighs while your legs are spread out.

“Didn’t?” he mocks which you only process that as a question. You’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm, by your need for it.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he silently says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.

By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t. Not when he’s still not satisfied. Not when you still don’t say anything. However, the strange calmness that locked him is already dissipating the more he makes a mess out of you. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour?

You’re counting?

He pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your fucked out face, hiding your beautifully blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin.

“I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay the bill when it comes.” You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted.

Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug. He sighs as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants, trying to get to his cock.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so perfectly.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I already said sorry—”

He cuts you off by pushing you back. He quickly tugs his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your pussy, shuddering at the feel of your trembling entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you, by feeling your tight pussy’s embrace. Did you know that?

But he knows that it’s not enough for you tonight.

You need him to fuck you, so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come. Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything. Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels that you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm then he comes deep inside you, swearing loudly into your ear. He’s coming so hard that his eyesight dims. Your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he still manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He obliges you, kissing you, whispering praises in between. You both spend minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands to run a bath. He puts a few drops of lavender and chamomile oils in the tub. It’ll soothe you.

He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up. You look so spent, so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more and more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it.

When he hears the tub fill up, he takes you to it. He helps you in, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him.

His heart flutters, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack before dinner, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet.

He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken from a polaroid. He knows there’s another photo tucked behind it. It’s you and him in an ice rink that you had personally printed out. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look.

Even when you’re so fucked out, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you will still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

[georgeclarkeys]

emergency contact - george clarkey

summary: sometimes george is not as smooth as he thinks he is, but you are always there to take care of him - 1k words

i went back and forth for a few days about posting this because i really don't like it

anyways

hope y'all don't hate it!

~

The sunlight peeking through the parted curtain stirred you awake, and you subconsciously reached towards the space next to you in search of George. As your hands made contact with nothing but empty air and cold sheets you immediately peeked an eye open. After visually confirming that your boyfriend was no longer warming the other side of your bed, you wrapped yourself in a blanket and groggily padded into the kitchen. There was a note on top of the coffee machine with your name scribbled in a familiar handwriting, accompanied by a few goofy doodles. Flipping it over, you began reading.

Good morning dearest, Just in case you have forgotten, I am off filming with the Sidemen this morning. (They scare me I can’t tell them no) I should be home sometime after 2, and we will spend the rest of the day together. Love you, George

He had explained all of this to you last night, you recalled, but you were too busy trying to get him to kiss you to reeeaaalllyyy listen to what he was saying. Sighing, you placed the note back down and started the coffee maker, pondering how you should spend your George-less Saturday morning. 

A short while later you were back in your bed, still wrapped in a blanket, but with your new book in hand. You had decided that the best way to enjoy your alone time was with some literature-centered self care. There was nothing like reading a good book, especially when George wasn’t there to distract you. So, you snuggled deeper into your blanket and allowed yourself to get lost in the words on the page.

Several hours and a few hundred pages later, your phone began to buzz and George’s contact photo lit up your screen. You glanced at the clock, it was nowhere near two. Thinking they must have wrapped up filming early, you sat down your book and slid your thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“Hey hun, did you get finished early?” You questioned, absentmindedly picking at your nails. 

But it was not George’s voice that answered on the other end of the line. 

“Hey, (Y/N),” you sat up a bit straighter as you recognized Simon’s voice, “So we have a slight problem…”

“Uh, hey Simon? What’s going on?”

“Well, George has been injured, but he’s mostly alright. He got a little mixed up during a challenge, twisted his ankle and hit his head pretty hard. He's bleeding quite a bit and one of our producers is checking him for a concussion. He told us to call you.”

Your heartbeat quickened, “Can you send me your location? I’ll be right there.”

“For sure, see you in a few,” Simon replied, ending the call.

Your phone pinged with a text message containing the location of the shoot as you rushed to pull on a hoodie and a pair of sneakers. A few seconds later you were out the door and in your car, breaking a few traffic laws as you made your way across London.

Once you arrived it was easy to spot the group of people surrounding your boyfriend, who was sitting on the ground holding a bloody towel to his forehead. As you approached, Simon and Josh walked over to meet you.

“Hey thanks for coming, we don’t think it’s anything too serious but none of us were comfortable letting him drive himself home. He’s a little dazed,” Josh explained. 

“Yeah no worries,” you replied, glancing around Simon’s tall frame in search of a glimpse of George, “what happened anyways?”

Simon coughed in an attempt to hide a chuckle, “Well, to be completely honest with you, he tripped over himself and fell down a few steps. I think one of our videographers got it on camera.”

You scrubbed a hand over your face, “You can’t be serious.” Simon looked at the floor and nodded his head. “Well let me get him home then,” you sighed and began making your way over to the group of people. 

Noticing your arrival, George looked up and offered a lopsided smile through the blood coating his face, “(Y/N)? What in the world are you doing here?”

You let out a laugh at his bad joke, “Well if you would stop going face-first down staircases I would still be at home wouldn’t I?” 

He winced as he laughed and pointed up at you, “Well you got me there.” 

“C’mon,” you tugged on his hand in an attempt to get him on his feet, “let’s get you home.” 

A few of the boys jumped in and offered to help you get him to your car, but you declined, slinging George’s muscled arm around your shoulder and steadying yours around his waist. He had a bit of a limp, but made it to the car without any complications. After making sure George was settled in your passenger seat and promising to send Simon a text when the two of you arrived, you started making your way home.

A short drive and several drops of blood on your passenger seat later, George was finally inside and seated at your kitchen table as you pulled out the first aid kit to clean up the cut on his face. You gently grabbed his face to clean the blood off with a damp cloth before putting medicine on his scrape, and covering it with a bandage. He sat there silently throughout the whole process, watching you carefully as you focused on the task at hand.

You made eye contact with him after securing the bandage. “Go change out of these filthy clothes,” you offered a small smile and tugged on his shirt, which was covered in blood and dirt, “I’ll meet you in the bedroom after I clean this mess up.”

As you made your way into the bedroom you found George on your shared bed, tucked into a sea of pillows and blankets. His eyes were half lidded, and his lips turned upwards into a sleepy smile. You slid into bed next to him and he immediately shifted towards you, snaking his arms around you and snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. 

You could feel his lips brushing your neck as he mumbled, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

You closed your eyes and rested your chin on top of his head before softly saying, "thanks for keeping my life interesting," and drifting off to sleep beside the love of your life.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ - later that evening

yourusername posted a story!

[kxsagi]

I love your content and your writing sm it hurts, but if you don’t mind I request for a super popular reader that knows every possible person alive and when she goes out to a crowded place she starts to talk to everyone that comes to talk to her (because they’ve met before) and the boys are like🧍‍♂️(maybe Rin, Sae, Nagi and any others you want)

(Btw english is not my first language so I don’t know if I explained well— love youu)

“𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲”

a/n: thank youuu and girl your english was so perfect

(could not choose a header HELP)

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi

itoshi rin

rin already doesn’t like going out, so imagine his utter horror when he agrees to a date at a festival and watches you get stopped every five seconds. 

“wait [name]?? is that you?? we were in the same preschool class!” 

and you’re just like “omg yes!!! no way how are you!?” and launch into a 15-minute catch-up while rin stands next to you with the coldest, most judgmental face known to mankind. 

one guy you met in line was like, “you’re still as beautiful as i remember…” 

rin activated his eye twitch death stare. 

the only way he can keep you moving is by grabbing your hand and just dragging you along while muttering, “you don’t even remember half those people.” 

and you go, “of course i do! we were all in the same kumon class!” 

he doesn’t know what that is. he doesn’t care. he wants to go home. 

rin is convinced you’re in a secret cult at this point. how do you know so many people? how is everyone on earth your old neighbor? 

itoshi sae

sae doesn’t even react anymore. he’s just like 🧍‍♂️with his hands in his pockets as you wave to some barista you “shared a sociology class with once in 11th grade.” 

someone walks up and goes “[name]? from taekwondo camp 10 years ago?” 

sae blinks. “you did taekwondo?” 

“just for one week. i made friends though!!” 

he just side-eyes the person and then side-eyes you like you’re the main character in a sitcom he didn’t sign up for. 

the only time he says anything is when someone hugs you too long. then he magically appears beside you and is like, “that’s enough.” 

he absolutely roasts you for it afterward though. 

“do you just… exist in every country? were you a celebrity in a past life?” 

“no i’m just friendly :)” 

he’ll never admit it but he lowkey thinks it’s cute how loved you are. he just doesn’t want to meet your tap dancing club from third grade again. 

nagi seishiro

the way this man zones out IMMEDIATELY. 

you’re in a mall and someone runs up like “[name]!!! remember our volleyball tournament in middle school??” 

you immediately launch into a memory about how she sprained her ankle and you carried her off the court and the coach cried– 

meanwhile, nagi’s just standing there staring at the gacha machine nearby, debating if he has enough coins to pull. 

“sei. sei. sei??” 

“hm? oh. cool story. can we eat now?” 

he doesn’t mind at all, he just never remembers any of their faces. literally none. 

you’ll be like, “remember the girl from the dog park?” and he’s like “what dog park?” 

but he’ll always be next to you, low-effort but loyal. someone gives him weird vibes? arm’s around your waist. casually. but firmly. 

“are you her boyfriend?” 

“yeah. move.” 

mikage reo

reo is SHOOKETH. 

at first, he’s all smiley and impressed like “wow, you’re popular haha!” but it doesn’t stop. 

“wait, you knew the waiter?” 

“yeah! i helped him with his resume last year :)” 

“and the DJ?” 

“oh she was my nail tech’s cousin’s girlfriend!” 

“AND THE MAYOR?!” 

you wave at the mayor like you’re besties and reo is literally gripping his wine glass like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. 

he starts wondering if you’re secretly royalty or an ex-influencer or something. how do you have this much social capital?? why does everyone like you??? 

he doesn’t get jealous per se, but he does start going out of his way to one-up everyone else. 

someone’s like “she helped me build a shelf once!” and reo goes “well i bought her a summer home in italy. next.” 

kaiser michael

oh he’s jealous immediately. 

you get stopped in the street and the guy’s like “i remember you! you helped me with a flat tire once!” 

kaiser’s already inserting himself in the convo like “cool story. anyway we’re busy, tschüss.” 

you keep trying to explain like “no no! this is the guy whose grandma’s bakery i used to volunteer at!” and he’s like “okay well now he’s irrelevant sooo can we go?” 

he’s 100% convinced you’re some international socialite and starts demanding answers. 

“did you go to school with everyone? are you a clone? do you have diplomatic immunity???” 

he calls you "main character.” 

“ugh, main character energy again? fine, go greet the people like it’s your coronation or something.” 

you think it’s funny but he’s dead serious. he holds your hand the whole time. like a watchdog. 

also constantly brags: “yeah everyone knows her. but only i get to kiss her. sucks to be you, huh?” 

karasu tabito

karasu agreed to go to a cafe date with you. simple. quiet. cute. 

until someone from across the street yells, “WAIT, [NAME]?? IS THAT YOU FROM THE YOUTH ORCHESTRA SUMMER TOUR FOUR YEARS AGO???” 

karasu doesn’t even get the chance to sip his overpriced coffee before a guy in plaid pants runs across the street and hugs you like you're long-lost soulmates. 

you light up, “oh my gosh!! you play the oboe, right?!” 

karasu blinks. “you dated a guy who plays the oboe??” he already hates it here. 

“no,” you laugh. “we were roommates on that UK tour. i clogged a toilet and he helped me fix it. long story.” 

“... long story that i don’t need to know, thanks.” 

he watches you two chat like it’s a high school reunion, and his brain is buffering. how do you know so many people? why are all of them strangely attractive? why is the barista giving you a free cookie? 

finally, that oboe guy leaves. and before karasu can make a joke about it, a girl walks by. stops. blinks. 

“[name]?! oh my GOSH. do you remember me? we were in the same SAT prep course and you let me cheat off your vocab list!” 

you squeal and hug her, and karasu just stares at his coffee like he’s been personally attacked. 

he leans over, deadpan: “are you secretly the queen of england or am i on some hidden camera prank show?” 

when you finally sit down, you giggle, “sorry! small world, right?” 

karasu sips his coffee slowly and says, “babe, at this point, the entire world is your neighborhood block party.” 

isagi yoichi

he thought you two were going out for a quiet day downtown. just you, him, and maybe a crêpe. but five minutes in– “[NAME]?? it’s me! from that one volunteer beach clean-up??” 

“omg!! how’s your turtle rescue going??” 

isagi blinks. turtle rescue? 

okay. cool. you know a lot of people. no big deal. 

but it doesn’t stop. 

someone else waves. then another. then a group selfie happens. then a guy hugs you and calls you “sunshine.” 

isagi’s standing there like 🧍‍♂️ holding your purse. just smiling through the social apocalypse. 

he leans in mid-conversation and whispers, “... be honest. were you in a cult? like a really friendly cult?” 

you laugh. you call him dramatic. 

“no because how do you know a guy who sells handmade leather belts and someone who trains therapy goats?” 

every new person that recognizes you, his ego takes psychic damage. 

“do i even know you?? or are you secretly the mayor??” 

by the end, he’s fully spiraling. ‘is this what it’s like dating a celebrity? should i start networking too? maybe print business cards?’ 

you: “sorry, that was the last one, i swear.” 

guy #17: “[name]?! from that flash mob in shibuya?!” 

isagi: “IM LEAVING. I’M GOING HOME.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[c4tluver02]

after work date

wc: 1.6k

summary: You go into Family Video for a new movie but leave having plans with Steve. <3

warnings: none! sooo flufffyyyy

Walking into Family Video you are immediately greeted by Steve. He’s sporting his green vest and a big smile that shows every time you open the doors. You want to watch Top Gun, unable to see it when it was out in theaters and you were told that the movie just made it to stores. And thankfully you just started dating a boy who happens to give you free movies. Not that you were dating him for the free movies, but of course it didn't hurt. 

“Hey honey!” Steve says, walking around the counter. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.” 

You give him a hug and he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“I wanted to ask if I could borrow Top Gun?” You look really pretty right now and it’s all Steve could think about. 

“Uh- I don’t know if we have anymore, three people have already come in to get a copy.” You can tell by the way he says it he's cursing himself for not magically knowing you’d want to see it. 

“Oh, that's okay I guess I should have known people would want it.” You say, unable to help the pout that comes to your face. 

“I wish you’d told me earlier I would have totally hid a copy for you.” He says matching your frown. 

“I know I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry about, let's look just to make sure. Robin put them away so I don't exactly know how many we got.” He grabs your hand so that you’re following him. He hopes they have another copy.

Standing on your tippy toes you try to look at the top shelf with Steve where the movie would seemingly be. But unfortunately you aren't that lucky. 

“‘M sorry baby.” He’s being all too serious about it, it’s just a movie and it will come back but the patients you had to wait for it are wearing thin. 

Just as he says it Robin steps out from the back and Steve decides to ask her. It’s his last idea to get you what you want, and isn't that boyfriend duty #1? 

“Rob, do you know if we have any more Top Gun?” He asks as you stand behind him looking at the movies, you'd at least like to leave with one movie. 

“Why? Did you already promise it to someone?” She says, rolling her eyes. Knowing him he probably did.  “I took a copy and i'm watching it tonight, whoever needs it will have to fight me tooth and nail!”  

Steve lets out a sigh and smiles. You won't have it tonight but at least you’ll have it tomorrow, he’ll take that as a win. But as you poke out behind him Robin lets out a gasp, she didn't see you and the last person who deserves her wrath is you. 

“It’s ok Robin I won't fight you tooth and nail.” You say with the prettiest smile. You aren’t as close with Steve's friends, only just started dating but Robin does like you. She thinks you're good for Steve

Robin lets out a laugh. “But like I said I’ll watch it tonight so if you wanna come back tomorrow it’ll be all yours. Promise.” 

“Okay, yeah I can come back. Thank you.” 

She nods at you and goes to the other side of the store with a cart full of movies. As she does this Steve grabs onto your wrist and pulls you into a corner, one that blocks Robin from seeing you two. 

“Sorry, it’s just that if Robin sees me not working she’ll throw a movie at me.” 

The laugh you let out makes Steve's heart ache. He is so glad you came in today. 

“So tomorrow I get off at 5 so I was thinking you could, maybe, come in around that time and then we could go get something to eat and then watch the movie together?” How he came up with this whole plan between the time Robin said to come back to now surprises you, but also makes your cheeks heat up. 

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You want to kiss him so bad but you’re at that awkward stage that you could count on one hand how many times you've kissed him and it builds pressure. 

“Okay I’m excited.” Steve says happily as he plays with the rings on your fingers. 

“What do you think we do for dinner?” You ask, trying to distract your brain from how close he is to you. His hands are so warm and he smells really good. 

“Oh, good question, maybe pizza?” He’s now looking at you to see how you respond. When your nose scrunches he’s got his answer before you even put it into words. 

“We just had that this weekend.” This weekend you and the kids had a small pool party at Steves and the big meal was pizza. 

“You’re right, I forgot about that. Okay what are you thinking? Did you want to go out?” His thumbs are so soft as they rub against your knuckles. 

“I don't care we could cook something? Maybe spaghetti, I feel like that can be good.” You and Steve haven't cooked anything together, there's so many firsts between you two it makes you giddy. 

“It does sound good, you're right.” That's the second time he's said it but you’re always right. “I am not gonna lie to you though I am not the greatest cook.” He winces a little, hoping it doesn't put a dam on your plans. 

“That’s okay, what can you cook?” 

“Hmm like five things but I make pretty stellar pancakes, at least that's what the kids said.” 

“Perfect, we can have breakfast for dinner then. Do I need to go to the store to get anything for it?” If you were both in the privacy of his home he would dig his face into your neck and let out a groan. How could you change what you wanted just for his sake and then offer to buy him groceries. Your kindness is something Steve wants to absorb. 

“We really don’t have to change it honey. Whatever you want we can make that.” He’ll get back to the groceries later because you buying anything is a whole conversation in itself. 

“It’s really ok Steve, pancakes sound good and if they are so famous I need to know what the hype is about.” You say as you push yourself off the wall you were leaning on to wrap your arms around his neck.  Automatically his hands land on your hips. 

“You’re too good for me.” He lets his hands drag away from your hips to settle in the back pockets of your pants. 

Your small grin turns into a big smile at the action, he’s never done that but you hope he never stops. All this touching he’s doing makes you officially break, leaning against him to press a kiss to his lips. Steve is quick to respond and pushes you further into him. 

When it feels like Steve is starting to fall backwards from your leaning you squeal, breaking the kiss. It must be loud enough for Robin to hear as she's quick to yell.

“Steve, if I go over there I better see your cart fully empty.” It’s quick and snippy, not giving him any room to fight back. 

Steve however, rolls his eyes used to her lectures. 

“I guess I should let you work huh?” 

“I think you should stay here all day with me.” He obviously is joking but man you wish you could. 

“Then nothing would get done.” 

“Then good thing there's two workers here.” It’s said with the same tone you just had. 

“You’ll live wont your Stevie? I'll see you tomorrow!” 

Steve was so busy looking at your kiss-bitten lips he almost missed the new nickname you just gave him. You saying Steve sounded like velvet coming from your lips but, Stevie. Now that was pure sugar, something so sweet he could get a rush from. 

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see if I make it tomorrow.” He’s expecting that same sweetness to travel over but all he gets is a small hit on the arm. 

“Ow!” It didn't hurt at all but he pouted like it did and if his comment didn't make you feel light headed you would think about how adorable he looks all grumpy. 

“Don’t say that! I will see you tomorrow at 5pm sharp.” You say factually, finally leaving this corner you both have been glued to. 

“Yes I will see you tomorrow honey.” He says as he follows your every step. You’re walking towards the door, trying to leave so he can do his job and not get fired. 

“Wait, one more kiss?” 

Smiling you quickly turns on your heels. Your hands cup his jaw and you start giving him a kiss on his nose, cheeks, and finally his lips. 

“Have a good rest of your shift.” It comes out quieter as your face is extremely close to him from the kisses. 

“Thank you honey.” He gives you a peck himself, unable to hold back. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay?” 

He gets off in 3 hours, you’re not sure what more will change from now till then that he’ll have to tell you about but nonetheless you're excited to hear from him. 

“Okay, I'll be waiting.” 

“Bye, see you tomorrow.” Robin says walking up to your two. Not that there was a deep moment going on but whatever moment you were having now over. 

“Bye Stevie, bye Robin!” You say giving them a small wave as you leave. 

Steve watches to make sure you get to your car safely, sighing with big heart eyes as he looks at Robin. 

“Stevie huh?” She jokes. 

Her mocking voice alone pushes him back to reality and he rolls his eyes going back to his cart. He is already thinking of what you’ll talk about on the phone later tonight.

[eddiesghxst]

ARE YOU BORED YET? - part two

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's "bitchy" step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can't seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, food/eating, mentions of drug use, smoking, secret relationship vibes, lots of tension, kissing, flirting, and eddie being a pain in the ass <3

word count: 10.5k (sorry)

chapter song: magnet and steel x walter egan

| previous part I next part |

I series masterlist | their mixtape | -main masterlist- I

Dry heat, a sputtering engine, and the overwhelming stench of burning asphalt is how you spend the hottest day of the summer.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You just wanted to get out—needed to escape the stifling air of the house, where no amount of fanning yourself or pressing ice cubes to your neck made a difference.

So you took your father’s keys, hopped into the car, and now?

Now, you’re stranded.

Suffocating heat spills through the half-opened windows of the car, sticking to your skin and pressing against your lungs. You turn the key over once again, nothing.

You groan, slapping your hand against the wheel, cursing as you realize— of course, this would happen to you on the hottest day on the goddamn earth.

And just for good measure, you turn the key one last time, jamming your foot into the gas as if it’ll encourage the piece of shit. It sputters. Makes a weird noise. And then— silence. Pathetic silence. 

“Oh, fuck you!” You drag your hands over your face, and your frustration bubbles over. 

Great. It’s great, really. 

Defeated— and overheating— you gaze at the useless wheel and consider your options— which are none. The heat is unbearable, and you’re miles out from Hawkins— because why is the closest mall two towns over?

You need help. Clearly. And luckily, there’s a gas station across the street with a payphone, and if you’re lucky, Steve will pick up. 

Annoyed and maybe with a little too much anger in your movements, you dig out a few coins from your purse before opening the car door. 

You step out, immediately regretting it when you’re smacked with the heat. The pavement is scorching, waves of heat rippling off in the distance as you match your way across the street, and by the time you reach the pay phone, you feel like you’ve been walking through an oven.

You shove a quarter in, angrily punching in numbers before picking up the phone and listening to it ring. 

Three rings pass. You swear under your breath, impatiently tapping your nail against the payphone as you wait. And then, finally, someone picks up. 

“Harrington residence.”

And that’s… not Steve. It’s Eddie.

Your stomach drops. 

Your teeth grind together, your eyes shutting momentarily as you reel in your composure. 

Your voice comes out irritated, “Where’s Steve?” 

“Ah!” Eddie exclaims in a happy tone, “Am I speaking with Malibu Barbie?” He teases.

Your nerves fray, the summer heat singeing them clean off. “Shove it, Eddie; where’s Steve?” You snip.

“Love it when you get mean, princess,” Eddie talks through a mouth of food from what you gather, making your nose crinkle in disgust. He sighs, “Steve’s not here, went to do some rich people shit for your dad.”

You roll your eyes, your hopes depleting by the second. 

If Steve isn’t home, you’ll be left waiting for god knows how long before he can get you. You glance over your shoulder, hesitating, knowing that the only option to escape this debilitating heat is through the man on the other side of the phone. 

This is humiliating. You don’t think you’ll ever come back here again, honestly.

You swallow your pride. 

“My car broke down.” You flatly say. “I need him to pick me up.”

There’s a pause. Not long, but enough to acknowledge. You almost think the call may have dropped. But then, in the most sincere tone you’ve ever heard come from Eddie’s lips—

“Where are you?”

You huff, shifting in your spot as you roll your eyes, “I just said I need Steve.” You stubbornly reply.

“Yeah, well, he’s not here,” Eddie says obviously. “So, unless you wanna sit there and melt, tell me where you are.”

Your grip tightens on the phone, annoyed with how right he is. 

This is the worst-case scenario. 

You could just hang up. You should hang up— figure out some other way home. Because god forbid you have to rely on Eddie right now. Anyone but him.

You’d been avoiding Eddie since the bonfire— not because whatever that was had done a number on you or anything, but because… well, it was just fucking awkward. You didn’t know what to say to him, and you sure as hell didn’t want to address whatever that weird moment was. But Eddie didn’t cease to indoctrinate your household, so you did your best to stay away. However, it seems the universe has other plans.

So, after a long moment, your teeth digging into the soft skin of your lip, you give in and mumble the details of your location. And annoyingly, you feel a sense of relief rolling over you when Eddie says he knows exactly where you are. The feeling is quickly gone when he adds, “Now, was that so hard, grumpy?”

You roll your eyes, grimacing even though he can’t see you, “Just hurry up.” You snap before hanging up.

And when you step away from the payphone, the heat seems even more intense, especially considering the realization that you’re now waiting on Eddie Munson to pick you up. 

And you already know he’s never going to let you live this down.

It feels like hours beneath the summer heat as you wait for Eddie, until finally, you hear the familiar rumble of a rusted-out van. You’re against your car; arms crossed over your chest as you watch him pull in next to you, his music blaring for a moment before he kills the engine.

And you hate the smug grin he has on his face when he hops down from his van— like he’s enjoying this. 

Your expression doesn’t falter from the annoyed look you’ve had for the past hour as he walks over to you. 

“Good afternoon, princess.” He happily greets as he gets closer. 

“Told you to stop calling me that.” You remind him.

“Did you?” He asks, brows lifting in faux surprise. He hums, face twisting in a look of wonder as he tugs a cigarette from behind his ear to stick between his lips. He clicks his tongue once and shrugs as he fishes out a lighter, “Can’t seem to remember.”

Yeah. You should’ve hung up.

“You know,” he pauses to burn the end of the cigarette, flipping the zippo shut and shoving it back in his pocket, “Considering I’m your handsome knight in shining armor,” he teases, casually gesturing towards your situation with the burning stick in hand, “I assumed you’d be happier to see me.”

You shortly hum then, “Keep dreaming, Munson.”

He grins then, lazy and lopsided. You watch his mouth for a moment, stuck on the way it wraps around the cigarette— no. Not this. Not him. 

Smoke billows from his mouth when he responds, “Always do, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, a snarky remark dying on your tongue when he nods behind you and asks, “What’d you do?”

Your face twists in defense, “I did nothing— it just… died.” You shrug. 

Eddie hums like he doesn’t believe you, pulling in a drag as he walks around to the front of your dad's car and rolls his sleeves up. You can’t help how your eyes linger on his arms for a moment, eyeing the dark ink and intricate veins, muscles flexing with every movement. You quickly glance away as he pops the hood open.

“Sounds to me like you ignored the warning signs.” He calls out from behind the hood. 

You roll your eyes, shifting against the side of the car as you distract yourself with the boring scenery around you— seriously, this town has nothing to offer. 

“Can you just figure out what’s wrong and fix it.” You snap as Eddie tinkers with the car. 

He’s lost behind the hood for a few minutes, leaving you to try and distract your thoughts by boredly eyeing shapes into the ground until he slams the hood down, causing you to slightly jump.

The cigarette hangs from his lips, a few streaks of grease smeared on his hands. You’re annoyed, but you’re not blind. He looks good. Annoyingly so, even if you can’t stand him. 

You shrug, “So?” You press. 

He pulls the bandana hanging from his pants pocket, using it to wipe away the dirt on his hands, “Hate to break it to you, Barbie, but I can’t fix this here— gonna have to take it to the shop.”

You exhale sharply, resisting the urge to kick the stupid car. “That’s fuckin’ great.” You sarcastically mumble. 

Eddie’s got a sly grin as he looks at you, honey-dewed beneath the sun, slick with the summer heat and his usual confidence. He tilts his head, eyeing you momentarily like he’s piecing you together before nodding towards his van, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You stare at him, summer heat boiling your blood and every last piece of sense you have— god, you just need to get into some AC. And Eddie’s looking at you like he already knows your answer, with a sly grin on his lips, brown eyes looking at you as if he could see every thought running through your head. 

And you wonder if he’s lying. Would he lie about the state of your car just so he can be your saving grace? With the way he’s smirking, you wouldn’t put it past him. 

Any other day had the temperatures been cooler, you would’ve gladly told Eddie to fuck off, and you’ll find another way home… But it’s hot. Ungodly hot.

So, you yank the car door open and grab your purse, slamming the door shut and locking it. Eddie smiles, taking one last drag before tossing the bud on the ground, “Your place or mine, honey?” He teases as he eyes your body. You feel his gaze more than you’d care to admit.

You grimace, fingers tight on the leather handle of your purse as you stomp past him towards his van, “Just drop me off, Eddie.” You snap.

“Copy that, Malibu.”

He’s hot on your trail, following after you like a pathetic hound as you walk to the passenger side. You reach over to open the door, only for Eddie to reach over you and open it for you. He pulls it open all the way, an annoyingly charming and teasing smile on his face as he politely gestures for you to get in. 

You know what he’s doing.

He knows what he’s doing. And he’s so fucking smug about it.

You can barely hold the huff of annoyance that spills from you as you climb into his stupid van. But he’s not expecting you to buy into his little party trick— he’s surely not expecting you to climb into the passenger seat and slightly arch your back, your tiny skirt riding up your thighs as you slide into a comfortable position. 

He quietly but surely clears his throat, glancing away as you wriggle your skirt back down your thighs, his fingers tightening over the handle for some seconds.

“Thanks, Eds.” You forcefully give a sweet smile, a tiny glimmer of joy sparking in you when he avoids your gaze and nods, “Yep. No problem.” He mumbles before slamming the door shut. You can barely hide the satisfied smile on your lips, basking in the glory of flustering Eddie as you settle into your seat.

Eddie takes his time to walk to the driver's side, the sound of his boots crunching over against the gravel with each of his steps. The driver's door creaks open— and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something, almost anticipating it, but—

He says nothing.

No. Eddie climbs into the driver's seat in complete, utter silence. He doesn’t say anything as he settles in, shifting the car out of park and peeling off back onto the road without a word. 

It’s silent. Unbearably so. The most silence you think you’ve ever endured around Eddie— and you’re not sure if you should be thankful for it. You should be. But it feels weird, knowing Eddie’s true nature of constant noise.

Because Eddie Munson never shuts up.

But a quick glance to your left tells you exactly why.

There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, a glint in his eyes. 

He’s enjoying this— just as you’d suspected. 

Your face twists with something like annoyance, your eyes narrowing as you break the silence, “What?” You snap.

Eddie hums, ringed fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “Nothin’.” He shrugs, lips turning in a momentary frown, “Just enjoying the peace and quiet for once. Really nice. Crisp. You should try it, princess.” He teases.

You roll your eyes, huffing as you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance. A quick response dances on your tongue, but then—

Your stomach rumbles.

Painfully loud.

And Eddie hears it perfectly clear. 

You tense. 

His smirk opens, lips splitting into more of a grin, something downright giddy before he snaps his fingers— like he just won some stupid bet.

“Oh, that is beautiful,” he muses, eyes trained on the road. His face turns in amusement, “Could’ve sworn you were just sitting there all high and mighty, angel, but nope— even the mighty fall.” He shakes his head with a grin.

You glare, arms tightening over yourself as if that’ll silence the sound of your hunger, “Shut up.” 

“Not a chance.” He quickly responds before glancing at you, “That was— Jesus, that was ace,” he huffs out a laugh as you groan in irritation, “When’s the last time you ate? Yesterday?” He teases

“None of your business, Munson.” You grumble, glaring outside the window.

“Ah, so yesterday. Got it.” He snickers to himself.

You’re still glaring out the window when Eddie says, “Well, now we have to get a bite to eat.” He says as if it’s obvious. Technically, it is. 

Your head snaps his way, eyebrows furrowed with a pout on your lips, “What?”

Eddie’s grin widens, pure joy dancing in his eyes. “No. Take me home.” You demand.

The curly-headed boy shakes his head, “Can’t. Not when you’re out here starving, babe. That’s dangerous— you could, like, pass out or something. Scrape your knee in those little heels— and while I am in excellent shape—“

You groan, rolling your head and pressing your temple against the window, “Jesus Christ, Munson—“

“—I would rather not have to fight Harrington because I let his sister die of starvation, you get my gist? So, really, we have no choice but to go eat.” He shrugs. He glances at you and drops a wink your way, “For my sake.” 

You stare at him, disbelief of your situation settling in your mind. He’s torturing you. That’s what this is— torture. 

“Take me home.” You repeat.

But Eddie says nothing. He’s got a gleam in his eyes, the type that lets you know he’s already put his stupid little plan into action as he flips his turn signal on.

And before you can protest again, he’s turning into the tiny parking lot of a very conveniently placed diner. 

“Eddie—“

“Relax,” He purrs, shifting the van into park, “You don’t have to thank me… but I do accept tips in the form of cash and kisses.”

You gawk at him, stomach flipping at his stupid fucking words because— seriously, who does this guy think he is?

“You are so fucking irritating, do you know that?” You stress.

Eddie shrugs, “So I’ve heard,” he opens his door, grabbing the keys from the ignition, “C’mon, I’ll even let you sit on my side of the booth.”

And before you can argue anymore, before you can fight it, he’s already climbing out and swinging the door shut. You sit in your seat, fingers curled into a fist as you watch Eddie waltz into the diner.

You shouldn’t follow him.

You shouldn’t reward his insufferable behavior. 

And you really shouldn’t want to spend a second longer enduring his annoying presence. 

But your stomach grumbles again. And there’s something fun about this back-and-forth you have with Eddie, something you’re not entirely sure of but couldn’t care less to figure out. 

You drop your head against the headrest, a frustrated groan ripping from your chest. You pause for a moment, reeling yourself in before dragging in a deep breath and opening the door. 

Whatever. 

You’re hungry, and you’ve had a long day.

And Eddie?

Well, he’s got a shit-eating grin, already seated in a booth with a perfect view of you stomping across the parking lot. 

You swing the door open, the bell above it ringing in some mocking little victory chime for Eddie— and you really hate the way he’s stretched over the back of the booth, arms splayed out in his usual, infuriating, cocky manner. 

You should turn around.

You should flip him off, try and call home again, figure out a way to get away from his annoying and handsome smirk. 

But you slide into the booth, an irritated pout on your lips as you cross your arms.

His smirk widens, his knee bouncing beneath the table as he tilts his head, “There she is,” he muses, leaning forward to grab a menu on the table and sliding it towards you, “In all her angry glory. Let’s get some food in that talkin’ tummy, yeah?”

“I hate you.” You grumble, begrudgingly grabbing the menu.

“Fair,” he hums, opening his own menu and grazing over the options, “Doesn’t change the fact that I saved your ass twice in one day. You’re 0-2, pixie— you kinda owe me.”

“I do not.” You quickly reply. 

“Sure you do. Didn’t I just save you from incinerating off the side of the road? And haven’t I just saved you from dying of starvation? Seriously, you owe me, like, a dozen strawberry-milkshake-sugar-sweet kisses.”

You grimace at him from across the table for a moment, fingers tightening on the edges of the menu, “I’m not kissing you.”

Eddie grins, winking at you, “We’ll see about that.”

Before you can send a quick remark his way, a lady is stepping up to your table, boredly clicking her pen as she asks, “What can I getcha?”

Eddie’s grin never falters, but you don’t care to stare any longer, turning your focus to the lady, “A burger and fries, please. And a coke.” You order.

Eddie hums, eyes never having left you.

“For you, sir?” 

Eddie smiles at the lady before looking back at the menu, “I’ll have a burger too— double stacked— extra pickles, onion, and cheese. Fries, make ‘em crispy, and a side of your special sauce, please… I’ll take some nugs too actually,” he lists off as the lady takes note, “Aaaand, two milkshakes. One chocolate, one strawberry— extra whipped cream with a cherry on top.” He finishes with a satisfied smile, closing the menu and handing it to the lady.

The lady walks off to put your order in, and you stare at Eddie as he leans back in the booth, “You realize you just ordered a meal for an entire nation, right?” You ask. “You’d snap with a strong breeze; where are you putting that?”

Eddie hums, tilting his head and thinking, “You ever ran from the cops before?”

Your face twists in confusion, “What? No?”

Eddie hums, “Burns the calories quicker than a line of coke.”

You pause for a moment, blinking at him as he gazes at you, fingers fiddling with a napkin as if his words are something normal to say— coming from him and his chaotic nature, though, you suppose they are.

You blink, “Why are you running from cops, Eddie?” 

“The first, second, or third time?” He muses.

You stare.

He watches you, no indication of a joke on his face— and you begin to slightly worry.

But then he slowly grins, flicking a piece of ripped napkin paper at you, which you bat away with a grimace, “That’s called a joke, princess,” he teases, a devilish smirk on his face when he adds, “I’m a saint… only ran once.”

You nod, eyeing him, “Right.” you mutter, shaking your head.

The conversation naturally dies down then, and for a moment, there’s just the soft hum of the diner—plates clinking, low conversations murmuring around you. You tap your fingers lightly against the table, eyes drifting to the neon glow of the jukebox in the corner, wondering if you should say something.

A flash of that moment some nights ago passed by the forefront of your mind. 

But before you can think too long about it, the food arrives.

Plates of hot food are placed before you— and Jesus Christ, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the scent of a fresh burger and fries wafts in the air, making your stomach clench. You eye the food for half a second before reaching for your burger, fully ready to demolish it—

Only to pause when Eddie immediately grabs his own and takes a massive bite, nearly inhaling it all.

You take a bite of your own, taking your time to thoroughly chew as you watch Eddie scarf down three bites worth in one. You raise an eyebrow, “You’re gonna choke.” You warn him.

Eddie hums, talking through a mouthful, “Worse ways to go.”

And you smile, taking another bite of your meal as you think— this kind of isn’t bad.

Eddie groans in satisfaction, slumping back into the booth with a dramatic sigh, a full stomach, and an empty plate. He spreads his arms wide across the top, stretching out like he’s just finished running a marathon. The chains and pendants hanging from his neck glimmer beneath the dim glow of the diner as he tilts his head, and you do your best to look anywhere else. 

“So,” he looks at you, a look of amusement dancing in his eyes, “Care to tell me what you were doing all the way in sketchy-middle-of-bum-fuck-nowhere Indiana?”

You drag in a breath, twirling a fry between your fingertips as you shrug, “Mall.”

Eddie’s grin drops, face paling into a deadpan expression, ”That’s it?”

You pop the fry in your mouth, humming with a nod as you swallow before answering, “That’s it.”

Eddie blinks, face twisting in something like disgusted confusion, “You drove that far just to shop?”

You roll your eyes, glancing out the window as you cross your arms over your chest, “No, Eddie, I drove that far to practice my backflips off the escalator.”

Eddie snorts, leaning forward to snag a fry from your plate— he’d been stealing bites from you the whole time, sneaking around your hands to steal a dip in your ketchup or sip on your milkshake— and each time, he ignored your protests, so you’ve given up.

“Now that,” he snickers, pointing the fry at you, “I’d pay to see.” He eats the fry, a glimmer in his eye.

He shrugs, “Well? Get anything nice?”

You shrug, pulling your milkshake towards you and taking a long sip.

Eddie gasps, dramatized horror seeping around the edges. “Oh my god,” he muses, “You’re one of those people.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion, “Huh?”

Eddie grimaces, “The ones who just walk around and look for shits and giggles.”

You shrug, “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, it’s a waste of a trip, doll.” Eddie points out, which is arguably true in your situation. 

Still, you roll your eyes, “I bought stuff, asshole.”

Eddie grins, unbothered, swirling the straw in his nearly empty cup as he looks at you, “Oh? Something good, or does Indiana have nothin’ on California stock?”

You sigh, leaning back into the booth and crossing your arms, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I bought a pair of sunglasses. And a dress.” You say matter-of-factly.

Eddie’s lips twitch, “Wow. Life-changing. Try it on for me.”

You grimace, “In your dreams, Munson.”

“Name the color so I can get an accurate image.” He teases.

You stare at him, a devious look in his eyes and that stupid smirk that won’t wipe off his lips. 

“Blue.” You casually say. Eddie groans. “Baby blue. Mid-thigh length.”

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbles, glancing out the window as he rubs a hand over his mouth. He looks back at you, playful lust in his eyes, “You’re an evil woman.”

You innocently shrug, taking another long sip of your milkshake.

And beneath the table, you shift your leg, not thinking much when you do it before—

Your foot nudges Eddie’s.

It’s not much, could easily be ignored and passed as an accident— which it is.

But Eddie doesn’t let it pass as so.

He nudges you back. 

You pause, heart skipping a beat when your gaze flickers to him. He’s completely normal. Popping a fry in his mouth and chewing way too casually like he hasn’t just done that on purpose.

Like he isn’t waiting to see what you’ll do next. Like you’re too chicken to play this little game he’s started.

And because you’re not thinking, the sun having gone to your head or something, and maybe because you’re a little tired of thinking, you take the bait.

You nudge him again.

His lips twitch, brown eyes dancing across your face. He props his chin in his hand, lips twisting in thought as his foot presses against the side of yours, the toe of his boot scratching against your ankle.

“Favorite color?”

You hum, shrugging as you dance below the table, “Not my favorite, but I like it. You?” You respond casually, but your heart is thrumming in your chest, nearly flopping out onto the table because— Jesus Christ, what are you doing?

Your foot scratches against the lower back of Eddie’s calf, and he stirs, tossing another fry into his mouth in distraction.

“Blood red,” he easily says, “But— I doubt it’ll still be number one once I see that dress.”

And your game goes on. 

Eddie stays casual, steady gaze settled on you as he snacks on the rest of your fries— like this is easy for him. Like this isn’t the first time you’re allowing yourself to play this— whatever this is— with him.

You’re very much aware of how your foot is still pressed against his. You’re very aware of this little cat-and-mouse game— your foot will brush his, he will nudge back, you will wander off, and he will find you.

And neither of you mention it.

Because Eddie isn’t, and you refuse to do it.

You let it build. The shock of warmth that shoots up your leg each time he finds you, the lousy waltz your eyes are in— you let it inch forward more and more.

Your milkshake is finished, and the sun is gone, but you’re still so fucking hot, and your neck burns, and just when you think to call it quits and pull away for good— Eddie traps you.

His foot sneaks in behind yours, and he loops around your ankle. 

Not forcefully— you could definitely move away if you wanted to.

And you do. You think.

But he’s saying something, and you’re watching his lips move, his ringed fingers glimmer beneath the light, and his skin is pressed against yours beneath the table— and you don’t want to move. Can’t. Not even if you tried.

Not when he’s warm and gentle, and all of your defense is benched.

And goddamn him— he’s so fucking annoying, he doesn’t even look bothered, and he clearly isn’t when he flicks a soggy fry at your forehead.

“Ow, what the hell?” You frown, dusting the salt from your head. 

“You weren’t paying attention.” He plainly says, though there’s a glint in his eyes.

You scowl, flinging the fry back at him only for him to dodge it, “You’re a child.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

He slinks his foot away from you, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips as you drag in a silent breath.

“What’s my favorite color?” He asks.

You gaze at him, subconsciously committing this view of him to memory as you boredly reply, “I was listening, you idiot.”

He turns his head, offering his ear as he gestures his fingers in a ‘speak up’ motion. You roll your eyes before responding, “Blood red.”

He hums, tapping the table as he exits the booth, “And don’t forget it next time you’re at the mall.” He winks.

The drive home is mostly quiet.

It’s not awkward, more so just… charged. Like neither of you wants to speak and shatter what you’d started beneath the diner table. Like you’re too afraid to speak of it and call it something.

A game. That’s all it was.

And your ankle is still buzzing.

You can almost feel the scratch of his boot against your skin.

Eddie’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, his rings clinking softly. The radio hums softly beneath the rumble of the van, something lazy and bluesy that sounds nearly historic crackling through the old speakers. 

He pulls into your house, the van slowing to a stop— and you kind of had hoped the drive would never stop. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t be forced to finally say something. 

What do you say?

The headlights wash over the white picket fence and pristine lawn— a sharp contrast to the dim, cramped diner where your foot had been tangled with his just an hour ago.

You shift in your seat, stalling, hand on the door handle but not moving. You try to convince yourself it’s because you’re tired— summer heat. 

But you know better. And Eddie knows better, too.

“So,” he drawls, twisting one of his rings. He glances at you, curly hair rolling over his shoulders, a suppressed grin cracking at his lips, “Good date?”

You scoff, finally looking at him, “That wasn’t a date.”

Eddie smirks, huffing out a laugh as he briefly looks out his window like he’s trying to stop from bursting into a full-blown fit of laughter. “Right. My mistake.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag, before opening the door to get out. Your feet hit the pavement, your fingers curling around the door, preparing to shut it when Eddie speaks again. His face is unreadable in the dim light, but his voice is… softer. Less teasing.

“You had fun, though, right?”

And you hesitate, gripping the handle of your bag— because yeah. You did. Too much.

You tilt your head, flashing a look his way before you shrug and respond, “I survived.”

Eddie laughs, craters of sun carving out in his cheeks as he looks away. And you can’t stop the mirror of a slight smile on your lips as you close the door and turn around.

He watches you walk to the door, and you only know not because you turn back around to catch it, but because you can feel his gaze burning with each step you take.

And because Eddie is a thorough chauffeur, he waits until you get the door open before driving away. And you don’t look back.

Not until the red glow of his taillights disappears down the street.

Eddie doesn’t leave your mind easily.

Granted, it’s been less than a day, but that doesn’t make your restlessness any less frustrating. After Eddie dropped you off, you spent the better half of your night batting away flashes of your afternoon with him.

His stupid grin when he picked you up. His teasing comments. His clunky rings. The way his lips curled around a cigarette, the brush of his skin against yours. It plays in your mind like a shitty looped movie, running on repeat from the moment you closed the car door to when you stepped into the shower to when your head hit the pillow.

Admittedly, it’s annoying as hell.

Like an itch. An intrusive thought that won’t quit no matter how hard you try to ignore it. If lobotomies were still legal, you might’ve scheduled one by now—because nothing, absolutely nothing, seems to get that stupid metalhead idiot out of your head.

Which is why you’re here now, lounging by your friend’s pool, still reeling, when the words slip out before you can stop them—

"Do you know Eddie Munson?"

Mia, one of the true friends you’ve made in the years of visiting Hawkins, sits on the lounge chair beside you, focused as she paints her toenails and hums. She doesn’t look up as she responds, “Eddie?” She pauses to blow on the wet paint and shrugs, “Yeah, of course. Why?”

You lean back against your chair, sunglasses dipping as you look at your friend, “He’s always at my house— friends with Steve,” you mutter, “Weird, right?”

Mia huffs a laugh, shifting as she focuses on her task, “Yeah, kinda. Don’t remember Steve having a resident bad boy in his little high school clique.”

“Exactly.” You muse, “That’s what makes it weird.” And honestly, you’re glad you’re not the only one who sees it. How Steve and Eddie even crossed paths will always be a myth to you.

And because your mind is a whirlwind of questions and you seem to have lost your dignity, you move on, voice neutral like your prodding is coming from a place of gossip— “Did you talk in school?”

Thankfully, Mia doesn’t seem to catch your curiosity— Eddie is an interesting guy compared to most people in Hawkins. She hums, still focused on her nails, “Not much. He was a grade above me, so we never really crossed paths, but y’know,” she shrugs, “People talk.”

That piques your interest, your brow raising as you ask, “Talk about what?”

Mia sighs as she shifts her attention to the next set of nails, “That he’s a troublemaker, for one. He was kind of just… always doing his own thing,” she mindlessly rambles, “Skipped class half the time, played in his band, sold drugs in the parking lot.” She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head, “Honestly, I don’t even think he tried to graduate.”

You scoff with a playful roll of your eyes, “Shocking.”

“He was kind of nuts. He was, like… crazy, but in a fun way,” she explains, “Loud, dramatic— he walked across the lunch table once, so, definitely not boring.”

Your face twists in confusion, imagining Eddie walking across a lunch table, but before you can ask, Mia shrugs and speaks again, “I don’t know, he’s kinda hot.”

You nearly freeze. 

You glance over at Mia, playing it cool, when you hum in an uninterested tone, “Not my style.”

Mia shrugs, completely unfazed, “Fair. He’s not a lot of people’s style.” She pauses, tilting her head before a small smirk dances along her lips, “But, y’know, I did hear he’s good with his fingers.”

You blink, heart skipping a beat for a moment. “What?”

Mia grins, finishing her task and twisting the nail polish lid back onto the bottle as she shrugs, “You know… he’s in a band. Plays guitar. And allegedly, that skill transfers.”

You scoff, pushing your sunglasses higher up your nose as if the plastic frame will hide whatever the hell your face is doing, “Jesus Christ, Mia.” You mumble.

Mia laughs, stretching out her legs on the chair as she leans back and wriggles in her spot, “Hey, I’m just repeating what I heard,” she defends, “Some girl at a party a while back was very detailed about it.”

And you don’t want to think about it.

You really don't want to imagine whatever hell Eddie Munson’s fingers could release upon your body because that is the last thing you need, and god— you should’ve never asked.

You grab the magazine next to you, desperate to distract your hands from nervous fidgeting. You shrug, playing a facade of boredom, “Yeah, well. Still not my type.”

Mia snickers, gliding a pair of shades over her eyes and relaxing into her chair, “Sure, babe. Whatever you say.”

And you hate that you know she’s right.

The days pass uneventfully.

Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The heatwave has passed, so you keep yourself busy— lounging by the pool, flipping through magazines and books, running forced errands with your stepmother, and meeting up with Mia when you can. It’s enough to keep your mind occupied but not enough to stop Eddie’s presence from creeping in during the quiet moments.

It’s frustrating.

It was just one day. One stupid, random, impulsive day. And yet, his voice, his smirk, the way he looked at you before you left his car— it lingers. Just as much as your newfound information about his magical fingers.

It’s like trying to scrub off a marker stain that refuses to fade.

And it doesn’t help that Steve has been acting annoyingly weird. Smirking and snickering. Amused. Like he knows something.

And you shouldn’t feel bothered by it— because it was nothing— but you do.

You’re sitting at the dining table, absently pushing the grilled asparagus around your plate, hardly listening to whatever your stepmother is saying until your dad says your name.

“Did you go out today?” He asks, cutting into his steak.

You shrug, “Not really. Just hung out here. Swam for a bit.”

Steve snorts, barely looking up from his plate as he spears a bite of chicken. Your brows knit together, face twisting in subtle annoyance before you decide to ignore him.

”What about the rest of the week? Been keeping busy, right? You’ve got another two months left; can’t spend it locked up inside.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and shrug again, “I guess. Nothing exciting. There’s, like, nothing to do here anyway.”

Steve huffs a laugh, chewing his chicken as he shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You barely have a chance to shoot a glare his way before he mutters, “Don’t lie. She’s been hanging with Eddie.”

His words crash over you like a bucket of ice water.

Because, what the fuck?

Your head snaps toward him, stomach twisting, pulse skipping a beat, “I have not been hanging with Eddie,” you snap. “We hung out once. By accident.”

Your dad hums, sipping his drink, “When you broke my car.” 

You glare at him next— that conversation didn’t go over well— “Yes, when your car broke down, which was, again, an accident.” You stress.

Steve huffs, sending an unconvinced glare your way, “Yeah? Well, quit throwing yourself at him then, ‘cause I’m tired of hearing him ramble about you.”

“Steve.” Your stepmother warns.

And you… you’re not quite sure if you’re breathing right.

What?

Your body runs so hot you could nearly burn a hole through the table. Your father smirks around the rim of his glass, eyes holding an amused glimmer like this is the most entertaining thing he’s heard all week.

You, however, are not entertained.

“I’m not throwing myself at anyone, you absolute moron.” You grit out, face burning despite your best efforts.

Steve shrugs, “Could’ve fooled me.”

You glare, turning back to pushing at the food on your plate, “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Steve just leans back in his chair, his mother shaking her head as her son continues to spew out nonsense, “Oh, I don’t? Well, I guess Eddie’s been hallucinating then, huh?”

You scoff in disbelief, “Probably. The drugs probably finally got to him, I don’t fucking know!” You stress.

“Language.” Your father warns, earning an eye roll from you.

Steve's mom gasps, turning to her son, “Steve!” She exclaims, “Drugs?”

Steve waves her off with an annoyed glance, “All I’m saying is there’s no way Eddie is the only one buying into whatever you two have going on— gross.”

Your heart kicks up a speed, but you fight to keep your expression neutral.

“Well, it’s not my fault your weird friends never spent more than two minutes around a girl.” You bite back.

Steve’s mother finally waves her hands about the table, “Okay, you two, that’s enough. We’re not here to discuss sibling politics; we’re here to eat.”

Steve shrugs, taking another bite into his chicken— which you hope is poisoned. You roll your eyes, returning your attention to your plate, trying to act like your pulse isn’t pounding in your ears.

But it is.

And as much as you don’t want to, you can’t stop wondering about Eddie’s supposed “ramblings.”

And you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

That maybe he’s just rambling about how he thinks you’re annoying or something stupid— but from how Steve put it, and from the way Eddie acts towards you—

You know it’s the complete opposite.

And you hate that it makes your insides twist.

The past few days have been… weird.

Eddie doesn’t know exactly why, but something’s been sitting in his chest, subtle yet loud.

Maybe it’s because he’s been trying not to think about you.

Which, by the way, isn’t working.

Because he can’t stop thinking about you.

Admittedly, Eddie is a flirt at heart. He likes playing with shiny things, and you’re a fucking beam of light. That being said, sure, Eddie initially started this little cat-and-mouse game as a fun little summer activity, but shit Eddie’s never been this dedicated to a game other than D&D.

He knew his chances with you were slim— because what’s a guy like him doing poking his nose around a girl like you? But the other night, sitting across from you in that shitty diner, hearing your laugh and seeing your smile, feeling you against him— shit, Eddie’s done for.

Sugar-sweet, honeycomb, crisp sunshine— Eddie feels this sticky, gooey substance oozing down the sides of his insides every time you pass by.

He’s kept himself busy, helping Wayne with the truck, jamming with the guys, and doing extra shifts at the shop. He’s been a busy guy for a guy that isn’t usually busy. 

And you’d think it’d tire his brain out enough to not be able to think about you, but nope. 

You’re still there, at the forefront of his mind, bright as ever, Malibu sun in all her glory.

If Eddie’s being honest, he gave up trying after the second day. 

Lets you run rampant in his cluttered mind, sprinkling stardust on everything and throwing up glitter. God, Eddie’s fucked. And he knows it, not only because he feels it when he sees you and his body gets this surge of adrenaline, but also because— Steve sees it.

Eddie doesn’t know; maybe he said something offhanded— his mouth runs a lot; he stopped paying attention to it back in middle school— so he was kind of thrown when Steve just casually looked at him and went, “If you’re gonna have a crush on my sister, at least do it silently, man.”

Eddie… did nothing.

Couldn’t.

Not even if the weed allowed him to.

He thinks he just laughed, said something witty, and told Steve to fuck off, but he doesn’t quite remember— why? Because he was busy thinking about you.

He’d been waiting for a chance to get alone with you again, whisk you away like he did the other night, make you fall disgustingly hard for him— shit, get a ring, make it official or something, jump every last one of the hoops— but you’ve done an excellent job at making yourself scarce.

Until now.

Now, Eddie’s at the town's yearly carnival, and you’re right fucking there.

Eddie barely processes it at first— he’s walking through the loud park with the guys, laughing at something dumb Jeff said, and that’s when he feels it— the weight of your gaze.

He glances up, and sure enough, there you are.

And you’re already looking at him. 

And Eddie has you caught.

You’re standing near the ticket booth, arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath your sunglasses. The neon lights drip over you in shifting colors— blue, then pink, then gold. 

Malibu sun in all her beautiful, stubborn glory.

You don’t look away. Or maybe you do. Eddie can’t tell past the lights bursting across your shades, but he takes it upon himself to grab the invitation either way.

A slow, wicked, and hungry grin tugs at his lips. He alters his course, peeling off from his group of friends without so much as a word. They don’t notice— he doubts they’d question it if they did.

He weaves through the crowd, sugar-high kids dashing past him, hands in his pockets and eyes loose on you until he’s standing right before you.

The smell of your perfume drifts in the wind, whizzing up his nose and licking the grooves of his brain. His stomach churns.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess.”

You lift an unimpressed brow, still unreadable beneath your glasses. “Mm. Lucky me.”

Stubborn as ever.

Eddie inhales it like freshly washed sheets.

Eddie smirks, leaning against the ticket booth, “Careful. Almost sound happy to see me.”

You scoff, shifting your weight and glancing away, “In your dreams.”

“You’d be surprised how often you show up there, honey.”

You hum, your nose wrinkling— Eddie’s insides burn.

“Surprised? Not really. Grossed out? Maybe.”

Eddie raises a brow, “You know what… I’ll take a maybe.”

His gaze flickers towards a ride across the park, and he looks back at you as you retrieve your tickets from the man in the booth. And before you can walk away, Eddie speaks again, “Take a ride with me?”

You look at him momentarily, seemingly thinking it over before shrugging, “No thanks.”

You turn around, taking a few steps before Eddie jogs up to you, turning and walking backward as he paces before you, “Come on babe,” he drawls, “I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here.”

You raise an eyebrow, fingers tight around your string of carnival tickets, “Well, I heard you’ve got a reputation with girls and your fingers, so, can’t be much of a missed opportunity.”

Eddie physically malfunctions.

His smirk falters, just for a second, his pace slowing. 

And you pause, and Eddie sees it on your face— you fucked up.

Your lips part for a moment, about to say something, something to debunk what the hell you just said— but Eddie beats you to it.

He laughs, eyes widening in disbelief, “Oh-ho-ho,” Eddie delights, “Look at you, princess. Fishing for details.” He drawls. You groan, attempting to walk around him only for Eddie to follow after you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if it’ll help him digest your words easier, “Hold on— did you just slut shame me?” He exclaims with a grin.

“Yes. And no, I wasn’t fishing for details.” You hiss.

“No, no, no,” Eddie places a hand on your shoulder and turns you to him, “You can’t just drop that in casual conversation and expect me to let it go.” He pauses, eyes narrowing at you before he leans in, a devilish smirk on his lips as his voice lowers, “You wanna try ‘em out, huh?”

You grimace, “Excuse me—”

Eddie wriggles his decorated fingers in your face, “Right here, ready to go for you, honeybee.”

You smack your hand against Eddie’s, batting him away as your face twists with an annoyed expression, “And what about you?” You press.

Eddie looks at you, amusement woven with confusion, “What about me?” His fingers dance across your wrist, licks of fire kissing his fingertips, “I’m not the one accusing you of sleeping with the entire town, sugartits.” He points out.

You hum, crossing your arms and straightening your back, “Well, you’re the one rambling to Steve about me. That’s cute, Munson.” You lean in, “You’ve got a crush on me.”

Eddie’s brain short-circuits.

Because what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

He blinks.

“The hell are you talking about?”

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips, “Steve told me.”

Eddie scoffs, looking away as if unfazed, shifting in his spot as he shrugs, “Steve’s full of shit.”

You hum, “If you say so.”

Eddie shrugs, “So we’re both in love— knew that already.”

“We are not—“

Eddie waves you off, trying and failing to suppress a smile, “Yeah, yeah— getting on the ride or what?”

You look at Eddie, arms crossed, cute and disgruntled.

Oh, he’s definitely got you stuck.

“One ride.”

Eddie smirks, slinging an arm over your shoulders and forcing you to walk with him, “Just what I like to hear.”

He takes you across the park, a shit-eating grin on his face and you under his arm. Eddie glances at you, smirking at your forced look of annoyance. He snags your sunglasses, perching them on his face and grinning when you grumble and try to take them back, “Come on, princess. Gotta save my eyes; your smiles just too bright.” He teasingly complains, poking at the side of your lips.

You roll your eyes, giving up on retrieving your glasses when he bats you away. “You’re so annoying,” you grumble, but Eddie sees your lips twitch.

“You love me.” He squeezes your arm.

And because Eddie’s a total shithead, he stops at the scariest-looking ride in the park, smirking when you gaze up at it, arms crossed.

“Nope.”

Eddie tilts his head, grinning. “Nope?”

You turn to Eddie, a stern look on your face, “Nope,” you repeat, “I’m not getting on that thing.” You point towards the ride of screaming victims.

Eddie clutches his chest dramatically, “Wow,” he muses, “Can’t believe this. Little miss indestructible, afraid of a little carnival ride.”

You glare at him, “It’s not fear; it’s common sense. I like my feet on the ground.”

“Oh?” Eddie hums, lips mockingly turning into a pout, “Sounds like fear, baby.”

You huff, shifting your weight, “Pick something else.”

Eddie looks at the ride for a second before looking back at you. “Nah.”

“Eddie—”

“Just so we’re clear,” Eddie holds up a finger, leaning in when he speaks, “If you pick another ride, I’m never letting you live this down. Every time I see you, I’ll greet you with a, ‘Hey, remember when you chickened out at the carnival?’”

Your jaw clenches. A pause of silence. A glance at the ride.

Caught.

So fucking caught.

“So fucking stupid.” You mutter with a shake of your head. “Fine.”

The metal bar slams over your laps with a heavy clunk, ringing in Eddie’s ears like a winning chime.

And beside him, you shift in your seat, hands gripping the bar, jaw tight as you glare straight ahead. Eddie grins, lounging back like he’s in a recliner, one arm draped over the side.

“You look tense, princess.”

“I wonder why,” you deadpan.

Eddie snickers, impulsively reaching out and giving your bar a heavy shake just to mess with you. You flinch, snapping your head towards him and gripping his hands, “Stop that.” you stress, peeling his fingers from your seat.

“What?” Eddie drawls, “Just making sure it’s secure.” He hums innocently, a shit-eating grin on his face to ruin the act. “Wouldn’t want you flying off, now, would we?”

You exhale sharply, a frown on your face as you turn forward again, “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re still risking your life for me.” He teases.

You roll your eyes, fingers still tight around the bar. Eddie leans in a little, voice dropping when he asks, “You nervous?”

You scoff, knuckles nearly popping from your skin, “No.”

“You sure?” Eddie grins, “You’re holding onto that thing like it’s your last hope.”

You release the bar immediately, crossing your arms instead, “I just— I don’t trust these things, alright.” You grumble.

Eddie hums, glancing around, “Yeah, I mean… I did see a loose bolt on the track earlier— but I’m sure it’s fine.”

You turn, eyes wide, as you look at Eddie, and it takes Eddie everything in his body not to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Are you serious?” You stress.

Eddie pauses. Thinks you’re the prettiest sight when you’re about to fling yourself off the ride and probably murder him.

Then he grins. “Nah.”

You elbow him— quite hard, actually— and Eddie barks out a laugh just as the ride jerks to life, gears whirring as you begin your slow ascent.

Eddie glances at you again, sees the way you shift, the way you press your lips together as the ground sinks further and further beneath you. 

And Eddie can’t help himself.

“You can hold my hand if you want,” he offers, wriggling his fingers in your direction.

You glance at his fingers. Eddie thinks you consider it, but you huff and look away, adjusting your grip on the bars, “I’d rather die.”

Eddie just laughs, the wind whipping through his hair as the ride reaches the top, “Suit yourself, princess.”

And then—

The ride drops.

Eddie’s head throws back in laughter, and the wind roars, whipping through his curls and pressing his shirt to his chest as gravity yanks you both down. The weightlessness sends a rush through his veins, fire licking hot through his veins. He fucking loves this.

A scream rips through the air beside him.

Eddie glances over and— oh, shit, this is better than the ride itself.

You look miserable.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth open in a blood-curdling scream that gets stolen by the wind and stirring gears, drowned out by the deafening carnival sounds. You’re gripping the safety bar like your life depends on it— which it does— and your body is stiff as you get thrown into a loop.

Eddie laughs even harder then, because— god, she’s adorable.

The ride twists, flips you upside down, and snaps you back into another soul-snatching drop. You let out another breathless scream, like you’ll never come out of this alive, cursing at Eddie like he’s this is his fault— and Eddie soaks up every second, grinning wide, weightless, and free.

And then something grabs him.

Eddie falters for a moment and blinks, head snapping down, and— oh.

Your hand. Wrapped tight around his. Like it’s instinct— like you reached for him without thinking.

The ride whips sideways, but Eddie’s hardly paying attention to that anymore.

His hand is on fire.

Sweet, sizzling, hot fire.

You don’t let go. Not even when the ride is tossed through another loop, not when your breath stutters from the sheer force of another drop— your hand stays steady planted around Eddie’s.

He feels the tremble in your fingers, how hard you’re clutching— like he’s steadier than the metal bar bolted to the seat, solely there to protect you.

Eddie’s stomach flips, and it’s not because of the ride.

He’s grinning wide, fingers curling around your hand, allowing himself to greedily take your mindless opening.

By the time the ride slows to a stop, Eddie’s still smiling, riding high on a sunny-bliss wave. 

You rip your hand from his, and Eddie watches as you unbuckle yourself, your face twisted in utter betrayal.

“That was awful.” You pant, shaking out your hands like they’ve fallen asleep, “I fucking hate you.”

Eddie cocks his head, beaming. “You held my hand.”

You pause, still breathing shakily, as you look at Eddie for a second. Your gaze flickers down, fingers flexing like they remember how Eddie felt just moments ago.

Eddie’s grin stretches as your expression shifts from realization to horror, and before you can say something, Eddie wiggles his fingers, “Still feelin’ ‘em, too. Strong grip, princess. You sure you don’t wanna hold ‘em again?”

You shove Eddie so hard he nearly topples over.

Eddie laughs, honest and deep in his chest— god, he’s having fun.

Eddie unbuckles his seat, lifting the bar above your heads, careful not to hit you. You step down from the seat, wobbling for a moment, but Eddie catches your elbow before you take out an entire family of children.

“Woah there,” he muses, holding you steady, “You okay? Need me to carry you?”

You glare at him, letting Eddie gently guide you out of the way for other passengers, “Pick something else before I kill you.”

Eddie grins.

God, he so fucking won.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, honeybee.”

And just like that, you’re off again, moving through the park like it’s just the two of you.

And you don’t bring up your friends.

Neither does Eddie.

You just keep going, slipping from one ride to the next, getting caught up in the rush, the lights, the sheer gravity of just being together. Eddie’s never felt this high.

By the time Eddie does think about your groups of friends, it’s already too late. They’re gone.

Not that he gives a single shit.

Mostly everyone is slowly leaving the park because they’re about to close, but one last ride catches Eddie’s eye.

“One more?”

You look at Eddie, a glow on your face that Eddie can’t stop admiring. “I think I’ve had enough of feeling my heart drop out of my ass, Munson.”

Eddie smiles, already tugging you towards the ride he has in mind. “This one's slow.”

You look at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion of the devilish grin on his face. You follow his gaze, groaning when you land on his target, “That’s for couples.” You point out, “And it’s cheesy.”

Eddie shrugs, “We’re a couple, babe. Madly in love, you and I.” 

You roll your eyes, barely fighting back as Eddie pulls you into the Tunnel of Love.

There’s no one in line, so Eddie slips the guy two tickets and leads you straight to the awaiting boat. He lends you a hand into the boat because he’s a gentleman before he’s a menace, before taking a seat next to you.

You sit quietly, looking everywhere but Eddie— because here in this tiny little shitty boat, you’re practically sharing the same breath. And Eddie loves it.

“This is stupid.” You mutter.

“As stupid as the first, second, third, or fourth ride you said was stupid?” Eddie teases, draping an arm across the back of the boat, not touching you but just there.

You glare at Eddie, and the boat drifts forward, slipping into the tunnel’s shadow. The warm glow of the carnival lights disappears behind you, swallowed by the dim flicker of fake candles and twinkling stars overhead. It’s quiet in here— just the soft hum of old music and the gentle rush of the water beneath the boat.

You shift beside Eddie, arms crossed as your eyes dance around, “This is kind of creepy.”

Eddie smirks. He leans in, voice low like he’s telling a secret, “It’s haunted, actually.”

You huff through your nose, unimpressed, though your knee bounces momentarily, “Yeah, okay.”

”No, really,” Eddie insists, biting back a grin. You glance at him, your faces close. “Couple got stuck in here. Died. Now they haunt anyone who makes out in these things.”

You huff out a laugh, eyes glancing away as you turn back to the ride, “Wow. So tragic. Guess we should definitely avoid that, then.”

Eddie shrugs, all casual and smug, turning back to the ride as well, “I mean… unless you’re feeling brave— ever been ghost hunting?”

You scoff, shoving at Eddie, your stifled smile peeking out beneath the dim lights. Eddie’s fast— catches your elbow and grins when you glare at him.

He doesn’t let go.

His grip isn't hard, easy enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don’t.

So, Eddie distracts you, spinning this stupid lie about a dead couple as his fingertips drag along the inside of your wrist, featherlight. You shift slightly, eyes taking in the twinkling lights and windows of displays.

And Eddie takes a chance.

Silky smooth, he slides his palm over yours— slow and easy— linking your hands together before you can think too hard about it.

There’s a roaring fire in his chest. Breathing and so fucking alive, and his Malibu sun is feeding it dry wood.

“I don’t believe your story.”

Eddie grins, squeezes your hand once, playful, like it’s just part of the joke, “Don’t come crying to me later tonight when an old woman comes knockin’ shit around in your room.”

You raise a brow, “I’m willing to bet it’d just be you sneaking in like a creep.”

Eddie hums, calloused fingertips dragging over your knuckles. “Wouldn’t be books and makeup knocking around then.”

You groan, pink and red lights casting over your grimace, “Gross. Might be the worst one tonight.” But the corner of your mouth twitches, betraying you.

And Eddie grins, then. 

And because Eddie wants to revel in what’s left of being on this ride with you, he says nothing more. He sits there, pressed against you, letting his hand burn in yours.

The carnival hums in the distance, fading into nothing as you and Eddie cross the gravel lot.

Your hand isn’t in Eddie’s anymore.

Eddie misses it, but he doesn’t push it.

There’s a silence between you, not awkward or bad, just… silence.

It’s warm, a slight breeze drifting by that cools the hot bones in Eddie’s body. 

Eddie’s hands are shoved in his pockets, scared to let them out because his fingers keep twitching, buzzing with this need to touch you. You’re walking beside him, watching your shoes pace in the gravel, arms wrapped around yourself.

Eddie kind of hates the sight of his van when you walk up to it.

He says nothing, walking over to the passenger side, swinging the door open, and stepping back to let you climb in.

You swallow, stepping forward to get in.

And you make the biggest fucking mistake of looking at Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t know; he’s skyrocketed in the sky, looking down at the earth and weightless in the air— because your lips are on his

He’s not sure who leaned in; maybe it was him— it was probably him— perhaps it was you, but it doesn't matter because he’s kissing you.

And you’re kissing him.

He startles for a moment— just for a second— before instinct takes over. His greedy hands creep out of his pockets to find your waist, dragging you closer as he kisses you, hard and sure.

It’s impulsive. A little messy. Like something that’s been aching to happen all night just snapped loose all at once.

You exhale sharply against his mouth— like you can’t believe what’s happening. Like you might know, this is toeing the line, but Eddie doesn’t let you think too long.

He tilts his head, deepens it— just a little. Just enough to make you forget whatever had been rolling around in your mind.

And fuck, he feels it too. The heat. The weight of it. The fact that this is the first time you’re face to face with this dance you’ve been dancing these last weeks.

You’re pressed against the side of his van, fingers curled into his shirt and kissing him to his death.

He cups your face— can’t get enough of you— and you whimper before pulling away, breathing heavily, hands still clutching his shirt.

Eddie looks at you, your wide eyes, your wet lips, and he licks his own— and he can taste you.

Sugar, cherry, honeydew, Malibu fucking sun— dancing on his tongue, heavy and soft.

And when he looks in your eyes, Eddie realizes he’s entirely, irrevocably, and immensely done for.

Now I told you, so you ought to know

It takes some time for a feeling to grow

But you're so close now, I can't let you go

And I can't let go

- magnet and steel x walter egan

part three.

cutie teeny taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker @bl1ssfulbaby @strangereads @wdsara48 @cowboylikemunson

————

a/n: THEY SMOOCHED !!! AHHH !!! lmaoo okay guys we're smooth (ish) sailing from here on out ;) I can guarantee there will be some smutty action next chappy hehe. anyways, I hope u enjoyed lovesick eddie this chap. as always, thank you for riding along, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

[dayndream]

✸ THIGH RIDING

NSFW — MDNI. Pretty self-explanatory. Obviously time skip. Warnings: None, just them being needy tbh, and Tetsu being a bit of a tease ofc. <3 Part two here.

Includes: KUROO, ATSUMU, IWAZUMI, BOKUTO x fem reader.

𖤩 KUROO TETSUROU

“Come on, pretty, that's all you've got?”, his lips curved in an annoying smile while lifting your face to look at your eyes. His mocking, yet adoring, gaze directly on you created an electric shock on your spine, making you arch your back and press your bare chest on his—skin to skin. That sudden contact only caused another moan to escape your lips, making him ask himself whether he should keep on teasing you, or to ruin you already. Always such a hard decision for him—he loves hearing you like this, watching you get needier, losing more of your self-control with every second, just begging him with pleading eyes to take you and do whatever he wants with you, but he is also impatient to do so. Yet, he leaned back, resting his body weight on his hands, thinking that waiting a little longer wouldn't hurt none of you, enjoying with lustful eyes the view of you greedily rubbing your throbbing pussy against him, tits bouncing with every move and legs already trembling. Your climax was approaching, but you knew for sure you wouldn't be able to reach it without his help. “Need you, Tetsu, please... Please”, you couldn't stop yourself from repeating like a prayer that last word, to which he flicked his tongue, grabbing your waist before closing the distance in between your bodies, hungrily kissing you as he finally gave in to you plea.

𖤩 MIYA ATSUMU

His hands traveled down to your thighs as he couldn't help but to drool over the way you were moving your hips, making him pant and bite his lower lip right after. He wants you bouncing on his cock already, but he can't lose yet, not when you were teasing him during the previous minutes about how you knew he wouldn't resist as much as you. It was a competition, and his ego was his only motor, but how could he not swoon for your pretty moans? To the way you were calling his name in a soft, breathy voice right into his ear. Fuck, he really didn't want to lose, but you're just too irresistible to him. That's when one of his hands reached his aching dick, stroking it up and down until you took his hands to place them on your breasts. “No cheating, Tsumu”, you said with furrowed eyebrows and a little pout on your lips. “But I need you so bad, babe”, he answered with a desperate look on his face—frustrated, to which you questioned if he admitted defeat, driving him over the edge of madness. “I'll show you what a real victory is”, he spat out, shifting positions in a skilled movement to have you underneath of his built body, completely at his mercy. There's no escape now, but it's not like you wanted any.

𖤩 IWAZUMI HAJIME

His hands were placed on your hips, guiding your every move against him, admiring your figure while licking his lips. “Yeah, princess, just like that”, he said while breathing heavily, almost panting. His patience was running out, and you could see it in his face, in the way he was biting and licking his lips again and again, even in the way he was talking to you with that desperate, husky voice, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows and piercing eyes, which were able to watch only you, itching to delight himself with the view of you all messed up for him, just because of him. Your pretty moans, the way you were clinging tight on his biceps, on his shoulders, searching for an extra support, almost digging your nails on his skin; of course you knew you were driving him insane, draining his patience, testing it, but that's exactly what you desired—what you needed. His lips got pressed against your chest, going up to your neck to leave multiple kisses on it, licking your skin in between them. Your moans turned into messy whimpers, and that's when he snapped—leaving you underneath of him on the bed as he tracked down some more kisses on you, starting to rub his fingers against your needy cunt in a circular motion, rapidly leading you to your orgasm before making you his once again.

𖤩 BOKUTO KOUTAROU

He is completely lost in you, in the way you roll your hips back and forth, leaving a sticky trace on his thigh. Both his mind and vision were blurry, only being able to concentrate in you and how insane you were driving him merely by riding him like that. He needs you, his whole body is craving you. His hands grabbing your hips almost violently—you're sure they'll leave bruises, but the dopamine makes you enjoy that hurting pleasure. “Please, baby... Give me more—need you”, he whimpers, heavily breathing into your neck before kissing it, sucking on the skin and leaving loving bites on you. It was his idea to have you like that, but seems like he is the one who's about to lose the last strand of sanity first. The only reason why he's still resisting the burning urge of throwing you onto the mattress and fucking you like there's no tomorrow is because he knows you enjoy watching him that needy just for you, and he would do anything for your pleasure, to satisfy you, even if his leaking cock is twitching to get some of your attention, which you'll soon do, right? You wouldn't be that much of a meanie to those golden puppy eyes of his, eagerly begging to feel you—to fill you, would you?

Memorabilia Passage.

© 2025 dayndream. — do not modify, repost, claim, copy or translate.