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pucksandpower · 26 days

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Something Sweet

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the story of your relationship … as told through gelato (in honor of Charles opening an ice cream shop)

The warm spring sun beats down on your face as you stroll along the winding streets of Monaco, gelato in hand. You savor each sweet bite, the rich hazelnutty flavor melting across your tongue.

This is bliss.

You just moved here to attend university and every day feels like a dream come true exploring your new home principality.

The picturesque buildings with their sun-baked stucco walls and colorful tiled roofs line the narrow alleyways. Locals bustle about, chatting rapidly in French as scooters whiz by. The air carries a tang of salt from the glittering Mediterranean just beyond the palace ramparts.

You could get used to this.

Suddenly, a body careens around the corner, slamming right into you. You stumble backward as the gelato goes flying, splattering across the quaint cobblestones in a sticky mess.

“Oh mon dieu, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” A frantic voice rings out as a pair of strong hands steady you before you can topple over completely.

You look up, slightly dazed, into a pair of warm green eyes filled with concern. The man is clad in athletic shorts and a snug t-shirt, damp with sweat from an obvious run. Tousled chestnut hair flops across his forehead in an effortlessly tousled way.

He’s … incredibly handsome.

Like, stupid levels of handsome.

“I’m fine, really,” you stammer out, feeling your cheeks flush as his hands linger almost ... protectively on your arms. “Just clumsy me dropping my gelato.”

He grimaces, following your gaze to the melting puddle. “I’m such an idiot, let me replace that for you.” His face is the picture of remorse as he gently releases his grip.

You wave him off with an awkward chuckle. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal ...”

But he’s already shaking his head adamantly. “No, no I insist. That looked delicious and it’s entirely my fault.” He shoots you a lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know this amazing little place that makes the best gelato in Monaco. My treat to make up for barreling into you like that.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his earnestness as you nod slowly in acceptance. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

“Perfect!” He beams at you, that bright smile crinkling the corners of his eyes in the most delightful way. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well as Charles begins leading you deeper into the winding backstreets, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. You can’t help stealing sidelong glances at him as you walk, admiring the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders visible through his fitted shirt.

Finally, he ducks into a tiny alleyway, stopping before an unassuming doorway you surely would have just passed right by. A faded sign hangs above reading Gelatomania in curling script.

“This place is my favorite,” Charles confides in a conspiratorial murmur as he holds the door for you. “Family-run for generations and miles better than any of the touristy places.”

You step inside and are immediately enveloped in a thick, sugary aroma that makes your mouth water. A few little metal tables with rickety chairs are squeezed into the compact space, but it’s the immaculate glass cases lining the walls that draw your eye.

Filled with every flavor imaginable, the gelato looks utterly divine — from naturally green pistachio to decadent chocolate hazelnut to tangy lemon. An older woman with a grandmotherly face greets Charles like an old friend in rapid Italian from behind the counter.

He responds easily in kind before turning back to you. “What’ll it be? I recommend the hazelnut again if you liked your first one.”

You nod and watch, utterly charmed, as Charles places your order for a fresh hazelnut gelato with a deferential “per favore” and that knee-weakening smile of his. He gets a simple vanilla for himself before paying and leading you over to a little iron table outside in a sliver of sunshine.

You take your first bite and … oh my god. This is gelato from the heavens themselves. You can’t contain the downright blissful moan that escapes your lips as the divinely creamy, rich concoction melts across your tongue.

“Good, right?” Charles looks incredibly pleased at your rapturous reaction as he digs into his own treat with gusto.

“This might be the single most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” you admit fervently between increasingly enthusiastic licks and bites. “How have I survived this long without knowing this place existed?”

Charles throws his head back with a full-bellied laugh at your passionate proclamation. God, even his laugh is unfairly attractive ...

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he grins around a mouthful of velvety vanilla. “I’ve been coming here since before I could walk. Quickly became my favorite gelato spot.”

“You’ve lived here a while then?” You ask between savoring bites of the impossibly luscious confection. “I only just moved for university.”

Charles nods as he licks a stray drip from his thumb. “Yeah, born and raised a few streets over actually.”

There’s a slight lull as you both focus on thoroughly demolishing your gelato for a few contented minutes, exchanging occasional muffled hums of sheer delight. The warm sun filtering through the awning casts a soft golden glow over the little alleyway, lending everything a dreamlike haze of perfection.

“So beyond being from here, do you have any exciting hobbies or interests?” You ask eventually, dragging the conversation back into the open.

“Well ...” Charles’ expression morphs into one of almost sheepish amusement as he leans back in his rickety chair. “You could say my hobby is also kind of my job. I’m actually a Formula 1 driver, believe it or not.”

You damn near choke on your next bite as his words register. “You’re what? As in ... a race car driver? In Formula 1? Seriously?”

There’s no way this stunning man is being truthful. Sure, he looks like he could be some kind of athlete with that perfectly toned physique. But a literal professional race car driver? The thought is almost too crazy to be believed.

Charles just laughs again at your dumbfounded reaction, clearly used to this response as he nods. “Seriously! I compete for Ferrari if you follow the races at all?”

You think you might pass out from shock as everything clicks into place — the athletic build, the way people seemed to stare as he passed them on the street, the laid-back confidence and easy smile of someone incredibly comfortable in their own skin ...

“Oh my god, you’re ... you’re Charles freaking Leclerc, aren’t you?” You gape at him in abject disbelief. “As in, the guy literally plastered on the huge billboard across from my apartment? Leading the championship? Incredibly talented and famous?”

He lets out an almost bashful chuckle at your rapid-fire incredulous questioning, shrugging one broad shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about incredibly talented or famous. But yes, that’s me — just your average local race car driver currently making an absolute mess while eating gelato.”

Here you sit, having just shared an utterly divine dessert while shamelessly ogling one of the most popular and well-known athletes in the damn world … and he’s acting like it’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Like you’re just two regular people enjoying a sweet treat together on a sunny day.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” you murmur, shaking your head slowly. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill to literally just ... sit across from you like this while you eat mediocre gas station ice cream, much less the world’s best gelato? I’m … stunned you’re so nonchalant about this whole thing.”

Charles merely flashes you a self-deprecating grin as he pops the last bite of cone into his mouth. “Well, to me you’re not some screaming fangirl, but just a lovely new friend I enjoy gelato with. Though my ego certainly appreciates the compliments.”

He winks at you impishly and you feel an unwitting smile tugging at the corners of your own lips despite your lingering disbelief. You suppose being surrounded by such incredible wealth and luxury every day in Monaco, Charles likely doesn’t register it anymore. Not to mention the clearly down-to-earth personality he seems to possess given that genuine humility.

The hours just seem to slip effortlessly by then as the two of you continue to chat and laugh and bask in the perfect afternoon contentment of the moment. Charles regales you with ridiculous behind-the-scenes stories about increasingly crazy bets with his friends and crew during the season. You share equally hilarious tales of your own coming-of-age mishaps as an overeager teenager.

At some point, you both reach for your long-empty dishes simultaneously, fingers brushing in a spark of contact that sends your pulse stuttering. Charles doesn’t pull back, letting his hand linger outrageously close to yours as his warm gaze stays locked intensely on your face.

You try to swallow past a suddenly dry throat as the atmosphere shifts abruptly, suddenly heavy with the hot crackle of unmistakable chemistry and unspoken tension. But then, just like that, the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket with a text, the notification startling you both back to reality. Charles sits back, clearing his throat slightly as you pull your hand away to quickly check the message.

It’s from your roommate asking when you’ll be home for dinner and if you need her to start cooking.

You glance up at Charles with an apologetic grimace. “I should probably head back. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

He blinks rapidly before seeming to visibly shake himself. “Right, of course! Time really got away from us, didn’t it?”

You stand as Charles rises smoothly to his feet as well, shoving both hands casually in his pockets. “So ... I had a really great time with you today,” he says carefully, something almost hesitant flickering across his face. “And I’d love a chance to take you out again sometime soon, if you’re interested? Maybe grab dinner when I’m back in town?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the unmistakable request for an actual date. With Charles freaking Leclerc no less ...

Tamping down your sudden nerves, you nod slowly as a shy smile blossoms on your lips. “I’d really like that,” you admit truthfully. “Let’s definitely do dinner whenever you’re free.”

His whole expression brightens immediately at your affirmation, lips stretching in a wide grin of pure delight. “Perfect! I’ll be back from my next race in just over a week then. How about exchanging numbers so I can let you know as soon as I’ve returned?”

You quickly rattle off your number as Charles punches it into his phone before doing the same for you. As if sealing some unspoken deal, he sticks out his hand to shake yours, that warm roughened grip lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“I’ll text you soon then,” Charles murmurs intently, that spark of heat flickering in his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll say yes this time.”

You can only nod mutely, mouth gone bone-dry at the pointed words and heated look washing over you. Charles maintains that blistering eye contact and heart-stalling grip on your palm for another loaded handful of seconds, leaving you dizzy with giddy anticipation.

Then, just like that, he releases your hand with one final squeeze before taking a step back, seemingly satisfied by your stunned agreement. Charles shoots you one last lingering look and crooked grin before turning to stride easily back the way you came.

You remain rooted in place for a long moment, utterly dazed by the entire surreal scenario as you watch his broad shoulders and narrow waist disappear down the narrow alleyway.

Today started out as any other nothing-out-of-the-ordinary spring day in your new home. But now … now you have an actual date scheduled with an unbelievably charming and disarmingly down-to-earth racing superstar.

A giddy giggle bubbles up from deep in your chest as reality finally settles in. Who could have ever predicted that bumping into your new acquaintance — quite literally — would lead to not only discovering the most heavenly gelato on the planet, but lining up a date with an internationally famous athlete?

Suddenly, your bright future studying in Monaco just got about ten thousand times more interesting …

***

The week passes by in a blur of anticipation after your initial meeting with Charles. You can barely focus during lectures, your mind constantly wandering to that charming grin and those warm eyes crinkling at the corners whenever he laughed.

Finally, the evening you’ve been eagerly awaiting arrives. You’ve just finished getting ready — pulling on a flowy sundress and brushing out your hair one last time — when your phone buzzes with a new text.

I’m outside whenever you’re ready for our date night. Looking forward to seeing you again 😘

You can’t bite back your giddy smile as you quickly reply that you’re heading out before taking one last steadying breath.

It’s just Charles … the internationally famous and absurdly handsome Formula 1 driver you’ve somehow managed to snag a date with.

No big deal at all.

The evening air carries a pleasantly cool breeze as you exit your apartment building, scanning the idling line of vehicles for Charles’ car. You spot him immediately, leaning against the gleaming metallic side of what you now recognize as an eye-wateringly expensive Ferrari.

Charles looks … unfairly gorgeous. He’s shed his athletic wear in favor of a simple white linen shirt and tailored slacks that somehow make him appear even more effortlessly suave. His hair is artfully tousled and damn if those clothes don’t accentuate every hard plane and corded muscle of his built frame.

You must be staring because suddenly Charles is pushing off from the car and straightening to his full height, those intense eyes crinkling warmly as soon as they land on you.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs appreciatively once you’ve drawn closer, making a show of trailing his gaze slowly up and down your figure. You’re abruptly grateful for the dusky twilight hiding your furious blush at the blatant admiration in his tone.

“Thanks,” you manage to get out without your voice shaking too noticeably. “You don’t look half bad yourself, race car man.”

Charles throws back his head with one of those deep-bellied laughs you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “Why thank you, gelato girl.” He shoots you a wink before surprising you by gallantly offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You take it without hesitation, reveling in the solid warmth of his bicep pressed against your side as Charles leads you to the waiting glossy black sports car. He opens the door for you like an old-fashioned gentleman, closing it carefully once you’re tucked inside the buttery leather interior.

The engine roars to life with a powerful rumble and you can’t resist shooting Charles an impressed look as he deftly maneuvers out onto the street.

“You know, I’m starting to think this little hobby of yours might not be too bad of a gig,” you tease lightly, waving a hand at the sleek interior compartment.

“I can’t complain,” Charles volleys back with a crooked grin, seamlessly navigating the tight turns of the old city. “Sometimes they even let me drive in circles really fast just for fun.”

You roll your eyes at his retort, but can’t quite wipe the smile off your face as Charles guns the engine, the car surging forward in a burst of speed and power. Clearly the man knows how to leverage any opportunity to show off those expert driving skills … not that you mind one bit.

Eventually, Charles pulls up in front of an unassuming doorway you never would have noticed tucked down a quiet side street. The understated sign above simply reads Trattoria Giovanni.

“This place has been run by the same Italian family for over fifty years,” Charles explains as he holds the door for you. “Best authentic cuisine in the city, but you would never find it unless you knew where to look.”

The interior appears to have been plucked directly from a rustic Tuscan villa — burnished wooden beams criss-crossing the curved ceilings and terracotta tiles underfoot. You breathe in deeply, savoring the mouthwatering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread wafting from the open kitchen.

An older man with a thick mustache and crisp white apron greets Charles immediately in fluent Italian, ushering you both back to a cozy alcove table secluded in the very rear. He pours you both generous glasses of deep red wine before disappearing again with a conspiratorial wink in your direction.

“So, how was your race?” You ask between sips once you and Charles are alone, genuinely curious about the difficult career he’s managed to carve out.

He shrugs one broad shoulder almost dismissively. “Decent enough, I suppose. Grabbed another podium finish, but didn’t quite have the pace for the win.” There’s no disappointment or frustration in his tone as he speaks, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m endlessly in awe that you treat accomplishments like that so casually,” you admit with a shake of your head. “Finishing in the top three in Formula 1 seems like the kind of thing most people would be over the moon about.”

Charles lets out a low chuckle at that, leaning towards you over the small table with eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well maybe I need to find a new way to impress someone like you then.”

You open your mouth to respond with a playful retort of your own, but Charles’ gaze has already strayed to somewhere past your shoulder.

“Ah, perfect timing then. Here’s Giovanni himself with our orders.”

Sure enough, the older man you spotted earlier bustles up with a tray overflowing with piping hot plates of food. He doles out the dishes methodically while rattling off a stream of explanations about preparations and ingredients that have clearly been passed down for many generations.

Everything looks and smells utterly divine — from the heaping bowl of glistening spaghetti blanketed in a simmering tomato sauce to the golden-baked chicken drenched in rosemary and olive oil. The endlessly affable Giovanni even sets down a small ceramic dish full of creamy pale cheese, patting Charles on the shoulder.

“The burrata for you and your lady friend. Freshly made this morning by my wife,” he declares proudly before whisking himself away again.

For the next blissful hour or two, you and Charles completely lose yourselves in this veritable feast for the senses. You savor each and every decadent bite — moaning around the pillowy strands of spaghetti and tearing off chunks of the crusty, herb-brushed breads to soak up the savory juices.

Charles, for his part, dives into the meal with just as much enthusiasm, occasionally reaching over to snag a bite off of your plate until you resort to smacking his wandering fork away between fits of laughter.

Stuffed and utterly content, you both eventually push away your long-cleared dishes to nurse the final sips of your wine as the evening stretches languorously on. You fall into these simple moments like an old habit by now — trading comfortable silences and contented looks between impassioned recounts of childhood anecdotes or musings about life.

Finally, as the candles on the small wooden tables begin to gutter and wane, Charles summons over your waiter to settle the check with a few murmured words and one of those knee-weakening smiles. Rising smoothly, he extends his hand in a wordless invitation for you to join him back out into the balmy evening.

This time, instead of heading for the car, Charles tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow before choosing a new direction — down a maze of narrow streets until you finally emerge along the harbor’s edge. Strings of twinkling lights reflect off the lapping waves while the soft strains of background music filter out from somewhere nearby.

“Feel like grabbing a little dessert to walk off that incredible meal?” Charles asks in a low murmur, bumping your shoulder conspiratorially.

You shoot him an incredulous look even as you nod. “You mean in addition to the literal feast we both just had?”

Charles tugs you closer to his side until your hips graze together as you match strides. “There’s always room for gelato,” he counters with an arched brow. “Besides, when in Monaco ...”

Any further protests die on your lips as Charles guides you around another tight corner to reveal that familiar cheerful gelato shop from your initial meeting. The old woman behind the counter greets you both like regulars already, no doubt thanks to Charles’ frequent patronage.

You maneuver through the small line until it’s your turn to order. “I think I’ll go with the tiramisu flavor this time,” you decide, mouth already watering at the prospect of that rich coffee and creamy goodness. “What about you? Mixing it up or still sticking with the basics?”

Charles shakes his head resolutely as he hands over a few crisp bills to pay for your treats. “Trust me, a heaping helping of simple vanilla is just as gratifying as all those overly complicated flavor combinations.”

You balk at his slander, bumping his shoulder with your own without any real heat. “How dare you insult my incredible palette like that?” You glare at him in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I have some of the most refined gelato taste in all of Monaco now.”

“Oh yeah?” Charles tips his chin down with a challenging smirk twisting his full lips. “Well what if I told you that vanilla is scientifically proven to be the most popular and beloved flavor in existence?”

“By who? Basic boring people?” You volley back mercilessly, eagerly leaning into the playful banter now. “If anything, those findings just demonstrated how sadly uncreative society at large is.”

Charles barks out a booming laugh as he grabs your hand and tugs you back out of the shop, gelato in the other. “You heathen! We’re clearly going to need to educate you on the finer points of flavor appreciation.”

Your eyes narrow dangerously even as you let yourself be lead to a nearby bench overlooking the gently lapping waves. “Oh, you’re on, Leclerc. Let’s see if your vanilla snobbery holds up after a taste of tiramisu heaven.”

You scoop up an exaggeratedly generous spoonful of the divinely rich, creamy gelato and make a show of savoring it with overstated moans of delight. “Oh my god, this is so good. Here, you have to try this! It’s life-changing.”

Charles wrinkles his nose even as you wave the spoonful enticingly in front of him. “Nice try but I would never cheat on vanilla!”

The two of you devolve into helpless laughter at that point, dissolving into breathless giggles over the ridiculous debate getting more outrageous by the minute. Finally, you relent in the battle, settling back into the cool metal of the bench and turning your face up to the inky sea of stars glittering overhead.

“You’re right though — sometimes simple really is best,” you admit finally in a softer tone, slowly licking another sweet bite off your spoon.

Charles hums in agreement next to you, shuffling closer until your arms brush together with body heat and contact. “The classics never go out of style.”

The next comfortable silence stretches out between you as you take your time savoring your treats while simultaneously drinking in the breathtaking view laid out before you. The water laps almost hypnotically at the shoreline, twinkling reflection of docked yachts bobbing gently on the calm surface.

A breeze skates across your bare arms, raising a faint ripple of goosebumps along your skin. Charles notices immediately, shifting even nearer until he can shrug out of the lightweight jacket he had been wearing.

Without a word, he swings the soft fabric around your shoulders, tucking it securely around your front. You burrow instinctively into the material, the lingering body heat and remnants of his cologne wrapping you up in an cocoon of soothing warmth and intoxicating comfort.

With your free hand, you toy idly with the collar until Charles’ arm comes up to curl around your shoulders, effectively enveloping you into his solid frame. You let your cheek tip onto the firm muscle of his arm as Charles squeezes you closer with a contented exhale.

Time becomes meaningless suspended in that perfect sea-side bubble, waves flowing rhythmically while you enjoy every last savored bite of your melting treats. You let the quiet inevitability of dropping your head onto Charles’ shoulder wash over you, his familiar cologne invading your senses until your entire world narrows to just him.

When Charles polishes off the final bite of his cone and you go to shift away, another cool gust skitters across the harbor. He tightens the arm curved around you, making no move to let you up or leave the cozy haven you’ve made.

“I could get used to evenings like this, you know,” he murmurs eventually, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just taking it slow and savoring each other’s company without a single worry or care beyond where to find the best gelato.”

You hum in sleepy agreement, luxuriating in the casual intimacy of having Charles wrapped so protectively around you. Part of you can scarcely believe how instantaneous and natural this connection has blossomed between you already. But another part feels like you’ve finally found your soul’s missing piece slotting seamlessly into place after stumbling around lost and incomplete for so long without ever realizing it.

The two of you remain suspended in that perfect, tranquil bubble for what could be minutes or hours more. You’ve completely lost track of any sense of time beyond the lullaby of the gentle waves and occasional murmur of Charles’ breathing ruffling your hair.

Eventually though, his stirring signals a slow return to the real world as Charles regretfully extricates himself from your entwined position with clear reluctance.

“I should probably get you back before your roommate starts to worry,” he says remorsefully as he slides off the bench to offer you a steadying hand up.

You accept it without hesitation, but can’t resist clinging to his jacket still cocooned around your shoulders, unwilling to shrug off that lingering cocoon of comfort and safety just yet. Charles notices, allowing a tiny grin to quirk one side of his mouth upwards as he takes in your refusal to part with it.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs with unmistakable heat in those hypnotizing eyes. “I may have to let you hang on to that one for a while.”

Your mouth goes abruptly dry at the blatant implications in his tone, but you manage a coy smile in return as you turn to make your way back towards wherever Charles has his car crookedly parked.

The streets are all but abandoned by the time you arrive at the discreet entrance of your apartment building. Charles hesitates a split second before rounding the front of the gleaming Ferrari to face you properly on the quiet sidewalk.

“Thank you for an incredible evening,” you say honestly, gazing up at his silhouette in the dim glow of the streetlamps. “I don’t think I can even put into words how special you’ve managed to make me feel these past couple weeks.”

His expression softens instantly. One calloused palm comes up to tenderly cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards his with feather-light reverence.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I assure you,” Charles rumbles in a low tone that steals your breath away. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize just how remarkable you are, ma belle.”

Your eyes flutter shut without conscious thought as his nose brushes yours. Charles’ lips glide torturously against your cheek leaving a blazing trail to the very corner of your mouth.

The softest, most infinitely gentle press of satin flesh on flesh and then he’s pulling back — his ragged exhale warm and intoxicating against your tingling lips. You chase his retreat on instinct, but Charles is already withdrawing further with clear reluctance.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust myself to take things slow quite yet if I stay,” he murmurs in a strained rasp, pupils blown wide and dark. “But I do hope you’ll allow me to make this our new gelato tradition from now on ...”

It takes you several faltering attempts to find your voice again, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of that lightning bolt of affection. Finally, you manage a jerky nod, sliding one trembling hand over his where it still cups your cheek.

“I want that more than anything,” you confess in a hushed tone. “Just ... promise me we’ll see each other soon.”

He releases a shuddering breath of unbridled relief, dipping his forehead to rest against yours. “Soon,” Charles vows lowly. “I promise.”

You stare up into his earnest eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Charles’ lips quirk in that lopsided grin you already adore so much. “I’m counting on it.”

With obvious reluctance, he finally steps away, snagging your hand to press one last searing kiss to your knuckles that has your heart stuttering all over again. Charles holds your gaze as you carefully back away towards the entrance, unwilling or unable to fully turn your back until the very last moment.

You chance a glance over your shoulder as you reach the front doors. Charles is still there, unmoving in a pool of streetlight beside his idling Ferrari, hands shoved in his pockets as he tracks your every step until you’ve slipped safely inside.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you lean back against the cool stone wall, fingers coming up to ghost across your still-tingling lips almost disbelievingly.

When you finally muster the courage to peek through the glass once more, Charles has moved to lean against the side of his car, head tilted back as he stares into the lobby with an unmistakable softness etched across those chiseled features.

You can’t resist pressing your palm to the pane in a gesture you know he’ll recognize. Sure enough, Charles’ intense gaze instantly snaps to lock on you from across the quiet street, expression melting into pure adoration and wonder. His lips shape the same promise he uttered just moments ago — soon — as your own quirk in a delighted smile.

One last impulsive spark of inspiration has you playfully blowing him a single kiss through the barrier between you. Charles catches the invisible token easily, hand flying up to press over that broad chest as he throws back his head with a laugh that you can’t hear but imagine with vivid clarity.

You stand there transfixed, drinking in every last detail of him — the effortless elegance he carries himself with, the striking planes of his handsome face, and those beautiful eyes glittering with a thousand unspoken promises under the streetlamps.

Finally, with your own vow to reunite pulsing between you, Charles slides behind the wheel of his car. The powerful engine roars to life, twin beams from the headlights sweeping up to briefly wash through the windows of the lobby in a silent farewell before he’s peeling away into the night back towards the glittering city center.

You remain at the entrance for several long minutes basking in the memory of Charles’ phantom embrace still clinging to your skin. Only once his Ferrari has faded into the distance do you finally turn towards the elevator up to your apartment — every footstep lighter than air in the wake of an evening that lived up to even your wildest dreams of romantic splendor.

The simple joy and humble pleasure of a perfect scoop of creamy gelato will always hold untold meaning now as the spark marking the start of something beautiful blossoming between you and Charles.

And, as you finally drift off that night with a permanent smile etched across your face, you know without a shadow of a doubt that no flavor in the world could ever compare to the sweet indulgence of a life together just waiting to be savored and explored.

***

The warm spring breeze carries the sweet floral scents of the Brera Botanical Garden through the air as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles. His fingers are laced through yours, his thumb gently stroking over your knuckles. You can’t help stealing glances at his handsome profile — the defined jawline, those soft kiss-curled lips, those kind green eyes that always seem to be smiling even when the rest of his face isn’t.

“What are you looking at?” Charles says with an amused grin, catching you staring again. You just shake your head and squeeze his hand tighter.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” you tease. Charles laughs that bright, infectious laugh of his that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You come to a stop beneath a blossoming cherry tree, pale pink petals floating down around you. Charles turns to face you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/N … there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he begins, suddenly uncharacteristically nervous. You tilt your head curiously. “You know how passionate I am about racing, about Formula 1. It’s been my dream since I was a little boy.”

“Of course,” you nod, unable to stop a small smile. Charles’ love for motorsports is one of the many things you have come to adore about him.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Charles continues, taking both your hands in his. “And I’ve realized that I want to have something else in my life too. A … passion project, you could say. Something that’s away from all the spotlight and pressure.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to imagine what he could mean. Charles has spoken before about potentially getting more involved in charity work or environmentalism on top of his racing career. But the almost childlike excitement dancing in his eyes tells you this is something different.

“I’m going to open a gelato shop,” he blurts out finally. You blink dumbly.

“A … gelato shop?” You repeat slowly. Out of all the possibilities, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

“Yes!” Charles grins broadly, clearly delighted by your surprise. “Think about it,Y/N. What’s more perfect than gelato made right here in the heart of Milano? And I’ve already found the ideal location — a little shop just across the street from here. Can’t you just picture it?”

He starts gesturing animatedly, that bright smile never leaving his face as he outlines his grand vision. You can’t help getting caught up in his infectious enthusiasm, even if the idea still seems a bit random.

“I’m going to call it Lec,” Charles says with a proud smile. You let out an undignified snort of laughter.

“Lec? Like your last name?” You shake your head in amusement. He looks almost offended by your reaction.

“No, no, not just my last name,” he corrects you seriously. “Lec as in … our last name. Yours and mine.”

The words hang in the air as realization slowly starts to dawn on you. You open and close your mouth dumbly as Charles takes a deep breath, sliding off the path onto one knee on the ground before you. With shaking hands, he pulls out a small black box from his pocket and flips it open to reveal the most stunning diamond ring you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N Y/L/N … you are my world, my everything,” Charles’ voice is thick with emotion as he gazes up at you. “I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else by my side. I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with you beside me forever.”

Tears are already welling in your eyes, one hand pressed to your trembling lips as you listen to the beautiful words.

“Will you ...” Charles’ voice catches in his throat and he has to clear it before continuing. “Will you do me the greatest honor and become my wife? Will you marry me?”

The last few words come out in a rush of breath. You’re vaguely aware of several other people in the gardens who’ve stopped to watch, but all you can see is Charles’ face — hopeful and vulnerable and so full of pure adoration for you.

“Yes!” You finally manage to choke out through your joyful tears. “Oh my god, yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!”

Pure relief and blissful ecstasy bursts across Charles’ face at your answer. With hands trembling just as badly as yours, he eases the glittering ring out of the box and onto your finger where it nestles perfectly, the diamond catching the dappled sunlight.

Before you can even look at it properly, Charles is on his feet again, pulling you into his embrace and spinning you around in a deliriously happy circle. You cling to him, laughing and crying at the same time as he peppers every inch of your face with kisses — your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

Finally, inevitably, his mouth finds yours in a long, deep, loving kiss that has your knees feeling weak. You get lost in the warmth of his arms around you, the gentleness of his hands cradling your face, the tenderness of his soft lips moving reverently against yours.

When you finally part, you’re both smiling so much it almost hurts, foreheads pressed together as you share the same breath. Charles brushes away a few stray tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you so much, mon cœur,” he murmurs softly. You mouth the words back to him before stealing another lingering kiss.

Hand-in-hand once more, Charles leads you out of the botanical gardens and across the street. You come to a stop in front of a quaint yet sizable storefront, the windows covered in brown paper and a faded For Lease sign still hanging crookedly in the door.

“Here it is,” Charles says, gesturing up at the building with undisguised pride. “What do you think?”

You take it in slowly, trying to envision what the space might look like once renovated and filled with cozy seating and the alluring scents of freshly-made gelato.

You picture the two of you working side-by-side behind the counter when Charles doesn’t have a race, laughing and bantering as you serve up delicious treats for smiling customers.

It’s such an endearingly normal, domestic dream compared to the fast-paced frenzy of the Formula 1 lifestyle. But standing here with your new fiancé, it feels absolutely perfect.

“I think … I think it’s going to be incredible,” you lean into Charles’ side and wrap your arms around his trim waist. He responds by kissing your temple and pulling you closer.

“Just think,” he says happily, his warm breath ruffling your hair. “We’ll be the owners of the best little gelateria in all of Milano.

“Sounds like heaven,” you smile. “Just be sure to make plenty of hazelnut and tiramisu for me.”

“Done and done,” he promises solemnly. “Though you know vanilla will always be number one in my book.”

“Oh really?” You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “Is that so?”

Without warning, you loop your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. You can feel him melting into your embrace, his arms snaking securely around your waist.

When you finally manage to pull apart again, you’re both slightly flushed and out of breath. Charles’ usually perfectly tousled hair is charmingly mussed from running your fingers through it. He looks at you with such naked affection and desire that your heart flutters.

“You know what?” He murmurs huskily, resting his forehead against yours. “I take it back. You’re definitely my favorite flavor. And I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you, mon amour.”

And with that promise lingering sweetly between you, Charles takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply once more, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the embrace.

You can taste forever on his lips.

When you finally part, grinning giddily at each other, Charles takes your hand and leads you back towards your next adventure. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll take it on fearlessly and joyously, side-by-side with the man you love more than anything in this world.

***

The reception hall is a whirlwind of joy and celebration as you take in the scene, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. The elegant decorations, the twinkling lights, and the smiling faces of your loved ones surrounding you all blur together in a beautiful haze.

You can scarcely believe this day has finally arrived — the day you’ve dreamed of for so long.

You turn to Charles, his warm green eyes sparkling with so much love, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his million-watt smile making your knees go weak.

This incredible man is now your husband.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, taking your hand and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Having fun, mon amour?”

A joyful laugh escapes your lips as you nod enthusiastically. “More than I ever thought possible. I’m just … I’m so happy, Charles. I can’t believe we’re actually married!”

He chuckles, that rich laugh that never fails to make you melt. “Believe it, Mrs. Leclerc. You’re stuck with me forever now.” His expression softens as he cups your cheek tenderly. “I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You lean into his touch, savoring the moment. “I love you too, Mr. Leclerc. More than anything.”

A throat clears behind you, and you whirl around to see Arthur, your new brother-in-law, grinning mischievously.

“If you two lovebirds are done making everyone else nauseous, it’s time to cut the cake!” He teases, jerking his head towards the lavish gelato cake that sits on the dessert table.

Charles throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have someone as amazing as my wife to make gooey eyes at.”

Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever. Get your butts over there before I eat the whole thing myself.”

With a wink at you, Charles takes your hand and leads you towards the dessert table, the crowd of guests parting like the Red Sea to let you through. Your heart does a little flip as the magnificent gelato cake comes into view — a towering masterpiece of creamy gelato in vanilla, hazelnut, and tiramisu, all artfully swirled together and decorated with fresh fruit and chocolate shavings.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper in awe, giving Charles’ hand a squeeze.

He pulls you into his side with a content smile. “Not as perfect as you.”

The crowd applauds as you approach the cake, and a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles rises up. Straightening your shoulders with a grin, you pick up the gleaming cake knife and lock eyes with Charles, suddenly feeling bold.

“Ready to do this, husband?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

His eyes blaze with undisguised desire. “More than ready, wife.”

Together, you slice into the towering gelato cake, the creamy filling oozing out and already making your mouth water. Once you have a generous slice on a plate, you scoop up a spoonful and lock eyes with Charles again, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

His pupils dilate as he catches your meaning, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mon cœur.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” You take a step closer, holding the spoonful of gelato up temptingly.

Charles tips his head back with a groan. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good thing you have me to bring you back to life then,” you quip, pressing the spoon to his lips.

He opens obediently, letting you slide the gelato into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His eyelids flutter shut as the flavors explode over his tongue, and he actually moans — deep and guttural and utterly sinful.

A choked sound comes from somewhere in the crowd. “Oh please, get a room!” Joris, Charles’ best friend and best man, calls out with a mixture of amusement and mortification.

Charles doesn’t even open his eyes, simply raising one middle finger in Joris’ direction as he savors the last of the gelato. When his tongue finally darts out to catch a stray bit on his lips, you feel an unexpected flare of heat low in your belly.

Okay, two can play at this game.

Deliberately holding Charles’ heated gaze, you dip your finger into the gelato drippings on the plate and slowly, so slowly, bring it up to your lips. You let the very tip of your tongue dart out to catch the sticky sweetness, swirling it around luxuriously. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, jaw tense.

That’s it.

You slip your finger into your mouth fully, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck the gelato off with an utterly obscene sound. Charles’ knees actually buckle, and he grips the table behind him for support, pupils blown wide.

“You are so dead,” he growls under his breath, low and dangerous.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a breathy giggle, drunk with a dizzying cocktail of desire and sheer bliss. Charles takes a half step closer, his eyes burning into yours. You quickly scoop up another fingerful of gelato, desperate to keep pushing those buttons and draw out that delicious intensity.

But before you can bring it to your lips, quick as a flash, Charles is on you. He drags you flush against his solid form, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. The scorching kiss steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to his lapels for purchase.

When he finally breaks away, his eyes are blazing with unconcealed want.

“You missed a spot,” he rasps.

Then he’s ducking his head, and with one torturously slow lick, he clears the stray bit of gelato from the tip of your nose. The heat of his tongue on your overly sensitive skin makes you whimper.

The catcalls and whistles from your guests fade into white noise as you melt against your husband, lost in the endless depths of his hungry gaze. Screw being appropriate — you’ll give them all a show to remember if you have to.

“Fuck, I love you,” Charles rumbles, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again — deep and thorough and all-consuming. You sigh into his mouth, bunching the fine material of his tuxedo jacket in your fists to pull him even closer. His hand slides from your neck into your hair, cradling your head reverently as he pours every ounce of his love and passion into the kiss.

An eternity later, he breaks away with a ragged breath, resting his forehead against yours. “I think it’s time to get out of here, don’t you?”

You can only nod breathlessly, already imagining the deliciously wicked things he has in store. As if in a trance, you allow him to take your hand and lead you towards the exit, shouting and wolf whistles following in your wake.

Just before you slip out of the hall, you hear Pierre Gasly’s teasing voice behind you.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two!”

Charles pauses only long enough to call over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“But there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!”

Then he’s sweeping you into his arms with a playful growl, carrying you into your new life together as man and wife. Peals of laughter and cheers chase you down the hall, but you only have eyes for each other in this perfect moment.

You’re married to the love of your life. You have forever with this incredible man. And if the wedding is anything to go by, forever is going to be deliciously amazing.

Literally.

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hidemiwoods · 2 years

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The Katsura River hr658

Back in those days of my childhood, a person who was going to commit suicide always took his or her shoes off and put them together neatly before jumping from the top of the building on Japanese TV dramas. It seemed Japanese people wanted to take off their shoes even when they tried to kill themselves just as they took them off at the entrance of the house. I somehow feel convinced. There is a…

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suguru-getos · 8 months

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| Yandere Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Axphyxiation |

A/N: The yandere in me has risen from the dead. Read this at your own discretion, Satoru is a manipulative, dangerous, abusive asshole here. Mentions of guilt-tripping, dub-con (doesn’t happen but mentions), belittling, comforting, gentle-talking.

Normally, on a normal day, you’d have the right to be livid, to scream out and throw a tantrum over Satoru’s antics whenever you wanted. It would usually go unnoticed, even catered to if he’s feeling nice. Not today…

“Being a little too bratty are we, Princess?” There was a greyish hue of rage in his sky blues. All, because of you. He would make sure you realize it. You’d cower in fear of him in times like these, breaking down into choking sobs and mumbling apologies for pissing off the ‘Honored one’.

“I swear, I didn’t—” You tried to defend yourself, before the glass window behind you cracked, breaking into shatters as you flinched. A reminder to not piss off Gojo Satoru right now. Your heart raced at the situation you were in. Kneeling in front of him like a guilty prisoner, not daring to look up. Anxiety being the only thing hugging you right now.

“Why did you think it would be nice to ask for Megumi’s phone?” Satoru spoke… almost dazed, still controlling the immense rage that he felt. At times like these, you, a mere non-sorcerer feels a pang of pressure in the atmosphere. As if it was hard to exist, as if it was hard to breathe. It was Satoru’s cursed energy going haywire.

“I wan-wanted to ask for, something.” You were slowly getting broken by this. Yes, you had asked Megumi to give his phone to you, a pathetic attempt to contact your friends. You couldn’t risk contacting your family or Satoru’s rage would pave way in a direction you’d dread more. You just missed them… you aren’t delusional enough to think they had the chance to rescue you after all.

“Ask for what, hmm?” Satoru tilted your chin up, your eyes meeting his harsh, unforgiving ones. He looked dramatically betrayed at your antics, while a choked sigh escaped you. “Just- just missed my friends, Toru.” You had been carefully calibrating this reply. Squeeze his nickname in with the truth. There— that’d make him… less dramatic. Or, that’s what you prayed & hoped for.

“Just- missed my friends, Toru.” He mocked you, mimicking your tone and his hand rested onto your neck, slightly choking. A grim reminder of what he can do to you but chooses not to. Tears well up in your eyes as you looked at him, silently praying for this to end.

“Am I not enough?” His voice rose, almost tediously high. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Please- Satoru.”

“I asked you a question, cupcake.” He chided you, as if he is shutting a brat up who was hell bent on throwing a tantrum. “I asked you something and I need an answer.”

You had to be really, really careful with this one. You mumbled, hands shivery and jittery. There have been times he’s locked you up, just so you miss him. Maybe decided to use your cunt with his fingers just so you’d embarrass yourself cumming over and over and he could taunt you for being a needy slut for him. You didn’t want that… “You are important.”

Your answer squinted Satoru’s eyes, thin ice….

“You are, enough. You are a friend to me, too. S’ just that sometimes I wish to know how they’re doin’ that’s it.” You were internally panicking. Satoru didn’t do anything to you until now but it was the ‘what he could do’ that made you nervous. Satoru wasn’t delusional, he knew you were being calculating and didn’t want to piss him off. However, he was fine as long as you tried to be in his good books. He liked feeling important.

“I see, then should’a just asked Daddy, eh?” He quirked a brow, another question for you to duck.

You decided to accept your mistake like his ‘good little girl’ nodding and looking down, looking oh-so-cute with the guilt laced on your features. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Oh it warms his heart up when his Princess tries to be good for him. Tries to win his heart & suppress his rage. “My baby’s apologetic?” He cooed, kissing your forehead softly, while you nodded like a bobble-head; almost reflexively.

“I see, I see… what’s my baby gonna do to make it up to Daddy?” A smug grin plastered over his features. You were so naive he had you exactly where he wanted you to be. Expressions all knowing & dreading the impending doom, you looked up at him and bit your lip. The bile rising in your throat with anxiety.

“Whatever- whatever you want.” You wanted to make this easy on yourself. Better to have him throw words at you and comply. Satoru… was more twisted than that. “Nuh uh… gonna have to see what you would do on your own to make it up to me.”

You bit your lip, knowing exactly the answer he wanted. “Daddy can make love to me.” You uttered brilliantly, his eyes growing more tender. Satoru never, ever, forced himself on you. It was somehow, you, always begging, crying apologetically even— tormented in situations which hugged you like spiderwebs, with no escape wherein you’d do nothing more than to surrender. That’s what Gojo Satoru does…

“Oh really?” He almost scoffed, clicking his tongue. “Daddy’ll make you feel good after you committed a mistake?” He would also make it seem like everything he does is for your pleasure— there are days you believe it, there are days you dread it.

“Sorry.” A stray tear escaped you, it was as if you were being pulled apart with no defenses. “Please, I just— if you want I won’t cum.” Aww— his pathetic, little, dumb, princess.

“Perfect.” Now he has you where he wants.

“Then gonna be my pretty, precious lil cocksleeve yeah?” Satoru asked you once more, feigning the opportunity for you to say no. You nodded, almost gracefully in defeat.

“That’s my good girl.”

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere jjk #yandere gojo x reader #yandere jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo thirst #jjk thirst #yandere jjk thirst #yandere jjk smut #yandere gojo thirst #gojo imagines #jjk imagines #jjk x you #gojo x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen

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oldmannapping · 8 months

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HC: Everyone in Crime Alley knows who Red Hood is.

They don’t know he’s Jason Todd but

-Norma Marshall knows that the young man who sporadically stays in the apartment across the hall from her, who fixed the building’s heating for free, is the Red Hood. She’s heard him coming back at all hours. She leaves him care packages with homemade chutney and Bandaids because she doesn’t have much but she knows his work is dangerous. Some loud angry men were banging on his door one day and she hid behind her door throwing eggs at them until they left.

-Brent Taylor knows that the guy who installed the security system for the youth LGBTQIA+ safe space centre is the Red Hood. He just showed up one day after they’d had their fifth vandalised window in three weeks, and set it up for nothing. Called it a civic duty. That same night, known Red Hood crew members started loitering purposefully in the area, escorting kids to the centre if they were too shy or scared to come alone.

Brent saw the guy about a month later, leaving a grocery store and ducking into an apartment building nearby. He’s pretty sure he knows where the Red Hood lives, but he’s not saying a fucking word.

-Angela Walters knows that the man who donates to the homeless shelter twice a month is the Red Hood. She knows that the Hood has a connection to the streets and his donations are always thoughtful and practical - not the generic canned corn most people throw into a box. His donations started at the same time as the anti-homeless bus shelters were dismantled by the Red Hood gang and replaced with traditional long benches.

She’s had police sniffing around asking questions before. She sent them on a wild goose chase on the other side of the city and actually got a little bit of a thrill out of it.

-Carla Moreno (street name Liza) knows that Red Hood is a guy with a hard jaw and white streak in his hair. Hood had been running off a John who’d been rough with Miley and the guy had gotten a lucky shot at the helmet with a brick. The girls pulled a dazed Hood into a nearby alley while the John ran off, and he’d taken off the broken helmet.

It was dark and he was wearing a domino mask, but pair the hair with his build and it was a pretty distinctive look. Carla knows that if she tried, she could find him. She doesn’t; she just compliments him on his upgraded helmet when she sees him a few weeks later.

-Ernesto Reyes knows that he’s the Red Hood’s mechanic. The guy calls himself Jay, is chill, and chats to Ernesto in easy Spanish when he comes to pick up his bike, but come on. Everyone in Crime Alley knows that bike. Ernesto’s had to fix bullet holes. Jay’s bike helmet is fucking red. The guy’s either dumb as fuck, cocky as fuck, or a dramatic shithead but either way he pays well and Ernesto’s had worse customers. He’s not telling anybody anything.

Meanwhile Jason’s just like “DOOP DI DOO sure is good to be a super sneaky crime lord ha Ha I’m so much better than Batman”

#headcannons #batman #jason todd #red hood #gotham #crime alley #batfamily headcanons #Jason Todd is Latino headcanon #I’m gonna end up writing this as a fic aren’t I #I mean unless someone else wants to do it #latino jason todd #bat family

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markresonates · 7 months

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two hot

summary: for some reason, your body requires more than one alpha to satiate your needs in heat, leading Mark to seek assistance from his best friend when you unexpectedly start going into heat in public.

pairing: alpha bf!Mark x omega!fem reader x alpha!Haechan

other: alphas Jen & Jis lil voy

genre/trope: porn w/ lil plot, tiny fluff bc i'm soft; omegaverse, fake medical conditions as a plot device; (eventual poly, not jealous love tri)

word count: 8.8k

a/n: so here's that markhyuck omega heat sex threesome idea i mentioned a while ago...per usual, it’s longer than i said why am i the way i am i'm splitting it into two parts w/ pt 2 up soon!

warnings: rough unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), cock warming, manhandling, exhibitionism & extremely public, voyeurism, humiliation, lil dumbification, overstimulation, degradation & praise, spitting, stomach bulge, cum inflation, knotting, oral fixation reader, breeding & creampie kinks; sweet hard dom Mark & hard dom Haechan, super sub reader [ note – heat sex is categorized as dubcon; therefore, read at your own discretion ]

You thought you had more time. You should have had more time.

About an hour into your new Introduction to Astronomy lecture, your waning attention span is fully disrupted by a suspicious wetness you feel between your thighs. You uncross your legs and casually glance down, heart dropping when you discover a small pool of glossy slick in the middle of your lecture hall seat, heralding the start of your heat.

it’s official: life fucking hates you.

Rationally, you’re aware of the fact that you need to formulate a plan but as you shift in your seat, your train of thought is derailed by the sensation sparked between your legs. You clench your jaw and grind your teeth together, forbidding your mouth from vocalizing the shred of gratification you get from squirming in your seat.

Of all the damn days to pair a bodysuit and a pleated mini skirt, this day has got to be the absolute worst. But of course it had to be warm enough today that you felt comfortable showing more skin. In your mind, it made sense to seize the favorable weather before the last remnants of Summer disappeared into a chilly Autumn, but now you’d rather be bundled in three thick layers and sweating buckets than vulnerable in your current attire.

While you arch your back and discreetly grind against the messy chair, the bodysuit stretches, progressively sliding up your abdomen, and bunching at your waist. The damp material tugs on your hood, a second later, your clit is subjected to rough stimulation directly. Intense tingles ripple through your core from the sensitive spot. Even with your lips pressed together, you can’t suppress the tiny high-pitched squeak in your throat.

Renjun angles his laptop towards you, quickly typing out are you okay?

You freeze your body. Giving him a terse nod, you rid yourself of the unwanted attention and resume the lewd activity. It takes a mere 30 seconds for your folds to eat up the narrow strips of material that once covered your intimate parts, giving your slick pussy a wedgie. It’s uncomfortably restrictive, and yet, simultaneously a massive turn on.

You should be more concerned but the torturous pressure feels too good to stop, restraint briefly suspended again in a pleasured daze, chasing the desired pulsating sensation. Your eyes pop out of your head hearing the small metal snap of your bodysuit’s crotch region pop open, exposing your panties underneath and instantly bringing you back to reality.

Jisung ducks his head near your ear. “Hey, what’s that-?”

“What’s what?” you immediately cut him off, worried he heard the same noise.

He hums, pursing his lips. “What’s that smell?”

“uh, well…”

You gulp, so mortified that it’s impossible to meet his eyes, embarrassment warming your cheeks, your heat cranking up the bubbling sensation within you.

This shouldn’t be happening. You’ve documented your heat cycle since the day you started taking suppressants years ago. If you left it up to nature, your heat would be a seasonal affair. Now, thanks to the convenience of modern-day medicine, taking one daily pill significantly lowers your heat cycle frequency to biannually.

It’s always been consistent enough that you could pinpoint the exact 48 hour period in which it would start. In fact, a series of predetermined dates are highlighted on your desk calendar for when you’re supposed to be in heat: over four months from now.

Your scent is detectable in two ways: if someone were to press their nose directly to your scent gland, or the significantly more potent way, through the profuse slick secretion omegas produce in heat.

And given the fact that you’re practically sitting in a puddle of slick at the moment, panic is knocking at your front door with fever. Any alpha in a ten foot radius will soon smell the arousing nectar leaking out of you.

Fortunately, you’re in the last row of a half empty lecture hall. Rather than a dozen alphas, it’s a handful of the closest ones that’ll be raising their noses to get a whiff of the fragrant aroma floating through the air, two of those alphas being your friends.

Jisung sniffs around curiously, even going so far as to lean forward, over where Jeno is sitting directly in front of you.

“Hmm, it’s, like, sweet and fruity. Do you smell it? Like raspberries…or maybe strawberries?”

Renjun stops typing notes on his laptop. “I don’t smell anything.”

Figures; betas like Renjun don’t detect omega scents until they are at the absolute peak of their heat, and even then it wouldn’t be very strong.

“Also, for your information, raspberries and strawberries aren’t berries.”

“Wha- Really!?”

“Yeah. Most fruits that end in ‘berry’ aren’t actually berries, botanically speaking.”

“Um, Renjun?” you try to grab his attention in a hushed voice, failing as a result of Jisung talking over you at the same instant.

Besides your first heat, you’ve always been well prepared. You take preventative measures against potential alphas who may smell you and want to take advantage of a heat-drunk omega.

Your typical protocol entails remaining holed up in your dark room. The mini fridge by your desk is fully stocked with four days worth of food and beverages, the air conditioner is on full blast, curtains and blinds drawn closed. Your door is secured shut with three bolted locks too.

For your past few heats, Mark has locked himself up with you as well. Being an omega, it was of vital importance to find a trustworthy alpha that wouldn’t savagely take advantage of your heat-induced instinctual nature to follow an alpha’s orders. The whole reason you submit to Mark is because you know he would never take things too far. For your past two heats, Mark was knotting you until his exhaustion proved overwhelming, and he physically couldn’t use his big dick any longer. Basically, your alpha can’t go far enough, for some indiscernible reason.

Based on the increasing amount of slick and the new ache in your core, you’d estimate you have less than an hour before your heat will seriously start affecting your senses. There’s a reason you keep track of your heat cycle, and it’s to avoid horrendous situations like this one.

You’re struck with uncertainty and a minor sense of helplessness, facing your worst nightmare alone. At the moment, you don’t have Mark by your side, protecting you from other predatory alphas, ensuring you eat and drink something when you’re too out of it to do so yourself; and most importantly, pleasuring you to take away the pain that comes with your extreme heat cramps.

You need Mark.

Mouth beginning to water, deep in your filthy thoughts, you don’t register the conversation around you. You imagine him taking care of you in this very lecture hall, bent over the sturdy wooden podium at the front of the class.

You’re preoccupied and perplexed, a fraction of you developing a peculiarly strong craving for a knot – any knot. Considering how fast your heat crept up on you in the first place, you have every reason to believe this craving will continue to intensify. You feel ashamed to admit it, but at this rate, you might just find yourself allowing any alpha to knot you.

Jisungs face scrunches up in disbelief, hearing another botanical fun fact. “No way. You’re trying to tell me bananas are berries? I don’t believe you.”

Jeno snorts, barely peering over his shoulder to throw his two cents into the hushed conversation. “Why are you arguing with Renjun? When was the last time you ate a fruit?”

“I don’t know. When was the last time you didn’t fall asleep at 6 am?” Jisung grumbles, not-so-quietly as he intended.

If they weren’t in a classroom setting, Jisung would’ve hidden behind Renjun or grabbed something to shield himself from the other alpha’s wrath. Jeno fully twists his torso around, dawning a toothy grin that spells trouble for the youngest in the near future. He opens his mouth to speak but ultimately falls silent.

The lecture hall’s desks are the type that flip down to hover over half of your lap. With only your right thigh covered, Jeno’s eyes flick down to where you've been looking.

He zeros in on the source of the fruity scent Jisung was referencing. He drops his smile, licking his lips, dark pupils flashing candy apple red. The other two shift their attention to your lap in quick succession.

Initially, Jisung doesn’t see what they do from his position. His curiosity then leads the naive boy to bend his upper body down and inch forward. Finally granted a vantage point to peer between your legs, his face turns a shade that matches the berries he spoke of a minute ago.

“Uh, y/n? Are you, um, in-” Jisung stutters, his bright eyes locked between your parted thighs.

Both alphas stare, mystified by the sight of your drenched panties, the thin white material now see-through and doing nothing to stop you from making a mess in the center of the lecture hall chair. Lifting your head, you see Jeno’s pupils fully dilated, swirling with lust, and you imagine Jisung isn’t too far off, mirroring the older alpha.

You belatedly try to snap your thighs together but Jisung, of all people, latches onto your inner knee and keeps most of your seeping slit on display for them. His fingers digs into your soft skin in an uncharacteristically possessive manner, while Jeno quietly growls.

They’re increasingly aroused hearing a spurt of your slick gush from your core, discovering you to be turned on by your own humiliation. You softly whine, embarrassed beyond all possible belief.

“What happened to decorum, huh?” the beta scolds the younger alphas.

Jisung snaps out of it and rips his hand away so fast it hits his desk. “Ow!”

“Acting like you just presented and never smelled slick before? Ugh. Get a fucking grip, you guys.”

Renjun sets his phone on his desk, angling it towards you to show his screen and you tune out the apology from the frazzled boy on your right. “Hey, so I texted Mark. The good news is he’s on his way.”

You exhale in relief. “Okay. Wait, what’s the bad news?”

Renjun winces, reluctant to kill your newly kindled hope. “Well…he said it’ll probably take him a half hour to get here.”

“A half hour?”

You snap your tongue, loathing today’s dreaded turn of events. You squeeze your eyes shut to fight off the tears threatening to stain your burning cheeks.

“Oh, hold on.” Renjun scans the new message from your boyfriend, rereading it in his head, triple checking the text before delivering the additional details. “He said he’s…sending someone to get you? And they’ll be here in a dozen minutes or so.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Who?”

“Dunno, he didn't say.” Renjun shoots him another text, asking for the identity of this mystery person he’s referring to.

You stare at his phone intently, beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck and haloing your hairline. Renjun taps the dim screen to keep it from turning off.

As you impatiently wait for an answer, your old nervous habit of picking and biting your nails resurfaces. You peel part of your nail off and fixate on the minor self-inflicted sting for the sake of a distraction from your intimate regions pulsating with arousal, not to mention the graphic, x-rated imagery about how easily you’d bend over for alphas in your vicinity.

Renjun lifts the back of his hand to your feverish forehead, the worry on his face deepening into his soft features. “Don’t take this the wrong way, y/n, but why did you come to class if you were in pre-heat?”

“When I left my apartment this morning, I didn’t fucking feel like I was in pre-heat,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

You ring your head low and swallow your bad temperament as the harsh tone reaches your ears. You cringe, barely recognizing your own voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated because I don’t know what’s going on. I shouldn’t take it out on you though.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. You’re stressed out.” Renjun gives you a sympathetic look, equally as confused by your body as you are. “Well this explains why you wore that today.”

“What do you mean?”

Renjun clicks on the weather app to show you the temperature outside. “Because it’s cold today. But if you were really warm, the temperature outside wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Ugh, oh my god. You’re right,” you reply, mentally slapping your forehead for not actually checking the forecast for today. Simply put, you believed you knew better, based on how warm your room felt when you got out of bed this morning.

You hold your abdomen and apply minimal pressure there, preparing for the onset of pain when your cramps start up, just like the bad habit responsible for the new drop of blood swelling at the tip of your finger.

Jisung is quick to dig into his messy backpack and procure a quick fix for any minor injuries. It’s clear that he’s trying to be as helpful as possible, still feeling terribly guilty for holding your thighs open and preventing you from hiding what was visible to him and Jeno through your thin panties.

You dab the blood with the folded tissue he hands you, and then wrap the blue and green, dinosaur themed band-aid around your finger. “Thank you,” you whisper to Jisung sincerely, touching his arm to express gratitude.

You don’t blame the guilt-ridden alpha too much. After watching your pussy leak slick through the soaked white material, it was only in his nature to want to breed an omega on the verge of going into heat. The baby alpha Jisung you know and love wouldn’t do that.

Renjun lightly taps the back of your hand when you pick the finger next to the freshly bandaged one. He clasps your hands together, preventing you from doing more damage to that hand, at least.

You frown at your hypocritical friend who himself hasn’t managed to kick the same bad habit as you. Nonetheless, you appreciate his comforting action.

“You know, I keep thinking why me? What have I done to deserve this?” You gesture at your thighs with your free hand. “And how am I supposed to last another however many minutes?”

Renjun pauses and sighs. “On second thought, maybe you should go now. It’s way stuffier inside, so it might be a good idea to go splash some water on your face in the bathroom first before whoever Mark sent gets here.”

You hesitate for a second. You're troubled by not only the mess you've made in your seat, but the continual trickle of slick, potentially painting a colorful bullseye on your wet cunt.

Alphas with practiced, keen olfactory systems can track a scent from a mile away, the express purpose to savagely use the needy omega they find simply because your kind is at its most vulnerable in heat.

You always knew that omegas drew the short stick in life, but it was only after you had observed Mark’s rut in person that you officially became envious of alphas. An alpha’s number one priority during rut, above food and shelter and anything in between, is to breed omegas.

They’ll brutally fuck a slick hole for multiple days, repeatedly knotting them until their bun-hungry alpha brain is sure that the omega will deliver them happy, healthy pups.

Nearly every omega and most alphas take suppressants, making the chances of knocking up an omega less than 0.001% if both partners are medicated. Though, regardless of their incredibly slim chances of conceiving, that does not dissuade a stubborn alpha in rut from attempting to produce offspring.

During Mark’s last rut, despite the primal need to dominate and fuck your brains out, oddly enough, his stamina weirdly didn’t match yours.

“Whoever Mark’s sending is supposed to get here any minute, so there’s no real harm in leaving a minute earlier. No one would try anything with you if you’re in a public setting like school,” Renjun assures you and gives your hand one last squeeze.

“Y/n?” Jisung works up the courage to gently tap your arm like you did his, giving you what remains of the travel size tissue packet that’s been in his backpack for nearly three years. “Don’t worry about the chair. We’ll wipe it off when you leave.”

Jeno guiltily turns around again and apologizes like the younger alpha. He then makes a generous offer to save you the trouble of waiting a second longer to leave for good.

“I can drive you home now, if you want, y/n. And, you know, if you feel comfortable enough being alone with another alpha…no pressure. It’s just the least I can do.”

“Um, thank you. I think, uh…”

Fifteen minutes ago, when you had no plan whatsoever and hadn’t been in contact with Mark, you would’ve taken him up on the offer, but Renjun is right. You know that a part of you is really craving a knot. However, you believe you’re lucid enough to handle going to the bathroom by yourself.

You don’t see yourself jumping at the first opportunity to sit on a throbbing alpha cock, bouncing up and down, pathetically begging them to fill you up with an excessive amount of cum, like you did before. Plus, you don’t want to attract even more unwanted attention if two of you were to stand up and walk out in the middle of the lecture.

“I think I’m good, Jeno. It’s just around the corner. I’ll be fine.”

You pick up your bag, tying the varsity jacket that Jeno generously handed to you around your waist. You head for the door, walking at a reasonable speed to not attract more attention than your scent likely has.

Jeno’s jacket conceals most of the slick running down your inner thighs, and you make a mental note to somehow make it up to him later.

You have almost reached the bathroom when, out of nowhere, you’re ambushed by an alpha, pressed face first against the brick wall of the science building.

Whoever it is had the sense to slip his hand in front of your heated forehead to break the blow against the wall and not crack your skull open on impact. Obviously, alphas don’t want a dead omega.

You can’t breed something that’s not breathing.

That’s basic alpha 101.

Your heart rattles in your ribcage, racing a million miles per hour. You wish you were allotted enough time to wipe up your slick before being attacked.

If only you had accepted Jeno’s offer to be safely escorted, then you wouldn’t be pinned to a wall, hands held behind your back by an alpha presumably relying purely on an animalistic desire.

To make matters worse, being dominated so aggressively triggers a surge of arousal from within your inner omega, the yearning for sexual fulfillment intensifying at a rate higher than in your lecture.

On instinct, tremendously touch starved, you grind your hips back, pressing your ass against the half-hard cock hidden in the alpha’s pants.

He leans closer to your ear, pulling the cherry lollipop out of his mouth to whisper in a deep, gravelly voice, “Did somebody miss me?”

You whimper, timidly, and he chuckles.

Something possesses you to tilt your head to the side, submissive and craving a knot so damn badly that you’re willing to bare your vulnerable neck for the alpha.

He hesitates, before nosing at your scent gland, shakily exhaling through his mouth. Presented with such an alluring opportunity, the alpha almost loses his cool, tempted to accept your invitation and take advantage of your omega’s baseline reflex to submit.

Practicing a degree of restraint that very, very few alphas in his unique position possess, he instead places a single soft kiss to the spot he knows is reserved for Mark’s teeth.

Mark…

You break out of your innate trance as lips that don’t belong to your alpha are still pressed to your neck, the gravity kicking in about what it means to allow a stranger to bite and claim you.

You can’t imagine what your life would be like as a double claimed omega, shared by two alphas, belonging to both Mark and the mysterious, possessive person behind you.

You catch him off guard by ripping away. You whip around, snapping your tongue when you finally discover the identity of your attacker.

“Argh, what the fuck, Haechan?”

You lean back against the solid wall, holding a hand over your chest as if your heart is on the brink of bursting through the slats of your ribs.

“Did you have to give me a heart attack? What happened to saying hello, hm?”

He snickers, a melodious, infectious laugh that makes you want to smile as well. This time, with tremendous effort, you hold your ground.

“What’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” he says, sticking the candy back in his mouth.

You wish you could chase away the butterflies in your stomach that are consistently conjured up when his designated pet name for you rolls off his silver tongue. You’ve seen Haechan flirt with countless girls, yet he’s always reserved “sweetheart” and “sweetie” for his favorite omega.

You can’t describe why hearing his pet names excites you, inappropriately so. Perhaps, you like feeling special to him in some way, his sugar-coated sweet tooth reserved for you and you only.

Mark knows all of this.

He would have to be both blind and deaf to not see Haechan’s effect on your body and pick up on the sound of your heart racing. His charming best friend is frustratingly swoon worthy, but Mark had never minded it much. A case can be made that Mark is the jealous type. It’s for this very reason you find it so curious that he allows Haechan to get away with openly flirting with his omega.

“Why are you even-?”

You freeze as he wipes a tear from your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers along the side of your face and down your neck. He wraps his hand behind your neck with his thumb pressing into where your pulse is fluttering rapidly, tucking the lollipop into the side of his cheek to speak.

“Shh, take deep breaths for me, baby. In…out…in…out.”

The alpha’s instruction marginally calms your nerves, your omega instincts compelling you to follow without question. You are obedient and malleable, most especially in heat, for Haechan and your own alpha, of course.

“Good girl.” His praise has you biting your lip, whining softly. “Renjun probably told you but Mark’s on his way. He sent me to take care of you first.”

“Oh,” you reply, dumbly.

You should have suspected that Mark would send him to pick you up. It’s obvious in retrospect. He trusts Haechan with his life; by extension, he would have total faith in his best friend to handle you too.

“Yeah, oh,” he mimics with an annoyingly charming curl of his heart shaped lips.

Haechan basically gets off on annoying people, although his form of teasing you differs from others. Plus, you never fail to give him the reaction he’s searching for, playfully rolling your eyes, quietly snapping your tongue, or throwing some weak comeback in return.

“Are you disappointed to see me, y/n? I know you're Mark’s princess but you’ll just have to settle for me this time.”

“Wow, how noble of you. My hero,” you reply, sarcastically. “Can we go now?”

“By all means, lead the way, sweetheart.”

Right on queue, you roll your eyes, just like he knew you would. You take a few steps in the direction he gestures to before the first heat cramp punctures your core. Luckily, Haechan catches your body as your knees buckle, doubling over in pain.

Haechan clears his throat. “Y/n, you should know that Mark didn’t just send me here to pick you up,” he says cryptically, unpocketing his phone.

He proceeds to play a voicemail Mark left him. You listen with pursed lips, furrowing your brow as you take in your alpha’s words.

You try to concentrate on the message, partially distracted by Haechan’s scent swirling around you, quickly permeating your skin and thoughts.

“Hyuck, you’re the only alpha I completely trust to take care of y/n like that…and by that, you know what I mean. And don’t be surprised if she, like, starts to beg for it. She can be realllly needy, trust me.”

There’s a spike in Haechan’s scent, reminded of his personal mission to hear you beg.

Despite not having kissed him, you can taste him on your lips. His all-encompassing spicy musk intensifies, melting into a subtle syrupy vanilla that clings to your tongue and stirs up a hunger for forbidden fruit. The cherry candy is no match to his natural scent.

“Oh! One more thing. y/n likes it a bit, um, rough when she’s in heat…so just keep that in mind. I’ll be there as soon as possible, dude. 40 minutes tops. Alright, see you then.”

Haechan looks at you, searching for a reaction, but instead, he sees your face contort painfully again.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

You turn your head, now within proximity to count all the pretty moles on his sun-kissed face, like sunflower seeds you’re tempted to taste and swallow by the handful until you’re physically ill.

“Do you want…”

You straighten your back again, a chill running up your spine as Haechan slowly reaches under your skirt. He drags his hand up the inside of your thigh. The tips of his fingers draw through the many lines of slick dripping down your legs.

“…my help?” he finishes in a tone deeper than you knew he could produce.

Your cheeks and ears burn with embarrassment, feeling another mini rush of wetness soak the utterly useless material covering your throbbing core. There’s no denying that you’re incredibly aroused by Haechan. He knows you know he can smell the gush of new slick you involuntarily released.

A strong sexual desire pumps through your veins, driving you up the walls. You’ve always been curious about what it would be like to have the alpha ruin you and use your body like a toy, but you’re not certain how much of that can be attributed to being on the verge of heat. For better or for worse, you decide that that’s a problem for future you to determine, and present you to toss out the window.

Tasting a mere crumb of Haechan’s touch wasn’t enough – you had to swallow him whole, and the only way you could do that is by giving him the pleasure of devouring you first.

“y-yes, please.”

Your answer is so faint that if he were any farther away, he wouldn’t have heard it.

Haechan suppresses a smug smile, pleasantly surprised to get your first “please” this soon after catching up with you.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart.”

His skilled fingers touch where you want him most, grazing over your clothed pussy. Anticipating some kind of pleasured noise, he holds your body close and pops the lollipop inside your mouth.

He scans your surroundings for a place nearby with any additional smidge of privacy. Locating a possible secluded destination, he steers your weak body in the direction of his choice. Haechan snakes a hand up the front of your skirt again, pressing his thick cock against your ass as you stumble forward.

Imagining how dirty you must look turns you on, the debauchery of grinding on someone in broad daylight while they have your skirt flipped up to rub over your wet panties has your vision blurring momentarily. Modesty is nothing but a vague concept in the far off distance, seconds away from disappearing over the horizon.

The next thing you know, your body is pressed against a cool hard surface, bleary eyed and craving the kind of high only a mind blowing orgasm can earn.

You vaguely recognize you’re behind the science building you came out of before Haechan ambushed you, escaping the bright rays of burning sun that were beating down on you by slinking into the secluded shadows with the golden, silky voiced alpha.

Your skirt rides up as he shoves a knee between your legs. He gets a firm grip on your hips as you grind down against his thigh, soaking the material of his skinny jeans, creating a wet spot in the denim with your slick.

“Wow, would you look at that? Baby made a mess all over me already. I bet you wanted that, huh? Rubbing your slick on me so people know you’re fucking two alphas?”

You remove the lollipop to refute his provocative claim. “I-I’m not fucking two alphas.”

“Ha, maybe…not yet, anyways. But you want to. Isn’t that right, y/n?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue rough, throat scratchy like sandpaper. You part your lips to argue with him but nothing comes out. Instead, you insert the lollipop again, sucking on the shrinking round candy, a poor attempt at covering up your original intention.

“Exactly…now, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Haechan places your clammy hands on either side of his shoulders to ensure you won’t lose your balance, then he lowers himself to crouch in front of you.

“Hold.” He lifts up your skirt, giving you the bottom hem so he can get down to business.

Haechan’s fingers dig between your clothed folds, feeling your slick leak onto his hand. The thin material pushes into your entrance in an unsatisfying way and you whine.

He tsks his tongue three times, shaking his head. “Just as I suspected.”

You don’t need a reminder of how wet you are, and yet Haechan still brings his hand up for you to see the wet webbing clinging to the tips of his spread fingers anyways. A small embarrassed noise escapes your mouth.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, using his thumb to toy with your clit, “you look so adorable when you’re embarrassed. All rosy-cheeked and messy.”

Haechan slides your panties down your legs and you cooperate by stepping out of them, hands still anchored to his shoulders. He brings them to his face and licks off a great majority of the wetness that seeped out of you, peering into your soul as he does so. Your lips form a slight pout, missing his touch.

“Ha, Mark was right. You are a needy omega,” he teases and pockets your panties like a trophy he’ll proudly keep forever.

“What would Mark say if he saw his precious omega barring her neck for a total stranger?”

You softly moan a bit louder as he curls his fingers just right. Your knees wobble, struggling to stay upright.

The image of the alpha ravaging your body while Mark watches the act unfold, makes it difficult to focus on your surroundings, distracting you from the minor degree of shame in your chest.

You couldn’t care less about your indecent exposure at the moment either – you feel too good to care about anything.

“H-haechan…I want you…want you so fucking bad,” you breathe out, words slightly slurred with the round candy in your mouth.

Haechan’s cock twitches, picturing you in tears, your walls struggling to accommodate him. However, he is aware that behind a school building isn’t the most ideal place to take an omega in heat, especially considering the potency of your heavenly scent, steadily increasing.

Since Mark isn’t here yet, the least he could do is take you inside the building.

Your slick seeps into the frontside of Haechan’s clothes, clinging to his upper body for dear life as he carries you into an empty classroom. He sets you down on the lab table and observes the damage to his clothes.

“i-i’m sorry about that.” You lean back, peering down at your lap, nervously.

“Oh, baby…c’mere.”

Haechan cups over your knees and tilts forward to kiss your neck, sucking a dark hickey right next to your mating mark from his best friend.

“I like collecting these little spots from you.” He pries your thighs apart and draws closer to your bare pussy.

“It’s cute that your body can’t help but mark me somehow.”

He gets on his knees, darts his tongue out to swirl around your clit. His fingers prod your slick core and slide inside you, stroking your sensitive spot skillfully. The breathy noises he’s rewarded with are ones he’ll remember forever.

It’s astonishing how quickly Haechan figures you out.

He’s already in tune with your body, keenly aware of what makes you tick, knowing how to make you quiver and arch your back beautifully.

Not before long, Haechan has you shaking uncontrollably, squeezing your eyes shut, your short stuttered breathing uneven and shallow as your orgasm peaks, and you topple into an abyss of intense pleasure. The lollipop falls out of your open mouth, rolling off the black table.

You might as well be outside, stargazing in the dead of night based on how many constellations and galaxies twinkle and swirl behind your fluttering eyelids.

Haechan doesn’t let up on his efforts to overload your system with a tingly static sensation. Sobbing pathetically, you try to bat him away with what little strength you have, overstimulated and overcome with the sizzling heat frying your nerve endings.

He huffs and retracts his hands, wiping his mouth and the mess of dripping juices on your inner thigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t touch you anymore!” he tosses his hands up in the air, melodramatic as ever.

“Finally,” you murmur, granted relief to catch your breath for the first time.

You’re heavily panting, linking your fingers together and resting your hands atop your head to allow better airflow into your oxygen deprived lungs. He steps back and studies you like a unique specimen for medical observation.

A few quiet moments pass before the dull cramps creep up inside you, not yet terribly painful but aching in a way that guarantees incoming sharp pains. You whimper for stimulation again, sending puppy dog eyes at Haechan.

“More…please.”

The alpha’s face is painted with mischief, taunting you by reaching for your body then abruptly stepping back to watch you sniffle, and rock back and forth.

Upon noticing your eyes starting to well up with tears, he ultimately gives in. Haechan curls two and then three fingers inside you, opening you up for his throbbing cock.

As much as he’d love to see you cry, he’s under strict instruction to satisfy and take care of you. He can’t threaten to not relieve the effects of your heat and tease you to the point of genuine distress.

“Aww, don’t cry, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

You let out a breathy moan and make grabby motions to the tent in his pants.

“Hm, does the cry baby want a knot?” You bite your bottom lip, nodding. “Yeah? Can you use your words? Or is there nothing going up there in that pretty little head of yours?”

He lightly taps your forehead twice, then slides that hand up to tangle in your hair.

You smile, shy and small, and, dare he say, adorable. “You- you think I’m pretty?”

One side of the alpha’s mouth curls up, amused that “pretty” was the only word that you clung onto. He rolls his eyes, teasingly.

“Of course you’re pretty, y/n.” Haechan removes his hand from your hair to take out his thick cock. “And only the prettiest of girls get this.”

With a newly unveiled salivating incentive, you immediately pull yourself together, spine straight as an arrow.

You stare at his shiny, precum-glossy cock with heart eyes, licking your lips as he gives himself a few jerks and produces more pearly droplets from his slit. He pushes you back against the lab table when you try to get to your feet for a taste.

“You can choke on my cock later, princess. I thought you wanted a knot? Or did you change your mind?”

“No! I-I do want it,” you frantically reply.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I really want it, Haechan, really badly.” He raises an eyebrow, expecting more. “Please…please, knot me. I wanna be filled with your cum. I’m begging you…breed me, Alpha.”

Breed me, Alpha rings in Haechan’s ears like wedding bells signifying the everlasting bond of a committed partnership. Hearing your sweet voice desperately begging for his seed, using the dominant title you only ever use with Mark, your real alpha, gets Haechan rock hard.

He savors every second he gets to be your alpha.

Satisfied with your eloquently worded, pitiful plea, he lines himself up. His shiny cockhead glides through your folds before breaching your dripping entrance.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart,” the alpha whispers against your scent gland, his mouth sucking it softly.

You gasp as he drives his hips forward, forcefully pushing against your tiny hole until you’ve accepted his blunt tip, and sucked his fat cock inside.

Mark can smell you the second he drives on campus. He rolls his window down to take another alluring whiff, his right hand just barely gripping the bottom of the steering wheel while his left palms the bulge in his snug jeans, tenting obscenely.

Mind preoccupied, his tunnel vision blinds him from focusing on a single thing besides seeking you out and filling you with loads of cum as soon as possible. He doesn’t recall pulling into the parking lot, getting out of his car, or locking it. All he knows is that, within the blink of an eye, he’s rushed across the campus, his feet landing just outside one of the science labs housed in the same building as your astronomy lecture.

Yanking the door wide open, his wild eyes dart to where his best friend’s knot is locked inside his omega, rubbing your clit so aggressively after your third orgasm that you’re reduced to a twitching mess.

You don’t immediately recognize Mark’s presence, too lost in the intense buzzing sensation to even register that the alpha barged into the room.

Mark slams the door behind him and purposely leaves the door unlocked like Haechan did. There’s a certain reckless thrill that comes with the possibility of getting caught in a compromising position.

In contrast to the way he raced here, driving haphazardly and disobeying traffic laws, Mark slowly crosses the lab room towards your splayed body in a few, brisk strides. He removes his hard cock from his jeans with a lazy smile, stroking himself and licking his lips as you cry out.

Haechan flicks his chin up at Mark, greeting him happily. He makes a show out of pressing a slick-coated finger against your lips to silence you.

“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta keep it down. You don’t want everyone next door to hear, right? They’d probably say ‘we should go check on whoever’s crying!’ Only to come in here and find their pretty classmate is a dumb little slut…with a cunt full of cum.”

You whine, leading him to push two of his dirty fingers into your mouth to shut you up. His smirks as you mindlessly suck on them like a binkie, shutting your eyes and humming pleasantly.

“She’s so pretty when she cries.”

“I know right?”

Mark makes a growling noise in the back of his throat as he rubs his hand over where he can see the faint outline of Haechan’s thick knot buried inside you, making your abdomen bulge. Both you and Haechan shutter, feeling a tingly sensation from the pressure your boyfriend applies.

“So, how’s she been?”

“Well, she-”

“Mar?” you weakly croak around Haechan’s fingers and he removes them.

“I’m here, y/n, I’m right here.” Mark wipes a lone tear of yours away and caresses your warm cheek. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“I’m…hot.”

“No objection there,” Haechan jokes.

“Why did you send Haechan?” you continue like you didn’t hear the alpha currently plugging you up with cum.

“Oh, y/n. You remember how you were during your last heat.” Mark stops stroking his cock and takes out a tissue to dab away the sheen of sweat on your feverish forehead.

“Actually, you were probably too far gone, huh?”

You blink up at him, tilting your head into his hand when he tries to wipe your cheek. If you’re being honest with yourself, you only recall bits and pieces, and none of those memories are exceptionally vivid.

“I didn’t know it was possible. Like, I looked it up and on average, omegas need to be knotted 5x before their heat breaks. But, y/n, seriously, I lost track of how many times I knotted you and it’s never enough. I couldn’t take care of you throughout all of your heat and it killed me to see you like that and not be able to help you more. You need more than I can give you, princess.”

He offers you a small genuine smile, his hand trailing down to palm at your exposed breast. Mark gently rolls your nipple between his fingers, hearing you quietly purr. “So Haechan was nice enough to agree to help me help you.”

“But Mark-”

“It’s for your own good, y/n,” Mark calmly tells you. “And didn’t Haechan make you feel nice?”

“Um, well, I-”

You gulp, ruminating on how you want to answer, whether you should tell him that another alpha made you feel as amazing as Mark does.

“Wanna tell me what it’s like to have his knot locked inside that tight little pussy of yours? I know you love being full of my cum. What about his cum? I bet you looove getting fucked full of his cum too, huh?”

“Y-yeah, I love being full of cum…your cum and-and Haechan’s cum.”

Mark smiles at your response and rewards you by pinching your perky nipple. “That’s what I like to hear, baby.”

You whine when Haechan wiggles his mostly deflated cock out of your tight core. “You really weren't lying when you said she gets super wet.”

“Hm, let me feel.” He hums, looking closer and dipping his fingers inside the dripping combination of your fluids.

Mark widens his nostrils and takes in the aroma of Haechan’s cum mixed in with your juices, his eyes flashing blood red.

It’s unfamiliar and vaguely off putting to smell his mate has been violated and fucked open by another alpha. Although, overall, the dominant sensation coursing through Mark is arousal, turned on by the thought of sharing your body.

“Nah, man. It gets worse, you’ll see. Her heat hasn’t even peaked yet.”

Mark addresses Haechan like you aren’t even here. To be fair though, during your heat you’re not all here anyways.

“W-worse?”

“By the end of her last heat, she had so much fucking cum in her, I don’t know where it was all going.”

“Ha, we got ourselves a little cum dumpster here,” Haechan snickers, sliding his fingers inside your cum dribbling cunt again.

With such an overflowing amount of slick and cum, if someone told you that the obscene squelching that fills the room is a soundbite from some high quality pornography, you wouldn’t doubt it. You croon as he curls them up just right, taking a moment to stimulate your most sensitive spot skillfully.

He retracts them sooner than you’d prefer and brings his fingers to your mouth. “Suck.”

A fat droplet falls on your bottom lip.

Mark rubs slow, comforting circles over your abdomen. “Go ahead, baby,” he encourages, leaning down to suckle on your neglected bud.

Earning Mark’s blessing, you obediently suck your own berry wetness and Haechan’s cum off of the alpha’s fingers.

“God, what a filthy slut,” he says once you’ve fulfilled his wish. “She gives in so easily, she’d do anything to get another load of cum.”

A weak sound of protest weasels up the back of your throat, disagreeing with the term he used to describe you. You expect Mark to disagree with his best friend’s crude statement, but he shockingly does the opposite.

“Tell me about it, dude. The whole time she’s always begging for a knot and more cum. I know a lot of omegas beg in the middle of their heat…”

Mark pets your head gently for a second, then snakes his fingers into your hair, giving it a brief yank.

If you weren’t on the precipice of your heat hitting full force, his sudden action would’ve caused you a decent amount of pain. But by now, your aching body welcomes any form of touch – the rougher the better. The demeaning terms trigger strobing excitement inside you.

“…but with y/n, it’s like where did my sweet omega go? Who’s this needy cumslut?”

Your bottom lip quivers, internally conflicted by your budding arousal. Mark looks down at you with pity in his eyes.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, “don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying it to be mean, I’m just telling the truth. You don’t know what it’s like trying to take care of you.”

You whine softly, your foggy emotional state making you feel guilty, even if the fraction of you that’s still of sober mind knows that you have nothing to feel guilty for. The seeds of insecurity take root in your head, questioning if he secretly resents being with you, if you’re too much of a burden that he wishes he wasn’t your alpha.

Mark reads the emotional turmoil brewing on your precious face, and to soothe the distress, he quickly leans over to kiss it away. He kisses down your face, lips lightly kissing your forehead twice, between your eyebrows, the tip of your nose and finally to your lips, much gentler than the hand responsible for the arousing sting on your scalp. Mark tastes the other alpha and grins anyways.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about it, y/n.” He brushes a few stray tears away from where they began to spill from the corners of your wide, glossy eyes. “I just wanna make sure you’re well taken care of this time.”

“Even without you, I can take care of myself well enough,” you sniffle, lying through your teeth, fooling no one, not even yourself.

Your hand twitches, wanting to prove a point but hesitating because you're not used to being watched by two sets of eyes.

“Go ahead and touch yourself, princess. I know you want to,” Mark tells you.

“R-really? Like, um…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “...in front of him too?”

You sneak a glance at Haechan, who, by the looks of it, is about ready to unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole any second now. You vaguely remember wanting him to do so not too long ago in your most fuzzy heated state.

“Yes, in front of me and Haechan.”

“Aw, sweetheart. I just fucked your pretty cunt and yet you still feel embarrassed?” Haechan pouts in mock sympathy. “That’s adorable.”

Mark exchanges a look with his best friend before turning back to you. “Be a good girl for me and demonstrate how you used to do it before we met. You can do that, right, babe?”

An adoring smile reaches his lips, eyes locking with yours. You could try to deny the lewd act, but above all else, you want to please your alpha.

Mark wants you to be a good girl, and that is exactly what you will be. You gulp, releasing a shaky sigh, and nodding timidly. Your mouth twitches up to mirror his sincere smile as best as you can manage.

“That’s my girl,” Mark beams.

Mark knows how to comfort you, pushing two fingers into your mouth to give you something to wrap your lips around. He gently cups the back of your hand and guides it lower while you’re pleasantly suckling.

You tilt back, propping your upper body up by extending your left hand behind your back. Folding your spread legs up and planting your heals on the edge of the wide black lab table, exposing your throbbing cunt to the alphas.

You trace your fingers through your folds, rimming your freshly used entrance before sliding two of them inside, moaning around Mark’s fingers as you follow his instructions.

Muscle memory of touching yourself on a frequent basis over the years takes charge, and within seconds, you locate your weak spot.

“There you go. Good girl.”

You mewl, your legs trembling every so often as you draw your fingers up to stimulate your clit. The muscles in your face are equally as prone to a visceral jumpy reaction as your lower half is.

Craving more, you lay your upper body back against the table, and switch hands to curl your left fingers in your abused pussy and rub quick circles over the hood of your clit, stroking up and down to stimulate every nerve around the electrifying spot.

“M-mar…” you whimper, drool trailing from your stuffed mouth. “Fuck-fuck me. Please, I n-need your cum now.”

Mark bestows a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “How about you show me how bad you want it, eh?”

You hop off the table and lower to your knees obediently, folding your legs underneath you and sitting back on your feet, hands placed flat on your thighs, spine arched to show the round curve of your ass.

Haechan whistles. “You sure did train her well.”

“Nah, man. y/n didn’t need training. She’s just a perfect omega.” Mark smiles, happy to show you off. He pets your head as you start to squirm and quietly whimper.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

You part your lips, holding your tongue out to catch the spit that falls from Mark’s mouth. He hums, approvingly, watching you swallow it and open your mouth again. He pauses for a second before flicking his chin at Haechan.

“You want Haechan’s spit too?”

You glance at Haechan and release an affirmative noise a second later. Your core aches for further rough filling again. You rub your slippery thighs together, feeling more slick gush from your throbbing pussy, increasingly aroused when Haechan steps up to the plate.

He lets a string of saliva dangle from his tongue, slowly dripping into your mouth, and partially dribbling down your chin intentionally, simply because he wants to make a mess of your pretty face.

You're about to wrap your lips around Mark’s cockhead when all of a sudden, the sharpest pain stabs your abdomen. Your jaw drops in a silent scream, crumpling into a ball, squeezing your eyes shut, and nearly blacking out.

Mark kneels down and rubs your shoulder, lifting your head to look you square in the face. Worry colors his sharp features and shatters the heated, public pornographic fantasy.

“Shit. y/n’s cramps usually subside for an hour or so after getting a knot,” he mutters to Haechan. “I didn’t want to do this…but I don’t think we have much of a choice now…”

[hint for pt 2]

additional warnings: double penetration, spitroasting, oral (fem & male), face sitting, throat fucking, choking, somnophilia, squirting, sex toys, nipple play...i think that's it.

it’s 2023.

why did it take me this fucking long to write markhyuck x yn ?? i said i’d write for this pairing in FEB 20 FUCKING 21.

sorry for not posting in forever. since spring, i've been going through the trial and error phase of finding the right combination of medications for my fucked mental health 4x, and one of the biggest side effects i've experienced on all of them has been a loss of interest in things that used to excite me, which includes writing. that, paired with the lingering effects of long covid, has made it so that when i sit down to write, i often feel like i'm fighting with my own brain to construct a single linear thought.

the #1 motivation for writers is feedback and interaction. for me, knowing people enjoy my works and appreciate the time i put into something has a huge impact. i'd be really grateful if you shared this by giving it a reblog and would love to see you spam your thoughts/reactions in the tags or comments!

pt 2 is written out already, it just needs to be proofread. now...i'm not saying i WON'T post it next weekend, but comments, reblogs and feedback would definitely inspire me to finish it up on time.

okay 'tis all. thank you for reading and i hope you (yes, specifically YOU, beloved reader of mine who's reading this RIGHT NOW !) are doing well:))

stream 127's *FACT CHECK*

➾my masterlist

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twinkling-moonlillie · 10 days

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Lip Gloss (Lucifer x Reader Drabble)

A/N: I was inspired to write this based on this Hello Kitty apple flavored lip gloss that I saw yesterday. I was tempted to buy it lol. Also I'm just getting back into writing, so it may be a bit choppy teehee

Warnings: Slightly sexual, the use of the word apple way too many times...Lucifer may be a little ooc?

If there was one thing that Lucifer loved, it was ducks. But if there was a second thing that Lucifer absolutely adored, it would be apples. Since you have known Lucifer, he has always been obsessed with integrating apples in your daily lives. From his coat that he wears everyday down to the small engravings in the wood framing of your shared bed, apples were everywhere. All of his favorite foods consisted of some type of apple, whether it be apple fritters or apple pie. He had apple themed pajamas, apple themed silverware, apple themed pillows even. The man was completely obsessed.

So that’s why you should not have been surprised with your current situation. Pressed up against the wall with hands pinned above your head, you were face to face with Lucifer. His pupils resembled a solar eclipse, strands of his platinum blond hair sticking up wildly.

Both of you guys were supposed to have met with Charlie and Vaggie for a nice dinner at Ozzie’s thirty minutes ago. While getting ready you had complimented your look with a new apple flavored lip gloss that you had gotten out of amusement a few days prior. With as affectionate Lucifer was, you knew that he would like the new addition, but you were unaware of how feral it would make him.

Just as you were heading out, Lucifer brought you in for a sweet kiss; it was something he did on autopilot, a small display of his endless love; however, once his lips tasted the crisp apple flavor, he almost melted.

Thus, your wall predicament.

“Your lips taste like apples…” Lucifer mumbled, his voice making the statement almost sound like a question. His gaze was focused on your now smudged lips.

“I-I, well…I bought it f-from that new store and it was cute, and I know how much you love apples b-but I didn’t think…” Your stuttering trailed off as a smirk stretched across his porcelain skin, his tongue peaking through and wiping away the remnants of the gloss on his lips.

You tried to look away from the sinful eroticism on display, face completely flushed. “Shouldn’t we, um, go? We’re already-”

But before you could finish your thought, Lucifer had pressed his lips to yours. The grip he had over your hands tightened as he nibbled your bottom lip, the apple flavored gloss long lost.

You were fully consumed, bodies ablaze as you leaned in impossibly close to him. While Lucifer had a long list of talents and skills, his ability to make you feel alive despite your dwindling breath, to erase the past and future and tethering you distinctly to the present, had to be one of his greatest. It was just you. It was just him.

A small whimper escaped his throat as your hands escaped from his grasp, finding purchase in his hair. His hands shakily roamed your body, leaving a trail of electricity that caused a kaleidoscope of butterflies to flutter in your lower regions.

As Lucifer pulled away - eyes dilated and jacket crinkled - he looked dazed, the same way he appeared in the early mornings. The smirk that was thickly painted on his face was replaced with a goofy smile.

How dare this man steal your breath away and look so innocent afterwards?

“Oh golly, we're going to be late! We needed to be there 40 minutes ago!” Lucifer exclaimed as he looked at his wrist.

You patted yourself down, trying to smooth down your hair and fix your also wrinkled clothes. “It’s almost as if I tried telling you that 10 minutes ago” You teased.

Lucifer laughed as he lightly reached for your hand. “Well, I mean, did you really expect me to contain myself when your lips tasted that good?”

#Lucifer #Lucifer x reader #Lucifer Morningstar #Lucifer Morningstar x reader #Lucifer hazbin hotel #Lucifer loves apples #hazbin hotel lucifer #romance #fluff #making out #kisisng #Lucifer smut #Apples #lucifer x you #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #gender neutral reader #<- I'm pretty sure

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pocket-watcher · 19 days

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“Ugh my back is killing me.” You contorted your arm to try and get some pressure on the ache in your upper back, but you couldn’t quite reach it.

It had been about two weeks of this ever-growing pain. You’d tried stretching, ice, heat, and nothing had worked!

“Why don’t you get a massage?” Your friend suggested, and that was how you found yourself ducking into a massage parlour later that day.

The receptionist had a blank smile on his face, gaze unfocused. You rang the bell. No response. You rang it again.

On the third bell he sleepily looked up at you, smiling still.

“Down the hall… and… down the hall… right? Yeah. To the right.”

You wondered how he even got this job.

Heading down the hall, and down the hall, and to the right, you came to a room dimly lit with candles. A woman stood behind a massage table.

“Ah, you must be my 6 o’clock.” The masseuse smiled at you.

You smiled awkwardly, and she gestured for you to sit.

“What seems to be the issue?” She asked, eyeing you up. You instinctively fixed your posture.

“It’s my back. Do you think you could take a look at it for me?” You explain.

She approaches you and pauses, and you realise why - you gingerly remove your shirt.

Her hands move slowly up your back. She pushes down and you feel your eyes roll back into your head as she rubs it. Relief.

“Yes. I can feel the tension. Lie down for me.”

You do as she says, lying face down, eager for more relief.

“Good.” She praises, and you feel your face flush involuntarily.

Her hands begin to knead your back rhythmically up and down, back and forth, occasionally hitting that sweet spot. You hold back a whine as she moves away from it.

Your eyes get heavy from the release of tension. It’s been an exhausting time having to carry it all with you. You let yourself begin to sink into the table, eyes fluttering close.

“This problem stems from poor posture. You really do need to take care of yourself more.” You hear her say as she works away, pushing deep circles around and around into your back, your shoulders.

“Mhmm…” is all you manage to reply.

“I know it’s difficult. Everyday life is so busy and stressful… Maybe you just need someone else to take care of you.”

“Mhmm…” you moan in agreement, your brain not fully processing what she’s saying until a moment or two later.

You think, as much as you can as she massages you into a state of bliss, that having someone to take care of you would be really nice. You think this is really nice. Her fingers moulding your back. You shiver as she lightly brushes your bare skin as she moves lower.

“Someone to tell you what to do, what to wear, you wouldn’t have so much tension then. You wouldn’t need to worry about anything.” She continues.

You sigh wistfully, imagining that. No worries, no thinking, just staying like this. Relaxed. Stress melting away. The pain from earlier is a distant memory compared to the contentment you feel down.

You feel your body get hot as she moves away from your back and down towards your legs.

But any embarrassment you may have felt simply dissipates with her soothing touch.

“You need to let me in. Let my words squeeze and stretch that brain. Let me massage every last bit of free will out of you.”

Alarm bells sounded at that last sentence, but your muscles were too relaxed for you to move.

“Shh…. Relax. Let me take care of you. It would feel so good to give in, wouldn’t it?”

It was less of a question and more of an order. You felt your body betray you. A moan slipped out as you slipped deeper. Her hands move between your legs.

“That’s it…” her hands worked you, body and mind, into submission.

“Now let’s make sure you release all of that building tension inside of you too…”

You couldn’t quite remember what had happened next. But you found yourself back at reception with a smile on your face, booking another appointment.

“Same time next week?” The receptionist asked in a daze.

“…yes… yes please.” You replied, breathless.

#finally #a story with a happy ending #I know I’m just pun-believable #hypnok1nk #hypnosis #mind control #mindfuck #brainwashing #hypnotized #massage

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outstandingmenshair · 8 months

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Duck’s arse to ducktail, Donald may approve of this full, flighty style of faded undercut. (He may not. Who knows. But the dude don’t wear no pants!)

#Themed Day #Seasons Pass #Summer Daze #Pompadour #Quiff #Fade #Duck's Arse #Ducktail #Bringing Sexy Backs #Daze Drift 1.5

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oneforthemunny · 1 month

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happy together |yandere!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: your and eddie's date at the hideout leads to uncovered pasts, from both of you. or part two of the yandere!eddie series.

contains: very dark fic! yandere!eddie. obsessive and posessive eddie. alludes to past violence, past relationship trauma, mean!eddie. parental trauma. alcohol. language. smut. oral (male and fem receiving), pinvsex. manipulative eddie. stalking. obsession. very dark. minors dni!!

“I’m not really sure I’m the right girl for this.” Nervous smiles, tugging at the ends of her sweater, a blonde ponytail bouncing with every turn of her head, scanning the room. “‘M not a big punk rock kinda girl.”

“Good thing it’s metal then, right?” Eddie grinned, knee bouncing on the wooden stool. “C’mon, they’re not gonna mosh you or some shit. Just here to listen to music.” If only he’d known then, that’s not why Chrissy was so nervous, why she pulled and twisted the sleeves of her sweater furiously, chin ducked to her chest the entire night.

“Hey, this is really good.” You giggled, the crystal trill of your giddy tone pulling Eddie out of his daze. There was no nervous blonde in front of him- no, there was an angel sitting across from him, giving him a bright smile that he was sure was melting him to his very core.

“Is it?” Eddie’s voice cracked, wobblier than he would have liked. His knee still bounced on the wooden stool, trying to down his beer so he’d loosen up, enough to not shake so much but not too much- he couldn’t risk getting too drunk.

“Yeah.” You nodded, tipping the rim of the martini glass to your lips, your lipstick stain printed on the rim. Eddie had never been so envious of a glass.

“Really good. Excellent choice.” You praised, leaving Eddie blushing under your sweet words. “What’s this called again?”

“Uh, a casio- no cosmo.” Eddie stuttered, fingers drumming on the sticky wood of the table top. “I’ll be honest, I just asked Katrina to make somethin’ good for you.”

“Well, my compliments to Katrina.” You giggled, sliding the glass towards Eddie. “You want a taste?”

His heart jumped, eyes focused on the lipstick stain on the rim. The thought of putting his lips where yours were, it was too much for him, sending his body into overdrive. “S-Sure,” Eddie swallowed, picking the glass up. His lips barely brushing where your lipstick was, casual enough that he hoped you wouldn’t see the tremble in his hands.

The vodka burned down his throat, singed his nose, swirling with the sweetness of the mixer. “Mm,” Eddie swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Shit, that is good.”

You grinned, hands brushing when you took your drink back, both of your chins ducking with nervous excitement. There was a pause, a dreaded fill of silent tension falling between the two of you.

Say something, Munson. Fucking say something, anything. But he couldn’t, he could barely form a thought. His mind cruelly wandered back to her, the night playing on a humiliating loop in the back of his head.

“So,” You saved him, head lolling sweetly in your hand, a little drunk, a little silly. “You know if you wanted to take me out, you didn’t have to switch shifts with Brenda.”

Eddie’s heart stopped, halted with thundering fear, body stilling. “W-What?” Eddie managed to squeeze the word through his tightening throat.

Your lips tightened in a smile, fingertips tracing over the wood table. “Brenda told me about how you took her shift.” You admitted. “That you probably did it so you could ask me out.”

Eddie’s cheeks flamed, the familiar ringing crescendoing in the back of his mind. Chrissy’s face morphing into yours, her look of horror and disgust taking over your own features. “I would never be with you, you’re a fucking freak! Do you hear me? Leave me alone! You’re a freak!”

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to- I just meant,” Nerves blossomed in your own veins, hands wringing under the table. “I-I meant, you didn’t have to take her shift. I woulda-” Eddie blinked, eyes still wide, rounded like he’d been caught. “I would have gone out with you anyways.”

Eddie’s body halted again, the raging screams of Chrissy, the deafening ringing in his ears, all stilled at your soft tone. “Y-You would’ve?” Eddie whispered.

“Well, yeah.” You admitted, eyes cutting sweetly up to him. “I mean, yeah, I would have. You’re always sweet, and nice, and funny, and- yeah, I would’ve gone out with you. I’m having a really good time.”

Eddie thought he might float away. His heart, his head filled with such a light, airy feeling that he’d gone positively boneless. “I-I’m having a good time too.” He ducked his head down, hoping you couldn’t see the rushing flush of red on his cheeks.

“How did you-” Eddie stopped himself, taking a breath so his mind could still. He couldn’t ramble, his ramblings got him in trouble, showed too much. “Did Brenda tell you?” Eddie’s knee bounced faster, trying to stop his hands from twirling his rings around, nervous fidgeting.

You smiled softly. “Yeah,” You nodded softly. “I mean, I brought up that we were going… out tonight. And she just kinda mentioned it.” You paused, looking down at your drink, twirling the black straw around the glass. An unsure pause filled the two of you, awkwardly floating around you in still uncertainty.

“She, uh- Brenda, she said she used to date your uncle?” You tried again, stomach flipping, filling with dread. This was a mistake, you’d hoped that cynical voice nagging in the back of your head would have been wrong.

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, calculated breaths, deep in, deep out, trying to calm his jolted nerves. The long drink you took didn’t help, looking around at the other bar patrons awkwardly. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Munson, get your head out of your fuckin’ ass, and do this right! Planned this shit for weeks, and now you’re gonna fuck it all up.

“They dated for a while.” Eddie added, picking up his own beer. His hands shook when he lifted the bottle to his lips. “I, uh, I had just moved in with my uncle when they started dating.”

“Are they still dating?” You pressed, hoping to keep the conversation going.

“No,” Eddie shook his head lightly. “No, they broke up like years ago, but uh, she’s always been nice to me. Got me this job, so…” Eddie threw his hands out slightly, knee bouncing rapidly.

Your eyes cut away, back down to your drink, twiddling with the straw awkwardly. Eddie’s ribs were constricting in the tightness of his own chest, sure the bones were about to tear through flesh. His hands clammy, fingers swelling around the silver rings on his fingers.

“She, uh- Brenda, she was kinda like a second mom to me, after my mom,” Eddie’s throat tightened, eyes on the ring of condensation left behind by his beer. “After she passed.”

“Oh,” Your face fell, eyes rounding sympathetically- a look he’d grown so used to, but seeing it on your features didn’t leave quite the same acidic disdain in his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that.” Your teeth tugged on your lip.

“Yeah, it’s not- it’s fine. I mean, it was a while ago.” Eddie’s knee shook, sure he was rattling off the barstool’s laddering step. “Anyways, I went to live with my Uncle for a while a-and he was with Brenda. She’s always looking out for me.” Always, even when she shouldn’t, Eddie’s mind said what he didn’t, ringing loud in his thoughts.

“That’s good. That you have her.” You smiled softly, Eddie’s heart soared. “She’s really nice. I like working with her a lot.”

“Yeah, me too.” Eddie nodded, the tightness in his chest easing, even at the pause. “What about you?”

Your eyes met his with an unsettling suddency, wide and urgent. Eddie’s brow raised before he could still it. “W-What?” Your stuttering squeak piqued his interests, sending him soaring into bouts of curiosity.

“I mean, what about your family? Back home?” Eddie’s tone was level, an uneasy kind of calmness that left you consumed with vulnerability.

“O-Oh,” Your hands twisted under the table, picking the black polish that smudged over your cuticles. “It’s not much, honestly.”

Eddie nodded slowly, eyes scanning your features. The way you swallowed anxiously, chewing the inside of your lip. “Fucked up home life?” Eddie grinned playfully. Your eyes lifted back to him. “Sorry, that was- I’m just saying, I get it. You don’t have to tell me, but if you ever wanted someone to talk to, it doesn’t get more dysfunctionally fucked than the Munson’s.”

“No, it’s not that.” You shook your head gently. “No, I’m- I was really close with my family. I just, I don’t get to see them much now anymore.”

Eddie swallowed his words, the urge to jump and demand to know more, to scare you with his prying. He couldn’t do that, not again. Girls didn’t like that, he’d learned that.

Instead he stayed silent, watching you fidget around. “I-I moved when I was eighteen.” Your eyes stayed on the table. “I, uh, I moved with my… They didn’t want me to leave. They wanted me to stay and go to college. My dad really wanted me too, and-and when I didn’t… We just kinda lost contact?” The words tumbled out of you, lungs squeezing them out, wringing them from your chest like a soapy rag.

“I used to talk to my mom a lot, but… I don’t know. It got kinda weird, ya know?” Your own knee bounced now, eyes rounding to his, in a face that was all too familiar.

“My mom, she was just really hard on me. I-I don’t think she meant to be, but…” Visions of Chrissy’s same troubled face meshed with yours, her words ringing like sirens in his mind.

“Yeah, no, I get that.” Eddie swallowed, blinking hard to get her face off of yours. Insulting, Munson, comparing her to you.

“So, you don’t talk to them much anymore?” Eddie pressed.

Your head shook. “No, I-I mean I’m sure they would if I would call.” Your heart drummed in your ears. “T-They don’t know how to reach me, so… I’d have to call them, a-and it’s just a mess.”

Eddie’s spine tingled, icy pricklings of curiosity. Your parents didn’t know? Didn’t know you moved all alone? You said you were close, had pictures of them in your bedroom, but why? What weren’t you telling him?

Eddie didn’t pry, simply nodding, grabbing his beer. “No, I get that.” He nodded. “I get the messy thing.” You lifted your own drink, gulping down the rest of it, wincing at the burn of vodka down your throat.

Silence fell over the two of you again, a lingering awkwardness in the air that had Eddie’s stomach turning.

Whoever called alcohol liquid courage, might’ve been a genius; Eddie had decided that. Three beers in, his hand was on your waist, head banging and rocking with you in the middle of the crowd. Surprisingly full and packed tonight, Eddie was thankful, it broke up some of the uncomfortableness. It only took your two more drinks to fully loosen up, teetering on tipsy and breaking open a new side of you to Eddie that he was enthralled with.

Giggly and sweet and chatty and so touchy. You’d grabbed his hand, pulled him into the crowd, shoulders brushing and wiggling through the others to get near the front.

“They’re really good!” You screamed over the roar of the music, turning towards Eddie.

“Yeah?” Eddie yelled back, his hand still ghosting over your waist, the band of your jeans. “You like it?”

“Yeah!” You giggled, lips spreading in a wide smile. “I-I’m having a really good time!”

Eddie’s heart skipped, maybe stopped all together. He was thankful for the dim lighting, that his blush was hidden by it. “Me too.” Eddie’s voice cracked. “I-I’m having a really good time, too.”

You smiled, arms thrown around his neck in a sloppy, silly way that had his knees tightening, weakened under your smile. Your eyes flickering down to his lips, teeth catching and rolling your own. Eddie was sure you could feel his heart thundering through his veins, his own hands gripping your waist rigidly.

You were teasing him, playful, but agonizing. Head swaying in then back, closer and closer to him. Noses nearly touching, an almost brush that had Eddie’s blood rushing to his cock. Tongue running over his own lips, his head inched closer to yours, your lips barely brushing his.

“Eddie?” His body ran still, rigid at the voice.

“Eddie Munson?” Your lips fell in a pout, arms slacking around Eddie, slipping off his frame. Brows furrowed at the blonde in front of you, though she wasn’t interested in looking at you, eyes in a nearly challenging glare at Eddie.

“H-Hey, Tammy.” Eddie’s hands slid down your waist, shoulder moving in front of you. “What are you doing here?”

Tammy’s lips twitched in a fake smile that came off more like a snarl. “Jason knows the drummer. Plus, it’s half on buckets during the show.” Her eyes scowled over his frame. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Eddie’s heart stopped, a clammy chill blanketing his skin. “Yeah, hey, it was good to see yo-”

“-I haven’t seen you since you showed up at Chrissy’s place.” Tammy sneered.

You blinked, brows furrowed, trying to lean in to hear the conversation. Eddie’s body tilted, trying to shield you out of the way.

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, taking a slow inhale to calm his racing mind, spiraling at the memory of her, Tammy’s words, you behind him. The trilling ring made its way back into his ears, vision spotting with a black vinaigrette.

“So how is Chrissy?” Tammy’s eyes slanted in a predatory challenging glare.

Eddie swallowed, fists balling beside him. “I don’t know, Tammy.” He sneered through his own gritted teeth. “She dumped me. I’m sure you know that-”

“-Yeah, I heard that.” Tammy scoffed. “But what I think is so strange, is right after she packs up and leaves? To go stay with her aunt?”

“I’m sure her parents made her go to college up there. That’s all they wanted for her anyways.” Eddie snapped, much more territorial than he meant it to. Your heart dropped at his tone, the anger in his eyes, jaw clenched. Taking a step back, you moved back into the crowd, chest tightening, desperate for air.

Eddie’s eyes cut to you, stepping towards you. Tammy sidestepped in his way, blocking him. “Cut the bullshit, Munson. I know you did something to her.”

“What?” Eddie snapped. “Can you leave me-”

“-No. She moves and doesn’t tell anyone? You expect me to believe that? Buy that bullshit?”

“Maybe she didn’t like you, Tammy.” Eddie barked, eyes blown with a crazed anger that had her flinching. “Maybe you two weren’t as fucking close as you thought? Huh?” Eddie took a step towards her.

“And before you start accusin’ me of shit, why don’t you fuckin’ think about what you’re saying. You think her parents wouldn’t have called the police, led a fucking man hunt if she disappeared or something? Huh?” Eddie spat, heat creeping in a flush up his neck. His eyes cut to you, scampering towards the table, fumbling with your coat.

Eddie’s heart lurched, turning back to Tammy. Ears ringing, seeing red- red all over her, splotchy on his vision. Her eyes wide in fear she tried to hide, rigid and cowering in the crowd over his looming figure. “Thought you were supposed to be smart. Valedictorian or whatever.” Eddie sneered in a scoff, stomping away from her.

He tore through the crowds, uncaring of the huffs of anger or annoyance from the others. Tunnel visioned in a determined glare, set on you. You, spine stiff, stuttering steps towards the exit.

Ruined. Ruined, it’s fucking ruined. Fucking Tammy, ruined everything. Everything you worked for, Munson. It’s over. Done. Again.

“Hey,” Eddie took a bounding step towards you, heart hammering in his chest. Your shoulders tensed, not turning back. “Hey, where’re you going?” He tried to keep his voice light, void of the frantic tightness he was feeling in his chest. His hand touched your shoulder, pulling away when you flinched away.

Your eyes were blown, meeting his with a look of positive terror. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Sorry about that. She- We went to high school, and-and she was friends with my ex, a-and- Are you ok?” Eddie’s brows creased, cutting down to your trembling hands, shaking even in the tight knuckled grip around your jacket.

“I-I I need to go outside.” You stammered, chest constricting your airways. “I just, I-I need some air.”

“Ok. Let me grab my jacket and-”

“-That’s alright.” You said quickly. “I just- I-I’m sorry.” Your chin ducked to your chest, you tore through the crowded tables, the gathering at the bar towards the exit.

“Shit,” Eddie hissed, turning back to the high top you’d been sitting at, his leather jacket still on the back of the chair. He dashed towards the table, running through the bar, uncaring of the bouncer’s booming warnings, pushing out the doors.

The parking lot was empty, no sight of you on the wall, next to the other smokers, or by his van. Eddie’s hands went to his hair, fists balling around the hair there. “Shit, shit, shit.” She’s gone. You scared another one away, Munson. No, I-I can’t. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it. I could go to her house, I-I’ll go to her house- And do what? Break in. How’d that work the last time, you fucking idiot-

“Hey, man,” A bartender wearing the Hideout’s black tee called, smoke spilling out of his mouth with the words. “You lookin’ for a girl? She ran out here cryin.”

Eddie’s heart leapt, nodding furiously. “Yeah, yeah, did you see her? Where’d she go?”

The man nodded around the corner. “I asked her if she was alright, but… She seemed real upset. Didn’t want to make it worse.” His eyes rolled over Eddie’s figure. “You might wanna go check on her.”

“I will. Thank you. Thank you.” Eddie’s legs felt like jelly, numb with every bounding step on the graveled pavement. He rounded the corner of the building, hearing you before he could see you.

A shaky exhale, ghosting with the hint of a cry. He found you, back against the brick, sitting on the grass, head tilting up high, shoulders fighting the shake of a cry with every long inhale and deep exhale you took.

Eddie stilled. He had to be careful, only one chance, one shot to fix this.

“Hey,” Eddie said, wincing at how you jumped, eyes shooting open. “Hey, no, I-I didn’t mean to scare you. I-I was just coming to check on you.”

Your eyes shone, lip wobbling with a cry. “I-I’m sorry.” You croaked, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Eddie paused. Sorry? He had expected you to scream, to try and run, call him a freak like Chrissy had. Anything but sorry.

“I-I’m sorry-y. I-I didn’t-” You gasped for a strangled breath. “I-I’m fine-”

“-Hey,” Eddie crouched towards you, knees sinking in the cool grass beside you. “Are you ok? What’s going on?”

Tears leaked down the corner of your eyes when you squeezed them shut, head shaking. “I-I’m sorry. I-I’m so s-sorry.” You sniffled, a broken, breathy cry tearing from your chest.

“You don’t need to be sorry. Hey, c’mon, you-you gotta relax ok. Breathe? Can you- Can you breathe?” Eddie’s hand found your shoulder gently, rubbing the soft material of your shirt. “Just try to relax. Deep breaths, in. Innnn… Yeah, then outttt.”

You followed his breaths, shoulders still shuddering under his touch even as your cries calmed, aftershocks of emotion he wasn’t sure where it came from.

Eddie waited, watched you carefully until your eyes met his, sheepish and a little embarrassed, glassy from tears and the liquor you’d had. “You alright?” Eddie asked carefully, cringing at the way your shoulders tensed. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean for her to upset you.”

You continued to breathe, eyes closing in controlled, timed breaths. Eddie’s own heart picked up. “I-I don’t know what you heard, b-but she’s full of shit, ya know? She’s always been just… She’s never liked me. Even in high school, she used to pick on me and shit. I-I didn’t- I don’t know why she did that tonight. Probably saw me with you, a-and wanted to start shit or-or whatever.” Eddie rambled anxiously.

Your eyes met his, still rounded but less wide, lacking as much terror as they did before. “That’s why you yelled?” You asked. “That’s why you were upset?”

“Yeah, I-I mean, yeah.” Eddie watched you carefully, studying every tiny quip in your features. “I-I shouldn’t have. I-I don’t normally get pissed like that, but… I don’t know. I just felt like I was back in high school, ya know?” Eddie sat next to you, his own head leaning against the brick.

“Felt like they were just picking on the freak again because they can. Thought we’d leave that shit in highschool but… I don’t know. They never do.” Eddie sighed slowly, shoulders slumping next to yours.

“I don’t… I don’t usually lose my shit like that. I try not to even give them a reaction, it’s just… My ex, she-she was friends with them. Popular and all that, and when we started dating, they’d just- they were so mean. They’d say stuff and-and she’d get embarrassed of-of me.” Eddie turned towards you, eyes soft, shining with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“She never wanted people to know. Never wanted to be seen with me because they’d say mean shit like that. And I’d let them, I’d try to ignore it for her, but she… She couldn’t ignore it.” Eddie muttered. “She gave in. Broke up with me and started telling them all this crazy shit. Trying to cover up that… I don’t know- that we were actually together? That she wanted to date me. Easier to blame the freak than tell people we were together, I guess.”

Your eyes met his, hesitantly. “I-I’m sorry.” You whispered, voice cracking. “That’s… That’s really mean.”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m used to it.” He muttered, looking down at the small patch of grass between the two of you. “Well, I guess I’m not as used to it as I thought I was.” Eddie muttered, eyes lifting to yours sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to cause a scene. To scare you. I-I would never-”

“- No, I-I know.” You shook your head lightly. “I’m just… I get weird.” Your own chin ducked towards the ground. “I get weird with fighting and stuff.”

Eddie stilled, watching you twist a blade of grass between your hands. “Guess we have the ex thing in common, too.” You muttered. “My ex-boyfriend… He’d get really mean sometimes. Just really angry.”

I’ll kill him. Eddie swallowed down the threat- no, the promise. Swallowing back his fierce anger.

“He-He never, like, hit me or anything, you know? It was weird, because there wasn’t any physical evidence or anything. I couldn’t go to the police for him yelling at me, but it just- it still really hurt.” Your voice cracked, lip wobbling at the memories. “That’s why I don’t talk to my parents. I moved with him, ignored them because they told me not to, and then… They were right, I guess. Just can’t really bring myself to call them and tell them that. Tuck my tail between my legs and go back. So I came here.”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered. Your eyes met his. “No, I-I’m sorry, that’s- I’m sorry.” Eddie said sincerely, his hand brushing over yours.

“It’s okay-”

“-It’s not, and… And I’m really sorry.” Eddie nodded gently. “I didn’t mean to yell. I shouldn’t have let her get to me-”

“-No, Eddie, i-it’s fine, really-”

“-I didn’t mean to ruin our date. End the night like this.” Eddie ran a hand down his face. “This is not- I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would end just fucked like this.”

You paused for a moment, head still spinning with the liquor, with emotion, dizzily. You’d blame it on that, credit that dizziness for your courage. “It doesn’t have to end like this.” You whispered.

Eddie stilled, eyes cutting to you carefully. You still toyed with the grass, eyes lifting sweetly to him. “We… We could go back to my place? I-I think I still have a movie I haven’t returned.”

Eddie’s wheels squealed when they pulled out of the Hideout’s parking lot, desperately back to your apartment.

Eddie was sure he was dreaming. Sitting on your couch, your apartment smelled just like he remembered, even better when you lit the candle on your coffee table, making a mental note of the name. He’d go buy it in bulk tomorrow, fill his apartment with them burning in every room just so he could feel closer to you.

You’d moved into his lap halfway through the movie, inching closer with every passing frame of Julia Roberts and Patrick Bergine until you straddled him. Eddie burned under your gaze, your hands back on his shoulders, sliding slowly towards his neck.

“Hi,” You whispered, tilting your head gently to the side, lip rolling beneath your teeth.

“Hi,” Eddie croaked, swallowing the thick lump in his throat.

“Is it ok if I do this?” You whispered, the glow of the TV illuminating your mussed hair. Eddie thought it looked like a halo, angelic above him.

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded dumbly. C’mon, get your shit together. You’ve almost got it, Munson.

His hands slid over your hips, setting on the small of your waist, where the band of your jeans hugged, squeezing the flesh gently, feeling you beneath his hands. You were really here, he was really here, with you. Living proof, right between his fingertips that this was no dream.

You leaned forward, a hand brushing back his curly bangs. “What’s this?” You muttered, fingertip ghosting over the jagged scar across his forehead.

“Bike wreck of seventy-six.” Eddie answered cooly, voice raspy and low in the dim light of your apartment. “Thought I could pop a wheelie on concrete. Didn’t go well.”

“Hm,” You sighed, lips twitching in a small grin. “You were a little dare devil, hm?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. His hands slid down your waist, hoping you couldn’t feel his heart hammering. “Still can be, sometimes.” His lashes batted up at you, squeezing the fatty flesh of your ass.

You squealed, Eddie’s heart leapt- he’d made the right move. Your eyes caught his, pinning him with your gaze, a delicacy of anticipation fell between the two of you. Who would break it? Make the first move?

Eddie’s fingers pressed into your jeans, a hand sliding up your back, pressing to the middle of your spine, bowing you forward toward him. Your hand on his neck, fingers splaying out over his jaw, lips connecting in a sweet kiss. Eddie felt like he was melting, a warm, gooey puddle underneath you.

Hands grabbing at the other, fevered and desperate, your hips rocking with his, brushing over his tenting zipper. Eddie could taste the wine on your lips, the glass of reisling you’d poured for the two of you before you’d put in the movie. “Since I killed the buzz before,” You’d shrugged at him sheepishly. He assured you, you hadn’t, still he was thankful for it, especially now. Now that he was loosened, far less critical of his every move.

Fumbling hands that pulled at his t-shirt, your jeans, Eddie flipping you over on the couch, hovering over you on the faded floral pattern of the couch. “You- We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Eddie whispered, his hands still toying with the button of your jeans. “I don’t want you to think I-I, like, only wanted this. I don’t- I mean, I do, I just… I want you in other ways too.”

You blushed, a sheepish smile under him. It was your turn to melt, to turn to putty under his gaze. “I know.” You whispered, black painted nails scratching down his forearms, over the etching of the puppet master. “I want to do this.” Your eyes lifted to his. “I trust you. I want to do this with you.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, you knew that, the darkened grin on his face confirmed it further. Your own hands fumbling with your jeans, wiggling them down your thighs while Eddie tore his t-shirt off above you, flinging it onto the floor.

You’d gone for a lacy, high cut thong tonight. Pale pink, frilly, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think you planned this. That you planned to sleep with him. Maybe you thought about him the way he did you. Pictures of you flooded his mind, your hand sneaking between your thighs in the middle of the night, whimpering out his name.

You didn’t expect Eddie to drop to his knees, pulling your body towards the end of the couch, thighs on his shoulders. He made a show of taking off your panties, a slow tug dragging them down your bare legs.

“Holy shit,” Eddie rasped, heart beating in his ears. You giggled nervously, pressing your hands over your eyes. “Look at you.”

“Stop.” You whined in playful embarrassment, thighs pressing together.

“No, it’s- fuck.” Eddie swallowed his words, swallowed down the urge to tell you it was better than he imagined. Don’t be creepy, Munson.

“I gotta have a taste. Can-Can I have a taste?” Eddie’s eyes rounded towards yours, bright with excitement. “That alright with you? Let me make you feel good? Have a little taste?”

Your body burned, with lust maybe excitement, you weren’t sure. Your tiny nod was all he needed, spreading your thighs open, settling between your legs. You pushed up on your arms, looking down the valley of your sternum towards him.

Plush lips pressing kisses to your thighs, a teasing kiss to your mound that had you whimpering, aching and pulsing between the legs. Eddie’s eyes stayed on yours as he licked a long, slow stripe through your slit. Better than he imagined, so much fucking better.

Eyes rolling back, his fingertips dug into your thighs, nose pressed to your slick, he wanted to suffocate himself in your cunt. Better than anything he’d ever tasted before, he was a man starved, determined to devour you entirely- you were convinced he might. Teetering on the edge of experienced and enamored, your back arched, body twisting under his tongue. Whines and cries of pleasure filled the air, a crescendoing melody to the triumphant symphony Eddie was feeling in his veins, rushing with red hot pride.

It was paradise, better than his wildest dreams.

When you took him in your own mouth, sweetly grinning at him before giving a kitten lick to his leaking head, he was sure nothing would be better than this. This was his peak, everything he’d ever wanted and more. Better than Chrissy, than Tabitha, than anyone.

You brought him to your room, let him press your thighs back, spread you open again. He couldn’t help the cry of pleasure that spilled out when he slid into you, it just felt so right. Beyond pleasure, though it was plenty pleasurable, it felt flawless, ethereal.

Better than anything he could have imagined when he saw you weeks ago from his van, your car packed up full of boxes and suitcases tied on top. In a tiny pair of cut off shorts, moving everything in the warm sunshine.

How was he to know that all those weeks ago, after he’d watched you apply for jobs at the diners and boutiques, that when he’d put a help wanted flier on your door for Turtle’s, that it would lead to this. His mind could have never dreamt this, that you’d be this perfect, fit so perfectly with him.

No, this was fate, Eddie was sure of it. Cosmic fate. Chrissy and the others, they were only parading as the real thing, he’d just convinced himself it was when it was merely a disguise. But you, you were the real deal. Eddie decided it, when he settled in the sheets next to you, arms around your frame, staring out the window of your room.

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