#thank you Zero 💕💕

[anawrites3]

Jason and Tim, they're comparing their scars

"This one," Jason said in a low voice, turning a bit to show the long scar on his side better. It started at his sternum and disappeared under his armpit. "Is from Black Mask. Fucker got me when my suit ripped and tried his damnest to put me down."

"Woah." Tim breathed out before shuffling closer. He reached out to trace the mark with his fingers, slowly and carefully, and watched goosebumps rise where he touched. "It looks… well, it looks pretty bad."

Jason snorted. He didn't move away from Tim's touch, even with how cold Tim's hand had to feel on his bare skin.

"It was." He agreed easily. "Not the worst I got but still hurt like bitch. Dick got crazy while trying to get me back to the Manor."

"Yeah, I can imagine that." Tim laughed. He sat back to gesture towards his own scar, this one also on the side but more towards his hip. It wasn't as long as Jason's but more ragged and ugly. "This one from Two Face."

"Damn." Jason whistled. He leaned closer to take a better look and didn't trace it with his fingers like Tim did, just put his hand on Tim's hip. "He got you good."

Tim winced.

"It was a stupid mistake." He admitted with a huff. He rested his hands on the couch behind him and looked up at the dark ceiling, subtly pressing himself into Jason's touch. "I was still new at the whole gig, made the wrong decision and ended up hurt. Bruce wasn't very happy with me."

Jason hummed. His thumb circled the skin of Tim's hip, dipping just barely into the waist of Tim's jeans and making the boy shiver.

"Can't blame him." He shrugged. "I'd get pissed at you for being stupid on patrol too."

A sigh left Tim's lips. Jason watched the way they parted to let the breath out.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Tim mumbled, grumpy. "Learned my lesson now."

"I'd hope so."

"Oh, stop acting as if you never got hurt from doing something stupid." Tim grumbled. "We all make mistakes. Even you. Even Dick."

"Damn, that really had to hurt your pride if you're bringing up Dick's shit." Jason teased. He crossed his arms over his chest and Tim suddenly felt even colder without his warm touch on his skin.

"Well, it's kind of hard to forget Dick letting Deathstroke actually shoot him that one time in Russia."

"Oh yeah, that one was great." Jason threw his head back with a laugh. Tim punched him on the arm - that really wasn't funny, poor Dick - but a little smile danced on his lips as well (no, it wasn't funny, but it was so freaking stupid it was hard to talk about it with a straight face). "The look on his face was fucking precious."

"Good thing Bruce wasn't there. He'd go crazy."

"Hey, at least it would be fun to watch."

"It really wouldn't be. But don't you dare change the subject!" Tim playfully wagged his finger into Jason's face. "I want to see a scar you got because of being stupid. That's what you get for making fun of me."

"I wasn't exactly making fun of you-"

"C'mon, just show me!"

For a moment Jason watched him without a word. Tim waited for him to make another joke or show him something stupid like a papercut he got a few days ago and kept complaining about, but Jason just uncrossed his arms.

And then he gestured towards his chest, where his autopsy scars were.

"Jason-" Tim started quietly because this wasn't what he meant-

"This. This is what happened because I was being stupid." Jason ignored him, continued. His voice was carefully blank. "Because I trusted someone who didn't give two shits about me and let her lead me straight to that sick fuck."

"Jason-" Tim tried again. "I didn't-"

"I know that's not what you meant." He tried to grin but Tim saw it didn't reach his eyes the way it normally did. "But that's what happened. I was stupid and I got killed."

"No. No, Jason, you weren't stupid." Tim insisted, moving so close that their breaths mixed. He cupped Jason's cheek with those awfully cold hands and stopped him from looking away from him. "You were everything but stupid. You were being strong. You were being a hero. You did everything you could to help that woman and it's not your fault that she betrayed you. Those scars aren't proof of you being stupid, they show that you survived."

Jason breathed out, wet and shaky. And then he did something even more stupid than dying, even more stupid than Dick getting shot by Slade.

He closed the last centimeters between them and kissed Tim.

I have no idea how it turned into this, they were meant to feel each other up and make out a bit lmao and now they're pining messes instead. ANYWAY hope you liked it!!

(You can take part in the game by sending me 2 characters and what they're doing!)

[butmakeitgayblog]

Can you imagine how excited and happy Demon!Lexa was (and is) when she started hanging out with Clarke? A friend and a lover after so many years alone? To fall in love for the first time. To be with someone and being loved by them.

Sometimes I read your ff and I wonder if you know how deeply they wreck us in the most beautiful way. ❤️

Me every time I think about that little baby demon dipshit running around the earth for a millennia thinking "I don't need anyone. I don't even like anyone! So there! I'm perfectly happy on my own, everyone else can go to hell 😤."

And then the first second Clarke showed up in her life it was like "👀👀👀👀👀 If not friend... why friend shaped?... Sexy, sexy friend shaped..."

[megumiluvv]

MOREEE BABYSITTER AU PLS you write so well

I’m glad you guys like it so much, it makes me so happy to write it!!💕💕 I’m feeling a little sick rn AND having a bit of a writing slump, and I’m trying as best I can to get through it but it’s hard to get inspiration to write right now </3. BUT I will definitely write more of it as soon as possible because I love it just as much as you guys! <333

[yoyomomiko]

Hi Miko, I've been reading your one piece posts and absolutely love how you write the characters! I loved your oblivious reader headcanons, but I wanted to request kind of the opposite - how would Luffy, Sanji and Zoro react to a reader that makes the first move and kisses them first? Thank you 🥰💕

pairings: monster trio x female reader

cw: not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

— (a/n): hiiii!! i'm very sorry for not posting, I've got a lot of requests and i hope I'll get to write them all ^⁠_⁠^ also, I SWEAR I don't have a favourite (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) -> m.list

— LUFFY

Luffy is so straight forward that a lot of flirting just goes right over his head. You could be batting your eyelashes, throwing hints, or playfully touching his arm, and he'd just grin at you, not having a second thought.

He's naturally touchy with his crew, so when you start getting more physically affectionate, he just kinda rolls with it. Leaning on him? He'll lean right back. Holding his hand? He'll swing it playfully.

The realization hits... Late. You make a habit of teasing him, leaning in close when you talk, poking his face when he pouts, and even calling him cute. After a lot of punches from Nami and disappointed sighs from Usopp, he tilts his head and just goes "Are you flirting with me?"

Luffy starts leaning in close, just to see if you'll back away, and he literally COPIES your every move.

"Does this make your heart race too?" In the most innocent way possible.

You think he's immune to embarrassment, until you pull a bold move and trace his jaw with your fingers. "I bet you'd taste sweet." He actually pauses, eyes wide, and a faint pink tint covering the tip of his ears.

When you finally go in for the kiss, you catch him mid laugh. His eyes widen, and probably for the first time ever, he's speechless. Luffy, the king of energy, is frozen like a statue.

His hand almost instinctively catches your waist, holding you close. You pull back, watching his expression shift from shock, to realization, to a big, goofy grin.

"Do it again!" He doesn't even hesitate before grabbing your face and closing the distance again, kissing you back. Zero hesitation.

After this, he just kisses you whenever he feels like it. Mid conversation? Smooch. Stealing food? Smooch. Looking at him funny? Smooch.

He literally tells the whole crew. No warning, no build up. Just a proud declaration while you stand there, face buried in your hands.

You belong to his crew, but now you're his in a way that makes him extra protective. He wraps his arms around you randomly, pulling you close, his stupid, big grin plastered on his face.

He starts challenging you to kiss attacks. If you surprise him, you win. If he catches you trying, he flips it on you.

Luffy doesn't get embarrassed easily, but he does get attached. Expect him to be glued to your side, smiling like you're the best treasure in the world.

There's no overthinking with Luffy, he just likes being with you, loves that your bold, and will 100% support more surprise kisses in the future.

———☆

You're sitting on the deck with Luffy, sharing a plate of snacks, when you decide you've had enough of his cluelessness. He's laughing about something, something dumb, something that shouldn't make your heart race.

So, without a second thought you lean in and close the distance, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. It's quick, but it's just enough to make Luffy's breath hitch and heartbeat increase.

Luffy blinks at you, his usual bright eyes wide in surprise. He's touching his lips like he's processing the sensation for the first time. Then, slowly, a huge grin spreads across his face.

"Whoa!" He lets out a shaky exhale, and then he grabs your hands, bouncing excitedly. "Do it again!"

"Maybe later." You laugh, shaking your head. He was getting so excited over a simple kiss, and you couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat at the way his touch felt on your skin.

"Later?! But I wanna do it now!" He doesn't wait, just leans in and captures your lips in another quick, excited kiss. Now, you're the one blushing.

— ZORO

Flirting with Zoro is like flirting with a wall, at least at first. He doesn't react to subtle touches, teasing smirks or even playful winks. He just raises an eyebrow like, What are you doing?

"You're acting weird." You lean in, fingers trailing over his wrist as he tenses, although not pulling away. "I'm just being friendly." "That doesn't feel friendly..."

The moment he does realize you're flirting with him, he goes completely still. His grip on his swords tighten. He legit looks like he just got challenged to a duel.

"Tch, like I care." But then he starts noticing everything. The way you look at him, the way your hand when you pass him something, the way you bite your lip when you tease him.

Zoro acts all cool, but inside? His heart is beating faster, and he doesn't know why. Literally internal panic.

One day, you brush your fingers along his jaw. "I bet you'd look good, all flustered and blushing." He visibly stiffens, eyes darting away. "Shut up." Oh, so he can get flustered.

You finally go for it, grabbing his collar and closing the gap, pulling him in for a kiss. He doesn't react at first, he's too shocked to move a muscle. Then, his hands grip your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

He's not as unaffected as he pretends to be. He exhales slowly, his breathing controlled. But you can feel the slight shake in it, the way his hands tremble slightly and the way his muscles tense.

Zoro pretends it's no big deal, but later, he tilts your chin up and kisses you again. Slower, deeper, like he's trying to memorize the feeling of your lips on his.

He's not big on PDA, but his protective streak triples. Arm around your waist? Always. Pulling you close when someone stares too long? Every time.

He doesn't say sweet things, but his actions scream it.

He still gets caught off guard when you tease him. A kiss on the cheek, and his ears turn red. Whispering something flirty, and his jaw tightens.

Zoro likes a challenge, and now that he's aware of you, he starts fighting back. He corners you and smirks if you get flustered.

He will DIE before admitting how much he likes it.

———☆

Zoro is training, sweat glistening on his skin, swords balanced in a way that makes him look damn near untouchable. You've been teasing him all day, dropping little hints, getting close... But he's been brushing you off, pretending it has no effect on him. Until now.

You walk up to him casually, hiding your smug smirk, standing just close enough for him to feel your presence. "Bet I could throw you off balance."

"Tch, you wish." He fights the urge to roll his eyes, the way his words came out was almost as if he was daring you to try.

Your smirk widens as you step closer to him. Before he could react, you grip his collar, tug him down, lips colliding into each other as you press a confident kiss on his lips.

He freezes. His whole body tenses like he's been struck by lightning. When you pull away, his breath is heavier, and there's a slight pink tint decorating his cheeks.

He glares at you, the grip on his swords tightening. "That was dirty..." He mutters, still trying to calm himself down.

You tilt your head to the side, still smirking. "Did it work?" You taunt him, trying to hold back your laugh, watching his flustered expression carefully.

Zoro exhales slowly, before grabbing your wrist, yanking you back in for another kiss. His lips crashed against yours, and you could feel his smirk pressing against your mouth. This one's deeper, hungrier. When he finally pulls back, a smirk forms on his lips.

"Yeah. It worked."

— SANJI

Sanji flirts with everyone, but when you do it back? He's done for. He's absolutely weak from the start. He nearly drops his cigarette every time you touch him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?" And he instantly covers his mouth, trying to hide his nosebleed and the way his face turns 50 different shades of red. He short circuits instantly.

He flirts dramatically, and you flirt right back, leaning in close, tracing his jaw, calling him pet names. His whole face BURNS.

You catch him off guard with a soft touch to his cheek, and his whole face erupts in pink. "M-Mademoiselle!"

When you finally kiss him first, his soul leaves his body. His cigarette falls, his legs turn weak, and he grips onto you for dear life.

The moment your lips touch his, Sanji's entire body locks up. His heart is hammering, and his mind is screaming in ten different languages. His brain kinda goes offline for a few seconds, but he'll snap out of it eventually!!

He covers his face with both hands, trying to suppress the absolutely ridiculous grin forming. "Mon Dieu! You're too much for me..." And his legs wobble like he might pass out.

His hands remain on your waist, but he doesn't pull you in, not yet. He wants to play it cool, but his flushed face and trembling hands give it away.

For the next hour, he is completely useless in the kitchen. He keeps chopping ingredients wrong, spacing out and giggling like an absolute fool. When someone asks what's wrong, his only reply is "I've been blessed by an angel today."

After the kiss, he becomes extra aware of your presence. A simple brush of your fingers sends a shiver down his spine. If you just lean against him, he has to take deep breaths.

The next time you tease him, he gets his revenge, tilting your chin up with his fingers and giving you the slowest, most knee weakening kiss of your life. "Two can play this game, mon amour."

Before, he was a hopeless romantic. Now? He's a hopelessly attached romantic. "Oh, you like me?" You tease, and you see the way his lips curl into a smirk. "Like? Darling, I adore you."

He was already treating you like royalty, but now it's way worse. Pulling out your chair, offering you the best cuts off food, whispering sweet nothings into your ear 24/7. It's endless.

You kiss him unexpectedly? He still gets heart eyes, but now he pulls you right back for another. "Don't start something you're not ready to finish, darling."

Completely, utterly, shamelessly yours. Sanji doesn't even try to hide it, he's absolutely whipped. He lets everyone know, the whole crew has to deal with it.

———☆

Sanji is flirting with you as usual, leaning close and murmuring sweet things. "Ah, ma chérie, if you keep looking at me like that, I might fall apart."

You rolled your eyes, a mischievous smirk forming on your lips. You grabbed his tie, fingers twisting in the fabric, yanking him down with a sudden tug. He stumbled slightly, cut off guard, but there was no time to react. Your lips crashed against his, the space between you vanishing as you pressed your body flush against his, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. His breath hitched as his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you even closer.

Your lips parted just enough to tease, to taste. Your fingers slid up from his tie to tangle in his hair, nails grazing his scalp as you pulled him in, not letting go.

You finally parted from him, just barely, lips still hovering close and over each other. He's completely frozen. Mouth slightly open, cigarette hanging dangerously close to falling, his eyes wide in surprise, face completely red.

His whole body shakes, and he nearly collapses on the floor. "I can die happy!" He shouts out dramatically, both hands pressed firmly on his chest as he struggles to breathe.

Later, when he finally recovers, he pulls you aside, trapping you against the wall, kissing you so deep it leaves you breathless.

"Not so easy when I'm the one taking control, hm, mon amour?"

★yoyomiko ★miko

[kat-mobile]

could i request a small fic/imagine where tommy is soft with only his girlfriend/fiancé/wife and his kids?🫶🏼

Scary? My God you're divine!

A/N: hey babes, this is actually longer than I was expecting lmao. It still is under 1000 though. I am a huge sucker for soft!Tommy so thank you so much for this request 😍. I named the baby Charlotte before I realised how much her full name sucks and then couldn't be arsed to change it, so apologies to Charlotte Shelby. This is probably also ooc but I don't give a shit, but I hope you like it anon!!! 💕💕

You knew what Tommy did, what came with his job. All the illegal affairs and cutting people up. You'd be a fool not to. But you couldn't help but feel as if the real Tommy Shelby was the one who came out when he was with you.

Ever since the start of your relationship, Tommy had always acted differently around you, much softer, always there to place a soothing hand on your back or hunch over to talk to you with his lips brushing your ear, his words meant for no ears but your own. His hardened gaze softened and the corners of his mouth would quirk up in a a miniscule smile, only momentarily but you would count that as a win no less.

Arthur had employed you to help run things at the garrison, you weren't exactly excellent at maths but you were certainly better than Arthur so you would help with the books as well as working as a barmaid. The two of you met for the first time when Tommy burst into the office of the garrison with a cut on his sharp cheekbone, he thought he would be opening the door to his brother, you thought he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. You insisted on helping and sanitising the "wound" and although he initially refused he soon gave in to your worried frown and relentless offer of help. The two of you had been practically inseparable since, rarely seeing one without the other and if one was missing they were never very far behind.

Tommy took to you almost immediately after meeting you, and Polly clocked him the very next day. The woman always was good at reading Tommy and that day was no different.

Over the next couple of months, whenever he was around Tommy barely let you lift a finger, always eager to help lift things and assist in anyway possible, never letting you out yourself in any risk whatsoever, no matter how small. At first you were offended, thinking that he was doing it because he thought you incapable, what with you being a woman, or if he didn't trust you enough to do things on your own. But when you brought it up one day, thoroughly fed up, he was quick to quell your suspicions and doubts by instead admitting his growing feelings towards you. Absolutely zero persuasion was needed for you to agree to a date with the handsome Tommy Shelby, and now three years later you're married with an adorable little four month old baby girl named Charlotte.

Tommy often refers to your small family as his greatest weakness, saying that if it ever gets out how soft he is that his reputation would never recover. But you just laugh to yourself and cuddle in closer, hand coming up to stroke Charlotte's head. No one would believe it if it got out, he has nothing to worry about.

The first time Tommy had held her you would've thought she was made out of cheap glass, fragile and likely to break at even the smallest of mishandlings. You knew from the moment that little Charlotte Shelby first opened her eyes, sharp and blue like her fathers, that she had Birmingham's most feared gangster wrapped around her teeny tiny pinky. Once the doctor had shown him how to hold the baby properly, supporting her head and all that, it was hard to separate the two.

Every night when he came home to you he would lie in the centre of the bed with you curled up into his side, head resting on his firm shoulder, and he would place the small babe to lie on his bare chest, small legs tucking up in a scrunch like a frog and cute babbles making the corners of his eyes crease.

[grim-reapers-wife]

Can I request a Bakugou x reader where the reader is Kirishima’s younger sister. Kirishima has made it super clear that you’re off limits to all his friends, but Bakugou can’t help himself from falling in love with you (and maybe thinking of you when he touches himself in the middle of the night…) Thanks!

____________________________________________ 🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤

Little sister (Bakugou x fem reader)

Summary: Bakugou has the biggest crush on Kiri’s little sister. But she’s totally off limits.

__________________________________________ 🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤

Bakugous POV:

I’m sitting in Shitty hair’s living room scrolling on my phone waiting for him to get his gym stuff together.

I wish he’d had his shit together already. I’m dressed and ready; gym shorts and a black shirt, with everything I need in my gym bag.

I hear footsteps coming from the stairs and I look up thinking it’s Shitty hair.

“Bout time-” Woah.

“Oh! Hey Katsuki.” It’s Kirishima’s little sister in the smallest shorts known to mankind.

For as long as I’ve known Kirishima, I’ve known that his little sister is off the table.

“Hey, how you doin’?”

She’s younger than me and shitty hair, but god she doesn’t let that stop her.

She’s definitely smarter than him. Prettier too.

“I’m good, you going to the gym?” She nods to my outfit and bag.

“Yeah just waiting on shitty hair.” I say gruffly

She giggles and it’s music to my ears. I scowl at the floor to hide my blush.

“I’ve been thinking about going, you think you could teach me a couple things?”

Boy could I. “Uh-“

“Hey man, you ready?” Shitty hair asks while coming down the stairs.

He narrows his eyes at me and his sister, looking between us like I’ve done something.

“Yeah man, I’m ready.” We walk to the front door and I look behind me.

“Bye.”

I hear her quiet voice just before the click of the door.

Shitty hair zeros his eyes in on me. “She’s off limits. To every one of my friends. She’s the only thing I don’t play about, man. You know this.”

I shrug it off. “Yeah man, I know.”

“Good."

____________________________________________

I get home after the gym with shitty hair. God I could not focus after our talk. I hear them in my head while I turn the shower on.

"She's off limits."

"You think you could teach me a couple things?"

I step in and run my hands through my hair. God what am I thinking? Her in those tiny sleep shorts, thinking about her in the gym squatting with me spotting her from behind.

I let the water run over my face to calm myself.

I know I'm hard just thinking about her. She's gorgeous and she keeps up with me and Shitty hair.

I wrap my hand around my cock and give it a few slow pumps.

She smells like heaven, sometimes I can smell her ambrosial sent on Shitty hair.

Her body is perfect, perfect in every way.

I lazily stroke myself.

This is wrong. This is against the bro code, it has to be; but god the thought of her.

I move my hand faster, putting the other on the shower wall to hold myself.

An image of her naked and underneath me flashes through my mind.

"Fuck." I feel my hot release on my hand.

I close my eyes and imagine her once more before I finish showering.

____________________________________________

I finish my shower and towel dry my hair. I throw on a pair of sweats and grab a book before laying in bed.

Just as I'm about to start reading I hear the ping of my phone.

From: Beautiful girl 💕 9:03pm Hey, are you awake?

My face scrunches up in confusion. Why is she texting me?

To: Beautiful girl 💕 9:04pm Yeah. What's up?

From: Beautiful girl 💕 9:04pm Would you maybe take me to the gym? I really wanna go but I know nothing.

I think about it for a minute. I want nothing more then to be in her presence.

To: Beautiful girl 💕 9:06pm Shitty hair might not like that, beautiful.

From: Beautiful girl 💕 9:08pm We don't have to tell him...

I smirk and shake my head. I type two words.

To: Beautiful girl 💕 9:09pm I'm in.

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Notes: Thank you so much for the request. I think this should have a follow up of some sorts. Lmk what yall think!

Maybe we should get a snippet of them at the gym. 💪

Or Kirishima spotting then on a date. 🫣

[writeroutoftime]

our family

pairing: tyler owens x fem!reader (requested by: @piratejakesgf)

summary: it's the first morning tyler is going back to storm chasing after the birth of your daughter and he finds he needs some reassurances in the nursey.

warnings: none (though not proofread lol)

words: 0.7k

a/n: oh my goodness, thank you for this request!! it was so sweet and fun to write! imagining this man as a father truly made me swoon! please enjoy!! 💕

oOoOo

The sun slowly began peaking over the skyline - a gentle nudge to those still asleep that morning was soon arriving. Not included in that group was Tyler Owens. Instead, he stood in the baby pink nursey, staring down in the crib at his seven-month-old daughter. His finger stroked over her soft cheek, memorizing every breath she took.

Tyler thought the moment he met and fell for you that his life was changed forever. But it changed all over ago seven months ago when he held his daughter for the first time. It was then that he knew nothing in his life was more important than being there for his two girls.

He could feel the anxiety building in his body the longer he stood and simply watched. Tyler knew that eventually he was going to have to tear himself away from her, from you, and get back out to chasing. And dep down, he truly was excited. To be back with his team, doing what he loved. But it all felt so much more complicated now.

He went through a similar spiral once 'I love you's' were shared between each other. It was so easy to go out in the middle of a damn tornado when there was no one waiting for him. And now there were two people who would be waiting to for him to make it home safely.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Tyler didn't hear you shuffle into the nursey. It was only when you wrapped your arms around his frame and pressed your cheek against his sturdy back that he found himself relaxing the tiniest bit.

"Morning, darling." he whispered, letting go of the crib railings in favor of grasping your hands with his.

Your response of incoherent mumbles brought a much-needed smile to his face. Carefully, he untangled your limbs and turned you until your sleepy face met his green eyes. He titled his head forward so his forehead could rest against yours, soaking in this quiet moment.

"How you feeling today, cowboy?" you whispered, not wanting to shatter the bubble that encompassed you both.

Tyler sighed and stepped back so he could pull you into his chest. "I, I don't know if I'm being honest." he confessed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to be back out with the team again, but..."

"But?" you prompted, offering Tyler a space to just think and talk with zero judgments.

"But, I also don't want to leave the two of you. I mean what if something happens here while I'm gone? O-or what if something happens to me while I'm out there?"

You took a moment to carefully craft your response. "I can't say that I won't be worried while you're out there. But that's nothing new. I know you're going to do everything in your power to come home to me - to us." you said, your voice firm.

"Of course I will." Tyler vowed

"Well, we'll be waiting for you when you come home. And that'll just mean the reunion is that much sweeter." you told him with a sly smile.

Greedily, you pushed forward until your lips met Tyler's chapped ones. He responded immediately and held you impossibly tighter. The kiss was long and full of passion, both of you expressing everything that couldn't be said. Love, passion, and promises of more early morning kisses to come.

You eventually pull away and swayed slightly in the nursey as Tyler still held you tightly. Though he felt more relaxed, you could tell there was something he was holding back. As gently as you could, you grasped his chin in your fingers and forced him to look at you.

"And, when you come back home, if it still doesn't feel right - we'll figure it out. We're always here for you, whatever it is you're going to do."

Tyler nodded, teeth caught on his lips as he tried to hold back his tears. "What would I do without you both?" he asked with a small laugh. And when he got into his truck and turned back to see you and your daughter waving goodbye to him, he knew he'd make it back to you whatever mother nature threw his way.

[tpwk-formula1]

Can I order

Ollie Bearman- Thin crust,red sauce,roasted mushrooms,bacon,pineapple with sprite,truly and Diet Coke with no dessert please💕

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

thin crust brother's best friend red sauce rough sex roasted mushroom “Fucking you so good you I can see myself in your tummy” bacon "What would your brother think if he caught us" pineapple "Look so pretty wrapped around my cock" sprite size kink truly belly bulge diet coke recording kink dessert no served by Ollie Bearman

Ollie x Antonelli! reader

TW - squirting, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, fingering, unprotected sex, filming the act, belly bulge, size kink

WC 1900+

Y/N POV

"Kimi, can I talk to you?" I ask after finally finding my twin brother hiding in the Mercedes garage getting away from all the media.

"What's up?" Kimi asks putting his phone down and giving me his full attention.

"So, you're probably gonna be mad but you cannot make a fucking scene," I tell Kimi making him sit up taller and stare at me with an unreadable face.

"Go on, I make zero promises," Kimi says making my pulse rise a bit.

"So, Ollie and I are dating," I say while giving Kimi a sarcastic smile knowing he wasn't happy the second the words left my mouth.

"Oh, I'm gonna fucking kill that giraffe," Kimi said while standing up and shoving past me.

"Kimi, we are in the fucking paddock keep it professional," I say while pulling his arm back slightly but he was on a mission that left me scrambling to follow him.

"Kimi, stop," I say again pulling him back a bit harder. This time Kimi stopped and looked at me with pure anger flashing in his eyes.

"Are you fucking serious right now? You planned this shit to tell me here in public so I couldn't blow up on either of you, but news flash, I dont care," Kimi said turning on his foot and marching towards the Ferrari garage.

We didn't even make it to the garage when we see Ollie pop out smiling and talking to one of the engineers when he spots both of the Antonelli twins approaching him. One radiating anger and the other radiating stress while still giving off a fake smile.

Ollie picked up on the signs and instantly popped back into the garage trying to get away before the much shorter boy reached him.

"No, Oliver Bearman get out here, I just want to talk," Kimi says. I'm shocked to find Ollie actually turning on his foot and coming back outside to stand in the middle of the pit area.

"How can I help you?" Ollie asks trying to mask his fear.

"Oh cut the shit, you and my fucking sister?" Kimi asks trying to keep his volume down but failing with how angry he is.

"Okay, before a full-out brawl occurs I think you guys need to take this into the garage," Fred says coming out of nowhere but quickly ushering the three of us into the Ferrari garage and into an unoccupied room before leaving the three of us to hash out our difference.

"Look Kimi, it's new, and I care a lot about your sister, I'm not in the business of hurting her," Ollie tells Kimi seriously. I can see a very perplexed look flash in Kimi's eyes before I watch his body physically relax.

"How long?" Is all Kimi asks sharply.

"Little over a month, it's new and we wanted to make sure it was gonna be more long term before telling anyone. You're the first person we are telling and I'm sorry if I did it in public I just knew you would flip shit... and I was right," I reply back softly. I can feel Ollie's hand brushing my back showing me that he is still there supporting me but keeping it respectful in front of my brother.

"Please, don't hurt her. I will run your ass off the track every single race if you do," Kimi finally speaks up making me smile and softly pull him in for a hug.

"It's gonna take time to get used to this shit, but I'm not gonna make you guys split or anything, but don't do weird shit in front of me," Kimi tells us making both Ollie and I smile.

"Deal, and thank you," I tell him softly.

We all leave the room and Kimi and I go back to the Mercedes garage where we spend the rest of the day talking and figuring out our plans for our upcoming vacation as well as sitting through boring Mercedes meetings.

"Hey, I'm gonna go see Ollie for a little bit and I should be back before dinner," I tell Kimi when we get back into our hotel happy to not have to be lying to him anymore.

Kimi just pulls a fake disgusted look before shooing me away.

When I get into Ollie's room I knock softly before I step in and pull him into my arms.

"Well that was interesting," I whisper making Ollie laugh and nod.

"He called you a giraffe," I tell Ollie making me laugh before looking down.

"He might be onto something," I joke when I realize how much I am having to strain my neck to look up at Ollie.

"I think you Antonelli's just don't know how to grow," Ollie said with a joking smirk written across his face.

"Oh shut up," I say not having anything to rebuttal him with.

I walk over to Ollie's bed noticing the the scattered clothes all around. Before climbing into his bed and making myself comfortable Ollie climbs onto the bed and into my space where he starts placing soft kisses across my jaw trailing to my lips where he pulls me in for a heated makeout session.

"I need you," Ollie whispers against my lips making me smirk slightly but agree anyway and pull Ollie in closer to keep the heated session going.

I can feel Ollie pulling off my tank top making me lift my arms and pull back to allow him to pull it off all the way and I make quick work of taking his shirt off leaving both of us bare from the top up given I wasn't wearing a bra.

"I love your pretty tits babe," Ollie mumbles against my neck before pulling in one of my hard nipples into his mouth making me gasp slightly.

"Not much there," I mumble which has Ollie lifting his hand and pinching my free nipple making me whimper slightly.

"Don't take about my favorite tits like that," he says while jokingly stroke them like they had feelings.

"Big apologies," I say with a joking eye roll. Ollie moves over to the nipple he had just pinched and starts sucking on it instantly making the sting go away and turn into pure pleasure.

"Fuck," I moan gripping into Ollie's hair pulling him closer needing him.

"Please," I beg wanting him inside me more than I want to continue the teasing. Even the begging doesn't cause Ollie just continues playing with my tits before finally unbottoning my shorts and pulling them down with my thong leaving me completely bare for Ollie to use.

"Fuck, so pretty baby," Ollie mumbles before he starts kissing down from my tits to where I needed him the most.

"Can we try something," I gasp when I feel a soft lick on my clit.

"Does it prevent me from eating this pussy right this moment?" Ollie questions clearly annoyed that I put a stop to his plans.

"No, I just wanna try filming ourselves," I tell him softly when I suddenly lose all of Ollie's warmth as he is across the room grabbing his phone and propping it up against the night stand to film our activites.

Once Ollie is back into the bed he makes quick work of pulling my clit into his mouth and sucking on it before he starts licking all around my pussy like a starved man.

"Fuck, best pussy ever," Ollie groans into my pulling makng me whine and moan when he sends a strong vibration through my clit just from him taking into my pussy.

"Ollie, so good!" I gasp when he slips two fingers into my pussy and searching for my G-spot which didn't take him long.

"What would your brother think if he caught us? Yo clenching around my fingers and my face burried in your soaked fold while you're begging for more," Ollie says with a smirk making me gasp at the mention of his best friend.

"He's fucking murder you in cold blood," I tell him which makes Ollie laugh lightly before he slaps my inner thigh making me jump slightly and gasp from the sting.

"Well then, be a good girl and don't get too loud, he's right next door," Ollie tells me before going right back into my pussy and teasing my clit with his tongue.

"Ollie, I'm so close," I moan while pushing his head deeper into my pussy and holding him there while he speeds up his fingers working on my G-spot helping bring me over the edge into a loud orgasm.

"Fuck, Ollie!" I scream out before covering my mouth and start cumming all over Ollie's face. Ollie's fingers leave my pussy wrapping both arms around my thigh and holding me in place while he helps ride my orgasm out. Once my orgasm has finished Ollie continues teasing my clit allowing for the overstimulation to sink in before he pulls away and instantly pulls his pants and boxers off before climbing between my thighs and sinking right into my cunt leaving no time for me to adjust.

"Look so pretty wrapped around my cock" Ollie mumbles while he starts thrusting his hips making me whine at how much he is stretching me out.

"Too big," I whine looking up at Ollie who has a proud smirk on his face while he concentrates on thrusting into my pussy at a consistent pace.

When I feel Ollie softly place his hand on my tummy and push down I scream out because he threw me into an unexpected squirting orgasm.

This doesn't stop Ollie from fucking into me but he does move his hand but continues staring at my tummy making me look down and notice the very noticeable bulge in my tummy.

I knew Ollie was big but seeing a bulge in my tummy that is clearly made by his dick was surprising.

“Fucking you so good you I can see myself in your tummy," Ollie says clearly loving it just as much as I loved it.

"Fuck, Ollie," I moan.

I feel Ollie reach his arm over to the nightstand where he picks up the phone and turns the camera towards me.

Ollie made sure to keep the camera focused on everything but makes sure to draw attention to his cock poking through my stomach where he softly pokes at his cock each time he thrust in making me whine.

"You gonna cum all over my cock again?" Ollie states more like a question before he pushes down on my tummy again while he makes sure to keep the camera focused.

"Fuck," I scream again while cumming all over Ollie's cock again making him pull out and cumming all over my tummy and cumming so hard some of it landed on my tits.

"Fuck," Ollie groans before ending the video and getting me a towel so he can clean his cum up.

When I hear my phone ring next to me I look at it and notice that it's Kimi calling.

"I think he might have caught us," I joke while showing Ollie who was calling. Ollie makes a fake oopsie smile truly not really caring. I ignore the call but quickly receive a text from Kimi that says "Hanging out my ass"

I just laugh and ignore him pulling Ollie in closer.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Hiii!! Here for the 'ask and receive' thingy you're doing! I'm thinking allure!MATZ (maybe seonghwa focus? 😏) with the prompts 120, 122, 214, 220, 221, 224. What do you think?? Love your fics btw 💕💕

➯a/n: OOOUUUH WHAT DO I THIIINK ? i think- shit, where'd my clothes go ? kkkkk its about time i did some pure smut in this universe !! thank you very much and enjoy <33

Allure

Scent of You

❥Park Seonghwa x fem reader x Kim Hongjoong

120 + 122: "faster, faster — please ! " + "just like — oh, fuck ! just like that ! "

✫彡wordcount: 2.6k

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut, a/b/o au

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: 214: cnc, 220: manhandling, 221: creampie/breeding, 224: knotting, predator/prey chase, clothed/naked dynamic, outdoor sex, double penetration, pet names, dirty talk, multiple creampie, this adds almost zero to the plot/universe imma be real; they just fuckin, not proof read

♫Allure Soundtrack♫ "Just howl all night, like we got nothing to lose." &TEAM, Scent of you♫

♡masterlist !♡

MINORS GO AWAY

˚➶ ｡˚

It's been a long time since your adrenaline was so high.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your ears, in your finger tips — in your cunt.

The chilly fall air burns your lungs as you push yourself. You're so far into the woods and away from the farmhouse that you wouldn't be able to find your way back even in the broad daylight; forget about doing it now, in the middle of the night with only the moon to guide you.

Good thing Seonghwa is hot on your tail and ready to drag you back home after he catches you.

His footsteps crunch the fallen leaves as he makes his way to catch up with you; not even trying to be quiet in his pursuit. Both of you know that he's faster, that he's eventually going to get you. But that doesn't matter. That's, in actuality, the whole point.

He and Hongjoong opened up to you a few months ago, about how they had some... peculiar interests. Things they wanted to try. Things their wolves wanted to do. At the top of that list, just below 'breed' — was 'hunt.'

It's no secret that alpha's are more in tune with their wolves natural instincts, their natural urges. The stronger the wolf, the stronger the urges. And you happen to have two very strong alpha's as your mates.

Seonghwa is the strongest wolf of your entire generation, he was the first born. When you agreed to this, he literally howled with joy at the fact that he would be able to chase you down and 'earn' what he took.

Hongjoong was just as excited, he nearly pounced on you then and there.

You can't lie. It's fucking exhilarating. Your wolf is prancing in your head at the knowledge that your mates are hunting you down with the intention of knotting you as roughly as they please.

You catch yourself by grabbing onto a tree as a lighting fast shadow crosses your vision up ahead, making you stumble. Hongjoong, it had to have been; because Seonghwa is still right behind you — oh, fuck.

You're tackled, Seonghwa's arms wrapping around you tightly and pulling you on top of him before you can collide with the dirt. "You cheaters!" You pant as you fall over him bonelessly, "he cut me off."

"We got you fair and square," he growls as he grabs the back of your sweater collar. Not another second is wasted as he riiiips the clothing down your back, "there wasn't a rule saying we couldn't corner you. Should have thought of that, Omega."

You gasp as the cold air hits your torso, exposed as he yanks the fabric off your arms. A yelp follows, having been pulled straight up and off him by Hongjoong.

He shoves you belly down onto the ground, "you're just so naive, Dolly~" He giggles, yanking your bottoms down. Not even bothering with your shoes as he pulls your pants off you. "Didn't you realize only one of us was behind you?"

"Get-" Your mind comes back to you after your initial shock of being caught and nearly stripped so fast, "get off me!" It's a little less convincing than it could be, but that's because you want them just as badly as they want you. Your ankle is immediately caught by a clawed hand as you go to kick at him, his other-worldly sharp nails threatening to press into your skin.

"I don't think so." He smirks as you look over your shoulder, wide eyes meeting his blackened ones. "You're ours. If you didn't want this, you should have ran faster~"

His words, although you know they are truly nothing but play pretend, make your heart thud in your chest harder and harder. You know you can end this with a single word. But you don't want to. "Wh- what are you gonna do?"

"We're gonna fuck you," Seonghwa's voice echos in the woods with a deep, dark purr laced in it as he stands infront of you.

The full moon is shining bright through the trees behind him, casting you in his shadow as Hongjoong plays with your hair teasingly.

"And you're gonna take it like the good little Omega that you are."

You couldn't respond even if you knew what to say as Hongjoong uses his claws and cuts your bra off of you, his palms immediately on your breasts as he grinds into your backside, making your jaw drop.

     "Maybe, if you behave," Seonghwa hums as he crouches, red eyes locked on yours, "I'll give you my puppies."

    You want to beg, 'please, please, fill me up!' Instead, you give him your best pout, finding yourself slipping more and more into the role of helpless prey. "You perverts..."

     "Ah, we're the perverts?" Hongjoong chuckles as he continues to grind his jean clad bulge against your panties. The texture is so rough and nice. That, along with the chase — has you soaking through the fabric.

    He sits up, holding you down by your shoulders as he leans his head back and takes a deep, purposeful breath in through his nose. "Mmmm," he bites his lip. You smell so tempting. So delicious. "You smell that, Baby?"

    Seonghwa smirks at his question. Of course he does. "Hm? You mean that sweet smell of our Omega's cunt begging for us?" You whine, genuinely embarrassed. Curse their stupidly strong senses.

     "I bet I could slip right in." Hongjoong's words make your eyes widen, and Seonghwa grins darkly, kneeling in front of you and leaning right to your face.

    "I bet so too. I bet she'll let you right in~ Her pussy is telling the truth, even when her mouth is lying."

   "No!" You try to push yourself up, only succeeding in pushing your ass against Hongjoong's bulge and making them laugh.

    "Oh, yes, Dolly~" He unbuttons his bottoms and is hurrying to free himself while you struggle lightly beneath him. "I'm not a very patient man, you know that by now."

     "Hongjoong, Hongjoong, wait! Wait a second, please!"

    Seonghwa grabs the back of your neck, tilting his head as he looks down at you. "What? Why should we wait? Hm?"

      "Y- At least stretch me out..." You feel so filthy for the words that leave your lips; but the harmonious rumbles from your Alpha's tell you that you definitely just did something right.

     In truth, you were already more than ready to take one or even both of the them. They'd been teasing you for hours before the moon rose and the chase began. 

    They didn't want to hurt you, after all — not that badly.

     "Oh," Hongjoong lets out an amused breath from behind you. You're just as into this as they are, slipping more and more into the game. "I'll stretch you out, alright."

      He shoves your panties down your thighs, barely giving him enough room to slam into you. And slam he does. Knocking every thought from your head and your breath along with it as he settles his member as deep as possible.

      It was only a slight hint of pain, the rest of what you were feeling was pure, unadulterated pleasure.

     Seonghwa could see it in your face. Your brows pushed together and your eyes glazing over as small howl gets broken off in your throat. "That's it, Starlight," he breaks the facade with a soft praise, cupping your trembling jaw. "Let our mate fuck you in the dirt like the animals we are."

    "F-uuuuck!" You scream as Hongjoong begins hammering into you, his growls reverberating off of the trees around you. Even as he gets lost in the clenching grip of your heat, he's careful with his claws as he grabs onto your shoulders; pulling you up to your knees.

    "Hongjoong, be gen-gentle!" Don't be gentle. Don't be gentle. Fuck me like the Alpha you are.

    His eyes roll back into his head as your thoughts reach him.

    They reached Seonghwa as well, who now cups your face with both hands and squishes your cheeks together roughly. "Gentle? You want gentle? Too fucking bad, pup. You're gonna take us like the Omega you are."

Oh, you could faint. They're always rough. It's in your nature. But this is all new and dizzying and making you drip around Hongjoong's pistoning cock.

     Seonghwa is grinning like a madman as you gulp, he can hear your heart thrumming like crazy as he comes closer. He shoves your face in his shoulder and holds you there with one hand while the other grasps onto your hip and guides you to start pushing back on Hongjoong.

     "Fucking hell-" The blond hisses, his clawed hands wrapping up in your hair and holding onto you tightly. Not pulling, just grounding himself with you roughly as Seonghwa pulls you back and forth to meet his hard thrusts.

      You wail into his shoulder, biting his hoodie and letting out a pathetic growl.

    Hongjoong is continuing their tradition of trying to mold the shape of his cock into you so that Seonghwa can do the same and see which sticks longer. He's hitting every deep, sensitive part of you as he slips in and out at a brutal pace with the help of your shared mate. 

    "Just like that, Baby," Hongjoong purrs deeply, one of his hands finding his on your hip and settling on top of it. "Just like —" A breath hitches in his throat as you tilt your hips, and he's suddenly pounding into you impossibly harder while holding you at the new angle. "Oh, fuck~" He laughs breathlessly, "just like that!"

      You slap your hands against the ground to cope with the new and intrusive feeling of him pushing himself somewhere... deeper. "Joong!! Too deep!" Every thrust is making his fat tip kiss the entrance of your womb. Don't stop. Don't stop.

"Cum inside of her," Seonghwa groans as he lets go of your head, eagerly yanking at his belt and locking eyes with the near feral man inside of you. "Lube her up nice and good so we can knot her together."

"Wha-aaaah," you squeal as Hongjoong pushes your face to the ground, one cheek to the dirt and your back arched deeply. His hand is on your other cheek, pining you to the ground with your ass in the air as he fucks you like he needs to breed you more than he needs to breathe.

It's almost like he does. As his pleasure slams into a peak almost as violently as he's slamming into you — he doesn't even realize he's holding his breath as he's shooting his load deep inside of you.

Not until Seonghwa's hand finds his shoulder, and he unlatches his jaw to snap at him before he realizes that's his mate too.

    "Easy, tiger," Seonghwa smiles devilishly as he pushes back Hongjoong's hair, "aren't you gonna let me in?"

     Fuck, yes, he is.

   Hongjoong reaches down and tucks his arms under your shoulders, yanking you up as you whimper, "hurry, Alpha... Need you~"

     Any part of you that was trying to hold onto the act is gone, your wolf is demanding to be knotted full by your mates. And they are more than eager to comply.

A small yip from you makes Seonghwa chuckle, watching you be jerked around with a primal satisfaction settling in his gut. Even though he knows, in reality, you wanted them this whole time — there's something so satisfying about the way they've gotten you so pliant and begging for their knots.

Your panties, still caught around your knees, stop your legs from opening all the way as Hongjoong lays back with you on top of him. He twitches inside of you, reaching around and using his claws slice the fabric. "Open up for your Alpha's, Dolly~"

As Seonghwa climbs over you, stroking his member slowly as he eyes you like a predator, Hongjoong holds your thighs and spreads you wide.

"Pretty Omega wants our knots, hm?" Seonghwa hums as he grips your jaw with his free hand, leaning over you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Yes..." You answer breathlessly, blinking at him slowly and letting a pout form on your lips.

"Fuck — how can I say no to that?"

Your wail echoes in the silent night, your head thrown back and your small fangs gritting together as he all but shoves his bulky tip into your stretched hole. Hongjoong is panting like a dog underneath you, his eyes squeezing shut in focus as he forces himself to retract his claws. When he's successful, his fingers immediately find your clit; bombarding you with pleasure and sending mixed signals to your brain.

Seonghwa is stretching you out in an incredible and punishing way as he joins your mate inside of you, Hongjoong is flooding your body with dopamine. All of your wolves are noisy beyond belief in your mind as they howl with joy at being so undeniably close.

     You hadn't come to expect gentleness from the eldest alpha, and you aren't surprised in the slightest bit that your chase had worked him up. He only gives you a single split second, while he grabs ahold of your hips, before he's done waiting and starts rutting into you.

     You and Hongjoong are equally wrecked as Seonghwa grinds against him rough and deep inside of you, the sounds of his previous release squelching while being pounded back into you stirring him on.

    He uses his grip on your hips to drag you up and down, his lip snarling upwards as he growls, "our perfect Omega takes it so good-"

     Hongjoong is growling louder than he is now, cutting him off as he starts thrusting in time with how he moves you. "Faster."

    "We don't want to break her~" He laughs lowly as the younger wolf's pout.

    "She can take it," Hongjoong whines, "right, Dolly?" He rubs his hands up your torso, abandoning his teasing of your clit now that you're falling apart on their lengths. 

    You nod quickly, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto you. You find Seonghwa's hoodie; grasping it tightly in your fists as you look up at him. "Faster, faster — please! Please, Alpha!"

    You know just how to press their buttons by now — which is exactly why you get just what you asked for.

Faster. Harder. They're animalistic in the way they take you. You can hardly think. But you don't have to. All you have to do is take it and revel in it.

A small howl leaves your pursed lips as your back arches off of Hongjoong's chest, thrusted about by their intense in-and-out and only held in place by Seonghwa's rough hands on your hips.

Your claws are dug into his hoodie, the tearing sound going completely ignored because the feeling of Hongjoong's knot swelling up and making the space they occupy even snugger.

"You gonna take it, Starlight?" Seonghwa hums a moan as he leans over you completely, crushing you between them, "gonna have our puppies?"

"Yes! Yes, pl-ease!"

Your yowl as Hongjoong's knot finally locks up inside of you — spurting even more hot cum — is muffled as Seonghwa latches his lips to yours. He keeps you right there, kissing you heated and messy as he copies the younger alpha's actions; stuffing you beyond completely and finally making that burning pleasure inside of you snap.

He rubs your stomach softly as you tremble and convulse with ecstasy, smiling against your lips as he feels their knots inside of you.

When he pulls away, he rest his head in the crook of your neck — purring loud and proud as he kitten licks at your mating mark. Hongjoong is rumbling happily below you, his arms wrapped around your waist softly and eyes closed blissfully.

"Such a perfect Omega," Seonghwa purrs, "we're so lucky."

˚➶ ｡˚

[hurtspideyparker]

Avengers' Galentine's Day 💕

"You may be wondering why I've convened you here today."

Natasha looks around the table at the men, hands clasped and back straight. Bruce, Peter, Sam, and Bucky sit around her.

Peter perks up. "I'm just happy to be here, thank you for inviting me Ms. Romanoff!"

"You can call me Natasha. And don't make me regret it," she says pointedly.

Peter nods furiously, leaning in intently as she speaks again.

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and to my knowledge all of you are single. And my knowledge is always correct. So, I propose a Galentine's Day."

The men all share awkward looks.

"We're all...dudes."

"Yes, thank you Sam. I wasn't aware." She says sharply before continuing.

"Listen, contrary to popular belief around here, I am a woman. I want to do woman things. But Wanda has a boyfriend, Pepper is working, and Maria is out of the country. So, I'm left with you doofuses."

"Hold on, hold on," Sam puts a hand up, "why wouldn't we think you were a woman? I mean we treat you like a friend and not a sex object. That's not treating you like a man."

Natasha holds up a hand and starts counting on her fingers.

"You two were making fart noises and giggling during breakfast with me sitting right there, and only stopped when Pepper walked in for a bagel," she looks between Sam and Peter.

"You offered me your 3-in-1 when I forgot my toiletries bag on mission," she nods to Bruce.

"And you—" she raises her eyebrows at Bucky, "handed me a cup when I said I needed to pee during that road trip out West."

The men all turn to Bucky.

"Jus' instinct. My bad." he hunches under their scrutiny.

"What kinda road trips you going on man," Sam asks.

"Clearly not the same ones as you."

"CleArLy—"

"Anyways!" Natasha interrupts, "You owe me. And if you say no you're probably sexist. Who's in?"

Peter's hand shoots up enthusiastically, and the others reluctantly follow.

"Great! We need someone on decorations, someone to plan an activity, someone on dinner, I'll prepare the snacks, and then someone on drinks. Alcoholic and non. And yes this all has to be Valentine's theme. So...who knows a good balloon place?"

Sam gets dinner, Bucky drinks, Bruce on the activity, and Peter decorations.

"You're all capable people so do not call me every second asking stupid questions. Figure it out, it better be amazing. Steve and Tony are leaving at 6pm for their date and won't be back till late, so we have the place to ourselves. The dress code is red white and pink, be there or be square."

With that Natasha is up and breezing down the hall.

"Why do I feel guilty and manipulated at the same time. What just happened." Bruce contemplates.

"Spies man," Sam shakes his head.

Peter rolls his eyes, "you guys are so lame. Do you know what this means? Chocolate covered strawberries. Heart shaped balloons. Fun games. Frosting—I basically lived off of Red 40 when I was 13. And I like hanging out with you all, what's the difference now that it's Valentine's?"

"The difference is I have to party plan, and I can't go to the bar and flirt with lonely singles." Sam complains.

Peter shrugs and gets up from the table. "That's weird, and you're no fun. Later losers!"

Bucky crosses his arms and sinks into the chair. "Why is it Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Stark, but we're losers?"

"Probably because you two are morons and he beat your asses before his balls dropped." Bruce says nonchalantly, picking up his tablet and pulling out his reading glasses.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Peter gets to work first, calling May because he has zero experience decorating anything, let alone a holiday themed girls' (?) night.

"Dollar store helium balloons. Honestly, dollar store for most of it; look in the Valentine's section. Also maybe ribbon, place settings, and of course flowers. And don't you dare leave the flowers in the plastic Peter Benjamin Parker—"

Peter finds most of what he needs at the dollar store, and then finds a red and white checkered tablecloth at the thrift store.

The day of he sets the table with heart doilies, pink dishware that Pepper found for him, and some random candles. The odd assortment makes it look rustic, and not like he stole them from people's rooms in the tower. (Wanda had a candle that smells like lavender! Score!)

He sets the balloons loose onto the ceiling and shrugs a good enough when they seem evenly spaced. He uses Mr. Stark's credit card to buy the flowers, because holy bejesus, 60 dollars for plants that aren't even going to make it to next month?! He fixes them up nice, an assortment in varying shades of pink with small white flowers in-between, and puts them in a vase he found when dumpster diving. He hangs streamers and heart garlands on the walls, and uses some Valentine's confetti to just... throw around. It looks like the dragon of capitalism threw up on all the flat surfaces, and Peter dusts his hands off with a job well done.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Sam knows how to be romantic. He does not, however, know how to be "cutesy".

All his normal romantic dinner ideas go flying out the window—he is not ordering steak and salmon for a bunch of dudes and a minor, thank you very much.

The only thing he could find that would fit the theme without being romantic was heart-shaped pizzas. It sounds like the perfect party food and just might avoid disappointing a woman who carries a dozen weapons on her at all time (half of which are just the ways she can use her body with lethal force).

He calls five pizza shops trying to place a catering order for the 14th, receives a cacophony of "fuck you"s, "do you know what day that is? Do you know what day today is?", and some immediate hang ups before deciding that homemade pizzas are way more fun and creative anyways, and does a quick grocery shop.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bruce looks through blogs with pictures of millennial blonde women telling him about "great ideas for girls' night!" and finds his task far more difficult than anticipated.

Friendship bracelets? Clashing aesthetics aside, they'd probably rain down in a mess of beads mid-fight. He does not want to Home Alone his friends (don't even get him started on Hulking out).

Decorate your own hair accessories? He's not sure how the physics of trying to clip a hair bow onto Sam's head would work. Bucky and Natasha might appreciate a good claw clip though.

What he does land on is making clay fridge magnets. They have... a fridge. How hard can painting be?

He also pulls out Uno and Avengers Edition Guess Who—they get sent a lot of promotional items. Collectively their favourite was the Ben & Jerry's Super ice cream line, they bought a whole other freezer for it.

��°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bucky buys 3 bottles of rosé, 2 tequila, 1 vodka, red jello packets, pink lemonade, edible glitter, and strawberry milk.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Natasha placed an order for a beautiful array of cupcakes, chocolate covered strawberries, and a charcuterie board back in December.

She only waited so long to invite her guests because she wasn't sure how they'd react to her wanting a nice girly party. Her options were already slim to begin with, and it felt weird inviting a bunch of dudes to something she's been planning for months with the ridiculous expectation she'd magically have more women in her life.

Either way, she's determined to have a great night. These are some of her closest friends, why would it matter if they're men?

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Maybe I should have been clearer about the dress code."

Natasha is wearing a beautiful red dress; mid-length, thin straps, and a plunging neckline. It fits her curves beautifully, emphasizing her hips in a silky fabric.

The men took the dress code in a...different direction.

Bruce is wearing jeans and a maroon cardigan.

Sam has a white button-up and a red tie, cuffs rolled up to the elbow, and nice black slacks.

Peter is wearing pink hello kitty pajama pants and a white t-shirt with an anatomical heart diagram.

Bucky is adorned in his usual black cargo pants and a baby pink hoodie.

The men all assess each other's outfits, eyes reflecting uncertainty. Sam in particular seems at odds with Bucky's pastel fashion choice.

"Where'd you get that sweater? I thought your favourite colour was "dark" and your closet consistent exclusively of black, noir, midnight, and charcoal."

Bucky seems content despite the fashion being out of his comfort zone. The soft warm colouring makes him seem sweet and approachable despite his perpetual glower.

"I don't know, it just turned like this one day. It used to be white."

Sam narrows his eyes, "I think you messed up your laundry dude."

"I thought this was just something that happened with your fancy machines. I like dark colours, so. I wouldn't know if this was normal."

"Did you wash it with something red? Used hot water?"

"I don't own any red."

Sam exchanges skeptical looks with the other confused Avengers, except Peter, who's completely turned away from them all and observing the wall.

"Peter." Natasha asks.

"Mhm?" he says, back still turned.

"You wouldn't happen to know something about this would you?"

Peter rocks back and forth on his feet, arms swinging like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Not a clue Ms. Ro—Natasha. I haven't the faintest idea."

"The kid did something to your laundry."

"Hey!" Peter spins around. "That is a wild accusation."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do it."

Peter matches her unwavering stare, "I! ...Maybe put some of Spider-Man's things in the machine. It was already going and it was just socks—why would I start a new load for socks!"

"When the load that's already going is whites. Honestly, as a society shouldn't we have moved past separating colours? Cold water people, cold water." Bruce trails off.

Sam claps him on the shoulder with a "preach it brother!" while pumping his other fist in the air.

Natasha slices her hands through the air in an 'enough' motion.

"It's fine, it's fine. We're here, we're dressed, Peter managed to do a nice job decorating," Peter grins and shoots her two thumbs up, "so let's get the party started."

Natasha turns on some music while Sam grabs everything out of the fridge.

"We're gonna make heart pizzas! Thought I'd add a little fun and personality to the whole dinner affair."

Natasha looks him up and down.

"All of the pizza places told you to fuck off didn't they?"

"Loudly and immediately."

Her lips quirk subtly and then she helps him set the table up and pass out dough. Sam sighs in relief at the micro expression of joy.

The table is full of chatter and warmth, toppings being passes around. Peter sings along to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with an alarming passion, and Sam absolutely kills everyone with his rendition of Single Ladies by Beyoncé, even getting a chuckle from Bucky. There is a short stint between Natasha and Bruce in which she sees how many green peppers she can place on his pizza without him noticing after he said he didn't like the fruit.

"But you like red?"

"Red has flavour, green things all taste like water or small talk."

The answer was 6 before he noticed.

They take turns playing Avengers Guess Who while they wait for all of their food to cook. Peter and Sam are against each other as Natasha eats her fresh pizza.

"Is your character a man?"

Sam's eyebrows furrow. They just started the game, and already he's stumped.

"I don't know dude, I don't even know if he's got any junk in his trunk."

"Oh, so Vision?"

"Dammit!"

Bucky and Natasha go next.

"Would your character wear his own branded underwear?"

"Yes." Natasha replies immediately. "Would your character be picked for a stealth mission?"

"Nope," Bucky answers as he finishes flipping down his characters. He only has 3 left.

"Has your character had a press scandal in the last 6 months?"

Natasha thinks for a moment, "yes. Is your character Bruce?"

Bucky groans and slams down the last character he had up.

"Yeah. And yours was Tony."

"Indeed it was. Should have guessed when you had 3, better to gamble than play it safe." Bucky rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

Bucky gets all of his drinks out while they eat, pouring lemonade and tequila haphazardly into their cups, stirring in glitter with an unenthusiastic flare.

"Voila."

Peter looks on.

"What about me?"

Bucky reaches back into the fridge and pulls out a litre of pink strawberry milk.

"Ta-da."

Peter looks at it with befuddlement.

"What, you want the glitter too?"

"Not a fan of micro plastics, thanks."

Bucky shrugs and pushes the jug of milk towards him.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Fridge magnets!"

They all stare at Bruce.

"Magnets! For our fridge!"

"And this made you think of us?" Sam asks.

Bruce throws his hands up. "I don't know man! Would you have preferred wine glass painting?"

Sam holds his palms towards Bruce in a soothing manner. "Struck a nerve there..." he whispers to Bucky.

Despite their apprehension they fall into a nice rhythm of sipping and shaping. The clay starts coming together under their palms; Bruce a pair of glasses, Peter an Iron Man mask, Natasha a pair of ballet slippers, Sam a set of sprawling wings and Bucky a kitten.

"You a cat guy?" Sam asks him.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Sam's eyes flit between the small cat ears being shaped by gruff hands and the shadowed face of the taciturn super soldier.

"Naw, just didn't peg you as a cat guy. Or an animal guy. Or a loving guy."

Bucky stares at him for a moment before stretching a fist out and smashing Sam's wings-in-progress.

"Hey! Foul, foul! Natasha are you going to just let this happen?"

"It's Bruce's activity."

"Hulk smash."

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

As the night progresses the adults become more and more tipsy, grazing the charcuterie board and sweets on the table.

"AH oh GOD what did you make these with, battery acid?!"

Everyone turns to Peter who's standing in the refrigerator door, holding a cup of half eaten red Jello.

"Oh, I forgot about those. They're Jello shots."

Peter balks at Bucky, "as in alcohol?!"

He rushes to the sink and tilts his head sideways under the faucet, water blasting onto his tongue.

"Well, that's dramatic."

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. Why on Earth would you ruin perfectly good Jello like that?"

Bucky grabs the tray of Jello shots from the opened fridge, placing them on the table and handing them out to the adults.

"Cheers," they tap the plastic cups before shooting the gelatin down their throats to the sound of Peter spluttering in the sink. Bucky and Natasha's go down smoothly, Sam chokes a bit at the awkward chunk of food heating his throat, and Bruce spends 30 seconds trying to scoop the Jello out of the cup with an uncomfortable combination of finger and tongue action.

"How do you even know about Jello shots, you're like...old." Peter remarks once he's taken a few gulps of pink lemonade to wash down the aftertaste.

"How do you know about Jello shots, you're like...uncool." Bucky retorts. Natasha snorts and Sam bursts out laughing. Even Bruce chuckles.

"Dr. Banner," Peter whines at him.

"Sorry kid, but he's got a point. What kind of kid spits out a Jello shot. It's free, sugary, no-repercussions alcohol."

Peter just sits down with a pout and continues to sip on his lemonade.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The night gets later, the adults more inebriated as they finish painting their magnets.

Sam has eaten all the salami off the board and Peter has taken to throwing the disproportionate amount of cheese leftover at people. Bucky is on his third cupcake, and Natasha keeps giggling into her cup of tequila.

"What if he was blue—" Sam starts cracking himself up, hovering a paintbrush near Peter's Iron Man face.

"I don't understand what's so funny about that. Stop, Sam stop!"

As the boys fight over the paint, Natasha and Bruce go with a quick all-over glaze of colour and then add the sealant and magnet before the others even make it to a second shade. Bucky paints his cat with an air of intense concentration, one even Sam doesn't want to go near.

Their finished magnets get placed onto fridge.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The whole group seem to be moving around and restless, chaotic and boisterous. Sam complains loudly about the romcom they put on in the background, Peter, Bruce, and Bucky play a rapid round of Uno, and Natasha keeps popping in and out of rooms with a different cookie and drink in her hand each time.

Bruce starts to get weepy when he pronounces uno, mumbling something about being "uno" forever through a drunken tongue and snot as Peter rubs his back.

The next time they turn around Natasha and Bucky are on the other couch making out.

"Gross! No! No romance on Galentine's Day!" Peter shouts, throwing pillows and pink m&ms at them until they pull away. Peter couldn't see much other than the back of Bucky's head, but he shivers in disgust at the sight of reddened lips.

He starts counting down the time on the clock until Tony and Steve are said to come home. While the snacks, games, and company have been fantastic, the adults are becoming far too...exuberant for his taste.

Bruce is a weepy drunk, Sam simply annoying, Natasha is sneaky and suspiciously absent for odd lengths of time, and Bucky...

"Hey! What did I say!" Peter dumps his glass of water onto the brunet, watching him jerk his lips off of Sam's in dissatisfaction.

"I swear I'll get a spray bottle. Bad Bucky." he says before continuing to the bathroom.

He finds the door open and Natasha standing at the mirror, curling her hair.

"Why?"

Natasha just shrugs.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The elevator finally dings a quarter to midnight.

"Oh thank goodness."

Steve and Tony exit with linked arms, broad smiles and sides pressed together in a matching gate.

Peter rushes up to them, backpack in hand as he starts shedding his t-shirt and socks.

"Woah there cowboy, I did not sign up for that kind of rodeo" Tony alarms.

Peter just pulls out his spider suit and starts slipping it on over his state of undress.

"Tell Natasha I had a great time, but I'm expeditiously out of here. Bruce is still hung up on his ex, Natasha feels distanced from her femininity and is trying to regain her girlhood, Bucky's a slut, and Sam is so totally tapping that tonight. I'd like to be far, far away when that happens."

Peter pulls on the final piece of the suit, masking up and sending enthusiastic waves to the couple.

"Hope your date was nice! This is not my problem anymore."

And then he scampers to the balcony and swings off into the night.

The couple share wide eyes, listening to the odd sound of their friends and the booming TV playing a romantic 90s soundtrack.

Is someone crying?

Steve turns away from Tony and steps towards the living area, but Tony doesn't loosen his hold on the other's arm, making his steps stutter to a stop immediately.

"Shouldn't we go check on them? Sounds like the party was too much of a hit."

Steve looks over at the empty bottles of wine and tequila tipped on the kitchen counter. There's food, half fallen streamers, and Uno cards everywhere.

"Right now? That is not our problem."

"But—"

Tony slinks forward, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around the Captain's neck, wide-eyed browns meeting baby blues.

"It's still Valentine's, and I have a far more pressing problem for you."

Steve stares mesmerized under Tony's touch, the man sly and hot against his front. They're close, close enough to feel...

"Oh! That's—"

"Mhm."

"Okay. Yeah, they'll be fine till morning."

Tony smirks and Steve matches his smile, moving his hands to his lover's waist before walking him backwards.

Tony allows himself to be guided to their bedroom without breaking eye contact, blocking all thoughts of the other Avengers with a slam of the door and giggling open mouthed kisses.

[luveline]

Craving a postprison!Spencer x stripper!reader fic, please ma’am.

Maybe she gets a daytime job at a coffee shop or a bookstore - to “supplement her income”/ not have to dance as often (not that she’s ashamed!!) and Spencer is just so proud of her for trying and can’t quit kissing her and praising her because I know in other fics you’ve mentioned she didn’t think anyone would hire her because of her profession/self esteem, plus after prison she didn’t want to dance because she wanted to be with Spencer. 🥺

Or really just anything with a proud Spencer x stripper!reader doing anything.

Your work is fantastic and I’m in love with everything you do!! 💕 thank you and it’s totally okay if you think this request is lame or don’t wanna write it!

thank you angel! —you find a new job while making decisions about your old one after Spencer returns from prison, and Spencer would praise you for breathing, so he’s extremely proud. fem, 1.8k

Statistics differ, but estimates suggest that there are around twenty thousand strippers in Las Vegas. With a population of seven hundred thousand people (estimated up), that means that one in thirty five people living in Las Vegas dances for a living. 

It’s more than you’d think. Spencer knew of plenty of women who worked as strippers, exotic dancers, or private entertainers when he was still living at home. And while the numbers are much smaller in Washington DC where he lives now, it’s far from zero. More surprising for the average person to be one, perhaps, but not for Spencer. 

It used to make him blush like a steam train, sure, but it never did any of the things you were scared of. He’s never looked down on you for it, never been jealous (well, never acted like a jerk because of it), never positioned it as anything other than work. His only complaints are in your concern. You don’t like the club, most of the time. You feel unsafe often. The risk of femicide is yards higher for you as a sex worker than it would be otherwise, but who is Spencer to talk about danger? He still has stitches in his leg. 

Your job used to feel more urgent, a red flashing light above your head, because you’d come around with bruises or cut knees, tear stained cheeks, and you couldn’t make ends meet for all your efforts, but things have changed. You’re reluctant to depend on him, but you’ll accept the help when you need it. Nothing keeps you there if you don’t want to be there, and when you do you’re a marvel. You are beautiful, in Spencer’s eyes. Your dancing when you’re having a good night is one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen —more than pretty, sometimes. A hot coal in his stomach. 

But the fact of the matter is that Spencer’s home, and you don’t want to dance. You haven’t been to the club for weeks as far as he’s aware, and he’d consider himself well informed. You spent all your savings and started spending his instead and he couldn’t care less, what’s his is yours, whatever keeps you aloft while you make whatever decision it is you’re working toward. Not that it presented itself that way. 

I’ll have to go back.

Spencer on his back, you sitting with your head turned from the TV and toward him, your hand on his hip, just resting. Where?

To work. I have enough money for the next two weeks, and then I’m all out. 

Spencer wouldn’t do something as unkind as rolling his eyes, but the point of you moving in was to cement that he’d look after you no matter what. He’d turned his head to you on his pillow and reached for your elbow. You’re still resting. 

You’ve been home for two months, Spencer. I’ve rested enough. I… I only managed this long because you haven’t asked me for anything and that’s not fair, we both live here. 

I earn more than you, so I pay more, he’d said, confused. It’s not as though it hurt him to continue paying for an apartment he’s been living in for years. 

I won’t be your leech. 

You’re not my leech, don’t say that.

I can’t just not have money. 

Well… he’d said. He’d never discussed it with you so openly before, always stopped at the first suggestion, but there’s a first time for everything. You know you can have whatever you want from me. Anything you want, you don’t have to ask. 

Spencer… you’re my boyfriend. 

Exactly. 

No, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to keep me. I don’t want that. 

He understood the ‘want’ most heavily. What do you want, angel? he’d asked, dragging your hand up his naked chest to rest over his diaphragm, your arm moving up and down in time with his breathing. 

You’d seemed stricken, but not upset. Like the question surprised you in having no answer. Not sure… you’d said eventually. Mostly you. 

A week passed, two. A third and you’d asked him to borrow money, just for a little while, and with the vehement promise you’d pay him back. 

He’s not expecting it. So soon, either. But here you are standing in front of him with a beaming smile and little book in your hands, unzipping one of the book's inner pockets to count out the money you’d ’borrowed’. “Here you go, my angel, there’s everything.” 

Spencer just looks at it. “What is it?” 

“The money I owe you.” 

He presses his hands to his stomach to stop you from forcing the notes into them. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“No, seriously, please take it.” 

He shakes his head. “Seriously. I don’t want anything from you, I love you. That money was for you to do what you wanted, or needed. It was yours as soon as I gave it to you.” 

You try regardless to put it in his hands. Your hair was done freshly a week ago, your nails manicured but unpainted, your face adorned with some new makeup he’d seen on his (your) vanity a few days ago. It honestly hadn’t crossed his mind why you’d suddenly given yourself a refresh, and he had no suspicions. You would’ve told him if you went to the club, even just via text, because it’s important he knows you’ve had access to your phone or that you’re coming home. (Plus, he’d notice you leaving at night. You’ve spent the last few evenings laying across his lap.)

“Where did you get this?” he asks, smiling softly, wondering if he’s come to the right conclusion. 

You drop the money on his thigh and take a couple of steps back. 

“I,” you say, holding your little book to your stomach, “got a job as a barista. They gave me my first paycheck today, a direct deposit. So I took out what I owe you and the rest of it is in here.” 

“You what?” he asks. 

“I’m working at the coffeehouse by the library,��� you say, nodding, parts proud of yourself and parts shy. 

“For how long? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You bite your lip. “Just this week. And honestly, I didn’t want you to know if I couldn’t do it.” 

Spencer stands up but doesn’t cross the room to you. He could reach out and catch your hand. “How could you work somewhere new all week without me noticing?” 

“You weren’t here on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday morning, and they gave me Thursday off, so I just told you a very small lie this morning about going to the store. I knew you’d get distracted by your Persian poetry again.” 

He did get distracted, very much so. You’ve been and worked a whole shift without his worrying, which is a bit awful in itself (he really does love you, and he’d like to know where you are), but is also, frankly, a great thing. You should be able to work without worry. You should do anything you want to do. 

Still, a whole week at a brand new job without any support, and to stand there with your paycheck as unmistakable waves of satisfaction melt off of you unkissed is insanity. Spencer’s laughing as he ushers you into his arms, as he hugs your shoulders tightly, “Oh my god!” he says, “Wow, congratulations!” He pulls back just a touch to see your face. “Please don’t lie to me about where you’re going, that’s so dangerous. I love you!” 

He takes your face into both hands with your arms hanging loosely behind his back and begins a reckoning of kisses. The slope of your cheek, the skin between your nose and lips, Spencer couldn’t care less where the kisses land, he just wants them all over you. You laugh softly as he goes, almost stickily, a sound that comes deep from your chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, pressing a quick, mildly rougher kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“I might still strip,” you say. 

“Whatever you want,” he says, squeezing your face between his palms. “What’s it like? Do you like it? Is it hard?” He kisses you again. “I wish you’d told me,” he says against your lips. 

You’re quieter than he expected, and warm. He pulls away more sternly to see what’s gone wrong. He could’ve asked the wrong questions. Maybe he’s embarrassed you. 

“I just wanted to make sure I could do it. I didn’t want to fail and… and have you know. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, I get it.” God knows he’s failed a hundred times for you to see it. He wishes he would have hidden a lot of that from you, spared you some heartache, but he also knows how lucky he is to have you near. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? We should be together when stuff goes wrong.” He beams. “But it didn’t go wrong.” 

“I think I’m pretty good at it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You hold his wrist. “And I get tips, did you know that? Not as many as before,” —you laugh to yourself loudly— “but still. It’s really cool. They pay me even if nobody wants coffee, and when people want coffee I get extra.” 

Spencer kisses the corner of your eye. He kisses up to your eyebrow and down again, all over your cheek before turning your face to the other side to kiss circles into the other. “I,” —kiss— “can’t,” —kiss— “believe it.” Kiss. “Actually, I can, but I still can’t.” 

“It’s just a part time job.” 

“That you didn’t think you could do,” he says. “But you can do anything, I knew you could. I’m amazed by you.” 

He grins and throws his arms over your shoulders. 

You squeeze him right back, the two of you swaying, almost falling over. He can feel how proud you are of yourself. You deserve to feel this way no matter what. 

“I like dancing,” you say, “I do, I just wish I could do it in a different… world? Is that stupid?” 

“No. You’re never stupid.” He smiles as your hand weaves into his hair, fingertips scratching along his scalp, his curls caught between your fingers. 

“Do you think you could come on Monday? I can make you a cup of coffee. It’s not as hard as it looks.” 

“Please, I’d love for you to make me a cup of coffee.” His smile presses to your shoulder, where he breathes you in briefly, before remembering something very important. “Hey, do you wear an apron?” 

“Of course I do.”

Oh my god, he thinks. There are more than half a million baristas in the United States, and Spencer will bet his monthly paycheck that you’re the cutest one to ever exist. You look cute right now in your jeans and your button up shirt, but put an apron on top of that? To see you standing behind a bar mixing drinks and pouring latte art? Monday can’t come quick enough. 

[loafbud]

That was beautiful.

Grand Festival was peak. ABSOLUTE PEAK! 🗣️🔥🔥🔥

As someone who was on Team Future, I would celebrate any team regardless who one. Seeing Team Past winning got me emotional (in a good way)... it's almost like the results were paying homage to Splatoon 1, and the Squid Sisters, to where it all started. The star in the sky. The Calamari Inkantation to this series that I grew up with ever since Splatoon's debut in the E3 2015 trailer.

I'll forever follow and cherish this series... 9 years and forever more. 🥹💕

In terms of the Splatfest results, our team getting zero points feels poetic. I see the number "zero" as the start of everything, the number of nothing, the number that can become something, the infinite, the endless — it resembles the future in a way. Endless, infinite! It's a mentality I need to practice more, to be honest: Zero can be mean many things, but it can also mean the beginning of things; 'nothing' will eventually become 'something'. I've never been more excited to be on a losing team and I'm saying that with my heart on my sleeve.

All of the results for each team feel poetic to me!

But seriously... thank you Splatoon 3! Content updates may have ended, but they did say they'll have special splatfests/past big run/eggstra reruns until then.

All in all, what an absolute blast I had these past few days during Grandfest. The performances, the atmosphere, the new music?? And seeing everyone else posting about their own experiences, it genuinely felt like an event we all went to in-person, we all got to experience that as a community. 🥹

Man, I love Splatoon.

[lazysoulwriter]

all of you – pedro pascal .✦ 💗💜💙

requested! thank you. content: bisexual reader, supportive boyfriend Pedro, emotional vulnerability, happy tears, gentle comfort, pride month post, fluff

---

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him.

In fact, that was what made it so hard — the fact that he was so good. So kind. So warm and affectionate and loving in a way that had felt safe from the very beginning.

Which was why the fear felt so out of place.

But it still lived there — in the corners of your heart where other people had left scars. In the memory of past boyfriends who reacted with disgust, with jealousy, with objectification. Who either treated you like a porn category or something broken.

So even though Pedro had never been anything but respectful… your hands still trembled a little when you reached for his one night, the words thick in your throat.

“I wanna tell you something,” you said quietly. “And I know it’s not a big deal to a lot of people, but it has been before, for me. And I just need you to… be gentle.”

Pedro immediately put down the book he’d been reading and gave you his full attention, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Always, baby. You don’t ever have to be afraid with me.”

You took a breath.

“I’m bi.”

There was a beat.

Pedro’s face didn’t twist or change. Didn’t flash with questions or discomfort. He just looked at you, full of something impossibly soft.

“Okay,” he said, with a small nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

You blinked, surprised by how gentle his tone was. And then your chest tightened when you realized—

That was it. No prying. No jokes. No “threesomes” or “you’ll leave me for a woman someday” bullshit. Just… warmth.

“I’ve had really bad experiences,” you admitted, voice cracking. “People either don’t take it seriously or make it into some kind of fantasy for them. I just—I’ve been afraid to tell people. Especially guys I’m dating.”

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened, but gently. He brought it to his lips. Kissed each knuckle.

“I’m so sorry they did that to you,” he murmured. “That’s not love. That’s not seeing you as a full human being. And I do. I see all of you.”

Your eyes filled with tears. He brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs, cradling your face like you were made of porcelain and love.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice low and thick. “And I love that you trust me enough to share this. I don’t care who you’ve loved before. I care that you’re here. With me. Letting me love you.”

You threw your arms around him and cried into his shirt — not from sadness, but from the weight of finally being held right.

-

A few days later, you got a quiet tap on the shoulder while you were getting dressed.

“Can I ask you something?” Pedro asked, holding his phone sheepishly. “It’s totally up to you, zero pressure, but… I was thinking about making a little Pride Month post. Just something sweet. I’d love to include you, but I’ll only do it with your full blessing.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You want to post about… me?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Because I’m proud of you. And I want to celebrate you. Loudly. But only if that feels good for you.”

You kissed him hard for that one. Then nodded.

And that afternoon, he posted a picture of the two of you cuddling in bed — your face mostly buried in his neck, his lips pressed to your temple.

The caption read:

happy pride month 💕 especially to my beautiful bisexual girlfriend, who teaches me every day what love looks like in full color. you are seen. you are loved. always. 🌈

The internet, of course, lost it.

“Pedro Pascal being an ally is my Roman Empire.” “bisexual gf rights forever 💗💜💙” “he didn’t just say ‘love is love’ he said ‘MY GIRLFRIEND IS BI AND I LOVE HER’ and i’m sobbing” “protect this couple at all costs.”

But the best part wasn’t the comments. It was Pedro, wrapping his arms around you that night, nuzzling your shoulder and whispering:

“Thank you for letting me love you out loud.”

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✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

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taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[anika-ann]

Restless Hearts - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, next-to-zero plot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 6,2k

Summary: Moving in together with Steve is the dream come true – or it should have been. You didn't exactly have the chance to benefit from that since he shipped off to a mission for days and is only now coming back.

You grow restless. And to make it worse, you only get to reunite with him on this stupid pompous party instead of your home. Well. Just few more hours of socializing to survive.

You could handle that, right?

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, semi-public sex if you squint, unprotected sex, language, Steve being a menace, two idiots in love who can't keep their hands off of each other

A/N: written for the Smutty September Fest hosted by @mercurial-chuckles . Thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to f* and quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials 🤭

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Sparkling lights. Sparkling drinks. Elegant gowns and sharp suits. Subtle polite laughter and conversation occasionally interrupted by a louder exclamation and a genuine burst of laughter from the groups forming around those who knew how to charm a crowd. A non-descript music, one song bleeding into another, a few couples trying to find space on the dancefloor that had mostly changed into an agora, a space for conversation rather than for moving in well-practiced sync.

The dress skirt brushing over your knees and ankles, a slight chill on the back of your neck as someone opened the balcony doors, letting in fresh April air of New York City. The light stink of alcohol and sweat amongst the hundreds of expensive perfumes and colognes. The rich aftertaste of the sting of bubbles, sweet and spicy on your tongue.

The golden lights shone bright but intimate, reflecting in your champagne glass and prompting you to finish your first – and likely one of the lasts – drink of the night.

You weren’t much of a drinker. You indulged every once in a while, more of curiosity about what fancy brand the host had chosen for the occasion and a thing of courtesy, using the glass like a required social prop.

Such was the case tonight too – a fancy evening for investors and associates of the Earth’s mightiest heroes. Politicians, diplomats, government officials, high-ranking military officials and filthy-rich entrepreneurs – mostly not your crowd, to speak plainly. There was a slightly better company too, even if scarce: former agents and other colleagues – well-vetted beforehand, of course – scientists, non-profit representatives, veterans. Several Avengers too, of course.

But your favourite – the one who had brought you deeper into the world of superheroes – was yet to be found.  

Steve Rogers most definitely was your favourite; nearly flawless moral compass, loyal, protective of the less fortunate ones and his own. A fighter who had won and lost all too much; an artist, who saw beauty around him nevertheless. A kind soul with an enormous heart, perhaps a tad too big for his own body despite his impressive physique. Larger than life and yet somehow humble enough in his insistence that he was just a man, ordinary, like most; just lucky enough to had been given a chance to fight and to defend.

And to love.

Steve Rogers certainly was your favourite, as he should be; the goodness of the world distilled into one man, with a face and a body of worth of being sculpted by the masters of ancient arts, the warmest smile and a sparkle to his eye a testimony to his brilliant mind and wicked humour. All that at your fingertips; all that supposedly yours, as incredible as it seemed at most times.

He was yours.

Your boyfriend of four months and seventeen days.

Not that you had been counting; perhaps just a little. You were innocent in the matter, however; it was mostly your and Steve’s friends, teasing you about taking things slow. According to Bucky, had you been taking things at Steve’s desired pace, with how smitten he apparently was, he would have already had a ring on your finger.

You didn’t dare to judge, afraid of raising your hopes a little too much; however, there was something to be said about Steve Rogers in love. He made it clear; so painfully and blissfully clear, letting you feel his much-reciprocated adoration in hundreds if not thousands of little moments.

In his touch. In his words. In his actions.

Your demanding jobs perhaps did slow down your progress a bit, making even the settling on a day of your first date quite the feat; but it was one of those good things that made the waiting worth it.

If Steve was smitten, so were you; and while a proposal would feel rather rash, you certainly not at all thinking about how you’d probably say yes anyway, because you simply knew, you’d settle for moving in together.

You had moved in together, thirteen days ago.

And the move in that had left you with half-unpacked boxes, cold bed and an apartment lacking the true aura of a home, because the person you wished to build it with was godknowswhere in a middle of Siberia, having left after a passionate welcome-to-our-new-home and a message delivered at three damn forty a.m.

Steve had left the pleasant warmth of your bed at four, with a profound sleepy apology and a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Left for an off-grid no-contact mission. Lasting for days.

For all the faith you had in his skill and strength, the worry that came with him being away for so long without as much of a short text was eating at you; and then there was the matter of simply missing him, the empty feeling only accentuated by having expected to be nearer to him at last and getting this instead. You were an independent woman and you could live your life without a man just fine, but goddamn were you also a woman madly in love, missing your boyfriend.

And you were growing impatient.

You were still at your first drink, yes, but knowing Steve should appear at any moment did not help calm your nerves, the slightly uncomfortable but exciting swirl of anticipation of seeing him again – in a suit no less – as intense as the yearning for comfort of actually seeing for yourself that he was safe and sound.

He had texted you, at last, about four hours ago, that he was on his way, nothing but a couple of bruises already healing, looking forward to seeing you.

You had agreed to meet at the venue; he would be running last minute, or perhaps even fashionably late, grabbing a quick shower and a shave at his at-hand quarters at the Tower, just throwing on a suit he kept there for such occasions. You had offered to help – for the completely selfish reason of seeing him sooner and in private instead of in front of hundreds of watchful curious eyes – but he had sweetly refused, argumenting that at least one of you should be on time and promising he would find you first thing upon his arrival.

You would have grumbled if you hadn’t been soothed by the Love you, can’t wait to hold you again, he had texted after. He was a charming loveable bastard like that.

As the infamous murmur of excitement arose around you, bringing you back to the present, your eyes easily found the source of the commotion: Steve Rogers himself.

Your heart rate accelerating reminded you that not being able to meet Steve before the event might have been a blessing. Had you had the chance to get your hands on him, you two would probably end up being very much unfashionably late; a welcome home kiss would have simply not sufficed.

He was breathtaking.

The traditional black suit with navy blue glint was fitted for certain; tight where it should be, accentuating Steve’s absurdly broad shoulders and thin waist, pants no doubt hugging all the right places from behind somehow complimenting his long muscular legs too, pristine white shirt with a bowtie matching the suit; the soft blue reflection emphasized the colour of his eyes as they scanned the room without ever stopping his progress, his polite smile spreading wide when his gaze found yours, the blue of his irises turning warmer; the most beautiful feature to his face battling the magnificence of his sharply cut jaw.

The instant relief washing over you screamed of how anxious you had actually been before you had seen him alive and well; the warmth spreading through your veins whispered of comfort, a tidal wave of feeling at home after a long travel; the heat curling in your belly and sending sparkles through every nerve ending reminded you that your body had been missing him in all different ways.

Your gaze zeroed on his every step. He seemed to move too slow and too fast at once; and suddenly he was standing in front of you, one hand gently grasping yours, the other lightly laying on your waist, a chaste kiss to your temple lingering as your body naturally sought his and carefully leaned into his entirely publicly appropriate greeting. The familiar woodsy notes of his cologne and aftershave had your heartbeat pick up and instinctively move closer into his embrace and breathing in deeply, the scent going straight to your head; but following his lead, you didn’t get too close, letting the gentle timbre of his voice soothe your need for connection instead.

At last; he was home. He was here, with you, and his love, while contained in socially acceptable gestures, seemed to draw a protective circle around your pair, shining brighter and warmer than the lights and all the luxuries around combined.

“Hey sweetheart. It’s so good to see you,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek this time, his eyes lit alive as he retreated, a hint of a smile still playing in the corner of his lips. “And you are absolutely stunning. Almost tripped over my feet the moment I set my eyes on you.”

Resisting the urge to tenderly slap his side at the exaggeration, at making your face burn hot – and something inside you purr with satisfaction since you had chosen your outfit with care, much like your makeup and hairdo – you gathered your composure, straightening your posture and charming a smile for him in return.

In one of many late-night conversations, when he had revealed his artistic side to you, he had admitted he loved to feast his eyes on all kinds of art from the most ordinary ones to the rarest; you had understood then that while a fighter and just a man in his core, his soul was a thing seeking beauty and goodness everywhere. In both things and people. A doodle could make him smile and hum in delight as much as a painting or a sculpture, he had said shyly; a building, an arrangement of flowers, a beautiful dress too. The last one, however, he had appreciated most on a woman as bewitching as yourself, he had told you, a tender finger on your jaw, a glint of dark mischief in his eye, lips slanting over yours and stealing your breath in a matter of a second; proving he was appreciative of you just as much when you were wearing nothing at all.

This time, however, you liked to believe he enjoyed the sight of you in the dress indeed; the top was hugging your curves like a second skin, the dark crimson fabric bled into a breeze-light skirt, shorter at the front, longer at the back, offering a less-than-scandalous but still teasing peek of your legs and clear view of your matching heels.

“It’s really good to see you too, love. And you look quite handsome yourself… I nearly dropped my drink upon seeing you,” you reciprocated with a small smirk, pointedly finishing your drink at last, heat flaring in your core when you caught Steve’s gaze lingering on your lips as they barely touched the edge of the glass, not leaving an imprint despite the dangerously red colour of your lipstick.

As you set your glass on the nearest table, you took a satisfactory note of Steve’s gaze flickering even lower, and bit back a smile.

As high as the neckline of your dress was, actually reaching half-up your throat and barely but chastely covering your shoulders, the oval-shaped cut stretching from between your collarbones down over your sternum was a rather intentional trap.

And your Captain had fallen right into it, his Adam’s apple bobbing before his gaze snapped back to your face, pupils wider, irises having gained just a tad darker shade. The fresh surge of confidence was almost as intense as the swoop of desire in your lower belly, sending your thoughts spiralling far away from a behaviour socially acceptable at an event like this.

It made you want to abandon the event and let it sort itself even if Steve had just barely arrived.

Who cared anyway? Steve deserved a proper rest after a taxing mission; rest and more, whatever his heart desired. And maybe not only his heart; if you were honest with yourself, you were only a hot-blooded human being like the rest of the world and were looking forward to truly greeting Steve home in all the ways imaginable.

You could control yourself in the public, of course, and you genuinely understood the importance of networking. But you should bring up simply taking Steve home for his own good; and you could profit from it all the same. From his proximity, from the privacy of your home, from getting your hands on the insanely handsome man’s body.

Whether he sensed the sparkles in the air you weren’t sure; but he leaned towards your face, his voice dripping slow and rich like honey from his lips brushing your ear, sinful despite the words being perfectly innocent.

“It works well then, honey.” He offered you his elbow, straightening his posture as if he was so damn proud to show off what kind of a woman he had on his arm. “Let’s go fulfil our duty of mingling so we can excuse ourselves as soon as possible.”

With his last words carrying alluring notes of an intimate promise, you conceded.

Nodding, you arranged your face in a polite smile, crafted to nonchalant perfection.

“Let’s go mingle indeed.”

Indeed, let’s work so we can sneak away and go home as soon as possible.

Your plan had gone a little awry.

In the glow of delight at Steve’s arrival, you had underestimated the number of people who found it their crucial mission to meet and greet and catch up with Captain America.

You had kept up the pleasant façade through all the conversations, nodding and chuckling politely when the situation called for it; but you were growing weary and you could feel tension gradually building in Steve’s shoulders as well, the way you remained connected by at least an inch of a touch at all times permitting you to observe the change.

You had thought it would help when you subtly nodded towards the dance floor; his smile turned much more genuine as he asked you for a dance, earning your pair a breather and a moment of shared intimacy for a few songs.

But you had been wrong in your strategy; if it were possible, Steve’s jaw appeared locked even tighter than before once your reprieve was deemed to last too long and you agreed to return to socializing. His touch grew into a hold; at moments, it was but a grip, until you felt him forcefully relax and ease the pressure.

You didn’t blame him one bit.

He must have been exhausted; away from home for so long, physically and mentally drained after an intense, albeit successful mission, forced to put on a mask for everyone else’s benefit, because Steve Rogers, to a point, was a poster boy. As much as he was trying to change that, working on allowing himself to show and accept his humanity, he remained the embodiment of a hero who never gave up and raised others on his own shoulders despite scratching the bottom of the barrel of his own energy.

He remained cordial and polite and a gentleman; he offered to get you a drink as you excused yourself to the bathroom, returning only to find him – visibly annoyed, for once – trapped in a conversation with Tony. A conversation which was probably not at all important, but apparently couldn’t wait, at least in Tony’s mind.  

“Such a charming woman, standing here all by herself. How is that even possible?” questioned a voice from your left just as you pondered rescuing your boyfriend, causing you to waver.

It was a very male voice. An unfamiliar voice.

And had it been Clint or Sam or Bucky, you’d laugh at the poor line, which would no doubt be told with a drop of teasing; or in Thor’s case, entirely genuine and fitting to Asgardian but not Midgardian ways. Hearing it from a stranger, though, that made you want to roll your eyes.

You were a strong soldier of God so to speak, however; you turned to the source of the voice with a smile with just a slightly sharp edge – one the tall lanky man was oblivious to, as it turned out – and greeted him with a measured Sir.

As he introduced himself, you learned that Mr. Doctor Bowers PhD. might have had two PhDs but none of them was in taking a goddamn hint. Because now you were sort-of trapped much like Steve was, the written and unwritten rules of courtesy not permitting you to make up an excuse of needing to go to the bathroom after you had clearly just come back.

You counted seconds, pondering how soon you could leave the man behind without appearing too rude. You got to a hundred when your patience truly was wearing thin.

He was still not taking any of the hints you had dropped. Worse, even. You weren’t presumptuous enough – unlike some people in the mostly one-sided conversation – to imagine the flirting. He was clearly attempting to flirt and was failing miserably. He was shameless about it too, even if a little condescending.

Ninety-four seconds later, you had enough of him and far too little of Steve; your skin seemed to be already burning where Steve had last touched you, yearning for the contact to return in a perhaps clingy, but entirely honest way.

And suddenly, as if some miracle provided by Asgardian magic, the touch was back.

Steve’s arm was curling around your waist, his side pressing to your hip, his lips making a gentle – and strangely electric – contact with your hairline.

“I’m sorry about the hold-up, sweetheart. Who’s your… friend?”

It was a little funny, really. The man matched Steve in height, but at the biting note in Steve’s voice, he shrank at least a foot and a half.

He introduced himself after clearing his throat, maintaining the remnants of his composure which all of sudden carried no hint of the wannabe seducer. You wanted to kiss Steve right on the lips right there for that alone.

Mr. Doctor PhD also probably regretted extending his hand for Steve to shake; because at Steve’s grip, no doubt stronger than necessary despite his entirely nonchalant mask of politeness, he actually winced.

You were no supporter of violence, much like Steve, which might seem ironic to some given his profession – but the lick of heat at seeing Steve put the guy into back into his place sent a shudder of undiluted want down your spine and straight into your core, your posture involuntarily shifting in response. Steve’s hold on you tightened.

“I have to talk to my girlfriend now, if you excuse us. See you around,” Steve said, already spinning you towards the exit to drive his point to the end.

You didn’t resist.

If anything, you couldn’t walk fast enough, regretting wearing heels and wishing for a pair of sneakers instead to sneak away from the party altogether at last.

Only when Steve led you further and further away from people, deeper into the complex, your heart began thundering in your chest; you noticed that the tension in his muscles you had worried about had grew tenfold and realized that his announcement about needing to talk to you might be more than an excuse.

“Steve, are you alright?”

“Fine,” he responded flatly, yet in a voice carrying hundred times more warmth than just a moment ago.

Right. And the Sun is blue, the pigs can fly and tachyons had always been proven particles of matter.  

You swallowed the snarky response, glancing at him as you barely kept up with his long strides; still, you could tell he was holding back, having seen him march with much more hurry and relentlessness.

“Thanks for the rescue, by the way. Really,” you pipped up, one corner of your lips rising despite your stomach turning tight at the unreadable expression on Steve’s face. “Guy simply couldn’t take the hint that I only have eyes for my Captain.”

An uncomprehensible grumbly noise vibrated in Steve’s chest, his arm sliding from your waist in favour of taking your hand in his instead.

Apparently, your attempt at cheering him up failed; you should have known.

The corridor was now completely devoid of people; you had arrived to the part of the floor with three small conference rooms, one an each of them dark and empty – because everyone was at the party.

Your smile turned truly nervous at that point, your mind racing as much as your heart. Steve wouldn’t have led you here unless he wanted to urgently talk about something important. You were a little baffled as to why hadn’t he opted for the elevator and his former quarters instead; but you didn’t question it as he placed his palm on the scanner and practically threw one of the doors open and all but pulled you in, some of the lights automatically flickering to life.

That was all that your ordinary human brain had time to register.

Because then Steve’s hand found firm purchase of your neck, cupping your jaw, lips slanted over yours with ferocity and passion that had your mind snap blank and set your body on fire, your hands limply landing on his firm chest.

Oh. O-okay.

More than okay.

You were forced to walk backwards, Steve’s other hand pressing against your hip to lead your step and steady you at once; an anchor you desperately needed in the whirlwind of puzzlement and madly stirred desire. Your lips parted in invitation just before your ass hit the conference table, an unvoluntary whimper escaping you when Steve’s body aligned with yours, every single part of him bare his lips tight and wound up, his hardness brushing against your thigh.

At the small sound so willingly consumed by his demanding kiss, he squeezed your hip harder, tongue exploring hundred-times explored with delight, air stolen from your lungs, your hands scrambling to grab his suit jacket to pull him even closer.

Who needed breathing anyway?

You didn’t. And you didn’t care how you got here either, be it desire fuelled by impatience or jealousy or the endless time apart, your choice of a dress or your lipstick which you knew Steve liked so much. You didn’t give a damn.

He was the spoilsport, releasing your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, his quick breaths fanning your face, hand from your neck sliding lower, an almost inhuman sound pushing through his teeth when his fingertips found the exposed skin on your breastbone, petting the soft spot adoringly.

You had not known until that moment how much you craved his touch precisely at that spot and how weak in the knees it could make you.

“Please say y-“

“Yes,” you gasped, instantly rewarded by his mouth on yours again with a muttered but hearty-

“God, I missed you-“

-dextrous fingers sliding under your skirts and hiking the fabric up as they travelled up your thigh, Steve’s pelvis rocking against yours, creating delicious friction against your core.

“I missed you too.”

Your hands went to roam over his freshly shaven jaw, over his shoulders, pushing the jacket off just to make him growl in frustration when he had to stop touching you for two full seconds to get rid of it.

“Sorry, want to feel you,” you apologized nonsensically, every single moment of his touch going straight to your head like a strong sweet wine, intoxicating and addictive, much like his scent, his taste, consuming all of your senses.

“Need to have you-”

“You have me,” you said breathily, a plea and a promise at once, thoroughly appreciated by a squeeze to your ass, fingertips wandering towards where you needed him the most--

And then Steve halted in his progress, body turning into a statue as he came in contact with bare skin, lips stilling on yours.

You gulped, trying to judge his reaction despite your haze.

You had had… a little incident when dressing up to the nines. Your broken nail nicked your thigh-high, sending a run up your calf. Uncharacteristically unprepared, you had found out if was your only pair. And sure. You could have run to a store. You could have express-ordered; stores would trip over their feet to deliver to Ms. Captain America in need. You could have worn a pantyhose.

And yet, your mind had steered you towards the drawer where you had kept tights specifically bought for a wholly different occasion than a social outing.

Why not? Your dress was long enough. And having hoped Steve’s mission would bring him home victorious and excited, having missed all of him terribly, you thought you might at least save some time once you two would be home.

Except you weren’t at home now. But that wasn’t on you – you were completely innocent in that matter.

Except you weren’t and your tights were conveniently sewn with a large enough opening to have Steve fit his hand or other parts of his body through, leaving but a flimsy lace panties in his way.

“Sweetheart?” he rasped, licking his lips as if to tempt you further, to confess your sins born of love and lust. He pulled back just an inch, to meet your gaze, his own pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of your beloved blue remained.

You gulped; not ashamed, not truly, perhaps a little apprehensive of his judgement. You had worn what was pretty much an erotic prop to a high-class event and had you not been careful and had had an accident, anyone seeing or god forbid snapping a picture…

“I… wanted to greet you home… and feel you as soon as possible,” you admitted silently, heart thundering in your chest, in your ears, in your temples, in your fingertips fisting the collar of Steve’s shirt.

A beat of silence.

Several wild beats of your heart.

“Christ, I love you-“

You were hoisted up on the edge of the table in a lightning speed and a mouth-watering display of strength, lips devoured by Steve’s with enough force to bend you backwards, the line of your soaked panties pushed aside to not waste time indeed as Steve’s fingertips dipped into your slick with a mutual groan of pleasure.

“Steve-“

“That’s right, honey,” he whispered, lips teasing the soft skin of your throat now, “I’m here now, all yours.”

He teased your lower lips back and forth, once, twice, three times too many and then he finally entered you with two fingers, a dark chuckle coming deep from his throat at the gasp of his name, stepping closer between your spread thighs to press your legs further apart.

He pumped his fingers with ease, driving you towards the stars at a dizzying speed, pressing a soothing kiss to your sternum when you cried out at him curling his fingers just right.

“That’s it, honey… sing for me. Just for me,” he pleaded, contradicting his plea by claiming your lips again and pushing deeper, faster, wicked,your whimpers swallowed greedily, all his, just like you were, on the brink of ecstasy.

You were trembling; in pleasure, in anticipation of absolute bliss, with Steve’s hand firmly pressed to your lower back to hold you close and annihilate you in the most exquisite way known to man. His words, his touch, the husky notes of his voice, the sheer need radiating off him and still making sure you were to steal the first round of fireworks just for yourself.

It exploded through your body without warning.

You broke with a cry of his name, lips freed just so he could hear the delicious sound, so beautifully seconded by his harsh breaths and so filthily accompanied by the wet sound of your pleasure you had no capacity to be ashamed of but revelled in instead.

You knew he did too. Because he had done that to you, for you. It was his and yours and both was a privilege; and lust incarnate, as he brought you down from your high gently as it be, his hand disappearing from your back in favour of undoing his fly and zipper.

Feel as soon as possible; no time to waste. Pants shoved down only as little as necessary, boxers following, a peek of a mouthwatering – and always a little intimidating – sight was all you got.

A small startled sound escaped you when you were being pulled further towards the edge of the table without a moment of reprieve, a chuckle bubbling in your throat at Steve’s impatience – but with no malice. God knew you understood; the moment the head nudged your entrance, coating him in your slick, your orgasmic bliss was long gone, replaced by even more acute need.

You wanted him. Now. All of him. Wanted to feel him deep inside you, wanted him to fill you so completely as only he ever could, devoured by him, desired and loved.

And you wanted to make him feel as delirious with pleasure as he had made you a moment ago, wanted to make his world so hot it turned white for a moment, make his knees buckle with the force of his release.

Your gaze met his, eyes feasting at the beautiful panting mess he already was, all pristine in his suit and bowtie and ready to ruin and be ruined, lips crimson and kiss-swollen and parting with a groan as he slowly pushed into you.

“Look at me, Steve. Want you to see what you do to me,” you whispered, the little broken sound pushing past his lips the only warning you got before he snapped his hips forward with a curse on his lips and sheeted himself fully inside you at once. God, so fully and suddenly that all air got knocked from your lungs.

His hand grasped your jaw, tender but firm, a dangerous glint in his eye, thumb running over your painted lower lip.

“Oh I’m looking, honey.” His gaze flickered down as he retreated almost all the way out, shining with your arousal, and thrusted deeply again, causing your eyes to flutter shut. “And there’s nothing prettier than you falling apart for me, so let. Me. See you.”

He accentuated every word with a sharp snap of his hips, stroking and stretching your walls over and over, setting a rhythm, teasingly slow and punishingly quick, hand and lips roaming, grabbing and caressing, kisses all teeth and all soft, grip on your hips keeping you still to assure he could take you exactly as he liked and encouraging you to roll your hips at your pace as you balanced on the edge of the table all the same.

“Missed you.”

“Love you.

“Need you.”

“So good for me.”

“I’m so damn lucky.”

“Please.”

“Look at me.”

“Give it me, honey.”

Your head was spinning as you were consumed by bliss, spiralling towards your peak so fast you couldn’t tell anymore which words were yours and which were his, where you ended and he began, clinging to each other as you were carried higher and higher, your ears ringing and still allowing you to hear the clinks of the belt buckle and the sinful sound of your rapid love-making; like a lightning running through yours very being, you shattered with a high-pitched whimper of Steve’s name, an echo of a hoarse voice stringing curses and praise barely reaching your conscience.

You panted against Steve’s shoulder as he curled around you, minuscule movements of hips to ride out both of your highs, soft words spilling from his lips as he was barely caching breath himself.

You took a minute, maybe two or five, still, clinging to him all the same, the heady scent of sex and sweat weighing down the air, your tongue heavy and throat parched, fingers carding through Steve’s damp hair softly.

And still, you chuckled breathlessly as Steve kept running his warm hand up and down your back, the sound causing him to press a kiss to your lips that tasted of apology for some reason.

“Well…”

“I’m sorry for pouncing on you, sweetheart,” he muttered, a genuine note of regret nearly lost in the pleasure carried over to his voice.

Your smiled must have looked exhausted, you thought; but blissed out.

Oh, your sweetheart of a boyfriend. As if you hadn’t just both enjoyed this tremendously. Surely, he didn’t really mean it, did he?

“I’m sorry for sort-of setting a trap then…” you followed suit, the words feeling simply wrong on your tongue. “Except I’m not.”

At that, Steve lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire still.

“Me neither.”

You grinned, trying not to be acutely aware of his hardness still stretching you to your fullest.

Of course he wasn’t entirely satisfied. One round had barely even been enough.

“That’s what I thought. Good.”

He mirrored your expression, his grin a little boyish and devilish at once, his expression soft but somehow everything but innocent.

Yet, he caressed your face with his fingertips with tenderness, from your damp temple over your cheekbone to your jaw, gently pressing against your lips.

“I love you. And I missed you. So much. I swear I just wanted to go home – take you home, the moment I walked in,” he admitted, causing your smile to turn sympathetic.

You knew all about that; it was all you had been truly thinking about the whole evening.

“I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh…” you trailed off, sensations slowly returning to your body outside the all-consuming pleasure. You felt like you were burning; sweaty and fucked-out for the lack of a better term, most of your body tingling… You chuckled self-deprecatingly. “God, my legs shake so much… what did you do to me?”

Steve’s hands moved to your thighs as if he needed to feel it and steady the trembling, to help, teeth worrying over his lip, just a hint of guilt – and a whole lot more of something you didn’t dare to decode, because those were some dangerous waters.

You expected him to pull out and help you stand then, clean up; after all, he was a gentleman like that, always supporting you.

He did the former, tenderly so as not to hurt you; but not the latter. When he carefully left your body and you tried to stand, he halted your movements with tightening his hold on your thighs, his gaze roaming all over you as you glanced at him all with puzzlement.

“Steve?”

��Maybe you should lie down,” he suggested lowly, his gaze flickering from your still quaking legs to the opening of your dress on your chest and to your lips and then back.

You swallowed against your dry throat.

The dangerous waters you hadn’t dared to explore roared in the back of your head, a shudder of scalding heat running through your body.

He hadn’t cleaned up. He hadn’t tucked himself in. He was still… as always---he-

You licked your lips, your heart stumbling so hard in your chest it was almost painful.

Wordlessly but with his blown pupils observing you like a hawk, one of his hands moved to your shoulder, gently pushing, encouraging you to lie down on the desk indeed.

And who were you to protest? His gaze was once again pleading and challenging you.

Please, say yes.

Like a fallen angel coaxing you to sin; and you’d all but follow hm straight to hell, because you knew he’d show you heaven unparalleled.

The table was cold and unforgivingly hard against your back, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was Steve looking at you like that, like you were a goddess and a prize he had sworn to win, guiding your leg up to rest your ankle against his shoulder, his hot mouth pressing a kiss to your calf. His other hand pushed his pants and boxes down his legs this time, before he reached for your other leg and wrapped it around his waist, once again nudging your sensitive opening.

“Just one more, honey,” he coaxed you, as if you needed convincing, as if the tremble of your body hadn’t turned from blissful and exhausted to one of anticipation. “Just one more and then we’ll go home…”

He pressed another kiss to your calf and met your gaze as he slowly sank back in with ease, something devilish and painfully alluring flashing in his eyes as a shudder ran through your body, sensitive from your earlier activities.

“And when we’re there, I’ll take you once more… once for every day I would have made love to you, had I been in our home with you as I should have.”

In the haze of your mind, the math didn’t seem to math or even matter, even though you felt it should.

But for now, all you could focus on was Steve, finally with you, and soon coming to your shared home with you, at last.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

The event's masterlist

*chuckles* I’m in danger🥹

I hope Steve makes sure she’s hydrated and eats something in between🤭 And maybe gets some sleep; not all of us are supersoldiers 🥹

ANYWAY. Thank you for reading! Drop feedback if you're willing and may September bring you many smutty cozy evenings and peace 💕

[itneverendshere]

hi again! so I've been meaning to send a request, but before i go about it I wish to say it's completely okay if you're not inspired by this, or if you simply don't want to write it, i would hate myself if I made you overwhelmed or smth. love you anyways 💕 so for the request: reader who's autistic. she's not very talkative nor socially active, never had a boyfriend, has one or two friends, yet somehow rafe notices her and finds her endearing. she's okay being herself with her friends, like she's funny, kind and passionate about her interests (like geek stuff, fantasy books, animals and such). she has zero flirting experience and is always dismissive towards rafe bc she doesn't think someone could like her romantically, and she's always suspicious of people bc they've wronged her in the past (in my experience as an autistic person i tend to believe everything ppl say and am kinda naive, so ppl played me or said unrealistic things and I believed them, which then is a reason for laughter, now I'm always suspicious to ppl's intentions). I'm giving you creative freedom with this, just wanted an autistic reader for once :) if you feel like writing it but need to know more abt autism, you can just post question and I'll answer in your asks, if that's okay. Just a reminder again before I go: feel free to decline this request, I know it might not be something cool to write and that's okay ☺️ love you lots, thank you for your time!

i tried my best, hope you like it 🫶🏼 and if you don't lmk so i can do better!! this was really fun since it's a compeltely new topic of inspiration. kinda left an "open" ending bc i couldn't make my mind up lmao. thank you for the resquest and sorry it took me a while to finally do it 🫂

got dreams but i can't make myself believe them - r.c

paring: rafe x autistic!reader word count: 6.9k

The party was a mistake.

You knew it the moment you walked in, the terrible music and crush of people making your skin crawl. Your friends had been relentless, insisting that you needed to “get out more” and “live a little,” despite your repeated attempts to explain that “getting out” meant something different to you.

You’d caved eventually, and now you were standing awkwardly in the corner of a stranger’s living room, clutching your book like it was a life vest. You needed to stop letting them drag you everywhere.

It was the typical college party scene, at least the one's you'd heard or read about before. Red solo cups everywhere, groups of people huddled on couches or pressed together on the so called dance floor, and a few already-drunk guys yelling loudly in the kitchen.

This was supposed to be fun?

“Just stay for an hour,” they said. “If it’s really that bad, you can leave.”

Right.

Except an hour felt like an eternity when you were trapped in a sensory nightmare. You took a deep breath, scanning the crowded room, the noise was a constant, overwhelming buzz in your ears.

This was definitely a mistake.

You did what you always did best in these situations: found a quiet place to hide.

After walking through the drunk college students, you ended up on hidden nook near the back of the house. It was a small room, probably some sort of den or study, but blessedly, it was empty.

With a sigh of relief, you settled into an oversized armchair, opened your book, and let the world outside your pages melt away.

Time slipped by as you read, the overwhelming noise changing into a distant hum. You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice when someone stumbled into the room until a loud crash jolted you out of your fictional word.

He nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself at the last second with a slurred, “Shit.”

You looked up to find a guy standing unsteadily in the doorway, blinking blearily at you. He was tall, with tousled dark blonde hair and a loose grin that spoke of far too many drinks. His eyes were a striking blue even in the low light, and it took you a second to place him.

Rafe Cameron.

You knew him—well, of him, at least.

He was in your sociology class, always sitting a few rows behind you with his gaggle of equally charming friends. He’d never spoken to you before, though, and you’d never had a reason to pay him much attention.

Rafe's face split into a lazy grin, and he swaggered—no, stumbled—into the room, managing to make even that look effortless.

“Heyyy,” he drawled, leaning heavily against the arm of the chair across from you. “It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he slurred, squinting like he was trying to see you clearly. “T-The girl from my class. The quiet one.”

Your stomach did a weird flip, part confusion, part disbelief.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely, as if you’d just confirmed some great truth. “You’re the uh, the smart one. With the books.” He gestured vaguely at the one in your hands. “Always sittin’ up front, all… all cute n'shit.”

Your cheeks burned. Was he calling you cute? No. He was drunk—really drunk. He probably didn’t know what he was saying.

“Do you need help?” you asked cautiously. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, straightening up as if to prove it, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he swayed on his feet. “Needed to get away from those fucking idiots out there. Too many people.”

You almost laughed.

Rafe Cameron, overwhelmed by people? The guy who was always surrounded by friends, girls draped over him like accessories? But he looked sincere—well, as sincere as a drunk person could look.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, gesturing to the empty chair. “You, um, might fall over if you don’t.”

“Pfft, I’m not gonna—” He paused mid-sentence, wobbling precariously. Then, as if he’d just made the smartest decision of his life, he plopped down in the chair, sprawling out. “See? Told ya m'fine,” he said, flashing you a lopsided grin.

You couldn’t help but snort.

“Right.”

He looked at you then, his gaze roaming over your face.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asked abruptly.

You glanced at your book, then back at him. "Reading?”

“No, I mean… here,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely around the room. “At this shitty party.”

You shrugged, feeling awkward.

“My friends dragged me. I didn’t really want to come.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he looked almost sober.

“Yeah, same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, a flash of the cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen in class.

“Yeah, well… they’re fucking assholes, but they’re my assholes, y'know?”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“So, what’s that book about?”

You hesitated. “Um… it’s a fantasy novel.”

“Fantasy, huh?” He tilted his head, eyeing the cover. “Like wizards and dragons n'shit?”

“Sort of,” you admitted. “It’s about a girl who finds out she has magic and goes on a quest to—”

“Save the world?” he finished with a mock-solemn expression.

“...Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Bet it is,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re really into that stuff, huh?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something that looked like genuine interest. “You looked happy, talkin’ about it.”

Your heart did another weird little flip, and you frowned, pushing the feeling down. He was drunk, this didn’t mean anything. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

Rafe's eyes drifted shut, his head lolling back against the chair and within seconds, he was snoring.

You sat there, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Three days later, you were sitting in your usual spot in the lecture hall, flipping through your notes. Class was about to start, and the room was filling up with the usual pre-lecture chatter.

You were getting settled when someone slid into the seat beside you.

You glanced up, expecting one of your friends.

It was Rafe.

“Hey, friend,” he greeted casually, like you hadn’t left him passed out at a party a few nights ago.

You stared at him, completely disoriented. “Hi?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair, acting like this was completely normal.

“Didn’t think I’d forget about you, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I… yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he murmured. “I remember everything.”

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “Oh?"

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “You, sitting there all cute with your book, talking about magic and shit. Thought I was too drunk to remember, huh?”

“I—” You gawked at him, completely off balance. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said simply. “Got a problem with that?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“No?”

“Good.” He flashed you a grin, “So, you gonna tell me more about that book, or what?”

You gaped at him. “You actually want to hear about it?”

“Why not?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “It made you smile.”

For some very stupid reason, that simple statement knocked the breath out of you.

“Okay,” you said, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate prank.

Rafe leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. Weird dude.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I’ll stick around.”

The next few classes were…weird, to say the least.

Ever since Rafe decided you were his new "friend," he’d taken to sitting beside you every lecture, plopping down in the empty seat as if he’d been there all along. It was confusing.

Most of the time, he’d breeze in at the last possible minute, sauntering up to your row without so much as a greeting and settling into the chair with that infuriatingly self-assured face. You were already seated, your notebook open and your pen poised to start taking notes when he dropped into the seat beside you with his usual nonchalance.

Rafe stretched his long legs out in front of him, casting you a sidelong look, daring you to acknowledge him first.

“Hi,” you said quietly, eyes flicking back to the front of the room.

“Hey, princess."

You kept your gaze firmly on your notebook. You’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with him was to pretend his presence didn’t affect you—no matter how much his proximity messed with you.

He’d spent the last three classes nudging your foot under the desk, passing snide comments under his breath, or leaning over just close enough to murmur sarcastic observations about whatever the professor was droning on about. And today was no different.

The lecture started, Professor Callahan launching into her usual detailed overview of sociological theory. You tried to focus, pen flying across your notebook as you jotted down her points.

“Is she always this boring?” he whispered, leaning in so his arm brushed against yours.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your notes. “If you listened, it wouldn’t be so boring.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna waste my time listening to her go on about… what is it today? Class structure?”

“Yes,” you hissed, refusing to look at him. “And if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” he challenged, his grin audible in his voice.

You snapped your mouth shut, ignoring the way his leg brushed against yours under the desk. He was doing it on purpose—nudging your knee every so often, moving a little closer until the faint scent of his cologne surrounded you.

It was infuriating.

When you glanced sideways at him, he was looking at you with that maddening, lazy grin that made your heart stutter.

“Just pay attention,” you mumbled, cheeks warm.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty view right here?”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

His eyes moved back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made your brain short-circuit. 

“Relax, princess. Just messin' with you.”

You swallowed, trying to refocus on the lecture. His attention felt like a physical thing—it made you uneasy. 

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you forced yourself to look at the professor, who was in the middle of explaining something about social hierarchies when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

You looked up, eyes widening in surprise as Professor Callahan fixed Rafe with a stern look.

“I’m aware that I’m not as pretty as your classmate,” she said dryly, gesturing toward you, “but I would appreciate it if you could pay attention for at least ten minutes.”

A ripple of snickers spread through the room, and your cheeks flamed scarlet. Rafe, however, didn’t blink, he was completely unruffled and offered the professor a lazy, arrogant smile.

“Sorry. Just got a little distracted.”

Your stomach dropped. He was staring at you, unabashedly.

The professor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Her tone was dry, unimpressed. “Would you mind keeping your distractions to yourself until after class?”

Another murmur of laughter swept through the room, and you shrank in your seat, mortified. His smirk widened, but he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, ma’am,” he drawled. “No more distractions.”

Professor Callahan gave him a pointed look, then turned back to the board, resuming her lecture. You sat there, face burning, refusing to look anywhere near Rafe, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Guess I got you in trouble, huh?”

You grit your teeth, still staring resolutely at the front of the room. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice teasing. “You’re way more interesting than this shit.”

“Rafe, I swear—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” he said lightly, sitting back. But he didn’t take his eyes off you. You could feel him lingering, warm and intent, and you wanted to scream.

How was he so calm? So unaffected, like getting called out by the professor was just a minor inconvenience?

You hated every second of it.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, finally daring to glance at him. “Will you just—”

“What?”

“Stop staring.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t promise that."

Your heart hammered, and you squeezed your pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged, his expression turning oddly serious. “I like sitting next to you.”

Rafe Cameron—the arrogant, cocky asshole you’d written off as nothing more than a nuisance—had just chosen to stay by your side.

As soon as class ended, you gathered your things in record time, heart still thumping wildly, keeping your head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could escape before he decided to make good on his new, annoying habit of sticking to you like glue. But, of course, he was nothing if not persistent.

You’d barely slung your bag over your shoulder when he appeared at your side, his tall frame looming over you as he fell into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Heading to lunch?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire class making you the center of unwanted attention.

“Yes?” You tried not to sound as thrown as you felt.

“Cool. I’m starving.”

He said it like it was an invitation, as if he was entitled to follow you, and before you could muster up a half-hearted protest, he was already steering you through the crowded hallway.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demanded, glancing around in panic.

People were staring, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Rafe Cameron, of all people, trailing after you. Whispers flitted through the air, disbelieving, and you shrank under the scrutiny, feeling painfully exposed.

“Uh, going to lunch with you?” He made it sound so obvious, his voice lilting with amusement.

“I didn’t invite you!” You glanced at him, trying to tamp down the fluttery, nervous feeling his presence always seemed to stir up. “What if I’m eating with someone else?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat with them too.”

You gawked at him. “What?”

“Relax. It’s just lunch.”

Just lunch. This was completely absurd.

You narrowed your eyes, debating whether to make a break for it, but he was already pulling you toward the main quad, his hand ghosting the small of your back in a way that made your skin tingle. 

Your heart hammered as the familiar outdoor seating area came into view. Your friends were already there, sitting at your usual table—a small group of two girls and a guy, all talking animatedly.

Their expressions morphed from curious to shocked when they caught sight of you—and Rafe—heading straight toward them.

“Uh, hey,” you greeted awkwardly as you approached. They just stared, mouths agape.

Emily was the first to recover.

“What the—since when do you two know each other?” she asked, eyes darting between you and Rafe like she was seeing a glitch in the matrix.

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Max, the guy in your small circle, chimed in, his gaze flicking to Rafe warily. “Is this, like… a project thing?”

“No, it’s not—” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a breezy smile.

“Can’t believe y’all kept her to yourselves this whole time,” he drawled, pulling out the chair beside yours and plopping down like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Thought you’d have the decency to introduce me to the prettiest girl on campus.”

Your friends gaped, eyes wide with shock. You could see their brains short-circuiting.

Meanwhile, you were fighting the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Please shut up,” you muttered under your breath, cheeks burning.

His gaze slid over your stunned friends with lazy amusement. “What?” he said innocently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Emily demanded, still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You—you and Rafe Cameron?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “There is no ‘me and Rafe Cameron.’ He just—he’s being annoying.”

“Annoying?” he repeated, feigning offense. “C’mon. I thought we were past that.”

“We are not past anything,” you snapped, shooting him a glare.

“Okay, back up,” Max interjected, brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“Uh, sociology class?” you offered weakly, as if that explained anything. “He’s been sitting next to me.”

“Sitting next to you?” Emily repeated slowly, as if she was trying to process a particularly difficult equation. “And now you’re… eating lunch together?”

“It’s not—” You looked helplessly at Rafe, who was watching the exchange with that insufferable smirk. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He looked completely unfazed by the mess he’d caused.

“What can I say? I like the company.”

“Since when?” Emily shot back, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe shrugged, “Since she started talking to me.”

Your friends fell silent, eyes wide and suspicious as they turned to you, searching for answers. But you just sat there, feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. What were you supposed to say? Rafe Cameron had decided, out of nowhere, to insert himself into your life? That he was following you to lunch like this was some sort of normal occurrence?

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s really not a big deal. He’s just—”

“Rafe Cameron is never ‘just’ anything,” Emily interrupted, folding her arms as she fixed Rafe with a suspicious look. “So what are you up to?"

“Nothing,” Rafe said easily, his smile all sharp edges. “Like I said, I’m just getting to know her.”

“Getting to know her,” Max echoed, skeptical.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes never left yours, his eyes gleaming with something that made your pulse flutter. “What’s so weird about that?”

Your friends exchanged looks. You didn’t blame them. This was weird. More than weird.

You’d never been the kind of girl to attract attention—especially not from someone like Rafe. Popular, arrogant, and completely out of your league in every possible way. Yet, here he was, sitting with you at lunch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” He said suddenly, turning his attention back to the group, “Are you gonna sit here gaping all day, or are we gonna eat?”

Emily blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Uh, yeah, we’re… we’re eating.”

“Good.” Rafe turned to you, eyebrow raised. “You eating, princess?”

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re offering to get me lunch?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I am. What do you want?”

“I—” You swallowed, glancing at your friends, who were watching the exchange. “Um, a sandwich?”

“Got it.” Rafe pushed to his feet, “Be right back.”

To your utter disbelief, he sauntered off toward the food line, leaving you and your friends staring after him.

“What,” Max said slowly, “the fuck just happened?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I have no idea.”

The awkward lunch with Rafe didn’t end as badly as you expected.

Your friends had spent the entire time shooting you confused, bewildered looks, while he seemed to thrive under their scrutiny, lounging beside you like he belonged. He didn’t flirt—Thank God—but he didn’t tone down his usual cocky self either.

By the end of it, he’d somehow managed to charm your friends enough to leave them more confused rather than outright hostile. Still, after that lunch, you’d expected him to lose interest, to join his usual crowd and forget all about his bizarre little experiment.

You learned that the hard way two days later.

It was late afternoon, and you were holed up in one of the campus library, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes for an upcoming exam. It was your sanctuary—blissfully free of distractions.

At least, until Rafe sauntered in.

You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in your notes, hunched over a particularly dense passage in your sociology textbook when you felt it— glancing up cautiously.

Rafe leaned against the bookshelf a feet away, his eyes fixed on you with an assessing look.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing around nervously.

No one seemed to be paying attention, but you still felt like the entire room was suddenly staring.

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

“Since now,” He pushed off the bookshelf and strolled over to your table, pulling out the chair across from you, “What? Can’t a guy broaden his horizons?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Not today.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he peered at your open book. “So, what’re we learning?”

“We are not learning anything,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m studying. You...I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Keeping you company,” he said simply. “You looked lonely.”

“Lonely?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. “All holed up in here with your books. Thought I’d help.”

What was he even talking about?

This was insane. He didn’t hang out in the library, especially not to “keep someone company.” He was the kind of guy who spent his free time at parties, or on the field, or wherever people like him thrived.

“Rafe,” you said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m studying.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re trying to help,” you shot back, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re—what are you even—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “Calm down. Just trying to see what’s got you all riled up.”

You bit back a groan, rubbing your temples. You didn’t need—didn’t want—his attention.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your textbook around so he could see the page. “I’m going over Durkheim’s theory of social integration.”

Rafe leaned in, squinting at the page. “Durkheim?”

“Yes,” you said, a little impatiently. “He believed that society functions through a collective conscience—shared beliefs and values that bind people together.”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

“It’s not boring,” you retorted before you could stop yourself. “It’s actually really interesting—he argued that a lack of social integration could lead to anomie, a state of normlessness that causes people to feel disconnected and isolated.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

At least it felt that way to you.

“What?” you demanded, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, a thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Just… you get really into this stuff, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s sociology. It’s important.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook his head, “It’s kinda cute.”

You blinked, “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a casual, easy confidence that made your heart flutter. “You get all intense when you talk about it. You actually care.”

“I—Of course I care,” you stammered, “It’s my major.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I like that about you.”

What—what was that supposed to mean? Why was he looking at you like that? Before you could untangle your thoughts, a shadow fell over the table, and you glanced up to see another student standing there—a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from one of your classes.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said awkwardly, glancing between you and Rafe. “Are—are you using this seat?”

Rafe’s expression changed instantly, “Yeah,” he said flatly. “We are.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”

“You just can find another table,” Rafe cut in, “We’re a little busy here.”

You gaped at him, mortified. “Rafe, stop.”

He kept staring down at the poor guy, his posture tense and unyielding until, with a muttered apology, the student backed off, scurrying away like he’d just had a close encounter with a predator.

“What's wrong with you?” You scolded as soon as the guy was out of earshot. “He just wanted to sit down!”

“Yeah, and we’re studying,” Rafe said dismissively. “No room for distractions.”

“We’re not studying anything!” you shot back, resisting the urge to smack him. “You’re sitting here, being—being weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, leaning in again. “Protective.”

You froze, “Protective?”

“Yeah.” His eyes locking onto yours. “Can’t have just anyone bothering you, can I?”

After the bizarre encounter in the library, you were convinced Rafe would drop this whole… whatever it was. For sure.

Surely, following you to lunch and then “protecting” you in the library was enough.

But when you found yourself at another party two nights later—dragged along by Emily despite your vehement protests—you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. Somehow, no matter where you went, Rafe had made it his mission to seek you out.

“C'mooon, you need to have some fun,” Emily had insisted, half-pulling, half-dragging you through the front door of one of the fraternity houses on campus.

The music was already blaring, people were packed in the main room.

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself as you tried to avoid brushing against the partygoers. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, exactly—it was just that the noise, the sheer volume of people could get overwhelming quickly.

“Just stay for an hour,” Emily pleaded. “Please? I swear it’ll be more fun than you think. We can dance, have a few drinks—”

“I don’t dance,” you cut in flatly, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, I’ll dance, and you… can hang out and people-watch,” she amended, undeterred. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

You gave her a withering stare.

“Yeah, because I’m such a social butterfly.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate, and began making your way through the press of bodies. You managed to find a relatively quiet corner in the back, near the stairs, and gratefully leaned against the wall.

Perhaps if you stayed out of sight long enough, Emily would give up on trying to get you to socialize and let you leave early. It was a long shot, but you could hope.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt it—the familiar prickling sensation of someone’s gaze lingering on you.

Rafe, in all his infuriating glory, leaning against the wall a few feet away. He looked unfairly good, dressed in a dark button-up that clung to his frame in all the right ways, his hair tousled enough to look effortlessly cool. And, as usual, he was watching you.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach twisting in irritation and something else.

“Are you stalking me now?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Rafe’s lips curved. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes,” you said, “It would be very bad.”

He chuckled, the sound low, sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

“Relax, princess. I just saw you standing here all alone and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now you can leave.”

Instead, he straightened, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a two strides until he was standing directly in front of you.

You tried to step back, but the wall blocked your escape.

“Actually, I was thinking we could, hang out for a bit?” he suggested, tilting his head as he regarded you.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Rafe blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Why?”

“Yes,” you insisted, frustration growing inside you. “Why do you keep… doing this? Showing up, sitting with me, following me to lunch, acting like—like we’re friends or something. What is your deal, Cameron?”

Slowly he reached up, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“My deal,” he murmured, his voice smooth, “is that I like you.”

No. No, no, no.

That couldn’t be right, people didn't like you, they tolerated you, maybe, or found you useful sometimes, but they didn't like you, not in the way he was implying.

You felt panic rising in your chest.

“You’re lying,” you said shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re just—this is some kind of game, isn’t it? Some—some bet, or—”

Rafe’s expression tightened, “It’s not a game,” he ground out, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You swallowed hard, chest aching. This didn’t make sense.

“I don’t believe you,” you shook your head stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms defiantly. “You’re just… you. You can’t just decide you like me out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t decide,” he murmured, “It just happened.”

Your breath hitched. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“I—” You broke off, struggling to find words, but before you could answer, a loud voice interrupted.

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

You both jerked back, startled, and you glanced over to see one of Rafe’s friends—Topper, if you remembered correctly—stumbling over, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“What are you doing back here?” Topper slurred, his gaze sliding to you. He blinked, “Who’s this?”

Rafe stepped in front of you slightly, his posture tense and protective.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Topper blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, man, chill. I was just—”

“Go,” Rafe repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Topper stared at him for a long moment, then slowly backed off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Rafe turned back to you, his eyes softening again.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut in, your heart still pounding.

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

“Get rid of him,” you said, shaking your head in confusion. “He was your friend. Why would you—”

Maybe you’d misread him, he didn’t mean any of what he said. He was probably bored, looking for some amusement—another toy to play with for a little while.

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

You blinked, bewildered. “But he’s your friend.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I want him interrupting us.”

Us. Like there was an “us.” Like there could ever be an “us.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “But I don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I don’t get it. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it hard to breathe. “More than you think.”

You frowned.

It was impossible to ignorethe nagging feeling that he was just… playing with you, this was all some sick joke and at any moment, the punchline would hit, and you’d be the idiot.

“You’re messing with me,” you muttered, taking a small step to the side to put some space between you. “You’re bored or something.”

“I’m not bored,” he said firmly, stepping forward to close the gap you’d just created. “I told you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t ask for this. You’ve been following me around, showing up where I am, saying all these things like—like we’re something, but we’re not.”

His eyes narrowed, not believing what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? You think I’m just messing around?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted, throwing your hands up. “Yes, I do! Why else would you be doing this? You’re Rafe Cameron, for god’s sake. You don’t even like me. This is just some twisted game to you, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, trying to read his face, find any hint of dishonesty, any sign that this was all an act. But all you saw was that same intensity. Panic kept grazing at you. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be.

People didn’t seek you out at parties or show up in libraries to talk about sociology. Guys like Rafe didn’t choose people like you.

There had to be some ulterior motive.

“You show up out of nowhere, act like I’m some project, some… someone who needs your protection—why, Rafe? Because I don’t fit into your world? Because I’m a joke to you and your friends?”

“That’s not it,” He growled, his voice defensive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You haven’t given me a reason to believe any of this.”

“You think I’m lying? 

You moved your head again, harder this time.

“You’re—you’re saying things that don’t make sense. I don’t understand.”

He took a slow, poising breath, "What doesn't make sense to you?" 

"All of this," you replied, your voice quivering with frustration, "You, acting like you—like you care. Like you see me. People don’t do that, not for someone like me. I don’t—" You cut yourself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, your thoughts spiraling.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t believe him; it was that you didn’t know how to. Your experiences had taught you to be wary, always look for the catch, because there always was one.

Always.

Rafe's brows drawn together in something that almost looked like concern.

"Someone like you?" he repeated, "What does that even mean?"

You swallowed, feeling your insecurities gripping down on your chest.

"It means I’m not… like you. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t get things right all the time. People don’t notice me, and when they do, it’s usually because I’ve done something wrong, or because they want something from me. That’s just how it is."

He shook his head.

"That’s not how I see you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to dismiss what he was saying, to protect yourself from the disappointment that was sure to come.

Rafe didn’t give you the chance. 

"So I’m messing with you because you’re not like everyone else? Is that it? You think I’m playing some kind of game because you don’t fit into some stupid idea of who’s supposed to matter?" 

You wanted to recoil into the safety of your doubts, but something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you, made you stop.

"I’m not going to pretend like I know everything about you," Rafe continued, no less serious. "But I know enough to know that I like you. I don’t care if you don’t fit in with my world, or whatever you think that means. I like that you’re passionate about the things you care about. I like that you don’t put up with anyone’s shit—not even mine." A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ve spent enough time around fake people to know the difference."

You weren’t used to this kind of sincerity. Part of you still wanted to push it away, reject it before it had a chance to hurt you. But another part of you—a much smaller, quieter part—was whispering that maybe he meant it.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Cliché as fuck. So why were you shaking?

The two of you just stood there, the noise of the party fading while your mind was processing everything.

"I’m not… I’m not good at this," you admitted, "At understanding what people mean, or knowing if they’re being serious or not. I don’t know how to read you."

Rafe’s eyes softened even more at your confession, and he took a deep breath.

"I get that," he said quietly. "I’m not always great at this either. But I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, not about this."

You wanted to believe him. But there was still that tiny voice of doubt in the back of your mind, reminding you of all the times you’d been wrong before, of all the times you’d trusted someone only to be let down.

You hesitated, "I don’t know if I can."

He didn’d demand anything from you, instead, he nodded.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’ll be here when you’re ready."

With that, he stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed. That small, almost hopeful smile was gonna hunt you for the next days.

You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong about him after all.

[thepinkpanther83]

After reading your request blurbs/one shots and loving them. I decided to request my own.

Eddie lives by himself in an apartment building. You move in beside him and he's immediately smitten with you. You and Eddie talk in passing etc. Eddie is fed up having to hear the extent of the disappointing dates you keep bringing home. Eddie can hear everything going on in your bedroom/apartment because the walls are paper thin. You Eddie has had enough and decides he needs to show you how a good date is supposed to end so he asks you out next time he sees you.

You go in your date and hit it off. You two have great chemistry together. You end the night in his bed. You two barely spend anytime apart after that night. You and Eddie receive numerous noise complaints from your neighbors regarding noise levels coming from the bedroom but Eddie says he won't keep it down he can't help it.

You get the idea.

Thank you. Love your writing! 💕

The Girl Next Door

Story Request: “The Girl Next Door”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

This one’s for @daveythorntonslocker -thank you so much for this delightfully sinful request. The moment I read it, I knew I’d have to dive in headfirst and let Eddie get a little loud, a little possessive, and a whole lot handsy. You handed me a premise too juicy to resist, and I’m beyond excited to bring it to life. Get ready for noise complaints, neighborly tension, and one very determined metalhead who’s about to ruin you… sweetly, of course. 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary:

Living alone was working just fine for Eddie Munson… until she moved in.

The new girl next door is cute, charming, and clearly incapable of choosing a decent man to save her life. Eddie learns that the hard way when he starts hearing everything through the paper-thin walls of their apartment building. The bad jokes, the worse dates, the awkward, unsatisfying hookups that leave her sighing instead of satisfied.

He tries to ignore it. He really does. But there’s only so many nights a man can listen to that and not fantasize about showing her how it’s supposed to be done.

When he finally works up the nerve to ask her out, Eddie’s determined to give her the kind of date… and the kind of night, she’ll never forget. But once that line gets crossed, there’s no going back. Not when the chemistry’s this loud. Not when he’s waited this long to finally make her his.

Thin walls. Thicker tension. Zero plans to keep it down. Note: This is a multi-chapter story (5) within one post.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter One: “New Girl, Thin Walls” The apartment door sticks. You wrestle with it, hip-checking the warped frame with a grunt, arms full of grocery bags and a rolled-up welcome mat that’s already shedding glitter. The hallway light flickers above you- buzzing faintly like it’s as new to you as you are to it.

“Need a hand?”

The voice cuts through the stillness, and you glance up to see him- your neighbor, leaning casually against the doorframe of the apartment across from yours. Messy curls. A faded Judas Priest tee. A cigarette behind one ear, unlit but clearly forgotten. And that look- half amusement, half something else, something you’re too busy to examine.

You smile, breathless. “I got it, thanks.”

You don’t, but you’re stubborn, and he seems to get that, because he lets you struggle for a moment longer before stepping in anyway.

He takes two bags off your arms- without asking, and ducks into your new place like he’s been here before. You watch his shoulders shift beneath his shirt, and you don’t mean to, but your eyes linger. A few steps in, he sets the bags down on your kitchen counter, then glances around like he’s inspecting it for you. Like he already knows how the light hits at different hours of the day.

“I’m Eddie,” he says, turning to face you. His smile isn’t flirtatious- at least, not outright. It’s casual. Easy. Like it’s just for you. “I live next door.”

You give him your name in return, and when he repeats it back to you, it sounds a little different in his voice- softer, like he’s already memorizing it. Tucking it away for later.

“You just moving in?” he asks, though it’s obvious.

“Yeah. Today’s my first real day here.”

He nods. “Welcome to the castle. The walls are shit, the radiator clanks like it’s possessed, and the upstairs neighbor walks like he’s wearing lead boots. But… the rent’s cheap, and there’s a halfway decent pizza place down the street.”

You smile again. “Noted.”

And then, just before he steps out, he catches you humming- something under your breath, something you didn’t even realize you were doing. He freezes, eyes narrowing.

“Wait… is that Iron Maiden?”

You blink. “Yeah… ‘Revelations.’ It was on the radio earlier and got stuck in my head.”

Eddie grins so wide it’s like someone flipped a switch behind his eyes. “Okay, I was gonna say welcome, but now I’m saying officially welcomed.”

You laugh, and he lingers in the doorway a second longer than necessary. You don’t mind. Not even a little.

“I’ll catch you around,” he says, casual as ever, already backing into the hall.

“You will,” you reply, just as breezy. You’re not sure what you mean by it yet, but something about the way his gaze lingers says he’ll hold you to it.

He disappears next door. The hallway goes quiet.

And you, completely unaware, have just moved in across from Eddie Munson- the man who’s about to hear every word, every sound, and every sigh through paper-thin walls.

He doesn’t mean to listen.

At first.

The walls are shitty- that much he warned you about himself. But now he’s learning exactly how thin they really are. Because he can hear you through them. Clear as a bell.

He notices it the first night, when your laugh trickles through the drywall around 8:30. It’s light and breathy, followed by the clink of glasses. Someone else’s voice responds, deeper, male. Eddie frowns. Turns up his TV. Turns it back down again.

He tries to ignore it.

He fails.

The guy sounds like a douche. Says something about “commodity trading” and “networking potential,” and Eddie nearly chokes on his soda. You’re polite- he can hear it in your voice, the soft “Oh, cool” you give like a peace offering. But it’s fake. He can tell.

Then comes the awkward pause. The forced shift in conversation. Another round of that uncomfortable laugh Eddie’s now learned to recognize. It's not the real one, the one he heard when you said Iron Maiden in that first conversation, like it was second nature. This one’s the filler laugh. The please leave now laugh.

Eventually, the guy does leave.

But he’s not the last.

Over the next few weeks, Eddie hears the door across the hall open and close at increasingly weirder hours. Different shoes. Different voices. One guy calls you “babe” on the second date. Another seems to have no idea what band is on your t-shirt. A third- Eddie’s personal favorite, can’t figure out how to unhook your bra, and stammers something about needing “more light.”

Eddie muffles a groan against his pillow.

He can’t stop hearing it. Every creak of your mattress, every embarrassed sigh, every clumsy kiss that lands too hard, too fast. He hears the disappointment in your voice- the quiet “yeah, that’s fine” after the guy finishes too quickly, the sigh when he doesn’t ask if you did.

It drives him nuts.

He tells himself it’s none of his business. That he doesn’t care. That he’s just being a nosy neighbor with too much time on his hands.

But when you giggle at something dumb one of them says- too high, too fake, and just a little too late, Eddie throws his arm over his eyes and growls, "Jesus H. Christ."

A moment of silence.

Then, softer, quieter, like a secret:

“Just give me twenty minutes with her and she’ll never go back to these assholes…”

The worst part isn’t the bad dates.

It’s hearing you talk about them later.

It happens on a quiet Sunday afternoon, and Eddie’s sprawled on his couch, chewing stale pretzels and thumbing through an old issue of Hit Parader when your voice filters through the wall- louder than usual, like you're on the phone.

“…I don’t know,” you sigh. “He was fine. Nice enough, I guess. But it’s like…”

A pause. He hears the rustle of your couch, the clink of a mug.

“…like I’m the only one trying. Every guy I go out with lately either thinks I'm gonna fall for the first bar tab they cover, or they’re trying to get laid before I’ve even sat down.”

Eddie blinks, magazine forgotten.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on the sex,” you say, laughing dryly. “I faked it. Again. I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually enjoy it.”

You groan. “God, is that depressing? That sounds depressing.”

Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

He should stop listening. Really. This is absolutely crossing a line.

But you keep going, and something inside him just... crumples.

“It’s like nobody wants to know me. Not really. They just want the cliff-notes version. The girl with the band tees and the bedroom eyes. But the second I say something weird or get too into a song or ask about their childhood… poof. It’s awkward silence or they start talking about their dick size.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. His heart is pounding in his chest. He presses his fist to his mouth.

And then, quieter- so soft he almost misses it:

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hard to love.”

That’s what undoes him.

Not the sex talk. Not the parade of guys.

That line. That goddamn line.

He sits there for a long time after you hang up, staring at the water stain on his ceiling, teeth clenched so hard his jaw aches. Then, sometime after midnight, after his third failed attempt at sleep, he throws the covers off with a frustrated grunt.

Rolls onto his back. Stares at the ceiling.

Pulls the pillow over his face and mutters:

“Just one night, sweetheart. That’s all I’d need. One night to show you you’re not hard to love at all.”

Chapter Two: “Enough’s Enough” The laundry room’s as grimy as ever- half-lit and humming, all chipped tile and lint dust. One of the overhead fluorescents flickers like it’s on its deathbed. Eddie’s elbow-deep in a busted vending machine, trying to coax out a rogue pack of gum with a bent coat hanger and absolutely not expecting company.

Until your voice floats in, bright and breezy.

“You know they restock that thing on Thursdays, right?”

He freezes. Turns.

And there you are.

Hair done, face glowing, outfit absolutely illegal. Skirt swaying just enough to give him heart palpitations, little boots clicking across the tile. You’ve got a laundry bag slung over your shoulder and your headphones around your neck, humming something he recognizes- a little Bowie, maybe? Or Talking Heads? Doesn’t matter. You’re a vision, and he’s a guy with a coat hanger and stolen gum in his hand.

He schools his face into something nonchalant.

“Yeah, well. Some of us like a challenge.” He drops the coat hanger into the basket beside him, straightens up. “What are you doing down here? I thought you had your laundry day pegged for Tuesdays.”

You shrug, brushing past him to toss your load into the next washer over. “Got off work early. Thought I’d knock it out before my date tonight.”

Eddie pauses.

Date.

The word lingers in the air, sharp and unwelcome, like cigarette smoke in a closed car.

You don’t notice the change in his expression. You’re too busy tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, humming again, setting your phone on top of the washer like it’s just another Thursday and not a knife to the gut.

And that’s when it hits him- how many little run-ins there’ve been since you moved in. Elevator chitchat. Passing in the hall. That time you helped him pick up his spilled groceries, he never fully recovered from the glimpse of your Ramones tee and pink Converse. The way you always smile like you see him. Not just nod-and-pass neighbor courtesy- like you really see him.

And still, here you are. Getting dressed up. For another idiot.

Another idiot who isn’t him.

You’re loading your detergent when Eddie leans back against the machine, arms folded, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

“So…” he starts casually, eyes flicking to your outfit, “this date like a boyfriend or something?”

You shoot him a glance over your shoulder. “Nuh uh. Another first date.”

He raises an eyebrow, letting that hang for a moment before he deadpans: “Let me guess- date number six, some guy who talks about money laundering and calls his mom ‘babe’?”

Your head snaps around, eyes wide. “What?!”

Eddie shrugs, looking entirely too smug. “I’m just sayin’. You’ve got a type.”

You laugh- an actual, full-bodied laugh, caught so off guard by the sheer absurdity of it. A little blush creeps into your cheeks as you turn back to the washer, hiding behind the clatter of the lid.

“Okay, ouch,” you say, amused. “He didn’t call his mom ‘babe,’ he just… he had a weird relationship with her.”

Eddie gives you a look like, yeah, that’s not better, and makes a quiet mmmhm sound, clearly biting back more commentary.

You shake your head, but you’re still smiling. “Wait- how’d you even know about that one?”

He falters for the briefest moment, then recovers with a smirk and a low, teasing:

“Thin walls, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks darken just a bit more, your posture straightening. “Oh god, you’ve heard…?”

He holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I keep a journal or anything. Just… you know. Patterns.”

You give him a playful glare, but there’s a new flicker of something behind your eyes now. Curiosity. Embarrassment. A touch of heat. And a dawning realization.

You’re still half-laughing, half-cringing at the idea of Eddie overhearing your greatest dating hits when he leans in, eyes flicking over you- not just your outfit this time, but you. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're flustered. The curve of your lips trying to hide that smirk. The way your perfume wraps around him, subtle and maddening.

He licks his bottom lip and drops his voice just a touch lower. Still teasing, but now there’s something molten underneath it.

“Tell you what…” he murmurs, fingers tapping the lid of the washer like a drum roll, “Why don’t you let me show you how a date’s supposed to end?”

The line drops between you both like a match in gasoline.

You blink, startled. “Wait- what?”

His grin widens, cocky and earnest all at once. “You heard me.”

“I… thought you weren’t interested.”

Eddie tilts his head. “I’ve been one bad date away from kicking down your door and offering my services.”

You stare at him, caught completely off guard, and when you don’t say anything right away, he softens- just slightly. “Look, if I’m outta line, you can totally ignore me. But I’ve been listening to you settle for the worst guys in town and thinking… if you gave me one shot, I could show you it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Your mouth goes dry. “You mean like… a date?”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping a little closer, voice quieter now- less performance, more intent. “An actual date. No weird money laundering, no calling my mom ‘babe.’ Just… you, me, maybe a good record spinning and something decent to eat. And if we end up back in one of our beds, it won’t be disappointing, I promise you that.”

You stare at him for a moment- longer than a beat, honestly, and then: “…Okay.”

He blinks. “Wait- okay okay?”

You nod, tucking your lip between your teeth. “Yeah. Okay. Surprise me.”

And oh, baby, the way he lights up at that? You’d think he just won the lottery. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.

“Cool. Cool cool cool. Uh, how’s tomorrow?”

You smile. “Looking forward to it, Munson.”

“Don’t go on any more bad dates until then.”

“I won’t if you don’t let me down.”

He holds your gaze, all confidence now. “I won’t.”

Chapter Three: “One Good Date”

You don't know what you expected when you said yes to Eddie Munson, but it wasn’t… this.

Not the warm, buttery curl of a guitar riff rolling from his tape deck. Not the way he opens the car door for you like a total gentleman, only to hop around and fist the air when his van actually starts on the first try. Not the way he grins like your laughter is the entire point of the evening.

“You like Patsy Cline?” he asks, sliding a glance your way as her voice croons through the speakers. His ringed fingers drum against the wheel in rhythm, loose and casual.

“Only when I’m wearing cowboy boots and crying on a porch.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “Damn. You’re dangerous.”

The diner he takes you to is nothing special- a hole-in-the-wall joint tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat, but it’s his. The waitress knows him by name, pours his coffee before he even asks, and gives you a subtle up-down like she’s trying to solve a mystery.

He orders a patty melt with extra pickles. You get a burger, fries and a milkshake. He steals one, boldly, right off your plate without asking.

“That’s a felony,” you say, mock-gasping.

“You’ve got sauce and no defense system. I had to.” He shrugs. “This is a war crime, actually- your ketchup-to-fry ratio is criminal.”

You toss a balled up napkin at him. He catches it. Smirks.

After dinner, you walk. The streets are quiet, painted orange and blue under flickering lamps. Your hands brush once, twice, before his pinky hooks yours on the third try and stays.

Neither of you talk about it.

Instead, he makes you laugh. He does impressions- bad ones. Bowie, Kermit, your nosy old neighbor with the crusty poodle. You toss your head back, shoulders shaking, and he looks at you like you’re a sunrise made just for him.

“What?” you ask, catching him staring.

He shrugs again, slow and a little shy. “You’re just… really easy to be around.”

You look away, hiding a smile. “Yeah. You too.”

And somewhere between laughing at his God-awful Walkman playlist and mock-threatening to steal his jacket, it clicks.

Not a loud, obvious snap. Just something soft. Natural. Like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

He gets you. And you’re starting to realize you might want to get him too.

Eddie unlocks his apartment with a flick of his wrist, kicking the door open gently with the toe of his boot. He steps aside to let you in first, and the moment you cross the threshold, it feels like something changes.

The air is warm, thick with quiet music drifting from a record he must’ve left spinning earlier- The Kinks, lo-fi and crackly. The lights are low, golden, and everything smells faintly like cedarwood, weed, and the cherry cola he spilled on the rug last week and never really cleaned up. It's lived-in. It’s him.

You glance over your shoulder, amused. “Didn’t take you for a mood lighting guy.”

He shrugs off his jacket, tosses it onto the couch. “I contain multitudes.”

You walk in slowly, fingertips grazing the top of his bookshelf, the side of a worn amp, the edge of his dining table that clearly hasn’t seen a proper meal in months. Every corner tells a story.

Behind you, he hovers. Watching. Waiting.

You turn to face him- just the two of you now, silence settling soft, and curious in the space between.

“So…” you murmur, head tilted, a ghost of a grin on your lips. “Is this where the good date ends?”

Eddie’s gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. His own smile curls slow, dangerous.

“Nah,” he says, voice low and thick as honey. He takes one step closer. “It’s just getting started, sweetheart.”

Chapter Four: “Walls be Damned”

The moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you, it’s like gravity shifts. Like the entire night has been leading to this- not just a kiss, not just the buzz of good chemistry and lingering stares, but this crushing inevitability between you.

Eddie’s eyes darken as they lock onto yours, and for the first time since this date began, he looks unsure of what to do with his hands.

You solve that for him.

You step forward, curl your fingers into the collar of his flannel- his second favorite one, the one soft with wear and smelling like weed and laundry soap, and you tug him down just enough to kiss him.

It starts slow. Careful. Testing.

But it ends messy.

Teeth. Tongue. A soft moan into his mouth like you’ve been starved for this, like you need him closer than physics should allow.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters when you part just enough to breathe. “Been thinkin’ about this since the first time I heard you laugh through the wall.”

You lean in again, tugging at his flannel. “Then take it off.”

He does. Fast. The flannel hits the floor, followed by the black tee beneath it. You step back to drink him in- pale, inked, lean. He’s wiry muscle and soft belly, and those arms, those veins, that trail of hair down his stomach that disappears into his jeans. Your mouth actually waters.

“Jesus Christ,” you murmur.

Eddie grins, cocky and pink in the cheeks. “That good, huh?”

You answer by lifting your own shirt, slow and deliberate. He watches every inch of skin as it’s revealed, eyes glazed, lips parted.

When your bra comes off too, he stumbles forward like he forgot how to stand still.

“Fuck me, you're-” His mouth finds your neck first. Then your collarbone. He takes his time, open-mouthed kisses that drag lower and lower while his hands slide up your waist. “Been thinking about this. About you. Every goddamn night…”

You gasp when he mouths at your chest, teeth grazing just enough to make you twitch.

“Bed?” you whisper, desperate now, your legs trembling from nothing but anticipation.

He nods, breathing hard, and leads you there- hand in yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. Clothes come off in pieces along the way. Shoes kicked off. Your jeans shimmying down your hips. His belt undone with one good tug.

By the time you both reach the bed, you’re in nothing but your panties, and he’s down to his boxers. The sight of him- flushed, pupils blown wide, tattoos, ringed-fingers twitching with restraint- is almost enough to make you come undone on the spot.

Eddie pulls back slightly, chest heaving, voice rough. “You ready for this?”

Your answer is to cup the back of his neck and drag him down into another kiss- one that’s all tongue and need, one that says yes, yes, yes, more.

The mattress barely dips under your weight before Eddie’s hands are on your thighs, spreading you open like he’s unveiling a secret he’s waited a lifetime to see.

He settles between your legs, reverent. Slow. His hands glide up the backs of your knees, dragging your legs over his shoulders as he sinks to the floor in front of the bed- like a sinner ready to confess at the altar of your body.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes, eyes locked on the damp cotton clinging to your cunt. “You’re soaked.”

You squirm under his stare, your chest rising and falling in uneven waves. “Eddie-”

“No, let me,” he murmurs, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties. “Let me take care of you.”

He peels them down, inch by inch, and when he finally gets his first unobstructed look at you, his mouth falls open.

“Jesus H…” he whispers. “You’re perfect.”

Then he leans in and groans- a low, wrecked sound, before kissing the inside of your thigh. Then the other. Then just above your clit, warm breath ghosting over you like a tease.

You whimper, hips twitching. “Eddie… please.”

“Oh, baby,” he says, voice dropping to something soft and molten, “I’m gonna make you say my name a whole lot sweeter than that.”

He licks a long, slow stripe up your center- flat tongue, full pressure, and your body arches like it’s been set on fire.

Eddie moans against you, genuinely, like the taste of you is enough to short-circuit his brain. “Fuck, you taste so good. So fucking sweet. Like I knew you would.”

He doesn’t rush. No, he savors. Tongue working in tight, deliberate strokes, pausing to suck your clit into his mouth gently before letting go, dragging his tongue over it again until your legs are shaking.

And the whole time? His eyes stay locked on yours- dark, hungry, desperate to see what he’s doing to you.

“You’re already close, huh?” he murmurs, his voice husky, lips glistening with your slick. “I can feel you shaking, sweetheart.”

You can barely speak, fingers fisted in the sheets, moaning open-mouthed as he drags the tip of his tongue in circles around your clit.

“You think those other assholes could ever make you feel like this?” he growls, kissing your inner thigh again, then diving back in with more intensity- licking deep, sucking harder. “No one else gets to see you like this. Just me. You understand?”

You nod frantically, gasping. “Yes… fuck, yes, Eddie-!”

He slides one finger into you, slow and careful, then another. You’re so wet it’s effortless, but he’s still gentle- watching your face, gauging your reactions, curling them just right until he finds that spot that makes you cry out.

“There she is…” he smirks, his voice wrecked with want. “You gonna cum for me, baby? All over my tongue?”

When you do, it hits like a tidal wave- back arching, toes curling, hands flying to his hair as you grind against his mouth without even realizing it.

Eddie moans into it. Keeps licking you through it like a man possessed, one arm wrapping under your thigh to hold you still while the other fucks you slow and deep until your body gives out.

You collapse against the bed, trembling, chest heaving. And still, he doesn’t leave. He kisses your pussy like he’s saying thank you. Like he’s grateful.

He finally crawls up the bed, chin wet, pupils blown, and kisses you like he wants you to taste yourself on his tongue.

“You good?” he asks softly, resting his forehead to yours.

You nod. Just barely. “I- I think I saw God.”

Eddie chuckles, voice raspy. “Good. That was the warm-up.”

He’s still catching his breath when you pull him up, greedy hands tugging until he crashes into you- mouth hot, open, wet against yours. You kiss him like you’re starved for it, tongue sweeping past his lips, tasting yourself on him.

Eddie’s stunned at first- caught off guard by the force of it. The need. But then he melts into it, groaning low in his throat as you roll your hips against his.

“You tryna kill me, sweetheart?” he pants, lips brushing yours. “Because that might’ve just done it.”

You smile, eyes dark and dangerous. “You’re not the only one who’s been fantasizing.”

He doesn’t even get the chance to respond before you’re pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his lap with your thighs bracketing his hips. His breath stutters as your fingers take in the contours of his lean, wiry muscles that you’ve only seen in flashes before.

You rake your nails lightly down his chest and smile when he shivers under your touch. “God, look at you.”

Eddie smirks, cocky but flustered. “Pretty sure you’re the vision here.”

But that bravado slips a little when you rock against him deliberately, your bare heat grinding over the bulge in his boxers. His jaw drops open, hands flying to your hips.

“Holy fuck… d-don’t do that unless you want this to be over real fast,” he groans.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear, voice all sugar and venom. “Then maybe you should take your boxers off before I tear them open.”

He laughs- choked and breathless, but obeys fast, lifting his hips while you help slide his boxers down. And when you get your first look at him, thick and flushed and leaking just for you, you actually gasp.

“Jesus, Eddie…”

“Is that a good gasp?” he asks, sounding dazed.

You nod slowly, fingers curling around the base of him, marveling at the weight of him in your hand. “Oh yeah. Very good.”

He’s already panting when you stroke him once. Then again. His head tips back, his chest rising in short bursts, like he’s physically trying not to lose it.

“Fuck, baby, please don’t tease,” he begs, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve been dreaming about this too long, I- shit… please-”

But you’re already shifting, lining him up. And the second he feels your slick heat start to take him in, his entire body tenses.

“Oh- oh my god- you’re- holy fuck, you’re so warm,” he gasps, one hand fisting the sheets, the other gripping your thigh. “So fuckin’ tight-”

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, watching his face the whole time- how his lashes flutter, how his mouth drops open around a groan that turns nearly into a whimper.

“Jesus Christ,” he growls, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

You smile, hips settling flush to his, full and stretching in all the best ways. “Good.”

And then you move- slow at first, rocking your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding down hard at just the right angle.

Eddie’s undone. Eyes wide. Mouth slack. Hands gripping your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

“Goddamn,” he gasps. “Look at you- riding me like that. Taking every inch like you were made for me.”

You moan, back arching as he hits that spot deep inside you, over and over. “Feels- so good, Eddie… fuck-”

“You feel like heaven,” he pants, sitting up so he can kiss you again, sloppy and desperate, lips crashing into yours as his hands grip your ass, urging you faster.

It’s messy. Hot. Raw. Mutual obsession in motion. You’re clawing at each other, breathing into each other’s mouths, trading filthy words between kisses.

And just when it gets too good, when your rhythm falters and you fall forward, chests pressed together- Eddie wraps his arms around you like he never plans to let go.

“Mine,” he whispers into your shoulder, thrusting up into you now with slow, deep rolls. “You’re mine tonight. You understand?”

You nod into his hair, voice breaking. “Yours.”

And God help anyone who tries to break this spell.

You don’t even realize you’re getting loud until the bang hits the wall.

A sharp thud-thud-thud, angry knuckles pounding from the other side of the drywall- followed by a muffled shout that sounds something like, “Keep it down, Jesus Christ!”

You freeze for half a second, breath caught in your throat.

But Eddie?

Eddie fucking laughs.

A wicked, breathless sound that starts low in his chest and spills into your neck as he rolls his hips deeper, harder- fucking you slow, cruel, and possessive. Like he wants the whole building to hear you break for him again.

“Oh no,” he murmurs darkly, voice all grit and gravel, “don’t stop now, sweetheart. Let ‘em hear you.”

You whimper as he thrusts again, angled just right, pressure hitting deep.

“Not my fault they’ve got paper-thin walls and tragic sex lives,” he grits out, gripping your hips, holding you in place like you might float away otherwise. “You think I give a fuck if they hear you cummin’?”

Another thrust- deeper this time, grinding into that devastating angle, and your entire body tightens around him.

He groans, eyes wild. “Yeah, that’s it. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Eddie-” You can’t even finish the sentence.

“That’s right,” he pants, licking into your mouth. “Cum for me. Right fucking now- let ‘em bang on the damn ceiling, I’m not stopping till you scream.”

Your orgasm rushes through you. Blinding. Overwhelming. You sob into his shoulder, clinging to him like he’s the last thing tethering you to the Earth as you come apart with a broken cry.

And that’s all it takes- he follows right after, buried so deep inside you he feels like part of your bones. His whole body goes taut, muscles straining, breath caught. And then-

“Fuck- fuck- fuuuck-”

He cums with a strangled moan, voice raw as he spills into you, hips still rocking in slow, grounding pulses.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

Just breathing. Holding. Sweating through the afterglow in each other’s arms.

Somewhere, a door slams. A car alarm chirps. The world keeps spinning outside.

But in this apartment?

There’s only the two of you.

Finally, Eddie pulls back just enough to look at you- his eyes all soft mischief and post-orgasmic haze.

“You think the whole building heard that?” he teases, thumb brushing your cheek.

You snort, barely able to catch your breath. “If they didn’t, they’re deaf.”

“Good.” He grins, kisses your jaw. “Maybe they’ll spread the word and your past dates will finally learn how it’s supposed to be done.”

You shake your head, laughing breathlessly, chest still fluttering.

“The neighbors can go to hell,” he mutters against your skin. “They’ll just have to get used to it.”

Chapter Five: “Standing Ovation”

You wake up warm. Heavy limbs tangled in bedsheets and another body. Eddie’s body.

His thigh is thrown over yours, weighty and relaxed, one arm slung across your waist like he’s worried someone might come in and steal you in the middle of the night. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, hair tickling your skin, breath coming in slow, warm exhales that melt through your ribs.

For a long moment, you don’t move. Just breathe. Soak in the sheer quiet of it all.

Then, a low, scratchy voice grumbles against your throat:

“Mornin’,” Eddie mutters, clearly half-asleep. “Still here?”

You smile. “Still here.”

He hums, presses a lazy kiss just below your jaw. “Good.”

Eventually, he rolls away with a dramatic groan and flops onto his back. His curls are a total mess, eyes barely open, chest dusted with sleep-warm stubble and lazy stretches. You try not to stare, but it’s hard when the man looks like an accidental centerfold.

“You hungry?” he asks, rubbing one eye. “I make a mean hangover toast.”

“You have hangover toast?”

“I call it that ‘cause I always make it when I’ve had too much whiskey or sex the night before.”

You snort. “Whiskey or sex?”

“Sometimes both. Last night definitely qualifies.”

He winks, rolls out of bed, and pads naked toward the kitchen, muttering about burnt bagels and “where the hell did I put the butter.” You throw on one of his shirts- band tee, faded and soft, and follow the smell of instant coffee and cheap toaster oven heat.

He hands you a chipped mug and leans in to kiss your temple. “You know, you look good in my clothes. Dangerous.”

“Gonna kick me out so I don’t steal your whole wardrobe?”

“Oh no,” he says with a sly grin, crowding you against the counter. “I’m planning on you staying long enough to earn full closet privileges.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that… a thing?”

He kisses you again, slow and sweet this time. “It is now.”

You don’t talk about it- don’t make any official declarations or have a drawer-clearing ceremony, but something shifts after that night.

Suddenly, it’s not your errands and his errands anymore. It’s just errands. Plural. Shared. Like everything else.

Grocery runs become a full-on operation. You sit in the passenger seat of his van, feet on the dash, helping him rank cereals based on their likelihood to survive a munchies binge. He complains loudly when you veto Count Chocula for the third week in a row.

“Why do you hate joy?” he groans, tossing a box of Shredded Wheat into the cart like it personally insulted him.

“Because I value fiber,” you say, and he rolls his eyes but still lets you sneak your favorite brand of tea into the cart.

And then there’s the laundry.

It’s not glamorous. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The dryers rattle. Some kid is crying over a broken gumball machine. But there’s something almost sweet about watching Eddie fold your underwear like it’s a sacred ritual. Half the time he holds up your panties and whistles, making a show of examining the lace or stretching the elastic dramatically.

“Now this,” he says, holding a pair up like it’s high art, “should be framed.”

You chuck a sock at him, but it just makes him laugh.

Movie nights are sacred. Pillows piled high on the couch, legs tangled under the same blanket. He insists on popcorn even when neither of you wants it and quotes The Evil Dead like it’s Shakespeare. You tease him when he jumps during Poltergeist- he swears it was just a “muscle twitch.” His arm slides around your shoulder like it belongs there, and by the end of the film, you’re practically sitting in his lap.

You leave your toothbrush at his place. Then your shampoo. A sweatshirt. A pair of fuzzy socks. One day he opens his fridge and there’s oat milk and pre-sliced strawberries and says, “Jesus Christ, I’m soft for you.”

But it’s not just the stuff. It’s the rhythm. The quiet, natural ease of it. The way he always grabs two forks without asking. The way you kiss his temple when he’s tinkering with his guitar. The way he’ll pause a song just to tell you, “Hey, you know I like you, right?”

You’re not just dating Eddie Munson now. You’re living in the same song.

There’s a knock on your door.

Eddie’s inside your apartment, barefoot, hair damp from a shower, one of your oversized sweatshirts hanging loose on his frame- claim enough already. He’s in the kitchen, spoon-deep in peanut butter, humming something low and off-key when the knock comes.

You don’t think twice about answering it.

But he hears the voice before he sees the guy.

“Hey… wow. You look good.”

Eddie’s head lifts like a dog catching the scent of a threat. His hum dies off. His body goes still.

You’re in the doorway, blocking most of the view, but not all of it. A guy- tall, forgettable, khaki-core, some pretty-boy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, is standing there, giving you a once-over that makes Eddie’s grip on the spoon tighten.

You laugh awkwardly. “Uh… hey, J-Josh, right? What are you doing here?”

Josh. Fucking Josh. Eddie recognizes the name from a story you told- casual hookup, boring in bed, kept calling himself a ‘giver’ but never proved it.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Josh says, leaning against the doorframe like it’s supposed to be charming. “Figured I’d see if you wanted to hang out. Like old times.”

Eddie doesn’t wait for you to answer.

He steps into the doorway behind you, his presence like a pressure shift in the room. Heavy. Unignorable.

Josh looks past you, expression faltering the second he sees Eddie- damp curls, bruised lips, the telltale red scratches down his neck. He’s still holding the peanut butter spoon. Still wearing your sweatshirt.

But it’s the look in his eyes that does it- dark, slow-burning, wolfish.

Eddie licks the spoon, deliberate. “You’re Josh, huh?”

Josh straightens a little. “Yeah. And you are?”

Eddie smiles, all teeth. “I’m the guy who made her forget your name.”

Josh frowns. “Look, I don’t want any trouble-”

“Then don’t come to her door,” Eddie snaps, stepping closer. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. It’s the kind of cold that stings worse than heat. “Especially not with that weak-ass smirk like she’s gonna drop everything just ‘cause you showed up in your midlife-crisis cologne.”

Josh opens his mouth, but Eddie cuts him off.

“She’s not interested. Not in you. Not in whatever boring shit you think you’re offering.” He tilts his head, eyes dragging lazily over Josh like he’s sizing up a stain. “And just so we’re clear? If you knock again, she won’t be the one answering next time. I’ll just be the one slamming the door in your face.”

You’re frozen in place, blinking at him as Josh finally mutters something pathetic and walks off with his tail between his legs.

Eddie closes the door slowly, clicks the lock.

Then turns to you with a shrug, spoon back in his mouth like the whole thing was casual.

“What?” he mumbles. “He thought he still had a chance. That’s cute.”

You just stare at him, breath caught somewhere between aroused and amused.

He steps close, hands sliding to your hips.

“You okay?” he asks, softer now. “Was that too much?”

You shake your head. “No. That was… honestly kinda hot.”

His grin is slow and wicked. “Yeah? Good.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw, voice thick with pride. “Had to remind you you’re mine now.”

You’ve barely taken a sip of your drink when Naomi zeroes in with laser precision. “So…” she sings, dragging the word out like it’s foreplay. “You and the guy next door with the sexy hair- are we finally gonna talk about it, or do we just keep pretending that isn't the reason you keep ghosting our lunch dates?”

You choke a little on your mimosa. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she grins. “You’ve got that ‘freshly ravished’ glow and a neck hickey shaped like Texas. We know things.”

Bree leans in, fork mid-air. “Yeah, who is he? We’ve seen him. He’s hot in that scruffy, ‘definitely owns a leather jacket and a criminal record’ sort of way. Are you dating him or just… using him for protein?”

You blink. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Naomi says with a smirk, “that man walks around like he’s been doing squats with your soul.”

You try to bite back a smile and fail spectacularly. “Okay, fine. Yes. I’m… seeing him.”

The table erupts.

Shrieking. Fist pumps. Someone slaps the table hard enough to rattle the silverware.

Naomi winks. “God bless ripped jeans, leather jackets, and that man’s hair.”

Later… You’re half under him on the couch- movie playing, legs tangled, his hand lazily stroking over your hip, when you casually mention brunch.

“They said what?” he asks, grinning like he already knows he’s about to be insufferable.

You groan, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“No, no, no.” He pauses the movie, shifts to loom over you like a smug panther. “Rewind. Play it back. Use the brunch voice.”

“Eddie-”

“Brunch voice, sweetheart.”

You bury your face in your hands. “They said... you walk around like you’ve been doing squats with my soul.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then his entire face lights up.

“Ohhh my god.” He flops dramatically onto your chest, laughing like he’s just been handed an award. “That’s it. I’m getting that shit tattooed on my ribs. In cursive. With little sparkles around it.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And sexy. Don’t forget sexy, apparently.”

He props himself up on his elbows, eyes dancing. “God bless your little feral crew of friends. What else did they say? Did they rank my hair? Compare it to a rock god’s? Please say they did.”

You swat at him, but you’re laughing too hard to commit. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he murmurs, nosing along your jaw. “You told your friends about my soul squats. That’s real love, baby.”

It starts innocently enough. A spare toothbrush on his sink. A pair of fuzzy socks under the couch. Your lotion in his medicine cabinet. One of your oversized tees folded neatly in his drawer- by him. Not by you.

Then come the nights where you don’t even pretend to leave.

Your side of the bed gets a pillow that smells like your shampoo. Your name on the pizza delivery app. Your laugh echoing through his apartment while you load the dishwasher in your underwear, hips swaying to his music playing from the stereo.

You’re everywhere. And Eddie Munson is utterly gone for it.

He doesn’t just love having you here- he needs it. Like a drug. Like the high’s best when you’re sprawled in his bed, thighs sticky and breathless, curled under his arm while he counts the beats of your heart against his ribs.

But with great pleasure comes great volume.

And your neighbors?

They’ve noticed.

It starts with one note slipped under the door:

“Some of us have work in the morning.”

Eddie pins it to the fridge like a trophy.

The next week, it’s a three-paragraph manifesto on “respectable decibel levels.”

He reads it aloud- naked, while you’re still catching your breath, legs trembling, one hand dragging down your sweat-slick thigh like you’re trying to ground yourself. He smirks, eyes dark, body buzzing from the way you still flinch when he brushes his mouth against your bare shoulder.

Then one night, as you’re moaning his name into the mattress and clawing at the sheets, the banging on the wall hits an almost comedic level- thump thump thump followed by a muffled “Oh my GOD!”

Eddie barely pauses.

Grins against your thigh. Keeps going like a man starved.

When he finally crawls up your body- mouth glistening, eyes blown wide with lust, he pants the words directly into your ear:

“Come on, sweetheart, I’m trying to make you louder. Every single knock on that wall? That’s a standing ovation.”

And the next sound out of your mouth? Applause-worthy.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

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