thnksfrthquinn

[thnksfrthquinn]

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

this was supposed to be your daddy…

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 — you had it all planned out. the wallet Erik kept eyeing at the store? bought and tucked away. his favorite cologne, the snacks he loved, and the socks he claimed “mysteriously disappeared” every week? wrapped and hidden. you had even picked out the perfect card, handwritten with your favorite memories of him as a dad. and a little drawing your son had made folded inside a card you helped him write. you even had tiny handprints stamped in paint and framed, ready to make him tear up like he always did when it came to your little boy. every detail perfected. the plan was to wake up before him, decorate the kitchen table, and surprise him like he deserved. but of course… Erik beat you to it. you stirred awake that morning, confused by the warm light in the room and the empty spot beside you in bed. when you sat up, you were met with the smell of breakfast something sweet, something savory, and the faint sound of little feet running across the hardwood floor. then, a knock on the door “Mommy!” a tiny voice giggled, followed by a clumsy push as the door creaked open. your son peeked in, messy haired and smiling, holding a bouquet nearly half his size. a mix of your favorite flowers; sunflowers, peonies, wild daisies spilling over the edges of his arms. “daddy says happy fathers day to you” he said proudly, barely understanding the meaning behind the words. Erik appeared behind him, shirt slightly wrinkled, smile wide “happy father’s day baby” he murmured as he leaned in to kiss your temple “or should I say… thank you for making me a father.” you blinked, slightly confused and still dazed. he walked over, setting a tray of breakfast down on the edge of the bed. pancakes shaped like little hearts, fruit on the side, coffee just how you liked it. then, he handed you a folded piece of paper, edges a little bent, colored in with crayon and scribbled pen. you opened it. inside was a hand drawn card, a messy sketch of the three of you Erik, your son, and you holding hands beneath a stick figure sun. beneath it, in Erik’s neater handwriting it read “thank you for the love you give, the life you brought into this world, you didn’t just make me a father you made me the best version of myself.” your throat tightened, “you were supposed to be the one getting spoiled today” you managed to say. Erik just grinned, settling beside you on the bed as your son climbed up between you both “I already got the best gift. every day when I look at you two.” you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as your son leaned into your lap, playing with the petals of the flowers he’d brought. Erik kissed the top of your head again. later, when you finally got to give him your own surprise gifts, Erik smiled so big you thought your heart might burst. he pulled you into a hug, held you close, whispered “thank you for everything. you made me a father.” and even though it was technically father’s day, Erik made sure you knew, you were just as much a reason to celebrate

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 — the basket sat on the kitchen table, wrapped neatly in soft tissue and ribbon. you had filled it with all of Tommy’s favorite things, along with a new mug that said #1 Dad (almost), a little framed ultrasound photo, and tucked beneath it all, a tiny white onesie that read “daddy’s first father’s day.” next year, your baby would wear it. this year, Tommy just stared at it like he couldn’t wait. you watched him from the couch, your belly full and round, he walked over slowly, knelt beside you, and laid his head beneath your bump like it was the only place in the world he wanted to be. his hand spread gently across your belly, thumb brushing over the stretch marks you were still getting used to. he didn’t look at them the way you did, to him they were everything. “Tommy” you said softly, running your fingers through his buzzed hair “are you sure you don’t want to do anything? I made plans for us to celebrate you today.” he didn’t answer at first just pressed a kiss to the side of your stomach, then looked up at you with those soft tired eyes. “I’d rather be here” he said “like this.” you let out a little breathy laugh, brushing your thumb down to his cheek, then to his ear lovingly. “you already gave me everything” he whispered “I don’t need anything else.” the baby kicked once, just gentle enough to make his hand shift. he smiled slow, and a little teary. the kind of smile he only gave you when he didn’t know how else to show how much he felt. he tucked his face into your belly again, arms loosely wrapped around your waist like he was protecting both of you from the whole world. “I don’t know how I got this lucky” he murmured into your skin “I don’t even care if I never figure it out.” you didn’t say anything back. you just kept your fingers in his hair, your other hand resting over his on your belly, and the three of you stayed like that. and even though the baby hadn’t arrived yet… Tommy was already the kind of father you always knew he’d be

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 — it wasn’t his first Father’s Day but this one felt different. maybe it was the way your daughter had insisted on coloring a crooked heart next to the words “best dad ever” in her homemade card, or maybe it was the weight of your newborn son sleeping soundly against your chest, his little hand curled near your collarbone. maybe it was just that Elliott had become even more of a father in these past few weeks sleepless nights, baby bottles, diapers, and still somehow enough energy left to braid your daughter’s hair and make her laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world. you leaned against the bathroom doorframe, baby boy in your arms, watching him as he stood at the mirror. fresh from the shower, towel slung low around his waist, his skin still damp. he ran a razor carefully along his jaw, shaving down the dark stubble until only the mustache remained a little signature look of his, something that made you smile every time. he caught your eyes in the mirror, flashing you that familiar smirk. “how do I look?” you barely had to even think about it “Handsome.” you replied, he looked away for a second like you still made him nervous, even after all this time. then he tossed the razor aside, wiped down the sink, and turned toward you, arms already outstretched for the baby. “here, let me take him so you can go get dressed.” you both took turns, tag teaming parenthood as you always did. while he changed the baby and helped your daughter into her dress, you slipped into your own dress, touching up your makeup with one hand, smoothing your dress with the other. you loaded up the car, Elliott clicking the carseat into place while your daughter climbed in with her sparkly shoes and tiny purse full of plastic makeup. you sat in the passenger seat, stealing glances at him while he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally reaching back to hold your daughter’s hand. at the restaurant, you stepped out onto the sidewalk in your heels, smoothing your dress as Elliott circled around the car. he carefully lifted your baby from the seat, cradling him against his chest. you turned to your daughter and offered your hand, but she took Elliott’s pant leg instead. you walked beside them, and something about it made your chest ache in the best way. there he was your man, with a baby in his arms, a daughter clutching his leg, and the kindest heart tucked underneath. he looked over at you with a smile so soft it made you smile. “you know” you said as you all walked into the restaurant, “they’re both gonna grow up knowing what it means to be loved right.” he looked down at his son, then at his daughter, who was already proudly telling the hostess it was “her daddy’s special day.” then he looked back at you. “I hope so” he said. and as you sat at that dinner table, tiny crayon in your daughter’s hand, baby snoozing peacefully in Elliott’s arms, you knew Father’s Day didn’t need anything, it just needed him

𝐑𝐚𝐲 — the soft click of your mascara tube closing was followed by the sound of small feet thudding against the floorboards behind you. “Ray” you called gently, eyes still on your reflection “can you help him put on his shoes?” he was somewhere behind you, and then one arm slid up gently around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. careful not to smudge your makeup “yeah, I’ll do it right now” he murmured, his buzzed hair brushed your skin as he pulled away. your 3 year old son came running down the hallway in a fit of giggles “come here little man” Ray said, already grinning as he chased after him “no shoes! noooo shoes!” your son squealed, trying to escape down the hallway again, Ray caught him in three steps, lifting him effortlessly into the air. “gotcha” he said, flipping him gently onto his shoulder, your son laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe “Ray his hair” you warned with a laugh, “you’re gonna mess it up.” Ray shot you a quick look over his shoulder as he carried your wriggling son to the couch, settling down with him perched across one knee “I’ll fix it” he promised, before turning to the little boy, Ray slid the tiny sneakers on one by one, fingers moving carefully as he tightened the velcro straps, making sure they were snug but not too tight. you stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them. Ray sat there on the couch in black dress pants and a fresh white button up, your son bouncing slightly on his leg “Alright” Ray said, standing with that little grunt dads always make, and lifted your son into his arms as Ray spun him in a lazy circle before planting a kiss on the top of his head. “shoes are on, and then we hand him off to Grandma.” you tilted your head smiling “and then it’s just you and me.” your mom’s minivan rolled up and your son was halfway down the driveway before Ray even set him down. she scooped your son into a hug then, catching your eye over his head “you two be responsible tonight.” she said, you rolled your eyes at that and waved them off, the moment the car disappeared down the street, Ray’s arms came around your waist from behind, warm palms spreading over your hips, then sliding lower, cupping your ass through the soft cotton of your dress. he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in “Mm there she is” he murmured, kissing your shoulder “I’ve missed this” your hands found his, his grip tightened. you turned in his hold and kissed him, messy, tongue first, breathing heavy through your nose, his hand came down, fingers spreading over your lower belly rubbing it slowly, he whispered it against your mouth “another one wouldn’t hurt.” the words sank in. you leaned back just enough to look in his eyes there it was, he really wanted it, wanted you, wanted everything, again. “you trying to get me pregnant again already?” you teased “If you let me” he murmured. his hands were flat against the small of your back like he needed you closer. your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders, clutching him through the fabric of his shirt as his chest rose and fell unevenly against yours.

you smiled against his mouth, eyes half opening “Ray” you breathed, then kissed him again slower. your palm slid up his back “we have dinner reservations remember? your father’s day thing.” he didn’t stop kissing you not at first. he groaned soft but frustrated, nose pressed to your cheekbone, breath hot and impatient “Mmmfuck” he exhaled through his nose in a huff, like the words dinner reservations physically pained him. you felt him debate with it, his cock already half hard between you, your warmth, your lips, your scent and the damn calendar block in his mind that said 8:00 PM, steakhouse, father’s day, dress nice. he dipped his forehead to your neck with a grunt, kissing you there once more. “we either do this now or go hungry” you whispered arching an eyebrow. he pulled back finally, jaw clenching as he straightened up. one deep breath through flared nostrils, then another. he looked down at his chest, saw the faint wrinkles in his shirt from where you’d gripped it, he brushed them down with one hand, muttering something low like jesus christ. then “okay” he said, he turned, grabbed the car keys from the hook by the door, then reached back for you with the other hand, lacing his fingers into yours “let’s go” he said, tugging you behind him “before I change my mind”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 — the kitchen smelled like glue, the counter was a mess of glitter, uncapped markers, and little sticky beads. you sat beside your daughter, helping her finish the last details of her father’s day surprise. her small fingers smudged with paint, the craft was simple: a paper plate flipped upside down and painted yellow, with orange and red ribbons glued to the bottom to look like a proper medal. across the center in bold neat lettering it read: BEST DAD she may have picked out the sparkly letter stickers, but the handwriting? that was all you “done!” she announced, sitting back proudly. you smiled, brushing a bit of dried paint from her cheek “okay” you whispered, leaning in like it was a secret “ready to go show daddy?” she nodded, you picked up the plate carefully and followed her barefoot steps out the sliding door, into the backyard where Sam was hunched over something in the grass. you saw him before he saw you shirt slightly damp with sweat, hands working to tighten bolts on what looked like the frame of a new playset. he was focused, a little sun kissed, completely at ease. the sight of him like that still did things to you. “daddy!” your daughter called out, breaking into a run with the plate in her tiny hands. Sam looked up just in time to catch her as she ran into his arms. “hi sweetheart” he laughed, lifting her easily “what’s this?”, “look, look!” she said, shoving the plate between their faces “for you!” he took it gently, looking at the craft like it was the most precious thing he’d ever been given. his smile was soft and big “wow” he said “this is beautiful. thank you baby. I love it.” you walked up beside them, arms folded. Sam looked at the plate again, turning it slightly in his hands, then raised an eyebrow at you playfully “I didn’t know her handwriting got so good” he teased, leaning in to kiss your cheek “yeah she started writing full sentences just yesterday.” you playfully said “should we enroll her in art school already?” he grinned, one arm still holding her tight, the other holding the masterpiece. she leaned her head on his shoulder, giggling proudly, and you reached out to brush a hair strand behind her ear “honestly” you said, eyes moving from the plate to Sam “I think she’s just got really good taste.” Sam kissed the top of her head, then yours “she gets that from her mom.” there was no medal big enough to hold how good he was at this. but she’d made one anyway.

happy fathers day to all the fine pa’s & DILF’S 💐

AND CLEARLYYY I HAVE A FAV so ray’s is like 2k words longer than the rest 😏🙈 #mybabydaddy

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[thnksfrthquinn]

why is he actually seducing me rn

credit: t7rrors

[thnksfrthquinn]

Pretend to Ignite – Johnny Storm (modern AU) x Reader - One Shot 

Summary: After a messy breakup with your ex, Patrick, the last thing you expect is for Johnny Storm — cocky, infuriatingly charming, and your best friend’s younger brother — to offer his help. You’ve always clashed, but when your lives keep overlapping (and your mail keeps ending up in each other’s hands), a plan is born: fake date Johnny to make Patrick jealous. But somewhere between brunch showdowns, sleepovers, and stolen glances, the line between pretend and real starts to blur. And the boy who used to set your nerves on fire might just be the one to heal everything your ex broke.

WC: 8.5k

Warnings: Swearing / Mild Language / Emotional Manipulation by Ex / Mild Confrontation / Verbal Conflict / Light Angst / Some Heated Arguments (Resolved) / Intimacy (non-explicit, emotional-heavy) / Modern AU /Fake Dating /(Not-Quite) Enemies to Lovers /Mutual Pining /Slow Burn / Soft!Johnny Storm / Protective!Johnny

There’s a letter wedged under your door when you get home—again. The chunky black print reads Storm, and you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes as you crouch to scoop it up. 

“Third time this week,” you mutter to yourself, peeling off your jacket as you step into your apartment. “And it’s only Wednesday.” 

You toss your keys into the bowl by the door and glance out your window. Across the street, the third-floor loft opposite yours glows with warm light. Of course it does. Johnny Storm keeps the place lit like it’s always golden hour—even if it’s 10 p.m. and raining. 

Your phone buzzes. 

Sue Storm: He still hasn’t sorted his mailbox out? 

You: He thinks it’s the mailman’s fault. I think it’s his entire personality. 

You laugh softly at your own message and grab the letter, tucking it under your arm. No doubt it’s another magazine he probably forgot he subscribed to. Last week, it was GQ and a bill for $346. This week, it’s something thicker. Government-looking. 

You should probably be annoyed. But deep down, there’s a rhythm to this by now. A strange, familiar beat to your odd friendship with Johnny Storm—your best friend’s reckless younger brother who, up until a month ago, you were sure would never outgrow his frat-boy energy. Now? 

Now he glows. Literally. 

The elevator in your building is still broken (as usual), so you hike up the stairs of the building across the street, rain still dampening your hair. You buzz his door twice. 

It swings open a second later. 

Johnny stands there shirtless, towel slung low around his waist, steam wafting behind him like he’s walking out of a damn romance novel. His hair curls damply over his forehead, and a cocky smile curls on his lips the moment he sees you. 

“Oh hey, neighbor,” he drawls, voice all gravel and warmth. “Come to return more love letters?” 

You hold the envelope up and push past him, brushing water off your coat. 

“No, just your government correspondence. Possibly something about setting things on fire in a public park,” you tease. “Or, I don’t know—your glowing fingertips.” 

He lifts his hand and flexes his fingers. The tips do flicker faintly orange before fading. You’ve gotten used to it. Or you’re pretending you have. 

Johnny sighs dramatically. “What can I say? I’m a public menace. But a charming one.” 

“You’re lucky your sister loves you,” you say, tossing the envelope on his kitchen counter and turning to leave. 

“Wait—” he calls after you, and there’s something quieter in his tone this time. “You doing anything Friday night?” 

You pause, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Why?” 

“Because if I end up getting sued by the city,” he says, that grin returning like clockwork, “I might need moral support. Or bail money. Or... someone to bring snacks.” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

“God, you’re exhausting,” you say over your shoulder, stepping back out into the hallway. 

“Don’t pretend you’re not charmed,” Johnny calls after you, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice as the door clicks shut. 

You're halfway down the stairs before you let your smile fully break. You’re not supposed to think about him like this. He’s Johnny — Sue’s little brother, the human personification of a golden retriever with a lighter and no supervision. You’ve known him since college breaks when he’d crash Sue’s apartment and drink all the milk. He used to be this loud, annoyingly attractive kid with no filter and even less accountability. 

And now? He’s still loud. Still annoyingly attractive. But there’s something under the surface now, like his fire has finally found shape. You’d never say it aloud, but post-accident Johnny is... different. Quieter, sometimes. Restless in ways he tries to joke through. 

You tell yourself the only reason you’re thinking about him at all is because you’re bored and not dating anyone. That’s all. That, and maybe the way he looked at you tonight lingered a second too long. 

You try not to think about it. About the weight in his gaze, like he saw something in you no one else had noticed yet. You’d laughed it off, shrugged the whole night off, like always. That’s what you do with Johnny Storm. You tease, he pushes, you roll your eyes, he smirks — it’s been the same pattern for years. 

But tonight something feels… different. 

Back in your apartment, you toss your coat over the back of a chair and collapse onto your couch, rubbing at your eyes. The TV flickers with a half-muted cooking show you’re not watching. Rain ticks gently against the windowpanes. It’s late, but you’re wired. 

And that’s when your phone buzzes. 

Again. 

You don’t have to look to know who it is. You’ve memorized the pattern by now: two texts spaced thirty seconds apart, always when he’s bored, drunk, or just lonely enough to remember you were once someone he held onto a little too tight. 

EX: Hey… You up? 

Then: 

 EX: Thought about you today. Wish things had gone different. 

You stare at the screen. 

Wish things had gone different? 

Yeah. You wish that too — specifically, that you’d seen through his charming lies sooner. That you hadn’t wasted two years trying to become smaller, quieter, easier to love. That you hadn’t let him convince you that you were lucky to be chosen, instead of someone who deserves more. 

You type something. Delete it. Throw your phone across the couch with a groan and flop back dramatically. 

Ten seconds later, you sit back up and grab it again. 

Because if he keeps texting you like this, he’s not going to stop. Not unless he thinks you’ve moved on. And what better way to shut him down than with a distraction that would make him lose his mind? 

A distraction with an annoyingly beautiful face and a flirty streak ten miles long. 

You bite your lip. 

You shouldn't. 

You definitely shouldn't. 

So obviously, you do. 

You type quickly: 

You: Hey. You around? Can I come back over for a sec? 

The reply comes thirty seconds later: 

Johnny Storm: Miss me already? Door’s open, babe. 

You roll your eyes — of course he’d say something like that — and grab your hoodie. 

Johnny’s apartment is exactly the same as you left it ten minutes ago: warm, a little cluttered. He’s sprawled on the couch in grey sweats and a threadbare college hoodie, hair flopping boyishly over his forehead. 

He looks up with a lazy grin. “Round two? That was fast.” 

You don’t sit down. You pace instead, hands in your hoodie sleeves, energy buzzing beneath your skin. 

He watches you, a little more serious now. “Hey. What’s going on?” 

You stop. Face him. The words come out faster than you plan. 

“My ex won’t stop texting me.” 

His brow lifts. “The finance guy with the receding hairline?” 

You blink. “How do you—” 

Johnny shrugs. “Sue talks.” 

Fair. You sigh and sit on the edge of the armrest, staring at your knees. 

“He keeps texting me. Saying he misses me. That he regrets how things ended. That we should grab coffee. I think… I think he just wants to feel like he could still have me if he wanted to.” 

Johnny’s jaw tenses. “And do you?” 

You look up sharply. “Do I what?” 

“Want him to have you.” 

Your breath catches, just a little. “No. God, no.” 

There’s a pause. 

“So what do you need?” he asks, gentler now. 

You twist your hands in your sleeves. “I need him to back off. To think I’ve moved on. That I’m with someone who’s the opposite of him. Who’d never make me feel small.” 

You look up. 

And Johnny’s watching you the way he did earlier — like you’re more than just the girl across the hall. Like he’s listening in a way nobody else does. 

Then, you say it. 

“I need you to fake date me.” 

He blinks. 

You rush to explain. “Just for a bit. Just to scare him off. I’ll post a picture or two, maybe let it slip to mutuals. You don’t have to do anything real. You’re already flirty enough, and Sue knows you well enough that it won’t seem totally fake. It’ll be easy. We’ll fake it until he gets bored and disappears.” 

Johnny leans back against the couch, expression unreadable. 

“Fake date you.” 

“Exactly.” 

A beat. 

“You want me to pretend I’m crazy about you,” he says slowly, “when I’ve been doing that for years.” 

Your heart flips. 

He doesn’t take it back, you bury what he just said deep and continue. 

He just stares at you with a challenge in his eyes — like he’s daring you to admit you knew all along. 

You scoff, mostly to keep yourself from melting. “You’re ridiculous.” 

He smirks. “So you’ve mentioned.” 

“This wouldn’t be anything serious,” you add, holding your ground. “You’d just play the part.” 

“Oh, I can play the part,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. “The question is: can you?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You think I can’t handle it?” 

“I think I’ve been under your skin for years and you’re only just realizing it.” 

Your mouth opens. Shuts. You hate that he’s right. You hate it more that he knows he’s right. 

He stands up, steps toward you until there’s barely a breath of space between you. And then he grins — cocky and golden, the Johnny you’ve always known. 

“Well?” he says. “Do we shake on it? Kiss on it? Blood pact?” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

Johnny steps back a little, giving you space like he knows you need to steady yourself. The teasing fades just enough for the room to settle again. He drags a hand through his hair and exhales, then gestures toward the couch. 

“Alright. Operation: Make Your Ex Jealous,” he says. “Let’s plan this.” 

You flop down onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

“Hey, you came to me.” 

“You’re the only person I know who can convincingly look like someone I’d rebound with.” 

“Was that a compliment or a cry for help?” 

You smirk. “Little of both.” 

He snorts, but opens his phone and pulls up Instagram. “Okay, what’s his deal? What gets under his skin?” 

“Patrick?” You lean your head back. “He’s the kind of guy who needs to feel like he ‘won.’ Like he moved on first. And he’s always compared himself to people like you.” 

Johnny blinks. “People like me?” 

“Loud. Charismatic. Always the center of attention without trying.” 

He looks over at you. “And?” 

“And… reckless. A little chaotic. Exactly the kind of guy he’d assume I couldn’t handle.” 

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “So we want him to think you can handle me.” 

“Exactly.” 

He nods, tapping on his phone. “So what’s the move? Subtle posts? A soft launch? Or do we go full PDA in front of mutuals and burn his fragile ego to the ground?” 

You smile despite yourself. “I’m thinking something in between. We don’t want it to look staged. Just believable enough that he knows he doesn’t stand a chance anymore.” 

“Okay.” Johnny shifts toward you, more serious now. “What’s he still watching? Instagram stories? Your grid?” 

“Probably both. He’s still got me muted, but I know he checks from his alt account.” 

Johnny whistles. “That’s healthy.” 

“Welcome to dating in the 2020s.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, then: “What if we post something casual tomorrow? Not you and me looking together, but like… you’re here, I’m in the background, there’s something unspoken.” 

You glance at him, impressed. “You’ve done this before.” 

He smirks. “I’ve been someone’s fake boyfriend before.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?” 

“Long story. She was trying to get her landlord to fix the heating. I played the overprotective husband. We got free rent for two months.” 

You shake your head with a half-smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” 

“I’m very persuasive,” he says solemnly. “Anyway, we can start with something low-key. Maybe brunch tomorrow?” 

You pause. “With Sue?” 

He shrugs. “Why not? If she sees us acting couple-y, it’ll get around. She’s basically a walking group chat.” 

You chew on your lip, thinking. “I could post a story. Just a picture of a coffee mug and, like, your hand or something.” 

“Or my hoodie on you.” 

You glance at him. 

He’s not being flirty. Not now. He’s just… planning. Efficient. Helpful. 

Which is somehow worse. 

Because if he’s not flirting, then why is your heart doing this weird fluttering thing? 

You push the thought away. 

“Alright,” you say. “Brunch. A story. Something just vague enough to stir the pot.” 

Johnny nods, tapping notes into his phone. “We should probably hang out for a bit beforehand. You need to be comfortable with me touching you.” 

You give him a flat look. 

“I mean casual touching,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “Like—arm around the shoulder, hand on your back. Not, like… that.” 

You try not to laugh. “God, this is going to be a disaster.” 

“Nah,” he says, standing and stretching with a loud yawn. “We’ll crush it. Tomorrow, 11 a.m.? I’ll text Sue and tell her we’re coming.” 

“You’re scarily good at this.” 

“I contain multitudes.” 

You glance at your phone. Another text from Patrick — “Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime.” 

You lock the screen. 

Johnny sees the shift in your face. “You alright?” 

You nod. “I will be.” 

He tilts his head. “You’re not doing this just to get back at him, are you?” 

You pause. 

“No,” you admit. “It’s not about getting him back. I just want to stop feeling like I’m still in orbit around him.” 

Johnny’s voice is soft. “Then we’ll pull you out of it.” 

You meet his eyes. There’s no smirk this time. No teasing. 

Just quiet certainty. 

You feel your chest tighten. Not in a bad way. 

And that’s when he grins again, suddenly back to normal. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s romantic weapon of mass destruction.” 

You’ve read the last text from Patrick three times now, and each time it makes your stomach twist a little tighter. 

Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime. 

You hate how casually cruel it is. Like he’s checking the weather. Like your time together wasn’t a storm he made you walk through barefoot. 

You toss your phone face down on your bed and look at yourself in the mirror. 

This isn’t about him. Not anymore. 

This is about you taking control of the narrative. 

And maybe, just maybe, about what happens when you let someone like Johnny Storm step into the picture — someone who was never supposed to matter this much. 

You grab a sweater — soft, slouchy, off-the-shoulder. Something that could be read as effortless… or intimate. You pull your hair back, simple but styled. Natural makeup. Glossy lips. 

You pause. 

Then, almost impulsively, you grab the hoodie Johnny gave you last time he crashed on your couch after a night out. It still smells faintly like him — smoke and citrus and something warm. You tug it on over your sweater. Oversized. Familiar. Disarmingly convincing. 

You look at yourself one more time. 

It’s not armor. But it’s something close. 

Johnny’s door opens before you even knock. 

He leans in the doorway, brushing crumbs off his T-shirt. “You’re early.” 

You step in. “You’re still eating crackers in your doorway. We all have our coping mechanisms.” 

He shuts the door behind you, grinning. “Yours is dressing like you just woke up in my bed?” 

You give him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s strategic.” 

He eyes the hoodie, then you, then the hoodie again. “Well. I have to say. You wear me well.” 

“Johnny.” 

“Right. Sorry. Focused.” 

You take a breath and scan the space — still as chaotic and lived-in as always, but it feels less like a frat boy’s den now, more like a space someone is genuinely trying to settle in. You notice a book half-read on the kitchen counter. A candle burning on the windowsill. Little things. Unexpected things. 

He tosses you a cereal bar. “Fuel up. Sue’s expecting us in, like, twenty.” 

You catch it mid-air. “You told her we were coming?” 

He shrugs. “Told her I had ‘company.’ She filled in the blanks.” 

You blink. “What blanks?” 

He raises a brow. “You, wearing my hoodie. Me, looking smug. The rest writes itself.” 

You groan and sit on the arm of the couch. “This better work.” 

Johnny plops down beside you, unusually quiet for a beat. 

“You nervous?” 

You shrug. “A little. I know it’s not real, but part of me still feels like I’m walking into enemy territory.” 

He watches you for a moment. “Just remember why we’re doing this. It’s not for him.” 

You glance at him. “I know.” 

“We go in, we act close. Like we’ve been seeing each other quietly. I’ll laugh at your jokes, you can pretend you think I’m charming—” 

“I always pretend that.” 

“See? You’re a natural.” 

You both smile, but there’s a current under it — something unspoken, like you’re both hovering on the edge of a line neither of you fully expected to walk. 

You stand, brushing off your jeans. “Let’s go cause some chaos.” 

He grabs his keys and follows you out, pausing as you both reach the front steps. 

Then, casually, he slips his hand into yours. 

You freeze. 

He doesn’t look at you — just keeps walking, hand warm, grip relaxed, like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not the first time. Like it won’t be the last. 

And somehow, that’s what makes it so much worse. 

Or maybe better. 

You haven’t decided yet. 

You and Johnny walk hand-in-hand down the street, a soft breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of his hoodie on your frame. You try to focus on the plan: act comfortable, stay close, subtle touches, believable glances. Just enough to be convincing. 

But the problem is—it’s already too easy. 

Johnny doesn’t act like someone pretending. His thumb rubs absent circles into the back of your hand as you walk. He holds doors open without smirking. He doesn’t tease or flirt—not like he normally does. He just walks beside you, quiet and warm and steady. Like this isn’t a game. 

And maybe that’s what’s throwing you. 

Sue’s already waiting when you arrive. You spot her at the corner table of the café, hair pulled up, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s starring in a low-budget detective drama. She stands when she sees you, her face lighting up—then flickering in a very specific way when her eyes land on your joined hands. 

“Oh,” she says, voice full of restrained curiosity. “You two came together.” 

Johnny grins. “Yeah. We’ve been spending some time together... for a while now” 

You’re shocked by how normal he sounds. Confident. Settled. 

Sue turns to you, mouth twitching. “Did he bribe you? Or lose a bet?” 

You let out a soft laugh, letting go of Johnny’s hand as you slide into your seat. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Johnny takes the seat next to you, not across from you. Bold. Strategic. Perfectly calculated. 

Sue raises one brow behind her iced coffee but doesn’t press. Not yet. She’s too good at the long game. 

“So,” she says slowly. “Anything new?” 

You feel Johnny’s knee brush yours under the table. Just enough pressure to say I've got you. 

You reach for your menu. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Sue hums like she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Interesting.” 

The conversation drifts into casual territory—her work, something about Reed’s latest meltdown over disappearing lab equipment, gossip from a friend’s baby shower—but every so often, her eyes flick to Johnny, to you, to the hoodie you’re still wearing. 

And then the door jingles. 

Your stomach drops the second you hear the voice. 

“Hey—do they do oat milk here?” 

You don’t need to look. You know it. The cadence. The lazy tone. The half-laugh like he’s asking the barista for a favor he doesn’t deserve. 

Patrick. 

You freeze. Your blood goes cold. 

Johnny must sense it because his posture shifts subtly beside you. One of his hands drifts under the table, finding your thigh and resting there gently. Grounding you. Quietly protective. 

You don’t dare turn around. You stare straight ahead at your untouched mimosa and try not to breathe like your past just walked in and sat down five feet away. 

But Patrick sees you before you can hide. 

“Well,” he says, and your name sounds smug on his tongue. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

You force your gaze up. 

Patrick stands there, iced coffee in hand, an uncomfortable grin tugging at his mouth. His hair is longer than it was. He’s wearing that beige button-down you once told him he looked good in. He looks exactly like the version of himself you finally outgrew. 

You blink slowly. “Brunch,” you say. “It’s a Friday tradition.” 

Patrick’s eyes flick to Johnny. 

Then to the way Johnny’s sitting—leaned into you, his hand still resting on your leg beneath the table. 

Then, very obviously, to the hoodie you’re wearing. 

His jaw tics. 

“Oh,” Patrick says, masking surprise with condescension. “Didn’t know you two were… a thing.” 

“And here I was thinking you’d be laying low after everything,” Patrick says smoothly. “Guess not.” 

Johnny doesn’t give you a chance to respond. 

“She’s been doing great,” Johnny says, a bit too brightly. “We both have.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows rise. “We?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, stretching one arm across the back of your chair, clearly staking ground. “You remember me. The hot one.” 

You bite your lip to keep from smiling, but Patrick's face hardens. 

“Right,” Patrick says. “The reckless one with the… fire thing.” 

Johnny grins. “Still more reliable than a guy who ghosted her for three days before deciding he ‘wasn’t sure about the relationship.’” 

Patrick’s smile tightens, looking down at you “Didn’t realize you were keeping score.” 

“She wasn’t,” Johnny snaps “But you made it really easy.” 

The table goes quiet for a beat, tension thick as steam from the espresso machine. 

Sue raises an eyebrow, clearly ready to throw hands or hot coffee — whichever lands first. 

Patrick’s eyes flick down to your hand, to the rings you’re wearing — specifically the one you’d hastily shoved on this morning to look “emotionally thriving.” 

“I see you’ve moved on,” he says, voice now brittle. “Pretty fast, don’t you think?” 

“Actually,” Johnny interjects smoothly, “we’ve been together a while.” 

You glance at him, startled. 

Patrick frowns. “Seriously?” 

“She didn’t want to rub it in your face,” Johnny says with a shrug. “But since you’re here, I guess it’s not rubbing anymore.” 

Sue snorts into her mimosa. 

Patrick folds his arms. “And this isn’t just some—what, rebound?” 

You straighten in your seat, voice cold now. “No, Patrick. You were the rebound. You just stuck around too long.” 

He stares at you, jaw flexing. 

“She’s happy now,” Johnny says, calm and final. “You don’t get to poke holes in that just because you’re miserable.” 

Patrick’s face twists with something unreadable. He glances at Sue like she might rescue him, but she raises both brows and sips her drink. 

“I didn’t come here to cause a scene,” he mutters. 

“Then maybe go before you do,” you say, blinking away the heat behind your eyes. 

Patrick opens his mouth like he’s going to say something — a dig, a plea, something slimy — but he must think better of it. Instead, he just huffs out a bitter laugh and turns away, walking out of the café with his hands jammed in his pockets. 

You feel your throat tighten, but you nod. You lean in slightly. Let the world think whatever it wants. And then he walks off to the patio like he didn’t just detonate a mine in your chest. 

The silence that follows is thick. 

Johnny turns to you gently. “You okay?” 

You blink fast. You don’t want to cry—not here, not now. “I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just slides his hand from your leg to your hand, gripping it quietly, giving you space to feel whatever you need to. 

Sue sips her coffee and sighs. “So. That’s what this is about.” 

You look at her sharply. 

She shrugs. “I’m not mad. Just mildly annoyed that I wasn’t looped in sooner.” 

You open your mouth to explain—but she waves you off. 

“No, no, don’t explain now. I’m letting it slide because A: he sucks, and B: I haven’t seen Johnny this calm since the incident that shall not be named involving the rooftop and the flaming barbecue tongs.” 

Johnny chokes on his water. 

You laugh, relieved, tension finally breaking. 

“Thanks, Sue.” 

“Anytime,” she says, standing to flag the waitress. “Now let’s get pancakes. And next time you do something wild like fake dating, maybe don’t pick someone with better cheekbones than you. It’s distracting.” 

You roll your eyes. 

But when you glance at Johnny, he’s watching you with something careful in his eyes. 

Not playful. Not smug. 

Just there. 

And you think: maybe this stopped being fake the second he reached for your hand. 

The city outside is soft with the kind of quiet that only comes after a long day. Streetlights flicker through Johnny’s apartment windows, casting gold against the dark wood floors and messy scatter of takeout boxes. There’s a half-drunk bottle of wine on the coffee table. A folded blanket on the arm of the couch. Music playing low from his speaker—jazz again, but slower this time, softer, as if it knows you both need the space to breathe. 

You’re curled into one corner of the couch, Johnny sprawled in the other. Neither of you has really spoken since you got back from brunch. The plan had gone off perfectly. Sue had side-eyed her way through the entire meal, and Patrick had absolutely taken the bait. But somehow, instead of the rush of satisfaction you expected, all you feel is… heavy. 

Tired. 

Johnny made hot chocolate, you sip it quietly. It’s a little too sweet. You don’t mind. 

Johnny clears his throat beside you. “You ever think maybe we overdid it?” 

You glance over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“The way we were acting. At brunch.” 

You shrug. “I thought we were subtle.” 

“You were subtle.” He looks over at you with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was incredible.” 

That earns him a small laugh. He smiles at the sound, then sinks deeper into the cushions. 

But the silence doesn’t stay easy. It stretches again. Something unsaid hangs in the space between you. 

You look at him sideways. 

“Johnny,” you murmur. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re really... different lately.” 

He shifts a little, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. 

“Since the cosmic storm, you mean?” 

You nod, watching him carefully. 

He looks down, rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter now. “It changes things. Not just the fire part. I feel like I’m always on, y’know? Even when I’m off. People expect me to be this larger-than-life thing, and when I’m not, it’s like... disappointing.” 

You blink, taken off guard by the honesty. The vulnerability of it. You’ve seen Johnny flirt, joke, deflect — but not this. 

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ around me,” you say, voice softer now. “You never did.” 

Johnny lets out a low laugh. Not his usual golden-boy laugh, but something more hollow. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he mutters. 

Your brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He pushes himself up, suddenly restless. Tosses the last bite of pizza into the box a little too forcefully and paces to the far side of the room, hands in his hair like he’s trying to shake something loose. 

“You never liked me,” he says, not looking at you. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. Every time I came around Sue, you’d roll your eyes or sigh like I was just this burden you had to put up with. The annoying little brother. The screw-up. The joke.” 

You feel something sharp twist in your chest. “Johnny…” 

He waves a hand. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to backpedal. I get it. You’re smart, and serious, and have your shit together. And I was the loud one who flirted with anything that moved and barely made it through school. You didn’t see me until I started glowing.” 

You stand, slowly, your mug still warm in your hand. “That’s not true.” 

He finally turns to look at you, eyes a little too bright. 

“Oh, come on. You practically made it your mission to remind me how immature I was every time I so much as breathed too loud around you.” 

“Because you were immature!” you snap, voice rising without your permission. “You lit things on fire for fun and you slept through your sister’s birthday brunch!” 

“I didn’t sleep through it. I was hungover. That’s very different.” 

“Not to Sue!” 

The room falls into silence again, this time jagged and hot. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight. 

You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “God, why do you always do this?” 

“Do what?” 

“Push me until I say something I don’t mean.” 

He squares his shoulders. “What if you do mean it?” 

“I don’t.” 

“You sure about that?” 

You step toward him, closer than you should be, and feel the heat rolling off him. Not his mutation—him. 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re infuriating.” 

“Good.” 

“Great.” 

You’re both breathing hard now. Staring each other down. Too close. The space between you sparks. 

Then, softer—wounded: 

“You always look at me like I’m a mess you can’t fix.” 

The words hit deeper than they should. 

“I don’t want to fix you,” you say, your voice cracking a little. “I just… I wanted to stop caring when you didn’t.” 

Johnny flinches. “You think I didn’t care?” 

“You flirted with everything that moved and turned everything into a joke,” you shoot back, eyes burning. “And I thought—if I stayed away, if I just kept it together, I could stop thinking about you.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment. His voice, when it comes, is rougher. Lower. 

“And did it work?” 

You shake your head. “No. Obviously not.” 

The silence thickens. The whole apartment feels like it’s holding its breath. 

He takes one careful step toward you. “You know… I never flirted with you.” 

You scoff. “Yeah. I noticed.” 

“Wanna know why?” 

You swallow. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” 

He stops in front of you, eyes searching yours. “Because with you… if I flirted and it didn’t work—I don’t think I’d recover from it.” 

You blink, startled. Your breath catches. 

He steps forward again, closer now. Close enough that you feel the warmth of him, humming beneath his skin like it’s aching to be released. 

“You think I wasn’t paying attention,” he says. “But I was. I saw the way you covered your mouth when you laughed. How you always looked out for Sue, even when she didn’t ask. How you only let your guard down when you thought no one was watching.” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “You were watching?” 

He nods. “I was always watching.” 

Your hands tremble a little, still holding your mug. You set it down on the table beside you, slowly. 

You don’t know what to do. Or say. Or how to react.  Because this?  This doesn’t feel like a joke.  This doesn’t feel like Johnny being Johnny.  This feels like the moment the mask finally cracked — and something real slipped through. 

Your heart beats faster. 

He’s still standing in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him in waves, and not just because he literally runs at a higher temperature now. This is something else. Something almost magnetic. 

Your voice is soft. Uncertain. 

“Was that… were you… are you saying you—” 

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales sharply, like he’s been holding something in for years and finally let a little too much of it out. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to say all that. Not like that.” 

You blink at him. “But you meant it.” 

He meets your eyes then. Really meets them. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I did.” 

You suddenly feel like the floor under you is less stable. Like you’ve been walking a tightrope and didn’t realize how high up you were until you looked down. 

This wasn’t part of the plan. 

Fake-dating Johnny was supposed to make your ex jealous. It was supposed to be harmless. Controlled. 

But nothing about this feels controlled now. 

And you’re not sure if you’re terrified of falling… or if you’ve already started. 

You step back, instinctively, needing space to think. To breathe. His eyes flicker with something—hurt?—but he doesn’t move. 

“I just… I didn’t know you saw me like that,” you say. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he replies. “You always seemed like you had me figured out. The flirty guy. The walking disaster. I didn’t think you’d ever take me seriously.” 

You swallow hard. “I didn’t think you took anything seriously.” 

He gives a sad little smile. “That was the point.” 

Silence again. This time, not angry. Just full. Weighty. 

You sit down slowly, perching on the edge of the couch, fingers twisting in the hem of your sleeve. 

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you admit. 

Johnny nods, standing awkwardly in the center of the room like he doesn’t know where to put himself. “You don’t have to do anything. I just… couldn’t not say it anymore.” 

He’s retreating now — pulling back, retreating into defense mechanisms and half-shrugs. Back into Johnny Storm, Human Torch, golden boy with a grin and a punchline. 

But you’ve seen too much now to unsee it. 

You’ve seen the fire and the fear. The way he looked at you when Patrick showed up. The way he stepped in like it was instinct. Like it wasn’t pretend. Like it had never been pretend. 

You speak again, barely above a whisper. “You really never flirted with me.” 

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “You were the only one I was actually scared to.” 

The confession hangs there between you, suspended and bright like an ember in the dark. 

He turns then, heading toward the kitchen, probably to bury himself in something — cleaning, distraction, anything to defuse the moment. 

You watch him go. 

And you realize something, in the quiet that follows: this wasn’t a mistake. Not from him. And maybe not from you either. 

Because deep down, even now, with everything spinning out from under you…  You don’t want to stop him. 

You just don’t know how to start. 

So instead, you ask the only thing that feels safe: 

“Do you want to sit down?” 

Johnny pauses mid-step. Turns back, surprised. “What?” 

You pat the cushion next to you — not teasing. Just open. 

“Just for a bit,” you say. “We don’t have to figure it out right now.” 

He hesitates. Then slowly — carefully — he walks back across the room and sits beside you, not too close this time. Like he’s giving you space to breathe. 

But you feel the gravity of him again, even from here. 

This time, he doesn’t say anything clever. 

This time, neither of you does. 

You just sit in the quiet, in the soft flicker of lamplight and low jazz, and let the moment settle between you. Unfinished. Unspoken. Real. 

You’re not sure how long you sit like that—side by side on the couch, the hush of the apartment pressing in around you. The lamp glows soft in the corner. The last of the hot chocolate sits cold on the table. The air still feels like it crackles, but neither of you speaks. 

It should be awkward.  But somehow, it isn’t. 

Johnny’s arm rests along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. He’s staring at the window, jaw relaxed for once, like letting the truth out earlier let him breathe properly for the first time in a while. 

You glance sideways at him. “You ever do this before?” 

He blinks. “What? Fake date someone to mess with their ex?” 

You smile faintly. “No. I mean… let someone see you like that.” 

He doesn’t answer immediately. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. 

“Not really. I guess I thought… if people didn’t see the real me, they couldn’t reject it.” 

You nod, looking down at your hands. “I get that.” 

He turns to you. “Yeah?” 

You let out a slow breath. “I think that’s why I kept you at a distance. Not just because you were annoying—” 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. 

“—but because it was easier to box you in as the guy who didn’t take anything seriously. It made it safer to… not feel anything.” 

His gaze softens. “But you did.” 

You glance at him, cheeks heating. “Apparently.” 

Johnny smiles. A small one. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just real. 

“I didn’t know what to expect when we started this,” he says. “I figured we’d mess with Patrick’s head a little, have some laughs. I didn’t think it’d—” He stops himself. 

“Didn’t think it’d what?” you ask. 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think it’d make me feel like this.” 

You blink. “Like what?” 

He hesitates, then says it: “Like maybe it stopped being fake around the time you put my hoodie on.” 

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. But your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest. 

He looks down at his hands. “I’m not good at this. The honest thing. It’s not really in my wheelhouse.” 

“You’re doing okay,” you say gently. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

The silence stretches again, but it’s warmer now. Like a pause between verses, not a goodbye. 

Breaking the silence, not quite looking at him, “Can I ask you something?” 

He turns his head slightly. “Yeah?” 

You hesitate, then go for it. “Can I… stay here tonight?” 

He blinks. “Here?” 

You nod quickly. “I just… I don’t really want to go home right now. I know it’s stupid. It’s just—Patrick’s been texting again, and the thought of being in that apartment alone just… it feels wrong tonight.” 

You can hear your own voice start to falter. You hate it. 

“I can crash on the couch if you want,” you add quickly. “Or I’ll take the floor. I don’t care. I just don’t want to be alone.” 

Johnny’s quiet for a second. Then he shakes his head. 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says softly. “You can have the bed.” 

You frown. “Johnny—” 

“I’ll take the couch.” He flashes a small smile. “It’s seen worse.” 

You feel your shoulders relax a little, the pressure in your chest easing. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

He stands, grabbing a spare pillow and blanket from a nearby basket. You watch him work in silence, folding and fluffing with a surprising tenderness for someone who once set a toaster on fire just to see if he could. 

You follow him down the short hallway toward the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, flicks the switch on, then glances at you. 

“It’s not much,” he says. “There’s laundry on the chair and I think the sheets smell like my cologne.” 

“That’s fine.” 

He nods, then lingers a second too long like he’s about to say something more—but doesn’t. Instead, he just hands you the pillow. 

“You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

You step into the room, but turn at the last second. 

“Hey,” you say, stopping him in the doorway. 

He meets your eyes. 

“I meant what I said earlier too. About seeing you differently now.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, really looks. Like he’s trying to burn the moment into memory. 

Then, softly: “Okay.” 

You close the door behind you, heart thudding too fast. The room smells like him — warmth and spice and something a little sweet, something undeniably Johnny. You pull the blanket around you and lie back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

The truth of it presses gently against your ribs: you feel safer here than you have in a long time. 

You don’t know if this is the start of something, or the moment something finally cracked open. 

But when you close your eyes, you’re still thinking about the way he looked at you in the doorway.  And how, just maybe, he’s been waiting for you to stay all along. 

The room is dark now. 

You’re curled up under Johnny’s blanket, one arm tucked beneath your pillow, your back facing the door. The sheets are warm, soft, slightly tangled from where you’ve shifted, but sleep won’t come. Your mind is too full—of brunch, of Patrick, of everything Johnny said before and after. 

Of the look in his eyes when he offered you his bed like it was nothing, like it was everything. 

Your heart thuds in your chest, slow and uneven. You shift, let out a soft breath, and close your eyes even though you’re wide awake. 

Then you hear it—footsteps just beyond the door. Light ones. 

The door creaks open slowly. You don’t move. 

“Hey,” Johnny whispers, his voice low and careful. “You okay?” 

You don’t answer. Not because you can’t—but because you don’t know how. So you pretend. 

Still. Quiet. Breathing steady. 

A pause. 

Then, the door eases shut again, soft as a secret. 

You expect him to go back to the couch. Instead, there’s a faint rustle, and then his voice, muffled and low. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s on the phone. 

“Sue?”  A beat.  “No, sorry. I know it’s late.”  Another pause. Then a sigh. “Yeah. She’s here. She’s in my bed.” 

Your eyes snap open, though your body stays perfectly still. 

“I didn’t plan for this,” he says, and he sounds exhausted. Not physically—emotionally. Like someone who’s been carrying something too heavy for too long. “I was just helping her with the Patrick thing. Fake-dating. You know.” 

There’s a silence, and you can almost hear Sue’s voice on the other end. Soft but pointed. The way she always gets when she’s seeing right through him. 

“No, I didn’t do anything,” Johnny says, a little sharper. “She asked to stay. I gave her my bed.” 

Another pause. A faint, self-deprecating laugh. 

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I’m saying. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.” 

Your breath catches. You don’t move. 

“I thought I could just ride it out, y’know? Be the guy she needed for the week, help her get under Patrick’s skin, maybe annoy her a little.”  A quiet laugh, soft and fond. “Classic me, right?” 

You hear him shift his weight. A creak from the couch. 

“But she’s not just Sue’s best friend anymore. She’s... her. She’s this sharp, stubborn, infuriating person who makes me want to be better. Even when she’s calling me out, she makes me feel—seen.” 

Something twists deep in your chest. 

“She’s asleep in my bed right now and I’m out here like an idiot, hoping she’s dreaming about me. Isn’t that pathetic?” 

Sue must be saying something, but you can’t hear it. Johnny chuckles, a low and tired sound. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m screwed.” 

There’s a long pause. Then quieter, rougher: 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything. It’s just the plan to her. Still part of the act.” 

Your fingers curl into the sheets. 

“I just didn’t expect it to get real for me so fast,” he admits. 

Silence. The call must end, or maybe he just stops talking. You hear the soft thunk of his phone being set down, then nothing but the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. 

He doesn’t come back to check on you again. 

And you don’t sleep. 

You lie there, eyes wide open in the dark, heartbeat loud in your ears, body still and aching with everything you’ve just heard. 

He thinks you’re still pretending.  He thinks he’s alone in this.  And you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that. 

The city is still asleep when you quietly swing your legs off Johnny’s bed and press your feet to the cool floorboards. Your phone screen says it’s just past 5 a.m. — the sky outside still that pre-dawn grey-blue, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. 

You move slowly, cautiously, the way you used to sneak out of sleepovers as a kid. Except this time, you’re not trying to avoid someone’s mom. 

You’re trying to avoid him. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders as you stand. You fold it without thinking, neat and careful, your fingers fidgeting like they need something to do. Something normal. Like folding a blanket will distract you from the storm swirling in your chest. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. Why you’re leaving. You just… can’t stay. 

You can still hear his voice in your head — that soft, cracked confession to Sue on the couch. 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything.” 

Your heart twists, hard. 

You want to scream at how wrong he is. You want to go out there, grab him by the face, and tell him it meant everything.  But you don’t.  Because now you’re scared too. 

Scared that this whole thing — this spiral from fake to real — wasn’t fair. To him. To you. That maybe you pulled him into something he didn’t ask for, not really. That maybe you were just selfish, desperate for comfort in the fallout of Patrick, and Johnny had been caught in the crossfire. 

And yet… he hadn’t run. He’d stayed. 

That’s what makes it worse. 

You push the door open slowly and step into the dim living room. Johnny’s curled up on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs, one arm tucked beneath his head. His mouth is parted just slightly. His brow is smooth. He looks peaceful. Soft, even. 

You want to kiss him.  God, you want to kiss him. 

Instead, you move carefully across the room, aiming for the door. 

You make it halfway. 

Then— 

The floor creaks. 

You freeze. 

“…Your leaving?” 

You close your eyes. Damn it. 

You turn slowly to find Johnny sitting up on the couch, rubbing sleep from his face, his hair a wild mess and his voice rough from sleep. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say quietly. 

“You didn’t,” he lies, blinking at you. “You were really gonna sneak out?” 

“I wasn’t sneaking,” you mutter. 

He stands up, blanket slipping off him, arms crossed over his chest. “Then what was that? You’ve got your shoes in your hand like you're about to crawl out the window.” 

You fold your arms too, suddenly defensive. “I was just trying to avoid a scene.” 

“Well, congrats,” he says flatly. “Nailed it.” 

You exhale, frustrated. “I didn’t want to make this worse, Johnny.” 

“Worse?” he repeats, stepping forward. “You think this is worse? Leaving without a word? After everything yesterday — after everything I said—” 

“I heard what you said.” 

He freezes. “You heard me?” 

“On the phone. With Sue.” 

His mouth opens and closes again. He looks like you just punched him in the chest. “So what — you heard me say I liked you and decided that was your cue to bolt?” 

“It’s not that simple—” 

“Yes, it is!” His voice rises. “It is that simple. I told Sue I was falling for you, and instead of talking to me about it, you tried to disappear.” 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” you snap, throwing your hands up. “I panicked, okay? I wasn’t supposed to feel any of this either!” 

Johnny’s eyes burn into you. “Then why are you acting like this is some huge mistake?” 

“Because it wasn’t supposed to get this far!” you shout back. “This was meant to be a joke. A plan. A stupid fake relationship to make Patrick jealous and now—” Your voice cracks. “Now I feel like I used you.” 

His expression softens for a fraction of a second, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. 

“You didn’t use me,” he says. 

“You’re sure about that?” 

“Yes.” He steps forward again. “You didn’t use me. I volunteered. I wanted to help. I wanted to be around you. I didn’t care what excuse we used.” 

You shake your head, eyes burning. “It wasn’t fair to you.” 

“What’s not fair,” Johnny growls, “is that you got scared and decided I couldn’t handle how you felt.” 

You blink. “That’s not—” 

“You assumed,” he cuts in. “You assumed this meant more to me than it did to you. Like I’m the idiot who caught feelings while you stayed detached. But you’re not detached. You’re terrified.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Screw you.” 

“Isn’t that easier?” he shoots back. “Being mad at me so you don’t have to admit this is real?” 

“I’m not mad because I’m scared, I’m mad because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, stepping even closer, his voice low and sharp. “I’m talking about the way you looked at me at brunch. I’m talking about the way you didn’t move when I touched your hand. I’m talking about the fact that you stayed.” 

You’re breathing hard now, chest rising and falling. 

“I stayed,” you say, quieter but no less furious, “because for the first time in weeks, I felt safe.” 

Johnny flinches. 

“And now?” he asks, softer now. 

“Now I feel like I’m in too deep.” 

He swallows. “Good.” 

You frown. “What?” 

He steps into your space, gaze intense. “Good. Because same. I’ve been in deep since you called me that night, crying about Patrick. Since I saw you in my hoodie. Since you kissed me on the cheek and made it feel like my entire brain short-circuited.” 

You’re shaking. Maybe from adrenaline. Maybe from everything you’ve kept inside finally cracking open. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur. 

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” he fires back, voice low. 

You stare at each other for a moment, breath tangled, hearts pounding, barely a breath between you. 

And then— 

It happens. 

You grab his shirt. He cups your jaw. And your mouths crash together like a wave finally breaking. 

It’s messy. Desperate. Like neither of you knows how to go slow now that the wall is down. His hands slide into your hair, your fingers curl into his chest. The kiss is heat and frustration and hope and finally, all wrapped into one. 

You pull back just enough to breathe. 

“I’m not going to leave..” you whisper, lips brushing his. 

His eyes search yours. “Good.” 

He kisses you again, slower this time. Sweeter. And it feels like something settling into place. 

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, the tension is gone. Replaced with something terrifying and brand new. 

Honesty. 

Realness. 

You’re in his arms now, and for once, you’re not pretending. 

[thnksfrthquinn]

three years later… and i’m still obsessed with him

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Joseph Quinn, Fred Hechinger and Pedro Pascal behind the scenes of ‘GLADIATOR II’

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JOSEPH QUINN as EDDIE MUNSON in STRANGER THINGS Season Four Chapter One: "The Hellfire Club"

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Masterlist

Thinking about Pussydrunk Eddie, who worships you every time he can get his paws on you. Who follows you through the halls at school, pressing up against you every time you’re alone - “Please, baby, just another taste? Just one more, I swear.”

Who drags you to the bathroom the second you give in, pushing you up against the wall and getting on his knees. Pushes your skirt up and buries his face in your cunt, breathing in your scent and tasting your perfect slick. He’s never tasted anything sweeter.

Who drags his long tongue through your folds, tasting every inch of you, circling his tongue around your clit before sucking on it, making your knees buckle. He holds you up, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder as he devours you like his last meal.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, princess. I can’t get enough of this perfect little pussy. ‘s perfect for me.”

Who fucks you with his fingers while he eats your pussy, skilled fingers pressing right up against that spot deep inside you can’t reach on your own. Who eats you until you’re grabbing onto his curls - “Oh fuck, oh fuck Eddie, I’m gonna cum, I’m-“

“I know it baby, let go f’me.”

Who moans as you cum on his fingers and his tongue, lapping up every bit of slick you give him, not wasting a single drop. Who cums in his fucking jeans just from making you fall apart.

“Eddie, did you-?”

“Yeah baby, couldn’t help myself. You’re too fuckin’ good. Skip with me and help me clean up?”

Pussydrunk Eddie, who skips the rest of the day and drags you to his van, speeding back to his trailer. Who brings you into his room while Wayne is at work and wastes no time getting you both naked. Who spreads your legs wide on his mattress, stroking his hard, thick cock as he looks down at you.

“Y’gonna take me, princess? Gonna let me fuck you like you need to be fucked?”

“Mmhmm, Eddie, please…”

Pussydrunk Eddie, who presses your thighs up against your chest, watching his massive length sink into your perfect walls. Who isn’t shy about his moans, desperately whining and groaning as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Yeah, yeah, so fuckin’ good baby, feels so fuckin’ good. Pussy’s grippin’ me just right, like it was fuckin’ made f’me. Fuuuuck baby, gonna make me blow my load in that little cunt.”

Pussydrunk Eddie, who doesn’t mean to, but he loses control and cums early, filling you up. You don’t mind, but thank god for birth control.

“Ah! Ah! Fuuuuck princess, shit, take it all baby, take all’ve me. Fuck, you’re gettin’ filled up so nice, my cum’s so fuckin’ deep in you.”

Pussydrunk Eddie, who knows you didn’t get to cum, so he pulls out and buries his face between your thighs again, tasting the mix of you and him. He devours until there’s nothing left, until your whole body is shaking around him and you can’t even form coherent sentences anymore.

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

“That’s it, baby. You know who makes you feel this good.”

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FRIENDS & CUFFS

summary: y/n has only been curious about Eddie’s handcuffs after they began dating. she wondered why he never used them on her, and at first, long told her she didn’t know anything about that life. she soon found out that Eddie had a lot to teach her.

warnings: quick friends to lovers storyline, making out, fem receiving oral from male, reader weakens after orgasm, slight innocent reader, drug dealer Eddie (not really mentioned), rough sex, bondage (Eddie’s handcuffs/chains), missionary, doggy, no protection, crying, whining, a lot of male noises, pet names, chocking, etc.

note: we haven’t done an Eddie Munson fan fiction in a while. we still love him, so, there will be more. more stranger things in general. you see what I did there? — nevermind.

———

Steve nearly asked Eddie every day since he graduated, when he was going to make a move on y/n. He hated watching the two drink and get close, yet never make a move.

When people would ask them if they were together, or assume, anyone could tell they the nervousness entered the room.

Not too long ago, y/n and Eddie finally made a move. It seemed so perfect how they both leaned in to feel each other’s lips.

“I think we should stop — You’re drunk, and it’s getting late,” Eddie whispered after y/n stopped fake fighting on top of him. “What if I won’t want to sleep just yet?” Y/n asked, a bit shy, but the alcohol in her body, helped her gain confidence.

“You’re drinks, princess, and I’m not. I don’t want you to regret this, and mess our friendship up,” Eddie said, really wanting to taste her, but she was afraid of showing what he’s been wanting to do with her.

“A kiss could never ruin our friendship, Eddie,” y/n said, slightly sounding desperate as her eyes could barely stay open. “Wanna do more than just kiss you, y/n,” Eddie admitted.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at what her best friend said. She thought she was the only one who wanted to experiment with him. She felt nasty, but now, she felt loose.

The two both crashed on each other’s lips, making g out rough but passionate. None of them have kissed like this before. They would’ve never mixed their saliva like this with anyone, but because it’s them, they wanted to do much more.

The night ended with y/n halfway passed out, and Eddie’s face resting on y/n’s thigh, dripping juice from y/n’s throbbing heat. “So good for me — I wanna get used to this,”

Now, the two are dating, happier than ever, but y/n has been curious lately. She didn’t pay much attention when they were just friends, but now that they’re dating, she thought about Eddie’s handcuffs.

Most partners would be jealous, but y/n? She was curious. She thought to herself plenty of times how he would use them on her, and why he hadn’t done it yet. They’ve only been sexual for a short time, but if he were kinky like that, why wouldn’t he mention it?

“You good, sweetheart?” Eddie asked after turning to his girlfriend who seemed to be daydreaming. “Yeah, I was just thinking,” y/n said, not knowing if she should bring this up as a conversation so soon her their relationship.

“What is it? What were you thinking about?” The metalhead asked as he leaned back on his bed, taking his eyes off the weed he was pre-rolling for his rich customers who couldn’t do it on their own.

“So, uh — I noticed the handcuffs, and I was curious,” y/n said as she stared at the cuffs that were basically chains, dangling from a hook in his wall. She knew that had to be for something sexual.

“Hey, y/n, look — I swear on my uncle, I’ve never used them in anyone, and never planned to. I just liked the thought of them near me. I’ve even thought about you in them,” Eddie spoke quietly, a bit embarrassed by his truth.

“Oh, wait, I wasn’t jealous or anything. I just was curious on why you didn’t use them on me yet,” y/n said, making Eddie's eyes widen. For the longest, he had thought y/n was innocent, and she was. She was just open-minded when it came to her boyfriend.

“You’re not ready for that, princess,” Eddie chuckled lightly. “Why not?” Y/n asked, a bit offended as she crossed her arms. “Being restrained means you can’t do anything. I don’t think that it’s a good idea to put you in something like that, knowing you’d wanna get out,”

“What do you mean, want to get out? I can take it,” y/n said, only making the man laugh. “You can’t even take me slow in doggy. What makes you think you can take me deep up front with your pretty hands cuffed?”

Eddie shifted in the bed to cup y/n’s chin, slightly teasing her because they both knew she wasn’t a taker. Especially with his length.

“I-I can take it — It’s not even that bad,” y/n said, making Eddie throw himself back onto his bed with a loud laugh, knowing his uncle wasn’t home to tell him to shut the hell up.

“What!? You’re mean as fuck, you know?” Y/n said as she kept her arms crossed. “Oh, really, baby? I’m sorry, it’s just — You’re a comedian,” Eddie kept laughing, only making y/n roll her eyes.

“C’mon, I’m just pullin’ your tit, baby,” Eddie leaned up to hug y/n, but she moved away. “Babe, don’t start this. I was just kidding,” Eddie tried hugging y/n again, but this time she pushed him away. Of course, not too hard. She was just being dramatic.

“And, that’s why we can’t do what you wanna do. You can’t even handle being picked on a little bit,” Eddie said as he pushed at y/n’s shoulder lightly, slightly feeling bad for what he did.

“Whatever, I’ll be fine,” y/n said, making y/n sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Fine — We can use em, but ion wanna hear none of that cryin', okay?” Eddie jumped off of the bed to get his handcuffs that had dust all over them.

“Really?” Y/n asked, a bit excited, but knowing she wouldn’t be too excited soon. “Ah huh, but only one rule,” Eddie said with a smirk as he untangled the chains. “Yeah?” Y/n innocently asked, not knowing how quick of a turn this would take.

“The only thing stopping me, is our safe word,” before y/n could agree with a smile, Eddie lunged at her, grabbing her quest roughly to cuff them as quick as possible.

“Hey,” y/n said with an eye roll, not knowing he’d get in the mood this fast. “Not a word from you, princess. Let’s see how good you think you can take it,” Eddie said as he placed the chains where they needed to be.

Seeing y/n in this sight, made him harder than he thought he could get. She was always beautiful, but seeing her innocent body slightly retrained, knowing she was actually ready for what was coming, made him want to burst then and there.

“Always thought about tying you up at school. I was a little perv-nerd when it came to you, princess. You always looked and smelled so good — Had to keep myself from throwing you in my van with your hands and legs tied,”

Eddie was in an emotion he couldn’t control. He was either not sure about putting his pretty girl through this, or he was getting too dark to the point he would black out and not remember anything he’d do to her tonight.

“Pretties thighs — Pretties body — Pretties fucking face,” Eddie slightly growled as he gripped y/n’s face. The younger girl whined with huge eyes, feeling her heat get wet.

“I know, baby — Hearts probably rising. Maybe a hint of fear, knowing you can’t get loose — Don’t worry. You know, I’ll take good care of you,”

Eddie quickly began tugging on y/n’s clothes until parts of her showed more than before. She had already had her night dress in, so exposing her bra-covered breast was easy.

“You sure you want this y/n because, fuck — I won’t be able to stop myself,” Eddie warned as he climbed on top of y/n, pulling her dress up as she slightly moved at his cold hands grazing her skin.

“U-Use me — Please,” y/n stuttered, not knowing if she should’ve said it. “What’s the safe word?” Eddie asked in a stern tone. “Red,” y/n said, feeling her heart raise. This was actually happening, and she only had to question him once.

“Good girl,” Eddie grunted as he reached into his jeans to pull himself out. “And, that’s the only thing I wanna hear from you tonight,” Eddie said as he pulled y/n’s panties to the side.

“I-I’ll try,” y/n spoke, making Eddie shake his head with a chuckle. “You’re always doing a terrible job. Just means I’ll have to start off rough,” before anything, Eddie doubly pushed through y/n’s walls, causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Yeah? You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? I told you doggy would be the only position you could truly handle — This is next level,” Eddie couldn’t stop but grin down at the struggles woman.

“S-So much,” y/n whined low, only making Eddie shush her. “Nah uh, what did I say? Didn’t I say to keep that pretty mouth closed? Hm? — You’re the one who wanted this, so accept the journey,”

Eddie grabbed both sides of y/n’s waist before pushing down onto the mattress. Y/n knew he was positioning himself to fuck her rough. He’s never gone too rough, but she asked for it tonight.

“Hush it up, princess — You wanted it,” Eddie continued saying as he pounded down into y/n, going the deepest he could get at the start of his session. After being handcuffed, there would be no room for taking it slow.

“E-Eddie,” y/n cried out as she pulled one of her restraints. At times, she’d forget that she wouldn’t be able to get out. “Wanna break free? Keep trying, princess — Makes this so much hotter,” Eddie growled with a smile, looking down at the way y/n pulled on the chains.

“This is the tightest you’ve ever been — The way you’re soaking around me, only makes me closer,” Eddie felt himself twitch. He didn’t want to cum this quick, but it didn’t matter. He’s always been able to keep going.

“Eddie- Eddie, you — The condoms. You forgot the condoms,” y/n took forever to say what she was trying to say. “Oh, really? Guess that’s your luck, hm?” Eddie leaned in front of y/n’s face.

Deep down, Eddie felt bad for slipping into her without protection. He had completely forgotten, but he didn’t want to get out of character. He had to somehow make sure y/n was 100% with what was going on.

“Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me. Tell me!” Eddie slightly yelled as he snapped his hips, wanting to keep his work going. He could feel the way she fluttered around him. She was so close.

“Too much, Eds — I’m gonna cum,” y/n made the mistake of telling him how close she was. “And, you want me to stop? When you’re so close? C’mon,” Eddie leaned into y/n’s ear so she could hear his groans better.

The room was filled with wet slaps, whining, growling, and a bunch is cuss words from Eddie. He couldn’t keep himself together. This situation was too much for him. He was going to explode.

“E-Eddie, slow down — Please,” y/n tried begging the man, but he wouldn’t listen. Why would he? She hadn’t used the safe word yet. “Want me to slow down?” Eddie asked as he leaned up.

“Yes, yes,” y/n huffed, surprised he actually slowed down. She had thought he got soft, but little did she know, he was just getting a short break. “Want me to be nicer? Take it easy on you?” He asked as he softly placed his hands around her neck.

“Please-“ y/n was cut off by the grip of his hands. “Then you asked the wrong one to chain you up, sweetheart,” Eddie spat before he began slamming into her, making the young lady cry out instantly.

“E-Eds! C-Can’t anymore — I can’t!” Y/n kicked and arched her back, trying to control herself, but her cunt continued to squeeze around Eddie, only assuring him that he was doing exactly what she wanted. Using her.

“That’s it — Keep struggling — You’re going nowhere, and this isn’t even the beginning — I have so many loads I’ve been wanting to empty into you,” Eddie tightened his grip a bit more to hear her struggle for air.

For a second, Eddie thought he might have been going too far tonight. Quickly handcuffing her, saying mean things, pinning her down, and fucking get rougher than he’s ever done.

The only thing that helped him was her words. She never once came close to the word red. She would’ve said it by now, and she would never come to him later and say she was uncomfortable. Y/n wasn’t like that.

That’s how Eddie knew y/n probably enjoyed this more than him. She loved faking that she needed him to stop. He even saw a small pour from her when he slowed down a few minutes ago.

“C-Cumming — Cunming,” y/n’s body stiffened before she shook. “That’s it- That’s it — Fucking take it,” the older man growled as he pounded her, wanting her juice to splash anywhere it could.

“Ian stoppin’ either, baby — Told you to keep that fucking mouth shut, didn’t I?” Eddie asked, but y/n didn’t answer. Her eyes were landing everywhere but on him. She felt out of it already.

“Didn’t I!?” The man shouted as he shook y/n by her neck to catch her attention. “S-Sorry,” tears streamed from her eyes, upset at herself for not taking it like she swore she could.

Right as Eddie went to assure her that she was fine, she spoke, shocking him.

“I-I’ll be good, I promise. Please cum in me. D-Don’t pull out and punish me,” she cried. “I’ll do anything, Eds, just- Please, use me,”

“Jesus’s H. Christ,” Eddie huffed as he pulled out. He quickly turned his girlfriend around, knowing the chains were long enough for her to be comfortable. He took no time to push back in her, roughly, with a warning.

Y/n wanted to speak out loud to thank him, he she kept quiet. She wanted to be good like she promised.

“You’re just a slut, y/n — A dirty fucking slut, and I knew it from how you dressed at parties — You always got drunk before you sat on my lap, facing me- Dragging that pretty pussy across my clothes cock — Swore you even stained my jeans, once,”

Y/n whined, happy that he noticed his much she wanted him before they got together. Yeah, a bit of embarrassment was felt, but the thought of being caught was what made her close to another orgasm.

“You’re in for a ride with me, princess. Especially after I coat these walls,”

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MESCAL vs PASCAL

PEDRO PASCAL with PAUL MESCAL and JOSEPH QUINN promoting GLADIATOR II

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KIT CONNOR "OH, FUCK OFF!" via BuzzFeed

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Cherry Stems

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

description: eddie rejects your advances because his friends are around. so you use them to your advantage. piss eddie off and maybe you'll get what you want. maybe.

warnings: MDNI! 18+ only pls, age not specified but i imagine eddie/reader are 20+, porn without much plot, major teasing, reader is a brat, mentions of eating food, reader has no food aversions, nicknames, reader is flirting with eddie's bandmates, jealousy, possessiveness, name calling, face grabbing, eddie is lowkey a dom, unprotected p in v, fingering (vaginal), oral fixation, eddie puts his fingers in your mouth a lot, reader gets off on being bullied, orgasm denial, cum play, cum eating.... think that's it.

author’s note: hi i wrote this in one night. i am a whore for eddie, what else can i say. i'm also down to take requests, so if you see this, hey, send me an ask. maybe i'll cave and do some. as always, thanks bestie girl @amanitacowboy for helping me with this. let's never forget how much of a whore we are for this man. it keeps me (in)sane <3

Eddie had been teasing you all night and it was really starting to get to you. 

After a pretty electric performance at The Hideout, Eddie and his friends decided that they were hungry for some burgers from the empty Shiny Diner nearby. You had already had enough of Eddie’s shit at this point, so as soon as you sat next to him in the big half moon shaped booth, you knew it was game on. 

From eyeing you while he sang filthy lyrics from the stage, to the way he was working his hand up the hem of your dress when you sat at the bar, Eddie was truly being a menace. When the band got loud in the car on the way to the diner, you decided to make your move. You had rested your hand on Eddie’s crotch while sitting in the bucket seat next to him. While Eddie loved giving a good show, he was not keen on letting his friends see you in such a way. So he brushed your hand away and gave you the ‘not now’ eyes. 

You were for him and him only.

It aggravated you to no end, watching him rejoin the conversation with the guys, while you crossed your arms in disappointment.

But you were going to push some buttons tonight. You were going to get him back.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were all very sweet boys. Each of them have never been nothing but respectful of you. Gareth had known you longer than Eddie and he was actually the one who introduced you two. Jeff was usually a know-it-all, but he never dared question anything you said. And Grant… he was just quiet. Always following along with the antics and very well mannered. 

While you respected all the boys back, you also knew they found you attractive and that you could take advantage of that. After one specific smoke session together a couple months back, Eddie asked them all if they had a crush on you. He only ever said things like that to make them squirm. Teasing each other was the way they showed their love for one another. He also liked to remind people that they never stood a chance with you. And they all said that of course they found you pretty, but they would not dare go after you. 

Well, for one night only, you would give them believe they had a chance. Just to piss off Eddie. 

You had done this before. A year into your relationship, you had unintentionally made him jealous and it led to the most mind blowing sex of your life. The sex was so memorable that you do not even remember how you made him jealous. 

You needed that just about now. 

You were the only group there along with the waitress and line cook, so you were not worried about making a scene. You game plan how you were going to achieve such a feat as you scan the diner menu. You already knew what you wanted, but spotting the milkshakes on the list of drinks, a light bulb went off in your brain. 

The older waitress took down the boy’s order while you sat quietly staring at the menu. When it came down to you, you look up at the white haired woman and smiled. 

“One chocolate shake, extra whip cream and cherries, please.” You hand her the menu and glance over at a confused Eddie. You usually got a Dr. Pepper and a cheeseburger value meal, hold the lettuce. 

“Not hungry, baby?” He asks, reaching out for your black painted nails. You slide your hand away, acting like you are reaching for something in your purse. 

“Just wanna try something new.”

You pull your lipgloss out, still not looking over at Eddie. You twist off the top, placing the applicator on the middle of your bottom lip as your eyes flicker over to Grant’s. He is not paying much mind to anything, his eyes looking towards the window behind you. When he takes note of your gaze, he finally looks at you. 

You swipe the gloss across your lips, smirking devilishly. 

“What did you get, Grant?”

He thinks for a beat, realizing even he forgot what he ordered. “Uh… BLT with onion rings.”

You smack your lips together, rubbing your top lip on the bottom one painfully slow. 

“You gonna share your onion rings?”

He was not expecting the question, his lips curling upward before he chuckles. You can feel Eddie’s body stiffen as you ask the question. 

Grant nods, though, “Of course. You can have some-” “Baby, you’re not gonna eat his food.” You shoot a glare at Eddie, tossing your gloss back in your pocketbook. “Grant said I could, so… yeah I am.”

Eddie’s eyes search yours, trying to figure out what you are trying to do. You disguise your pleasure at his curiosity, rolling your eyes and pointing your attention at Jeff. He’s positioned right next to Grant, fiddling with his fingers. Before you can press him with a question, the waitress comes and puts down your drinks. She’s missing your milkshake. 

“That’ll be out in just a moment,” She says, grabbing her tray as she returns behind the counter, seemingly preparing your shake. You watch Jeff fiddle with his straw wrapper and you finally decide to bother him next. 

“Is that Dr. Pepper?” You ask, already knowing the answer. Jeff always got Dr. Pepper, just like you. It’s something you two bonded over often. He just nods, taking a sip of the bubbly beverage. You look over at the waitress quickly, seeing she’s still fiddling with the milkshake blender. 

You grab Jeff’s ice cold glass, your eyes glistening with innocence, “You mind if I have a sip? I’m parched.” And of course he’s too confused to say no. You pull the drink over and once it crosses to your side of the table, Eddie’s hand presses into your bare thigh. You do not react, taking Jeff’s straw into your mouth and sucking in a big sip, your eyes never leaving his. Once you pull the plastic away, you smirk. 

“Thanks, hun.” You push the drink back to him slowly. His cheeks heat up instantly when he notices your lipgloss on the tip of the straw. Eddie’s hand only squeezes more, trying to get you to look over at him. 

He wanted your attention so bad, his body curving closer to you. You can feel his gaze stuck onto the side of your face. 

Before anyone says anything else, the white haired lady returns with your chocolate shake. You giddedly grab the glass and stuff a straw into the frozen drink. 

You use your tongue to toy with the end of the straw, pulling it into your open mouth. Your eyes flicker away from Jeff and take aim at Gareth, who’s seated right across from you. Since he’s known you so long, you can already read on his face that he knows what you are up to. He may be a nice guy, but he too loves to fuck with Eddie. 

He was going to help you in whatever way possible. Instead of you initiating conversation, he speaks up. 

“Chocolate, huh? Thought you’d like vanilla.” Your eyebrow quirks up. You know Eddie’s face is bright red next to you. The heat radiating from him is pressing into your shoulder and thigh. 

“You got me pegged as a vanilla girl? That’s a bit offensive, Gare,” You smile, calculating your next move. You look down at the pile of whipped cream on the top of the shake. You drag your pointer finger across the top, gathering the cream all around it. 

You hear Eddie whispering beside you. “You better fuckin’ not.”

You smile, bringing your finger to your lips, not peeling your eyes from Gareth. You know the tension is palpable because Gareth’s smile is only widening when you lick the cream off your finger. 

The other guys are gawking at you at this point. You were putting on a show and they could not even fathom that it was happening before their very eyes. 

Gareth finally says something, nodding at the milkshake. “And extra cherries?”

“Gareth-,” Eddie’s voice fades over yours. 

“Oh yeah! You know I can tie the stems with my tongue?”

Eddie’s rings are going to be imprinted on your leg with how tightly he’s gripping onto you. You grab one of the cherries, getting your fingers covered in more whipped cream. You lean your head back a bit, your nose facing the old tile ceiling. You drop the cherry in your mouth, stem up. Tilting your head back, facing Gareth, you pull the cherry off the stem between your teeth. It’s unbelievably sensual the way you chew the red fruit. 

You show each of the boys the stem, even Eddie. When you glance over at him, you do not believe you have ever seen him so annoyed. He’s not hiding it well. You drop the stem on your tongue, returning your gaze over to Gareth. 

You roll the stem around, using your teeth slightly to do the stupid party trick you learned in 10th grade to impress a boy. It’s not impressive when every hot girl in school could do it, too. But nonetheless, it was something you could do to layer on the eroticism of the moment. 

When it’s tied, you contemplate taking it out of your mouth and showing it off. Maybe even drop it in Eddie’s hand. Instead, you decide to just extend your tongue out and show the stem on the very tip of your tongue. 

The color drains from Eddie’s face. It’s the end of the show for him. 

He grabs your forearm, ripping you out of the booth. You look back at Gareth, who’s still smiling, all the while Jeff and Grant look even more confused.  

When the fresh air hits you when he slams the glass door open, you flick your head to the side and spit out the stem in the gravel. His grip is so tight around your arm as he drags you to the van. It’s parked on the far side of the lot, occupying a spot that’s backed up to some woods. 

“What is wrong?”

Asking such a question only pisses him off further. Once you reach the van, his left hand flings the side door open. He practically tosses you onto the shag rug that lines the very back of the vehicle. 

“Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” His voice is intimidatingly deep.

Your legs hang out while Eddie stands over you, his hand resting on the top of the van. The back of your knees feel the sting of the frayed metal that hinges the door shut. You swallow, contemplating if you should continue messing with him. With the way he’s looking at you, you felt that this was not going to lead to the jealous sex you two had before. He’s actually angry. 

“You pushed my hand away when I wanted you earlier.”

Your voice is so small and unsure. His eyes narrow at you, his mouth slightly ajar in complete disbelief. The silence hanging in the air makes your heart rate increase. 

His mouth closes and you watch his jaw clench, “So you flirt with my friends right in front of me? Even when I explicitly said you better not.”

With his free hand, he swats your bare leg as you squeeze your thighs together. “Answer me.”

You watch the red mark appear on your flesh and decide to keep playing into the game. You had nothing to lose. If he’s actually angry, you could always have amazing make up sex instead. Eddie could not stay mad at you for too long. 

You shake your head, lifting your chin up in defiance. “All I did was tie a cherry stem.”

He does not accept that answer, slapping your thigh harder this time. 

You knew then that you had him where you wanted him. His eyes were giving him away. His pupils dilated as soon as he realized that you did not yelp at him slapping you around. 

Your eyes widen, watching him jump into the van beside you and dragging you back further. He slams the door, rattling the hunk of metal. The only light being let in is from the front windshield. A hazy warm lit streetlight only lights up Eddie’s face as he’s pining you to the ground. 

He positions himself between your legs, pushing the back of your thighs up with his knees. The skirt you chose for the occasion was pretty flowy, so it slid up your hips as soon as he props you up. “You want to act like a whore in front of my friends? All ‘cause I slapped your hand away earlier?”

His voice does not even sound like his. You hear the jiggling of his belt as he asks you the question. But the more twisted Eddie was, the more aroused you felt. You were drawn to him the first moment he teased you and bullied you a bit. You got off on him being callous. 

“Words. Now.”

You look down between your legs and see his cock springing free from his boxers as he shoves them down his thighs. You groan, the pulsating at your core coinciding with your heart rate. “Wanted to get your attention.”

He smacks your inner thigh, painfully close to your pantyline. You moan at the action, propping yourself up a bit more on your elbows. You watch as he carefully drags his pointer and middle finger under the hem of your lace. He smirks to himself, “That’s not what I fuckin’ asked.”

His fingers dip under your underwear, gathering the slick between your folds. You throw your head back, unable to hold back the sob as he spreads you open. You were putty in his hands, always bending to him. “Yes, Eddie.”

Your response leads to him sliding his fingers inside your cunt, a wet squelching noise filling both your ears. Your back thuds against the rug as your muscles give out under his touch. He fucks you with his fingers, the look on his face unreadable. He usually takes his time with foreplay, but this was different. He was testing how far he could take you in a limited amount of time. You were in a parking lot with his friends less than 500 feet inside, he could not take his time torturing you. 

His fingers retract from your pussy, gripping onto the lace of your panties and tearing them down your legs. When he sits back on his heels, you watch his long cock bounce with his movements. It sends a smile across your face. When he zeros in on you again, he tilts his head to the side. 

“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t talk anymore.”

It makes you giggle at first, unsure if he’s really being serious. But when his face does not twist up into a smirk like it usually did, you realize you were in trouble. He takes ahold of his dick, leaning forward onto you. Your mouth falls open as you study Eddie dragging his tip between your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. 

He sinks into you, raising your hips a bit to meet him straight on. The stretch is always overwhelming for you at first. You and Eddie fucked at least three times a week, but he always made you cum before shoving his cock deep inside you. Stretching you out for a couple minutes with two fingers is not enough for you. He hisses when he pulls back, his hands grasping onto you for dear life. 

He wastes no time setting a bruising pace. There’s no build up, he is simply taking his annoyance out on you. You are reaching out to anything around you, trying to find something to hold onto as he rams into you. You find a sweatshirt nearby, squeezing it as tight as you can as you breathe out to relax your pelvic muscles.

“Eddie, please-” You try to say, throwing your head forward. He shifts your hips a bit more, opening you up wider. As he does that, he rakes his hands upward, pushing your skirt up higher to your belly button. He shakes your head to your pleas. 

“Eddie, please.” He mocks, relocating his hand to squeeze your cheeks together. When your jaw unhinges, Eddie inspects your tongue as he drills into you. “Put my fingers in your mouth.”

“Ed-”

He sandwiches your face harder, cutting you off from being able to say anything. He fills your mouth with the two fingers that were plunging inside of you earlier. The taste of your own arousal is still present on his fingers as you swirl your tongue around the digits. You mewl as he grinds his pelvis into your clit. “Shut up,” he orders, his face centimeters from yours, “Now suck them while I fuck you.”

You have no way to talk back, so you do what he says. You hallow your cheeks out, lathering all your saliva around his fingers. The build up in the pit of your stomach only gets more intense when Eddie hoists your leg up over his shoulder. You clench around him, tears pricking your eyes as you vibrate his fingers with your moans. 

“Do not fuckin’ cum yet,” He warns, pulling his fingers in and out of your mouth. His hips are faltering as he chases his own climax. Your body feels like every nerve ending is about to implode under the pressure of you holding back your orgasm, and Eddie can sense that. He drags his fingers out from your lips, rubbing your own spit into your lips. He grabs your jaw with the same hand, pulling your face closer to his.

“Say you’re mine. You’re only gonna be mine.”

You nod, knocking his forehead slightly. “I’m only ever gonna be yours, Eddie.”

With your foreheads touching, you watch as he falls apart inside you. 

And with three vicious snaps of his hips, he spills his seed deep inside you. He does not let out a sound. His mouth is agape as deep heaves fan your face. 

When he finishes, he slides his cock out of you and sits back on his knees again. Him exiting your body is so frustrating, you want to scream.  

He uses one arm to hold your one leg back as spit covered fingers swipe up your cunt. His spend is leaking out of you and you know if he works his usual magic, you will cum in 30 seconds. 

“Please, Eddie. Please let me cum.”

He smirks villainously, “Why should I let you, hm?” He spreads your pussy lips, getting a good look as his cum dribbles down to your asshole.

You are getting desperate. You never had to beg Eddie to cum, ever. He was always so generous. 

“I promise I’ll be good. Please, please.” He chuckles dryly before sinking his fingers back into you. “Fine. Since you asked so pretty and promised to behave yourself.”

His fingers scissor into you, that familiar burn in the pit of your stomach returning. As his two fingers make work at your entrance, his thumb swipes your clit in meticulous circles. His bottom lip is tucked under his top teeth, watching you fall apart on his fingers. You are practically chanting his name as he brings you to your peak. 

When your chest heaves, finally relaxing from your orgasm, Eddie slides his digits out of you and brings them up to his plump pink lips. He licks them clean, just like you did with the whipped cream earlier. 

“Hm… Don’t see how Gareth thought you were a vanilla girl,” He states, smiling sinfully at you. “You, my dear, are a fuckin’ vixen.”

-

tags of friends who may like this idk (if you wanna be tagged in the future, just lemme know <3):

@hockeyhughes @pedgito @mediocredreams @the-unforgivenn

[thnksfrthquinn]

[thnksfrthquinn]

this gets its own post... good grief, sir JOSEPH QUINN as EMPEROR GETA Gladiator II (2024)

[thnksfrthquinn]

raw. next question.

[thnksfrthquinn]

This scene had me bawling, bawling.

[thnksfrthquinn]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary Eddie’s had a long day, but being with you is enough to turn even the worst days into something sweeter [fluff, artsy reader, mild hurt/comfort, smut, 3.2k]

A/N This is some of my favorite smut I've written. Still very much stuck on him.

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It’s much quieter in your neighborhood than it is in Forest Hills. No muffled music or raised voices carry from the houses around the cul-de-sac. Tired men don’t tinker on rusty cars. Unleashed dogs don’t sniff their way through ailing yards that aren’t their own. The only signs of life are cars in driveways and lamplight through windows. The golden sun hangs low in the darkening sky.

Eddie makes a final attempt to exhale the weight of the day away before he presses your doorbell. Not even a second later, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

The smile you offer has him convinced that every butterfly he’s ever seen now exists within the confines of his stomach. It’s as if familiarity and radiance itself exist in the way your lips lift upwards to reveal the glint of your teeth.

“I heard you pull up,” you say. “In case you were wondering why I opened the door in two seconds…” you trail off when you realize you don’t sound as convincing as you want. 

Eddie smiles with a fond shake of his head. The action causes more of his curls fall onto his shoulders. He’d never make fun of you for being eager to see him. Especially when half the people in Hawkins care more about his skills beneath the hood than him as a person.

“Sorry I’m later than I said I’d be,” he says as you usher him inside. “Wanted to grab a shower before I came over.” 

“Didn’t you hear?” Eddie's brow furrows innocently at your question. “I love the smell of motor oil.” 

He huffs out a chuckle that makes you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Then he laughs again, deeper this time, like a funny thought has struck him. But he takes a step closer, cups your cheek, and kisses you. His lips are slow and easy against your own.

When he pulls away, you catch the weariness in his eyes, softened by gratitude as he takes you in. He could’ve gone home. He could’ve turned in for the night. But he wanted to see you too. He needed to see you. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “Everything okay?” 

You reach out to tuck his hair behind his ears, and he lets you. Any other time, he’d shake it back loose with a playful smirk. Tonight he doesn’t. 

He catches your hand as you pull away, and dots a few kisses over your knuckles. Work and playing guitar have calloused his palms. His steel rings glint in the low light of the foyer. 

“I’m okay,” he says into your skin. You remain quiet in hopes that it’ll coax more out of him. “Long day at the shop.” 

You hum. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. Don’t be. 

“Got you something,” he remembers. "Been holding onto it for a couple days." He realizes he’s empty-handed.

“Shit. I left it in the van.” 

You chuckle as he presses another quick kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go and pulls away. 

When Eddie comes back inside, you’re on the living room couch with one leg tucked beneath you. The TV plays low reruns of I Love Lucy, but you grant him all your attention as he settles beside you. Before you have the chance to ask what’s in the brown paper bag, he pulls out a nice set of drawing pencils and a leather-bound sketchbook. 

Your mouth falls open as he passes them over to you, his expression quietly hopeful. Big brown eyes eager for your reaction. 

“Eddie…” 

“You filled your last sketchbook. And you’ve been needing some new pencils." He rests his forearms on his thighs and licks his lips. "Knew you’d hold off on getting them for yourself so I figured..." 

A smile finally breaks across your face.

“These are the fancy kind too," you note as you look over the pencils. "Thank you so much, baby. Really.” He shrugs like it's no big deal even as he bites back the proud quirk of his lips. It was a privilege to be able to do little things like this when he could.

The leather of the sketchbook is smooth as you flip open the cover to run your fingers over the crisp, fragrant pages. 

When you meet his eyes again, your gaze is soft and observant, like you have an idea. It feels like you're seeing straight into him. He's handsome. Long curls, kind eyes, plush lips. Even then, it's clear he still wears the remnants of the hours prior, though he masks it well.

“Maybe I can draw you," you propose with the quiet hope he’ll oblige. “To break everything in.

"All you've gotta do is sit back and relax. We can talk, watch some TV, eat my snacks." He smiles at that last part. 

After the frustrated customers he had to diffuse today, he can do that. Gladly so. 

•••

The warm lamplight and the glow of the TV cast soft shadows across Eddie's face. His long lashes appear heavy with the relaxed way he blinks at the screen. He’s sunk back into the cushions, legs spread just so, hands interlocked over his stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. An empty bowl of popcorn rests on the coffee table along with a hollow box of Jujyfruits. 

Five separate sketches of him now constitute the beginnings of your new sketchbook. He tilts his head to peer over at you when he no longer hears the familiar brush of graphite against paper.

The cushions shift as he straightens up and rubs his eyes with lazy fists. 

“All finished?” he asks, and you nod. “Can I see?” 

When you pass him the sketchbook, his eyes rove over the drawings with the attentiveness of a critic, but void of any harshness or critique. It’s more of an assessment, an appreciation. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Raises the book to get a better look at the hatching technique you used to shade the first sketch you completed. 

It’s a straight-on portrait that he’d faced you for. There’s a sense of ease about his gaze. A warmth paired with an underlying pensiveness. He knows he’s being studied but feels more seen than exposed. 

Except, Eddie's so much more than you’ll ever be able to confine to a couple sheets of paper. Charming in an awkward way, with one of the kindest hearts you’ve ever known. Loving him is as easy as blinking or breathing. So natural it feels innate. He feels your gaze as he studies the sketches.

When he redirects his attention to you, he offers one of his steady, slow-moving smiles that never fails to make your stomach flutter. 

“Always staring at me,” he accuses, too lighthearted to be mistaken for a complaint. 

In truth, you observed everyone and everything. But never with the same admiration allotted to Eddie. There were so many layers that you feared you wouldn’t have the time to unravel them all. You’d never wanted to know the inner workings of another person so intimately. 

After a lifetime of slipping through the cracks, it sure was nice to be seen in an unadulterated way by you. 

“Can’t help it,” you murmur.

Eddie tracks your movements as you grab one of the accent pillows and toss it to the floor at his feet. A second later, you drop down onto it. His breath catches when you place two gentle hands on his knees and spread his legs so you can better settle between them. 

"Hope your day's gotten a little better since you’ve been here," you murmur.

Eddie swallows. Sets your sketchbook aside with a jittery hand. 

“It has." His voice is thick as anticipation stirs within him. "As soon as I walked through the door.”

You hum as he squirms, hyperaware of your touch as your hands drift along his thighs. His head tips back when you palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Warmth ignites in his cheeks and melts to his torso as his pants tighten in the wake of his arousal. Along the thick column of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobs with another swallow.

It hadn’t even taken much. 

His legs fall open wider, like a gate, when you begin to unbuckle his belt. The metal hardware clinks with your movements, breaking the hush between you. You pop the button, drag the zipper down. 

“Wanna help me get these off?” A sweet smile plays on your lips as you blink up at him. 

Eager, Eddie lifts his hips, and you help him shuck down his pants and underwear. There's a tent in the front of his boxers when you get to them, and he shifts with the new exposure by the time everything pools at his socked feet. 

Featherlight, your fingertips ghost toward the apex of his thighs, his milky skin dusted with sparse hair. His muscles twitch at the ticklish sensation, and he braces for the inevitable.

Except your touch flutters past where he aches. Bypasses where he strains toward his stomach. Instead, your hands sweep over his hips. Slip beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch along the low part of his stomach where a thin, dark trail of hair leads down to his need. 

His chest deflates on a slow, bated breath. You hide your coy smile in the inside of his thigh in the form of a kiss. Right over the small smiley face inked into his skin. Eddie huffs in flustered amusement. 

“This is—” 

“One of your favorite tattoos of mine,” he finishes with flushed cheeks. 

You grin in feigned surprise. “How’d you know?” You trace your nails back down to his quivering thighs. 

His arousal kicks up when you grant him the gentle brush of your fingertips over the rounded fullness that rests heavily between his legs.

“Sweetheart,” he finally sighs, dark eyes molten when they find yours. 

“Teddy,” you coo back. 

He doesn’t have time to brace when you begin to pepper an alternating line of kisses up his thighs until your lips find the part of him that needs you the most. 

His breath hitches. “Baby—”

A pleasured shudder rolls through him as you kiss up the elegant curve of the thick vein along his underside. You follow the path of his need all the way to the rosy tip, where a wet, gleaming pearl beads in a testament to his want. You suckle it away. Savor it.

Eddie's eyes flutter shut, body taut as you spit over him and wrap a secure hand around his base. The slick heat of your palm makes his hips stutter as you begin to pull upward in a steady tug. At the top, you circle your thumb around the mushroom tip. You dedicate another swipe of your thumb to a slow trace along his slit. 

Eddie is warm and rigid in your hold, beautifully at your mercy, and he knows it. Doesn't mind it. The full hum in his throat unravels into a low, shameless moan when his lips part. 

“Yeah, baby?” you meet his gaze and hold it. Heat pools between your legs. “You feelin’ good?” 

Eddie reaches out to stroke his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Please don’t stop.” 

You wouldn’t dream of it.

As you continue your languid strokes, you mouth at his inner thighs. Kisses, nibbles, licks. He’s so wound up that all of it gets to him. Pleasure tugs low in his gut with a radiance he can feel in his fingertips, his toes. 

With a practiced gentleness, your free hand lowers to massage the velvet weight of him that you’ve neglected. A rugged sound escapes him as he writhes. Even more so when you move to lap him again, this time taking him halfway and working what's left over with your hand. 

You pull away to trace your lips along his shaft, mindful of every inch and the tell-tale shudder that startles through him. You peer up through your lashes to find desperation etched across his features. 

He cups your cheek to get you to pause. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he insists. "Wanna feel you—lemme feel you.” 

You clench around nothing as he encourages you upwards. 

After you shuffle to your feet, you push your lounge shorts down, followed by your panties. Eddie strokes himself, gaze heavy-lidded as he watches. 

No sooner do you move forward to straddle his lap, standing on your knees with your hands braced on his shoulders. His hands find your hips, but one drifts lower in a curious glide between your parted legs. He graces through your slick folds, then brushes his thumb over your swollen bundle of nerves. He’s gauging if you’re ready for him, but you nearly crumble forward at his thoughtful touch. 

“So sensitive,” he notes lightly. A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as they find yours. 

“Because of you.” You pout as you reach down and align him at your entrance. 

He catches at your slick warmth and whispers a string of curses. It shouldn’t already be this good. You shouldn’t already be this ready. But both things are true because the two of you have somehow stumbled into your own little perfect world. Both his hands find your hips again as you ease yourself down to welcome him in. Inch by slow inch, every vein and ridge. 

You don’t realize you’re whining until you’ve sunken to accommodate all of him. Eddie runs a soothing hand up your back as you lean forward into his chest in an encompassing haze of fullness. Already, he’s touching that devastating part of you that’s so thoughtfully tucked away. He’s the only one who’s been able to reach it. To find it as if the path had been carved for him alone. It’s a homecoming in its own right. 

“You feel so good,” he sighs the news like it's hot off the press. Like the words can't make it out of his mouth any sooner.

For a brief moment, stillness prevails as you adjust around him. You tuck your nose into his hair, where the subtle scent of his sweet, herbal shampoo lingers. Instead of canting his hips upwards like he so desperately wants to, he lets you have the moment. Presses a kiss to the bulb of your exposed shoulder, then allows his hands to find the hem of your tank top. You move to pull it over your head. He does the same with his own shirt, biting back a groan as you shift over top of him. 

Your nipples pebble in the cool air, even more so when he cups your chest and circles them with his thumbs. The sensation throws you into a shiver that jumpstarts a roll of your hips. Eddie’s fingers return to your waist in a silent encouragement. 

Before long, you leverage the bend at your knees to lift off him, then lower yourself back down. A rhythm soon forms, Eddie’s hips rise to meet yours. His thighs quake as a strangled sound of relief spills past his lips. 

A whimper escapes you as an invisible string pulls you forward to dot a few languid kisses across the apple of his cheek as you continue to ride him. 

“Oh—shit,”  he exhales shakily. “You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He sounds panicked and awed all the same. 

All you can do is hum at his words. Every time you lower onto him, it feels like he manages to reach a new depth that makes you want to crawl away. Yet your hands find his tattooed chest for the sole purpose of feeling more of him, his warm, dewed skin. A shiver shakes him when the tip of your nail grazes over one of his nipples. Spurred on, you pinch the peaked flesh next, which earns you a particularly hard thrust as he groans. A jolt of electricity rushes straight between his legs with the threat of being his undoing. 

“You’re gonna make me come, angel.” The shameless, exasperated way he says it makes you clench around him. 

You lower a hand to rub tight, purposeful circles over the tender bud between your legs, the pleasure sharper in the wake of his words. 

“I want you to come,” you attempt to keep your voice steady as you lilt. “Want you to fill me up. Want all of you.” 

Eddie groans and sags back into the cushions in an air of disbelief. Somehow you’re real. Somehow you chose him. And you’d never led him to believe that things should be any other way.

You lean forward in pursuit of him to kiss his throat, then up along his jaw until you’ve arrived at his bitten lips. The kiss carries the neediness of being on the edge. 

“Always gonna want you,” you whisper heavily against his mouth.  

Eddie whimpers. “You have me.” His thighs tense beneath you as he teeters on the brink. This time, when his hand finds your waist, it’s to ground himself in the intoxicating rock of your hips. 

You kiss him one last time, saliva slinking between you, before you touch your dewy forehead to his. 

“Come with me,” you frantically encourage. “Eddie, please—” 

The broken sound that punches out of him sends you into the thralls of a reckless release. It’s swift and forceful like a lightning bolt zipping from the sky. Your walls flutter around him as pleasure courses in every direction. Eddie has no choice but to let go. He jolts beneath you like stricken earth. His stomach clenches in time with each pulsing wave of release. 

Eddie’s neck becomes your hiding place as aftershocks ripple through you both. Your lips begin to press more deliberate kisses to the space where his neck and shoulder join. Beneath you, he sits like putty and softens within the warmth of you. He’s attuned to every small shift you make. You’re not quite ready to relinquish the fullness. 

A steady, clammy hand glides up your back and settles at the nape of your neck. When you sit up to meet his tired, satisfied gaze, you're struck by a surge of fondness. Of love. If you could erase his bad days, keep them from ever touching him, you would. But you can’t. They’ll come, for both of you, whether you like it or not. 

Still, you had this. Each other. That’s enough to make life a little sweeter, a little kinder. Even on the days that are anything but. 

Eddie’s lashes flutter when you run a gentle finger down his nose. “You okay?” you ask. 

He shifts beneath you, wincing at his forgotten sensitivity. A small smile pulls at his lips as he finally nods at your question, contentment clear in his eyes. 

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise, sweetheart.” 

He offers his pinkie as a seal of truth. 

- 

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