College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

yeah im an absolute whore for this man

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: im so out of practice from writing, so this is not my best nor does it really flow- but im getting back into writing so you already know i have to write for the love of my life.. so sorry if this isn't the best!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: shang chi x reader

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, unprotected sex, praise kink, oral (m & f), mentions of over stim and breeding kink, this is unedited

you'd meet at a bar- sitting across the room, he couldn't help by be mesmerized by your beauty. the nerves would set in as katy convinces him to go talk to you. his hands would get clammy and his heart would race the closer he got to the bar.

you're with friends, drinking a beer while just chatting about life. it was your first time in the bar, not expecting to meet a man or even talk to anyone. shang chi would walk up nervously, wiping his hands on his jeans. "hi, i couldn't help but notice how beautiful you are.. i was wondering if i could by you a drink?" you'd look back at him and see the cheesy grin and nodded nervously.

the longer you'd talk the more you wanted to see him again. from the night forward, you'd be inseparable. karaoke nights, bar hopping, movie nights, hiking, etc. you'd do everything together.

shang chi would show you off proudly, being the perfect gentleman. you wouldn't lift a finger while with him- he would make sure that you had everything you needed. nights in would be your favorite- both of you in sweatpants and cuddled into each other.

his love language would be physical touch- constantly needing to hold your hand, having his arm around you, or leaving small pecks on your shoulder- he needed to know you were close by.

when it comes to being intimate, your comfort was his top priority. he'd take his time to appreciate your body- every inch, kissing down your body, dragging his tongue down the valley of your breasts.

the first few times, he'd take it slow, getting to know your body and the things that make you squirm. when he has become comfortable? there is not a thing he wouldn't do. trying different positions and exploring new kinks.

he'd love praising you, being as deep as he could. "s'good, baby, you're so wet for me" "slow down, we have all night, baby" each thrust would be deep, making sure you felt every inch- stretching out your pussy. watching your eyes roll back and your hands dig into his back as he pumped you full of his cum.

shang chi would love going down on you- he'd be addicted to your pussy. holding your hips down, licking up every last drop of your juices- "oh you taste so good, could stay down here for hours!" he'd mumble against your cunt

as much as he loved going down on you, he loved your mouth- how pretty you looked with if stuffed full of his cock. "such a good girl for me, look at you" tears welling as he bucked his hips against your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat.

no bc you don’t understand how obsessed I am with this fic, I love you forever for writing this💓

The text post about “ your fav is fucking his fist rn thinking of you” please lord let it be for Steve ( I’m. Late I know)

a/n: heheh it is :) 1.5k words of male masturbation ayyye. also, if you have not already, go check out @heavenbarnes’ ficlet, which haunts me everyday. please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

slow hands*

Steve jerks off— a lot.

Even before the serum, when he was just any other violently hormonal, grass-fed, free-range human boy, instinct couldn’t be denied. Even after a long period of reflection during his catechism days, he wasn’t able to make heads or tales out of why any creator might give two shits about whether or not Steve fucks his hand.

Now as a whopping 200-pound slab of grade-A, laboratory-engineered, serum-enhanced super-soldier, if he doesn’t pump one out every twenty-four hours, it’s hard to focus on much else. All of that unbridled testosterone crawls right up behind his eyes and his brain fizzles at the edges, agitated like an animal in a cage.

(So, although it’s mostly pleasure, it’s also necessity.)

He knows that it’s best before bed because early mornings or while showering requires working within the constraints of a ticking clock; if he’s got a packed schedule and needs a quick rub, fine, but not his favorite.

He knows that he likes certain activities, and if he’s looking at porn, specific categories and maybe a few performers will fit a niche—but sometimes he’ll spiral into a hundred other videos and he’s stayed up one (or five) too many nights doing that.

More than anything, Steve knows nothing beats his imagination, and he knows the best lies you can tell are ones with a bit of truth attached to them.

So, he plays a little game.

He thinks about you.  

Cheeky you, who’s always teasing him about taking life too seriously. So prim and proper, Steve, you purr, always Mr. Punctual. Aren’t you tired of being nice? Loosen up—go dancing, meet a girl, have a one-night stand; fuck with the lights on for once.

Hm. Sure he’d like to, but all he’s got is about forty-five minutes before bed because he’s frankly too busy (see: stubborn, see: not interested in just any girl) for anything else.

For forty-five minutes, Steve takes a moment of truth and runs warp speed into the burning sunset with it.

The time you put your hand in his hair to fix a flyaway before a press conference—what if you gripped it hard, instead? Your candy pink lip gloss on Friday evening—what if it smudged off on his jaw, his collar, his eager cock? How you looked lifting out of the pool with rivulets of water dribbling into the hollow of your throat—what if he pressed his cheek to it, drank from it?

(The expression that might cross your face when you realize Steve would very much like to fuck you with the lights on.)

When you kissed him on that mission in Thailand, sliding into his lap to hide the both of you in a corner nook of a restaurant. The taste of sweetened coffee passed from your mouth to his, and he couldn’t help but dart his tongue out. You playfully scolded him about taking advantage of a dangerous situation (it wasn’t that dangerous), and despite all your usual attitude, it was surprisingly cute how you couldn’t make eye contact afterwards, making him want to kiss you again just to figure you out.

Last night—when you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes like a sliver of moonlit coin and if he blinked at the wrong time, he might have missed it. Your breathy laugh, your little giggle, how you raggedly pant while you spar, he thinks about those sounds mingled with his name. Your weight, a perfect amount of pressure crawling on top of him, mapping out the expanse of his chest.

He’d be happy just to watch, finally able to see you in glimpses not bordering voyeuristic like when you zip up in the hangar or concerned when you peel off Kevlar layers smudged with gunpowder. No, you’d be relaxed and tangible, full and felt—breasts, waist, belly, the sides of your hips as you straddle him, pulling his hands toward your body and letting him touch you.

Steve sighs into the darkness of his room, sweats shucked off, lube-slick hand feeling for his already aching cock. What’s he going to think about tonight? The small of your back when you lean over the pool table? The long, graceful shape of your fingers exploring his torso? Your face dazed, tipsy-tinged after a few drinks and sweet on his shoulder?

(He would like more of that. He could make you look like that if you ever asked.)

His hips move in careful circles, testing his grip, nudging at the tunnel of his fist like how your pussy would resist the first thrust until he wedges his way past it, slipping the head of his cock into your warmth. You’d be so, so warm. So soft and tight and perfectly fitted around him.

“Ah, fuck,” Steve mutters, eyes squeezed shut.  

He fucks into his fist, the sound of slick gushing out like wet slaps, like the hot clutch of noise your tight hole would make as he’d stretch it out—as he’d stretch you out.

He’s panting harder. You‘d look breathtaking on all fours, head turned around to see him rutting inside, jaw slack in disbelief that your body could keep taking him like this, like you could break any moment.  

The pretty, pretty whimpers at the harsh punctuation of every thrust. They’d tear loose from your throat and you wouldn’t be able to bite them down anymore. You could unravel because of him—shattering because he’ll have gotten past your defenses, gotten so deep you could do nothing but arch back for more, needing him further, needing him to know you how nobody else knows you.

Steve’s mind races through each position— every arrangement of your arms and legs in ways you’d give into because he would make the burn delicious, blurring discomfort into pleasure, and how you wouldn’t care if it might hurt because desire would be the drive— him behind the wheel taking you closer to that cliff’s edge.

He’s peeling off into the horizon now, moaning, bucking carelessly, blinded by the bright sun, by the white threatening to explode behind his eyes.

“Uhhhnn—” he looks down at his throbbing cock, swollen with friction and fiction, his other hand rolling the tender skin of his sac between his fingers. He squeezes a hair trigger tighter, in pulses, mimicking how you’d feel close to coming, begging for his release to fill you. Your hands gripping his hair for purchase, hard and frenzied, the scrape of your nails on his scalp. And finally, the abandoned, purely physical response of your body during orgasm, the undeniable wrecked wail of his name.

He’d be rough and gentle all at once, he’d make you taste yourself, clean up the mess you’ve made on him, and then he’d kiss it out of your mouth when he fucks you again. You’d be sore already, and sore the next day. He’d want to leave you aching, shuddering, babbling and delirious for more, for only him.

You’d cry, Steve, oh—my god—oh my god—feels so good, Steve. Fuck me harder, please. However you want—whatever you want, I promise.

You’d suck on his fingers, bite down when it became too much, too good. You’d shake, and shake, and shake and Steve— he falls.

Spun out, headfirst, off the steepest bluff of his inventions and crashes into open waves beneath. Your moaning mouth, your soaked cunt, your entire being an unprimed canvas waiting for his splatter.

And it’d be perfect.  

He comes in ropes, gasping into the reverberating echo of his own breath, hips still moving, back still arched, wet slick dripping down into his fist where he keeps going, using it as another coat of lube. Maybe you’d squirt. Maybe you’d put your face in your hands, embarrassed, or maybe you’d lose all control and he’ll have to hold you up.  

The second wave comes fast and better than the first.

The third, easy, only tinged with a prickle of rawness that makes his toes curl.  

Steve’s chest is sweat-slick and heaving, heat rising off his body as he evens out, throat murmuring the syllables of your name in yearning. He nudges hair off his forehead with the back of his clean hand, and then he checks his clock.

Back to reality, forty-five minutes on the dot tells him he’s still punctual, as you say.

He cleans up, stretching his back as he ambles to the restroom before returning to bed, satisfied. And when Steve tucks himself in for another peaceful night’s sleep, he wonders what you do in the privacy of darkness and if your ritual is anything like his own.

Do you shuck off your lounge clothes? Do you fuck yourself beneath layers of covers with your fingers? A toy? Grab your tits and put those same fingers in your mouth? Do you think about someone—do you think about him? His dick is still half-hard, half-raring for another session because the fourth and fifth time, when it hurts even worse, feels like coming up for breath after a drowning-- feels beyond good.

He’ll think about you some more tomorrow.  

(He’ll think about making you come four or five times.)

The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall. 

Word Count: 8.2k 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.

Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece. 

You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts. 

You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you’re doing. You should leave the poor man alone. 

But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-

Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.

Keep reading

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 || eddie munson x reader

summary - have you ever heard that saying, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt? well, being eddie's best friend with benefits is all fun and games, too, until he gets a girlfriend.

word count - 10k

warnings - SMUT (18+ only), cheating!!, ANGST, completely fucking up canon because I can (everyone is alive but something supernatural did happen and eddie was still accused in chrissy's disappearance but ultimately cleared; also I decided this is vol 1 jason not vol 2 jason), oral sex m receiving, penetrative/unprotected sex, smoking, implied/mentioned drug use, sympathetic jason gets a touch of a redemption arc and also hooks up with the reader oops sorry, punk!reader, good ending, unrequited love (or is it?), pining, gareth being mvp, reader is self-hating and insecure

note - this is NOT meant as any kind of statement about eddie/chrissy as a ship, I'm not anti-eddissy and I firmly believe in 'ship and let ship', this is simply a very angsty idea I had and one interpretation of how their relationship could go. again, no ship hate here!

“What about Chrissy?” you sighed as his lips trailed down your neck.

“What about her?” he whispered back, biting down lightly on your pulse.

And you were so stupid, you were so goddamn stupid; when he said that, the first time it happened after they got together, you thought that meant he was gonna break up with her.  Stupider still, you thought he was gonna break up with her and finally date you.

You were so, so stupid.

Stupid for falling for your best friend.  Stupid for hooking up with him for months knowing he didn’t want the ‘more’ that you were desperate for.  Stupid for letting him come over after another fight with his new girlfriend; stupid for letting him touch you like this.  But, like I said, it was only because you thought he was gonna end it.  And not just because he couldn’t stay away from you; there were so many reasons why Eddie and Chrissy just weren’t working.

It started under such bizarre circumstances, and all that trauma brought them together, but no solid relationship is built on an experience like that; it made sense for a fling, maybe, but dating?  The couple had clearly run their course, but apparently they were the only ones that didn’t see it (or refused to).

She was too needy, he was too impulsive.  She was ambitious, he was terribly short-sighted.  She was a little… judgy, sometimes; honestly, he could be, too, but they seemed to always judge in the opposite way and then argue with each other about it.  She was busy with cheer shit all the time, but got mad when he couldn’t go out with her because he had Hellfire.  It was nauseating to watch.

Almost as nauseating as waking up to an empty bed, expecting him there, only for him to call you an hour later from her place to whisper, hey, what happened s’just between us, right?

Oh, it was.  Another dirty secret; you’d played this game one too many times, and yet you still always lost.

All you ever wanted was Eddie all to yourself.  Instead, you were pushing your food around your plate while they viciously made out at the lunch table.  You couldn’t be too jealous, knowing he was going to come over tonight and kiss you just like that— probably even harder.  All you ever wanted was Eddie all to yourself, but you were going to settle for the one little piece he let you borrow.

“I’ve gotta go,” Chrissy suddenly decided, pulling back from the kiss, and Eddie whined pathetically as he held onto her waist tighter.

“Already?” he pouted.

“I have to study before my Geometry final,” she insisted as Eddie leaned in to peck at her neck.

“Fuck Geometry,” he shrugged, smiling against her skin.  You wanted to look away so badly, at anything else, but your traitorous eyes were glued to the public display of affection— which was cut short a split second later.

“I’m going, okay?” she snapped suddenly, shoving his arms away, and he cleared his throat as he straightened up.  “Don’t you think that attitude is how you ended up having to repeat the year in the first place?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “I was just playing around…”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, standing up.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” he sighed, turning back to the table as she left, offering an awkward half-smile to the rest of the table as they all struggled to hide their obvious discomfort.

The first time this kind of thing happened, Jeff joked about it— trouble in paradise? he said, realizing quickly that he’d hit too close to home when Eddie scoffed and looked away.  Now everybody was just… ignoring it.  

You remembered asking him about it later, trying to delicately broach the topic.

“I mean, what do you guys even have to talk about?” you’d wondered.  “You don’t like any of the same things.”

Eddie had just smirked.  “Honestly, we don’t do that much talking.”

And you’d wanted to vomit.  You hated imagining them together.  It was bad enough seeing it, seeing her perched on his lap or his arm around her shoulders, the kissing in the hallway— it felt like it never stopped! 

It was puppy love, and you kept telling yourself it would be over soon.  That felt like ages ago, it had already been months.  And, in some ways, it was over.  I mean, he was fucking you a couple times a week, so clearly it wasn’t quite thriving.  But it wasn’t over in the key way: that being, officially.  They were still playing along, still pretending. 

The almost-good news is that they hadn’t actually done it, like you’d assumed (and worried).  Apparently, Chrissy was a bit prudish— she liked to fool around, but stopped him before it got anywhere particularly interesting, and anything of that nature had become less and less frequent the longer they were together; you didn’t know much more than that, because he didn’t like to talk about it.  He didn’t talk about her when he was with you… made it easier for both of you to forget.

Well, he didn’t talk about her usually…

“Fuck, that’s good,” he sighed as his hand came up to rest on the back of your head.  “Take it a little deeper, baby?  For me?”

You did, blinking up at him just in time to watch his head fall back onto the top of the couch with a groan.

“She won’t do this,” he said suddenly, making your stomach drop; you really, really didn’t want to think about her, but your mouth was full, so you couldn’t tell him to stop.  “She never does this— fuck, you’re so good, baby, y’suck my cock so good…”

Letting go of the base, you took his head into your throat until your nose was buried in the patch of black hair above his dick; maybe some delusional part of you thought this would finally convince him, that if you gave him perfect head he’d have to leave her.  But he didn’t need to— he got the girlfriend experience from her, and he got this from you.  Sure, he was attracted to you, he liked fucking you… but he respected her.  He idolized her, actually, and it was why he’d never let her go.  You knew that, and your eyes were watering from more than just the tension in your gag reflex.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groaned, fingers tightening and semi-unintentionally tugging on your hair, which made you moan around him as you pulled back and gave your throat a moment of rest.  “Fuck, get up— gotta fuck you,” he rushed.

He pulled you into his lap as soon as you were standing, helping you unbutton your jeans quickly.  When they were open, he started roughly tugging them down faster than you could get in position to make them actually removable, and you laughed quietly.  “That desperate already?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he warned you sharply, pushing you down to lay beneath him on the couch as he finally got your jeans off; already, he was pressing his cock up to your opening, and you arched your back under him.  “You want it?” he taunted, just to make sure you knew your place— you did.

“Please,” you whined, “fuck me, Ed.”

And he did.

When it was over, there was always this brief silence before suddenly it was all back to normal.  It was even shorter than usual this time, him laying on the couch catching his breath as he watched you get dressed.  “Need a ride to Hellfire tonight?” he asked.

“Nah— I’m good,” you nodded.  “Finally got my car out of the shop.”

He scoffed slightly, reaching for a cigarette from the box he’d discarded on the floor earlier.  “Took them long enough,” he mumbled around it as he held it between his lips, fishing a lighter out of his jeans pocket.

“Yeah, with how much I paid, I was hoping they gave it fuckin’ rockets on the back or something,” you chuckled.

He took a drag of the cigarette, keeping it in his mouth as he exhaled around it, his bare chest a little shiny with a sheen of sweat.

“Can I bum?” you asked, sort of hoping to share the one he’d already lit— for some reason— but instead he offered the pack to you and you pulled one out for yourself.  “Is this the same pack you had a couple days ago?”

“Yeah, why?” he wondered, handing you the lighter from his pocket next.

“You’ve barely gotten through it,” you noticed.  “You cutting back or something?”

He shrugged slightly, just as you were inhaling the first lungful of smoke.  “Chrissy wants me to.”

You coughed, puffs of smoke rising in front of your face, and you caught his bemused-and-confused look through them.  

“You alright over there?” he laughed.  “Never seen you struggle with smoking before.”

“I’m good,” you promised, though you were still trying to suppress a cough, which made your whole face feel tight and you just knew your eyes were all bloodshot and watery.  “I’d better head out though.”

“Aw, really?” he frowned.  “Thought we could hang out— you know, like we used to?  Feel like I hardly see you anymore… except, you know—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted quickly, finding your discarded jacket on the floor and shrugging it on.  “Guess we both just got busy.”

“Oh, we got busy,” he grinned, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile as you rolled your eyes at his joke.  

“You know what I mean,” you defended.  “I’ll see you at Hellfire anyways, just wanna go home and shower first.”

He shrugged.  “Guess I can’t blame you for that.  See you tonight!”

Your hand was already on the handle of the door.  You thought about staying; but honestly, you didn’t think your heart could take it.  If you stayed, you’d end up laughing until you cried, hiding your head in his chest, watching some shitty movie on tape and muted while he made up the dialogue off the top of his head in silly voices.  It sounded perfect, but it would kill you.  It’s just… too close to the real thing.  So close it makes you imagine what it would be like if he was really yours.  ‘Cause you can laugh together, and you can fuck, but you can’t hold his hand or kiss him in public— and he can’t look at you the way he looks at her.  Because she’s her.  And you’re… just you.  Just a friend.  Even if you’re this kind of friend.

You offered him a half-hearted wave over your shoulder before you jumped out the door and down the rickety little porch.  There was a tear on your cheek as you walked out of the trailer park, but you wiped it away quickly.

No more crying over Eddie, you’d made that promise to yourself a thousand times.

~

Eddie was staying late today, because Chrissy was staying late.  Apparently she had some kind of cheer thing on the football field; you, on the other hand, were staying late for office hours with Ms. O'Donnell.  Much less exciting.

Thankfully, you did leave her room with some understanding of how to prepare for the final— but it wasn't exactly the lift of your spirits that you could've used tonight.  Neither was walking out of the building and seeing them, a-fucking-gain.

The afternoon was turning to evening already, the sun low and bright orange in the sky— it made the trees look black when it shined through them.  The field was nearly empty now, whatever cheer practice had taken place was clearly over… all that was left was Chrissy, laughing as Eddie wrapped his arms around her waist.  

You looked over to the side, and noticed someone just a few feet away on the front row of the bleachers, staring out across the field.  Of course, that gaudy green jacket and quaffed blonde hair could only be Jason Carver— but if it weren't for that, he'd be unrecognizable.

His eyes were red, sunken and hung low over purple dark circles.  He looked pathetic; he looked how you felt.

“Hey,” you offered softly.  Sure, he was kind of a douche— okay, he actually sort of tried to kill your best friend, but hey, sometimes you wanted to kill Eddie, too.

“Leave me alone,” Jason sniffled, glancing away.  “Freak.”

You ignored his demand, sitting down next to him on the steel bleacher.  For a long time, neither of you said anything— it wasn’t that long, but it felt like ages, even though it wasn’t quite an awkward silence.  Somehow, without saying anything, you seemed to come to an understanding with each other.  You didn’t have anything in common, except your pain; without asking, just by looking over at you for a second, he seemed to know that it hurt you like it hurt him.

“How much longer?” he finally asked you.  “How long do you give it?”

You shrugged.  “I don’t guess anymore.  I thought it would be over by now.”

“What if they really—?” he stopped himself, shaking his head with a sad little laugh.  “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this— but what if they really make it, you know?  Like, what if this is it?”

You didn’t say anything.  You were trying not to think about it like that.

“I’m so stupid,” he announced.  “I mean, I really thought it was gonna be me and her— I was gonna play for Indiana State and she was gonna be my girl.  I was gonna get a ring, I would’ve… I would’ve done it sooner, I just thought we were still a little too young.  I never even thought about what my life would be without her in it, not even when everyone thought she was dead.  ‘Cause she is my life.”

“That must be hard,” you offered.  “Maybe— I mean, it could still happen, right?”

“No, no,” he shook his head defiantly, “she’s gone.  And I still have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do without her— she’s supposed to be my wife!  I know she’s not, but that’s how it feels… I mean, I look over there, and I’m thinking, fuck, Eddie Munson is kissing my wife!”

“You are stupid,” you agreed with the biggest smile you could muster— which was barely noticeable.  “So am I.”

“She told me she loved him,” he sighed, whispering instead of letting his voice break.  Your heart twisted, you almost gasped; you'd never heard her say that.

“When?”

“When I first saw her,” he explained, reaching up to cover his eyes— but it didn’t stop a tear from sliding out underneath it.  “I just found out she was still alive, and I thought he’d kidnapped her or something, brainwashed her— she told me not to hurt him, she said she loved him.  She said that shit to me!”

Eddie never told you he loved Chrissy, but you knew that he did— or that he thought he did.

“How can she just throw that all away?” he wondered, rubbing his eyes and gathering himself slightly to look across the field at them one more time.

“I think she still loves you,” you decided.  “I mean— I’m not saying you’re gonna get back together, I’m not even sure that you should.  I’m just saying… I think she’s not quite over it yet.”

He turned to stare at you.

“It’s a rebound!” you insisted.  “He doesn’t believe me— but she’s trying to get over you, with him.  But she can’t, it’s not working.”

“Really?  She looks like she’s having a great fucking time,” he sneered as he nodded over at them.

You were about to tell him that, no, she’s not— at least she doesn’t seem to be— but he spoke first.

“Tell me he’s good to her,” Jason pleaded.  “Does he treat her right?  Are they happy?”

You froze, but he spoke again before you even considered what you might say to that.

“You know what,” he sighed, “don’t tell me.  I don’t think either answer would make me feel any better.”

“He’s cheating on her,” you heard yourself blurt out, and you didn’t even know why you said it.  Maybe you just needed to tell someone.

You knew then why they say when someone’s really mad, they’re fuming— because you could all but feel heat coming off of him in that moment.  “I’m gonna kill him,” he announced as he stood up, “I really am this time, I fucking mean it—”

He was stepping forward to storm across the field already, but you jumped up and put your hands on his jacket to try to stop him.  You expected him to glare at you, but when his eyes fell on your face, there wasn’t rage there anymore; there was this indescribable thing instead, the same thing you knew he must’ve seen in your eyes, too.  Like grief, but for someone still alive.

His mouth fell open, but he didn’t say it right away.  “Oh god,” he breathed, and you were already nodding before he asked the question.  “It’s you, isn’t it?”

You wanted to look away, his stare was like a bright light shined in your eyes during an interrogation; but you couldn’t, your eyes were looking forward to him even as they filled with tears.

“How can you do that to her?” he whined, almost sounding like a plea, as he grabbed your arms.  “She’s a good person!  How can you— how could you—?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered, biting your quivering lip.  

“Yes you do!” he insisted.  And you figured you owed it to him, and to yourself, to admit it.

“You love her, right?” you began, obviously a rhetorical question.  “Who would you hurt, to be with her?  You almost killed Eddie over it, right?  Wouldn’t you burn the whole fucking world down just to hold her again?”

He didn’t say anything, and you felt his chest rising and falling under your hands as he breathed heavily.

“I know how that feels,” you offered.  And that’s all you said.  He didn’t say anything, didn’t give you any warning— just glancing down at your lips for a second before he pulled you towards him.

Kissing Jason Carver felt wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.  But even kissing Eddie didn’t feel right anymore, knowing how many people were getting hurt— including yourself.

Jason’s hands on your waist felt wrong, his breathing against your face and his tongue over your lips felt wrong.  But you clutched at the lapel of his varsity jacket, whimpering quietly and leaning in for more.

It ended suddenly, and when you both pulled away, you saw him looking over your shoulder.  “Are they looking?” you wondered.

He shook his head. 

"Are they still kissing?" you added, sounding slightly defeated.

He nodded.  “Let’s— you wanna get out of here?” he suggested.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

~

Listen, nobody ever really knows how their day is gonna go when they wake up— they might think they do, but they really don’t for sure.  But even still, you never woke up today thinking that the next time you were going to be in your bedroom, you’d be dragging Jason Carver through the door with you, kissing him hard and helping him push his jacket off.

He lifted you for just a second to get you down onto the bed, clutching at the sheets beneath you as you whimpered a little.  You were making quick work of his belt and jeans at the same time that he was trying to navigate getting your t-shirt over your head.

It’s hard to say what you were expecting sex with Jason to be like, because, well, you’d never expected this or even pictured it.  If you’d tried to, before— likely during some twisted game of fuck marry kill with Eddie while stoned in his van— you would’ve said it must be horrible, It was actually really… freeing.  You both knew that the other was thinking of somebody else, you didn’t need to hide it.  You didn’t need to say anything, you didn’t need to stop crying or act sexy or be what you thought he wanted. 

It was kind of a hatefuck, because you hated each other— and you hated yourself— but it was also… sweet, weirdly.  He was certainly more tender with you than Eddie was most of the time.  

When it was over, you just laid next to each other for the longest time.  You didn’t hold each other, you didn’t kiss, or talk, or laugh.  You just laid on the sheets, feeling the slight dampness from your sweat start to go cold.  It got darker every minute, until the sun finally crossed the horizon and a chilly breeze blew in through your open window.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked after what must have been nearly a half hour of silence.  You nodded.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, you didn’t even remember shutting your eyes— but suddenly, you opened them, and the sun was up, and Jason was beside you with his back facing you.

Your fingers reached up and tentatively traced over his back— he had a mole, and a couple scars, which was more than you expected from someone like Jason… he always seemed like he must be blemishless.

He lifted and turned his head over his shoulder, looking at you.  You found less disappointment in his eyes than you expected, but you knew that you weren't who he was looking for— and you didn't blame him.  Wasn't the first time you slept with a guy who really wanted Chrissy.  Kind of a bizarre pattern you were setting, actually.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Not time to get up yet," you offered.  "Sorry if I woke you up…"

"No, it's okay," he promised as he turned onto his back and looked at you.  "Did you sleep alright?"

"Yeah, I did," you admitted, "better than I have in a while, actually."

He smiled at you gently.  "Me too."

His hand reached up to brush against your face, and your breath caught as he started to move in closer to your lips.  You were about to let him kiss you when your hands instinctively shot up to his chest and held him back.  "Jason, I—" you began. 

"I know," he breathed, looking down.  "Just thought it might be nice."

So you leaned in and kissed him; and it was nice.  Shockingly comfortable.  But you both tasted that sadness, knowing this wasn't anything more than what it needed to be— just two heart-broken people staving off the loneliness for a night.  

When he pulled back, he looked at you for a second before he cleared his throat.  "Mind if I, uh, use your shower?"

"Take a right down the hall, first door on your left," you nodded at him, and he sat up with a quick stretch before hopping out onto the floor.

You stayed in bed a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, looking at the crack that had started by the corner last year and slowly spread further and further; maybe this whole roof would collapse onto you, that would be nice.

Eventually, you got up and got half-dressed so you could forage for some kind of breakfast before school.  You were halfway into toasting a bagel when you heard a knock at your front door— but it opened a second later, because he already knew it was never locked.

“Hey,” Gareth greeted, sauntering in and hopping up to sit in the chair by your kitchen island.

“Morning,” you offered, trying to act casual— because you weren’t about to tell him you had someone over, because he would just ask who it was…

Gareth being one of your closest friends meant that he showed up unannounced sometimes, especially in the morning before school— you’d been carpooling since your car was in the shop anyways, but he usually stopped by regardless.  And if Eddie was here in the morning, he wouldn’t even blink— because Eddie stayed the night with you all the time and it didn’t mean anything to Gareth, even if you and Eddie knew it hadn’t been a just-friends sort of sleepover.  But this would be harder to explain, and you kept glancing at the closed bathroom door, hoping Gareth wouldn’t notice the sounds of the running shower.

“Have you eaten already?” you asked him.

“Yeah— m’not here to mooch, don’t worry,” he smiled.  “Although I could use all the free food I can get while I’m saving up for a new drum set.”

You hummed around a mouthful of bagel and shmear; “Stick went through the snare again?”

“Yup,” he nodded.  “Collateral damage when you rock this hard.”

You snorted a little laugh, though your face dropped as you looked over Gareth’s flannel-clad shoulder.

Jason appeared out of the hallway, wearing only his basketball shorts and drying his hair with a towel.  Gareth spun around with wide eyes, and you choked on nothing as the two boys stared at each other.

They didn’t say anything to each other— I mean, what would those two have to say?  Other than sorry for almost breaking your fingers, maybe.

But Jason didn’t say that, he just cleared his throat and looked at you again.  “Listen, I’m gonna… head out,” he informed you, “do you maybe… have a shirt I can borrow?”

“Um, I’ll see what I can find,” you offered, walking out of the kitchen and ignoring the weight of Gareth’s bewildered stare as you followed him down the hallway again.

You slid out your drawer and flipped through the folded t-shirts, searching for something suitable that might even mildly fit him.

“I’m guessing you don’t wanna rock a Dead Kennedys tee?” you snorted.

“Is that some sort of political statement?” he wondered, frowning. 

“It’s a band,” you corrected.

“Oh, well— yeah, maybe no band shirts.  I’d rather not get asked too many questions,” he explained, rushing as he added at the end: “N-not that I’m, you know, embarrassed or anything.  I mean, it doesn’t have to be a secret, but we—”

“Hey,” you interrupted with a smile, looking at him, “it’s okay.  Nobody else has to know— I don’t wanna damage your reputation.”

“It’s not that,” he promised, “my reputation’s not doing so hot anyways.  I figure you’d be more ashamed to be seen with me.”

Yeah, that’s… accurate.

“Uh, sorry about coming out while your friend was there, by the way…” he trailed off, “I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged, “he’s… I’ll figure out what to say to him about it.  But other than that, I think what happened tonight is just for us.  Not out of shame— just… I don’t think anyone else would understand.”

He nodded, just as you found an old Hoosiers Baseball shirt stuffed in the back of the drawer and handed it to him.  He mumbled a thank you and put it on quickly, finding his varsity jacket on your floor and slipping it on again.

You followed him to the door, opening it for him as he left. 

“I guess I’ll see you at school,” he offered, hovering in your foyer for a moment.

“I mean, maybe not,” you shrugged, “we never see each other normally…”

“Right,” he nodded.

“Drive safe,” you offered, a little surprised when he reached up to rest a hand on your shoulder.

He kissed you on the cheek, and you froze and let him.  “You too,” he whispered, squeezing your arm before letting it go and stepping outside.  You shut the door behind him, sighing as you waited a moment, not wanting to turn around and see the look on Gareth’s face.  

You didn’t have to see it, though, because you could hear it in the way he said your name.  “Don’t,” you pleaded, spinning on your heel and storming into the kitchen.  Gareth’s eyes followed you as he twisted around on the chair, gaping in disbelief.

“Tell me it’s not what it looks like,” he begged.

“Okay, it’s not what it looks like,” you offered.

“‘Cause it can’t be, right?  You didn’t… you and Jason aren’t… it’s—” he stammered, stopping and starting a thousand new sentences.

“Is it that hard to believe?” you finally snapped at him, crossing your arms.  “Think I can’t pull a hot, popular guy or something?”

He didn’t even respond to that question.  “Jesus Christ!” Gareth yelped.  “We really are in the end of fucking days!  Eddie’s dating Chrissy Cunningham, you’re fucking Jason Carver— it’s madness!  Cats and dogs living together!”

“Shut up,” you frowned.

“I’m so sick of this,” he groaned, head falling into his hands, dirty-blonde hair flopping down limply as if it were just as defeated as him.  “I just want things to go back to normal, you know?  Eddie’s not coming to practice anymore, and we had to take a vote to decide if we should just break the band up, or still be a band but kick him out, or what— and his campaigns suck!  You noticed too, right?  He’s spending so much less time on them, he’s always with her—”

Or me.

“I hate it!” Gareth admitted, looking at you again.  “And honestly, you know, I think I could take it if I really thought he was happy.  But doesn’t he seem kind of miserable?”

You nodded softly.  “Yeah…”

“He doesn’t even seem like himself,” he added with a sigh.

“He’s not,” you stated plainly, making Gareth give you a confused look.  “Everything that happened… and I don’t know everything, maybe only he does… but he almost died.  So did Chrissy— technically, I think she did?  I don’t even know,” you groaned, shaking your head.  “The point is, it changed them.  I guess they want to be with each other because they want to be with someone who understands."

Sort of why Jason's here, actually.

"And clearly I don’t fucking understand— neither do you, neither does Jason.  But yeah, I wish they hadn’t left us all in the fucking dust," you concluded.

“Us?” Gareth repeated.  “No, you’re… something’s up with you, too.  For a while now.”

You sighed.

“And this—” he gestured towards the hallway and then the door, basically everywhere he’d seen Jason in your house— “is just part of it.”

“I know you don’t like him,” you mumbled.  “Honestly, I don’t either, but… it’s complicated.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was fucking simple,” he rolled his eyes.  “Are you… is this something I’m gonna have to get used to?  Like, is it gonna happen again— is he your boyfriend?!”

“Jesus!” you spat.  “No!  It’s not— I can’t explain it, okay?  Can we not talk about it?  I wasn’t exactly planning on telling you.  You wouldn’t know if you didn’t just show up at my house whenever you want.”

“Should I stop doing that?” he asked.

“I mean, if you wanna lower your odds of interrupting another guy’s walk of shame…”

Gareth let out a long breath, resting his chin on his fist, and you watched the anger and confusion on his face start to fade— and there was just a solemness left.  You recognized it quickly because you were so familiar with it on yourself.  “Everything’s different now,” he said quietly.  “I fucking hate it.”

“Me too,” you nodded.  “I mean— that’s part of life, though.  Things were gonna change soon, anyways, don’t you think?  If Eddie finally graduated.”

“I figured he didn’t graduate because he wanted things to say the same,” Gareth theorized, and the insight— as well as how obvious it seemed now that he said it— from only a junior caught you off guard.

“Things were always gonna change,” you offered half-heartedly.  “It couldn’t stay how it was forever.”

“But wouldn’t that have been nice?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Well— I guess things were never great for you.”

“What does that mean?” you pressed.

“You know, just— with Eddie…” he trailed off.

You felt a little nauseous.  “What about Eddie?”

“You and him… you know…” Gareth continued.

“Did you… know about that?” you asked softly, raising an eyebrow.  Didn’t seem like Eddie to kiss and tell— he always swore he never told anyone about you two—

“It’s hard not to know how you feel about him,” he finally replied.  “And I always wanted you two to get together— I mean, it would just make sense, you and him.  It was hard to watch you look at him that way sometimes…”

Okay, so apparently this kid was seeing a lot more than he let on— but apparently he hadn’t quite figured out about your and Eddie’s little affair of nearly a year.  But even he could see that what you had for Eddie was completely unrequited, and that stung.  You sometimes imagined that part was just in your head…

Gareth shook his head, as if shaking the thought out of his mind, and hopped up off the chair.  “Whatever,” he decided.  “Wanna ride together?”

“No, I should… I could use the alone time,” you explained.

Gareth raised his hands as he shrugged a bit, turning around and walking towards the door.  “See you there!”

“Not if I see you first,” you called back, staring blankly at your half-eaten breakfast as you heard the front door open and shut.

~

It was an unusually quiet day— aside from a quick conversation with Jeff and Dustin in the hallway between third and fourth period, you didn’t talk to anyone you knew.  You saw Jason walk by, wearing your old t-shirt… but he didn’t see you, or pretended not to.  Not that you were planning on waving or anything.

You had been sort of dreading lunch, because you couldn’t keep avoiding Eddie at that point; you considered eating outside, but that would be even worse.  Maybe, when you did see him, he’d notice that you’d been avoiding him all morning and ask about it.  Or maybe he wouldn’t have noticed at all because he was too busy locking lips with Miss Perfect.

Instead, before lunch, he found you.  He said nothing as he dragged you in the Hellfire room, spinning on his heel to glare at you as the door slammed shut.

"You… you," he said with narrowing eyes.

"...What?" you waited.

"Jason?!" he shouted, and you deflated.  "Jason Carver— him?"

"I guess Gareth told you," you sighed.

"He tried, but I didn't even believe him, nearly gave him a black eye for saying something so sick about you," Eddie hissed.  "I had to find Jason to figure out it was true."

"You talked to Jason?!" you realized.

"I didn't have to— he used your fucking shampoo, didn't he?  The morning after?  He smells like you," he groaned.  "Made me fucking sick."

You bit your lip, not sure what to say to that, struggling to keep your cool with him this livid.  You'd never seen him angry like this, ever.

“And the Hoosiers shirt?” Eddie scoffed.  “Nice touch.  Did you tell him I used that as a fucking cum rag?”

You kept your mouth shut, rage bubbling up in your gut as you started to pick at your nails nervously.  No, Eddie, you used me as a cum rag— and I learned my lesson.

“How could you fucking— god, I can’t even say it!” he choked.  “How could you sleep with him?  Let him stay over, even!  After he had the whole fucking town after me?  After how he treated Chrissy?!”

“Oh god, Chrissy,” you rolled your eyes, “won’t somebody think of poor fucking Chrissy?  Because what kind of freak would ever do anything to hurt her?”

He winced.  “You don’t have to worry about that anymore— you and I are over.  For good this time.”

“Over?” you repeated.  “Eddie, we never even fucking started.”

“Really?” he scoffed.  “So when we were fucking almost every night for nearly a year— what was that?”

“That was you being horny and me being stupid,” you explained.  “That was the worst mistake I ever made.”

“Yeah?  Agreed,” he sneered.  “I can’t even look at you now.”

“Good!” you shouted.  “Now you know how I feel!”

“You can’t look at me?  What the fuck did I do?”

“I can’t look at myself!” you corrected.  “You know how much I hate myself for being like this?  For fucking Jason, for being your other woman, for being a fucking loser?  For not being able to help you, for not being there when you almost died?”

That made him stop, looking at you differently.  “What are you talking about?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Everything that happened to you,” you sighed, “Dustin tried to explain it— but I still don’t really know.  And you never told me.  But I wish I was there for you… I wish you’d told me what was going on, what really happened to Chrissy— I would’ve helped you more.  I would’ve done everything I could, do you believe me?”

He didn’t say anything, just blinking at you.  You wished you hadn’t said anything.

“Go!” you demanded.  “Just fucking leave, Eddie, please.”

“No,” he decided, stepping closer.  “No— I’m not leaving you again.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, trying to push him back, but he stepped up to you again and grabbed your arms.

“He wasn’t lying, was he?” Eddie realized, staring intently at your face.  “Do you love me?  I mean, really.”

You swallowed thickly; fucking Gareth.  Apparently he hadn’t just told Eddie about Jason…

“Just say it, if you do.  Please,” he insisted.

“I can’t,” you breathed, “come on, Eddie, don’t make me—”

“Please!”

“Of course I do!” you yelped, finally getting him to let go of you as you jolted away.  “Okay?  Why can’t you just leave me alone, if you know?  I’m so, so tired of hurting, Eddie, I’m tired of giving you everything and getting what you can spare— I’m fucking tired!”

“Me too,” he promised, “I’m so— god, I can’t believe I let it happen like this.  I waited so long for you to tell me you love me and it’s all fucking wrong.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head down but looking up at him anyways as he covered his face with his hands for a second.

“It should be us— it should’ve always been us!” he announced suddenly, throwing his arms out wide in frustration.  “I always felt that way, but you never… I thought we were just friends, you know?  That you didn’t want more.”

Your gut twisted.  You were still worried this was all some terrible joke, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t.  “More?  Eddie, more is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I— I figured I wasn’t boyfriend material,” he explained.  “And then there was Chrissy— she seemed to think I was worth it, so I went for it, and now she can’t fucking stand me.”

“Did she say that to you?”

“Does she have to?” he shot back, and you sighed.  “Writing’s on the fucking wall, don’t you think?  She’s tired of dating a loser— a dropout, somebody who’s never gonna be anybody.  And I realized that was why I always thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Never gonna be anybody?” you repeated, shocked.

“What, you think I will?” he scoffed.  “With what, the band?  What are the odds of that?”

“No, Eddie,” you stepped closer, “you already are somebody.  To me, I mean.”

“Chrissy says I need to make something of my life,” he breathed, and you reached up to tentatively touch his face.

“You’re my life,” you admitted.

He reached up and held your hand, squeezing it, shutting his eyes tight as he turned his face to kiss your palm.  "I love you," he sighed, "I love you— I'm sorry I didn't tell you.  I was… I tried so hard to forget.  But even with her, I couldn't let you go.  I can't be away from you."

"I thought you were just with me because… since she wouldn't…" you trailed off.

"I lied," he blurted out, "it wasn't her that kept us from going further— it was me.  I just didn't feel right about it.  And I wouldn't admit to myself why."

When you looked down, you saw his scuffed up Reeboks stepping closer to you still, even with him already so close; when you looked up again, he was right there.

"It's not too late for us, is it?  I didn't ruin everything?" he asked in a quiet, hopeful voice.

You smiled a little.  "It's never too late for us, Eddie.  I think I was gonna wait for you until the very last second."

He kissed you, and it was different.  It wasn't like when he pulled you into him after you stepped into his trailer, it wasn't like when you got stoned in his van and started messing around— all those were like transitional kisses.  They were just where you started before it went further.  But not this— this wasn't a beginning kiss, it was a concluding kiss.  This wasn't a what's next? kiss, it was a this is it kiss.

Because this is it; this is all that matters, that you and him are together, like you always have been— and always should’ve been.

He held your face and pulled back all too soon, looking at you with those big, soft eyes starting to water.

"Please, tell Chrissy," you begged.  "I'm not her biggest fan or anything, but I can't do this to her anymore—"

"She already knows.  I told her, last night."

You froze.  "What?"

"I think she knew— she's really smart, you know,” he mumbled, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

"So, what?  Are you guys over then?"

He exhaled through pursed lips.  "I mean, we haven't said it, but, yeah."

"Then say it.  Talk to her about it,” you insisted.  “Because really, Eddie, you two don't need to love each other but you don't need to hate each other, either.  You went through something nobody else understands— that brings people together, people you'd never expect.  I mean, you're friends with Steve Harrington and I slept with Jason, so…"

He looked away from you for a moment.  "Yeah…"

"I want you guys to be friends, if you still can after everything…"

"I said the same thing to her, actually.”

You cleared your throat quietly.  “And I hope you can still… I hope you can forgive me for what happened with Jason—”

“I guess I really don’t have any right to be jealous, do I?” he tilted his head for a second.  “But still— god, imagining you with him… drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

“I noticed.  It’s why I’m late to Spanish.”

He sighed.  “We can… we’ll talk more later.  Maybe I can come over tonight?  A-after I see Chrissy, I mean.”

“Just call me when you’re coming over,” you nodded.

He gave you another kiss before he left, with his eyes shut tight and his hands still on your cheeks.  “I love you,” he whispered, when he pulled back— his face still an inch from yours, his eyes still shut.  “I’ve loved you for so long…”

This feeling, it was almost like heartbreak, shockingly similar in fact; but it was the polar opposite, it was all the abandoned broken pieces coming together, mending one edge at a time.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promised.  “Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded.  He hesitated for a second before he left, and you stayed in that empty room for far too long even though you were already massively late.

For a while now, you’d been telling yourself not to get your hopes up— not to imagine that Eddie could feel the same way you do.  It was fear, undeniably; cowardice, even.  Maybe if you had thought to just ask, none of this would’ve ever happened.  He could’ve been your boyfriend from the first night you two decided to hook up— back then he told you that he wanted to stay friends no matter what.  It seemed obvious now that he meant that he wanted your relationship to stay strong, and not necessarily that he didn’t want to date… but insecurity had blinded you.  And you almost thought it was too late.

Still, you didn’t want to get your hopes up too high, you didn’t want to believe that this was really happening.  Just in case you woke up and it was all a dream.  Just in case he changed his mind and decided he couldn’t love you like that.  Just in case the world ended tonight and you never got a chance to be together like you’d dreamed.

Yet, you couldn’t keep a small smile off your face for the rest of the day.

~

You waited for him for hours, watching the clock, watching the phone— you had the TV on in hopes of distracting yourself from trying to imagine how it was going with Eddie and Chrissy now.  For all you knew they were making up and deciding to run away together or something…

11:54.  Chewing your nails, you blinked at the clock; it wasn’t even that late yet, but it felt like he should be here by now.  You wanted him here so badly…

Within a few minutes, the TV had become useless as the broadcast had ended with the national anthem before fading to static.  You hadn’t turned it off yet, though— it was the only light in your living room now, and the only sound.  Not a particularly soothing sound, but there wasn’t much else to do.  

12:19.  You stood up instinctively when the door opened, and from where you were in the living room, you had a clear view of Eddie standing there, shutting the door behind him, staring at you.  “Sorry,” he blurted out, “I forgot to call.”

“How’d it go?” you asked.

“It was hard,” he swallowed, “but it went okay— we cried a lot.  She hugged me… I kinda thought she was gonna hit me, so that was a relief.  I think we both knew things hadn’t been right for a while…”

Your heart was racing, for some reason, as he walked up to you; he reached up and brushed his fingers over your face for a second, before wrapping his hands around the back of your neck comfortingly.

“Things are only right when we’re together,” he added.  

You nodded in agreement, eyes falling shut as he leaned in closer, feeling his lips press to yours a moment later.  You melted into it, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  His hands moved down to hold your back and waist, keeping you upright and pressed to him as your knees went weak.  He’d kissed you a thousand times but he’d never kissed you like this; you felt your eyes watering and warm tears running down your cheeks as he pulled you even closer.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I love you too,” you replied quickly, sniffling as he pulled back and wiped your tears away.

“Happy tears, right?” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as he kissed the height of your temple where a new tear was falling.

“Don’t ever wanna make you cry again,” he breathed.  “This is gonna be the last time, okay?”

You nodded again.

"Let me show you how it should've been," he pleaded softly.  "Let me show you what I've really been dreaming of."

"What's that?" you pressed.

"Making love to you," he replied.  "Making you my girl.  No more quickies, no more meaningless fucking with you leaving after— I should've never let you leave."

One more time, you nodded; and he kissed you again, the two of you moving slowly backward towards the bedroom.  He fumbled to open the door behind your hips, but he knew this room like the back of his hand: he pulled you with him onto the bed, rolling to pin you under him as he pushed his arms up and hovered over you.

“Please tell me you’ve changed the sheets since Jason was here,” he sighed, and you bit your lip to suppress your smile.

“Um…”

“Y’know what?  Doesn’t matter,” he decided.  “It’s better, even— I’ll give it to you so good that you and your sheets are gonna forget he was ever here.”

You were laughing as he kissed down to your neck, pressing his body against yours.  Usually this is when you’d start hurriedly kicking off your shoes, the two of you separating to strip just so you could come back together and get this show on the road.

But this time was different— he helped you undress carefully, admiring every new inch of skin he exposed.  He made your skin erupt in goosebumps, tickling you gently with his fingertips and lips, but then he soothed you and warmed you up with palms spread wide and running all over you.  “So fucking beautiful,” he purred, “and all mine, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

You did your best to return the favor of helping when he started to undress, but he had already figured out how to take his own shirt off so really you were just running your fingers up his torso.  Your hands started just above his belt and your fingers spread out as you moved them higher and higher, parting the light dusting of hair as you reached his upper chest, tracing the shape of his tattoos— including your favorite, the one you’d designed for him.

He grinned at you proudly, glancing down as he tossed his shirt away.  His hands moved down past yours to work on his belt next, the handcuff buckle clinking as you watched intently and weaved your legs in between his that knelt on the bed.  “So pretty,” you cooed.

“I don’t know about that,” he defended, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, my pretty Eddie,” you insisted, and he laughed softly.

He descended to hover over you again, his bent arm sinking into the squishy mattress by your head as his hand played with the hair at the top of your head a bit.  “My pretty girl,” he returned.

His free hand was pushing his unbuttoned jeans and boxers down, but he had to sit back up to kick them off completely— apparently this wasn’t the kind of sex you can have with your jeans around your thighs.

Actually, you couldn’t think of the last time you and Eddie were completely nude together like this.  Usually he’d just hike your shirt up high enough and let his pants dangle at his knees or ankles; once he even just took it out through an unzipped fly, yanked your jeans down a bit and had his way with you, but that was because you were in the Hellfire room and had to make it quick.

As fun as all that was, it felt like ages ago— it felt like another life, or even a dream.  This felt so real, almost too real, it made you shiver under him as he pressed his bare skin against yours with a hum.

“You cold?” he asked quietly.

“N-no,” you replied, teeth chattering, “it’s just… I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to, okay?” he promised.  “You don’t need to say anything… just look at me, okay?  Don’t close your eyes.  Keep looking at me.”

It was too much, looking right into his eyes like this— brown and stormy and warm— like he was staring right into your brain, watching all your thoughts swirl around.  Wouldn’t’ve been too interesting to watch, though, since your only thoughts were of him— like looking into a mirror.

He slowly pushed his hips forward, watching closely as your mouth fell open with a sigh; you felt every detail, every ridge and vein of his cock as he split you open on it, and your legs fell open even wider as your hands clutched at his shoulders.  He shuddered slightly, a shaky breath falling from his lips, as his hips pressed up to you and he was fully seated inside your warmth.

“Eddie,” you whispered to him.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just wanted to say it…”

He smiled and kissed you softly, whispering your name back to you a few times— and each time, your insides held him a little tighter, overwhelmed by not just the sound of your name in his voice but the way he said it.  Of course, you’d heard him say your name plenty over the past few years, occasionally in the throes of passion— but there was a reverence to this, a… worshipfulness, maybe.

He started to move carefully, pushing a bit deeper each time as you moaned lowly and wrapped your legs around his hips to keep him from pulling out too far.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he admitted, voice breaking slightly as he kept his eyes trained on you.  “You feel that?  How wet you are for me?  Fucking perfect.”

You whimpered and bit your lip, eyes falling shut, but his hand squeezed your thigh.

“No, baby, eyes on me,” he reminded you, “y’gotta keep looking at me, please— please, darling?”

That pet name was enough to get you to open your eyes again, even though you felt like you were burning up under the heat of his stare— god, it was really too much, but it was exactly what you needed.  You moaned a little louder, and his hand on your hips moved them to just the right angle, lifting you up so his cock hit just a bit deeper.  But wow, what just that little bit could do; you broke eye contact only because you had to, your eyes were literally rolling back.  “God, Eddie, s-so fucking deep…”

“I know,” he breathed, “I know— but you can take it, right?”

You nodded eagerly.

“This is how you want it?” he presumed.  “Tell me— you can tell me what you want, and I’ll do it, I’ll do anything.”

“This,” you promised, “just like this— don’t stop, please…”

“I won’t,” he replied, “just— god, baby— tell me you’re mine, one more time.”

You only hesitated because you were so caught up in the feeling, in digging the heels of your feet into his ass to keep this delicious feeling of fullness from ever ending.  You didn’t mean to get him so worked up that he’d start begging.

"Say it, come on," he demanded, "say you're mine."

"Yours, yours," you promised quickly.

"M'yours too, baby," he sighed, "always was, I swear— just us, baby, please, just gotta be you and me now."

You nodded.

“You and me,” he repeated again, breathless, leaning in to mouth along your exposed neck from your head falling back in pleasure.  “Us.  Way it oughta be.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling that familiar weight sinking in your gut— fuck, you were way too close, it was embarrassing.  Except that it wasn’t, because you didn’t feel self-conscious with him anymore, if anything you were excited to fall apart for him this time.

He didn’t even have to ask if you were reaching your peak, which he normally did— normally he’d be teasing you a little, taunting you, encouraging you to go ahead and let go or maybe tell you to hang on until he told you it was time.  Instead he just watched you, breathing heavy and feeling the rhythmic pulses of your body around his.  “So good,” he praised when the last wave had washed over you and you went limp beneath him, “so good for me— my beautiful girl, all mine, mine—”

“Yes,” you whimpered, choking on a sob, holding onto his back as he fucked you faster.  “God, I didn’t— fuck, wasn’t supposed to come that fast.”

He laughed a little— in a sweet way, not mocking or derisive— and gave you a soft kiss.  “It’s okay, baby, as long as you can do it again.”

You nodded quickly.  “Yeah, fuck yeah— just don’t stop…”

Thankfully, the next one took you a bit longer— but still, your stamina was weak with him filling you so wide and deep, stretching you out and whispering soft praises to you all the while.  “That’s it, that’s it,” he spoke under his breath, “so beautiful when you come for me, can you open your eyes again?  Wanna see you, wanna see my girl, please…”

Your eyes were so heavy halfway through your second orgasm, but you managed to get them open for him, finding his face even closer to yours than you remembered.  He moaned at the sight, fingers digging a little deeper into your skin and chest pressing against yours.

He watched your last moan jump from your lips as the bright-white heat of your ecstasy burned out into a dull warmth, a soothing sensation that made you sigh and relax again.  “Feels so goddamn good when you do that,” he whined, “fuck, I— baby…”

You could tell he was close, finally— you could feel his cock starting to flex, pressing against your walls while he fucked you a little faster.  “Want it so bad, Eddie,” you whimpered, “want it inside.”

“Fuck,” he gasped, “whatever you want, sweetheart, s’all yours, m’yours, I promise— god, I love you so much—”

“I love you,” you moaned your reply, feeling him pick up the pace again, though it was still slower than he usually fucked you even in the beginning.  You didn’t even know he could come while moving this slow— well, you hadn’t known you could come from this, either.  It was overall a learning experience for everyone.

He pulled you closer, he kissed you hard, and you felt everything just… melt.  His movements stopped and you thought you could just sink into the bed and stay forever in this warm, soft, slow feeling.  It did last for a few minutes, the two of you just breathing together, before he eventually rolled off of you and pulled you to cuddle up into his side.  “I wasn’t supposed to come that fast either,” he announced quietly with a little smirk.

“Oh come on,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m more than satisfied.”

“Oh, I know,” he clicked his tongue, “but I’m not.  That was just round one.”

“Of how many?!” you were forced to wonder.

“Mm,” Eddie considered that as he lifted his wrist— but he’d already taken his watch off.  “We’ll see.”

You laughed as he pulled you closer and buried his face in your neck again, his hair getting all over your face and in your mouth as you spluttered to try to spit it out.  “Eddie!” you whined, trying to wriggle out of his embrace.

“Nope, not letting you go,” he promised, holding you tighter.

“Your hair’s in my mouth!” you complained.

“Get used to it,” he purred.  “I mean it, babe— not letting you go again.  Ever.”

You laughed as you wrapped your arms around his thick torso, submitting to your fate.

“Ready for round two yet?” he asked suddenly, making your eyes go wide.

“Fuck, are you?!” you yelped.  “Hardly been a minute—”

“Oh, I’m ready,” he promised, and you whimpered as you felt his hard cock— still wet from his cum and your own— slide against your inner thigh.  “Can you take me again, darling?”

“O-of course,” you answered quickly.

He hummed proudly as he laid you on your back again.  “Fuck, so good for me, always ready, huh?  You still want more?”You nodded, still numb and tingly all over— still sore, even.  But you wanted it, so fucking bad.  “More is all I’ve ever wanted.”

what has miguel done to me??? i’m primarily a fluff writer yet i’m working on my third and fourth smut for this man,, someone sedate me!

Something we need to talk about more is the fact that's its practically canon that Matt has a choking kink????In season 2 him and Electra are having sex and he grabs her throat???I feel like this should constantly be discussed because oh my god!!!

IM GOOD MY LOVE, HBU?♥️♥️

me personally??? i need him to come without touching him

like he’s just so so so pent up by making out and he can’t hold it off any longer😩

no but fr he’d be so pretty flushed red and panting and his eyes are glassy and he’s so wrecked and I need him SO BAD

ROBYNNN MY LOVE

i witnessed smth so bob coded that I just needed to share it with you

making out naked w bob, his hands on your tits, and he’s so hard and leaking precum and you haven’t even touched him yet, he’s just so turned on by you😩

HI HI HI MY LOVE HOW ARE YOU???

oh don’t I’m so sick rn

His hands groping you and tugging at your nipples while you sit on his lap, precum leaking onto your thigh

When the make out gets heavy and his cheeks get all flushed and his glasses are foggy and slipping down his nose HES SO

IVE BEEN DRIVEN TO INSANITY FR

On mating seasons there was nowhere you could hide from Miguel. Be it on another dimension, up in the roof, some hidden spot in the city, he didn't care. He'd always bring you back to his private quarters and wouldn't let you go until your womb was full of him.

Hands held by his webs above your head, body slick in sweat as he ripped another crushing orgasm out of you. Legs shook in a poor attempt to prevent him start another. The count was lost after the fifth one.

"T-Too much" you whined in between coarse breaths. His hands melded you like putty, this time he brought your knees up to your shoulders as he propped above you in a mating press position

"Cute you think I care, preciosa." as he spoke, you felt the so ever good stretch of his cock deep in your already punished and full pussy.

"Uno más y ya está.*"

To your luck, that's what he had been saying to you for the last couple of hours.

----

Uno más y ya está*- One more and that's it.

concomitant

prompt: "you don't want me? don't lie to me."

pairing: kang the conqueror x (f)reader

word count: 559

warnings: eighteen+ content, spoilers for quantumania, implied smut, kang being kang, my usual poetic flare.

note: shoutout to my bby @tom-whore-dleston for giving me even more of an excuse to write for this hunk of a man, i may have reworked your req and made it so reader took janets place with the whole 'fix my ship' storyline, so i hope that's ok!

“You don’t belong here.” The stark contrast between the heat from his gloves and the heat of your skin makes you shiver as he runs a finger along your jawline. His face so close to yours that you can see just how deep the scars that mark his face run. How dark and rigid they are against his skin. 

You wish it would make your stomach curdle. 

Wish it wasn’t making more questions and feelings start in your belly and go lower. Further into a region that has become too accustomed to stories of greatness and realities of time you can only dream of seeing, to offer you more than this realm you've reluctantly made your home. Your body has grown accustomed to his longing glances over a new discovery, the grazes of fingers when you're working together, his mission—his presence—giving you a purpose. Something you hadn't felt in years until he came into your life. 

Until he crashed and landed, lost and bruised, just like you. 

Until he lit a fire in your blood, making you feel cloudy and irrational in your thinking, urging you to go down a path from which you may never be able to return. 

“Come with me.” 

“I–”

“You can.” He finishes for you. Smothers any words of protest or conflict with the look he’s giving you. With the way he’s touching you so gently, so unlike the conqueror you’ve seen from his mind. 

The very thing that gives you pause. Reason to recoil from him even when you don’t. 

Instead, there's an ache between your legs that keeps you immobile against him. Keeps you in his clutches, in his trance. 

“There is nothing here for you.” His fingers leave your jaw, move across your collarbone, and down your chest, leaving you breathless the lower they go. “I can give you everything. Show you infinite realities. "Give you everything you've ever wanted," he says, his palm splaying just below your belly button. Your nails dig into the tethers of your makeshift home, to keep yourself from falling completely in his arms, hands—to your knees from his promises. "All those images of me you've played in your head at night when you think no one can hear the noises you make," his lips feather-like against your ear. “Come true.” 

Embarrassment stings your chest. Sends your insides in a twist and pull against each other as your head shakes. A denial at the tip of your tongue, ready to end this and be done with it all. To send him on his way, away from your home, away from you and the temptation he’s luring you into, like an unsuspecting traveler falling into a sinkhole they’ll never get out of. 

“You don’t want me?” He tsks, smirks against your ear. His voice low and authoritative: “Don’t lie to me. It will only take longer to get what we both want.” His hand moves across your clothed mound, fingers putting the lightest of pressures on your pelvis that has your hips moving forward involuntarily. 

“Join me, and I’ll give you everything.” His mouth finds yours. Seals your fate with his tongue, giving way to every promise he’s willing to keep if you take his hand and watch beside him as he wins a war he’s ultimately made you a part of.

As he burns the world.

nooooo haha don’t choke me while you’re inside of me 👀👀 ahaha oh nooo it’ll make me feel all tight around your cock if you wrap your hand around my throat to steady yourself while you keep thrusting 👀👀👀