Zesty Chili

You’d been grateful for the actual question popping as well, it was simple and lowkey, just the two of you, nothing that would draw too much attention to either of you because that was a word that would describe both of you ‘lowkey’. He kept you private, a part of his life away from the cameras and film sets and you liked it that way, because when you’d first started meeting some of his fellow acting friends and their partners… well, you’d heard some horror stories.

They knew about you though, his fans, because of course they did. Analyzing everything about a person you’re a fan of is just part of the course when you’re really into something isn’t it? You’d known what you were getting into after all when you’d agreed to be exclusive with someone famous, that there was going to be some prying eyes, but if you wanted a life with him then that was just something you were going to have to get used  to.

All of this stuff has been told to you second-hand, of course, friends and family would text you the occasional screenshot, there had even been a link to thread on Twitter (or whatever it was called now) that was dedicated to pictures where you could vaguely see you in the background. They’d managed to find out your name by that as well, which was a little bit spooky you would admit. You weren’t a huge social media user, but you did like Instagram, though you rarely posted on it yourself just liked things… but you had managed to gain a relatively decent sized following on there.

That was actually part of the reason you’d come up with this idea.

You look down at the picture on your phone, the one you’re about to post on your own Instagram. Your hands. Your hand. His hand. Clasped together, black and white and artistic and the engagement ring blatantly obvious.

Also blatantly obvious? The rings he wore himself, that people had long since picked up on him wearing. They would know it was his hand clasped with yours.

You look at the picture again, the post set up in the app. And then you look at Joe, sitting next to you on the couch his glasses perched on his nose, hair a mess, watching the TV. “Are you sure about this?” You ask him softly. Joe’s relentlessly private, doesn’t make announcements, just goes along life in his own little Joe bubble.

“Yeah,” Joe’s eyes stay on the screen for a couple of seconds and then he turns to you. “I want to have control over this, no pap pics, no people guessing, I want us to do this our own way.” He leans over, presses a kiss to your temple. “Post it.”

You smile at him.

And then you do post it. Your hand. His hand. Clasped. His rings. Your engagement ring. Your own way of announcing it.

You don’t tag him, you don’t even caption the picture. You just leave it as is. You don’t need to add the words to make a big announcement, people will know. This is you and him, on your own terms, confirming. This is your way of saying “yes, we’re engaged.” on your own terms, instead of a gossip rag outing you.

You put your phone down, face down on the coffee table. And then you lean against him. The comments can wait until tomorrow.

You stand inside the trailer, tapping your polished nails on the edge of the counter, creating a soft, rhythmic sound as you shift your gaze from the rolling tray in front of you, where remnants of grounded cannabis are scattered, toward the metalhead Eddie Munson. Across from you, he stands poised, the focus of your attention.

The wave of "Satanic Panic" was increasing, and somehow, Eddie was presumed to be a threat to Hawkins; the same community built on midwestern values and biased publications. If only they were aware of the toxic hellscape, known as the Upside Down, that echoes the small, sleepy town.

You were one of the few to recognize him as a genuinely good and kindhearted individual, someone who scribbles on his hand during third period, and looks like he belongs in a glam metal band.

He looked particularly handsome, towering over the counter, with his tousled hair loosely gathered into a bun, his bangs falling upon his forehead, accentuating his sharp features. An old, worn band t-shirt drapes over his torso, the sleeves cut to reveal his strong triceps, and beneath are a pair of gray flannel-patterned pajama bottoms.

It didn't take many clues to piece together his plans for the night: get stoned, listen to the rain showers, and watch a horror film while his Uncle was working a late shift at the plant.

That was the case until you arrived at his front door; if not, he'd likely be frustrated and adjusting the television antenna for better reception by now.

He retrieves a sealed bag filled with an ounce of pre-ground marijuana, passes it over, watching you slip it into the pocket of your leather jacket and pull out a double-sided cigarette case, serving as a wallet. The product wasn’t of the highest quality, but he gave you a discount, which was favorable in your opinion.

“Hey, check this out," Eddie says, offering a slim, neatly packed joint. "I got this new strain from my supplier, called Indiana Bubblegum. It's sweet, and smokes smoothly... I think you'll like it.”

Plucking the object of interest out of his hand, you hold it beneath your nostrils and breathe in the pleasant assortment of earthy, fruity undertones. “I bet you'll make a killing out of this.”

He snickers softly, creases forming in the corners of his eyes as his voice drips with elongated sarcasm, "Worried I'll run out of business, sweetheart?”

At the start of the school year, Dustin Henderson had been eager to introduce you to the rebellious misfit, who had graciously taken the party under his wings and granted them into the Hellfire Club; however, you had no intention of revealing your acquaintance with the Dungeon Master.

The freshman was perceptive, immediately recognizing the natural chemistry in every interaction. It was remarkable, considering Eddie, who was usually difficult to persuade into friendship, warmed up to you rather quickly.

"No, of course not. But it would be a loss if my favorite dealer left town for greener pastures." You stated, coyly tracing the tip of your tongue along your lower lip.

You're his favorite? You'd miss him?...

A shade of scarlet crept across his face, those words catching him off guard. They sink into his very being, and he wears them proudly, like a badge of honor.

Later on, he would probably boast about this encounter to Gareth, Jeff, and Doug, while completely ignoring the group coming to an all-around agreement that you were obviously "poking fun at him."

On the other hand, you found it quite captivating to see how he was practically under your spell, how you could make him stumble over his words and blush like an absolute madman.

He lowers his head with a subtle smile, fidgeting with the ring upon his index finger, engraved with a single cross down the middle, and four skulls surrounding it. "I won't be movin' anytime soon, and I'd prefer fewer eyes on this... side gig anyway and maybe more on my band, instead of the drunks that roam the Hideaway."

"Oh? Interesting because my friend Nance knows this guy at the Indianapolis Post, and I was thinking about getting you in the classified section.” You tease, gesturing your hand out, visualizing the advertisement. “Eddie Munson, making people feel light on their feet since ‘83!”

He let out a gentle chuckle and shook his head in amusement, acting as if he won't be smiling like a total idiot, remembering your jokes days later.

Eddie had his fair share of run-ins with the Hawkins Police Department. Surprisingly, in recent years, Chief of Police Jim Hopper chose to record fewer encounters with him. If he caught Hopper in a good mood, he would be let off with a warning and a stern lecture, essentially implying, "Don't get caught next time."

Sometimes, Hopper was too exhausted to drag the young adult back to the station or had already made plans with El to have a movie night, watch Miami Vice, or Family Ties, whatever piqued their interest, and that certainly would not be delayed.

In July, Hopper tragically passed away in the line of duty at Starcourt Mall. Only you and a handful of others knew the truth. The reality hidden behind the curtain.

Chief Calvin Powell, previously second-in-command, was becoming strict about enforcing security for the citizens and proving this town was not a series of misfortunes. This, in turn, raised Eddie's chances of getting caught.

You extend your hand to return the joint, watching him instantly wave you off, “No, keep them. They’re uh, free of charge.” He insists, fixing his gaze on your skeptical, questioning expression, curiosity clearly piqued.

"Really? How come you’re being so generous?”

Realization dawns on him, and an unspoken tension fills the atmosphere. He knew he could never confess this deep infatuation with you, how he yearns to be immersed in your presence, to have your enchanting voice surround him like velvet, and to be consumed by the validation that gorgeous smile brings to him.

His bandmates were growing exhausted of this unrelenting attraction, constantly laughing at the fact that Eddie, the smooth-talker, confronted with a striking individual, becomes seemingly tongue-tied, as if he doesn't know how to interact with the opposite sex.

Your mesmerizing body became clouded memories he'd use in the middle of the night, lying back on his mattress, by his lonesome, with his hand rutting beneath the grey sheets.

"It's uh, you know... for being a regular," He lied, feigning nonchalance as he scratched the nape of his neck. The movement causes his shirt to ride up, revealing a glimpse of his abdomen and a dark, thick pubic trail descending into his pants.

These subtle offerings were unspoken invitations, bribes wrapped in a gesture of friendliness to disguise his full intentions, meant to coax you into returning to him more often.

“Well, aren’t I lucky?…"

You clip it into your cigarette holder and pluck out the folded cash. His dark brown eyes linger upon your soft, delicate hands as you carefully count the bills.

He notices a crystallized pendant hanging against your exposed cleavage, deep green with specks of red, on a sterling silver chain, against your black, gothic-style blouse.

"It's a bloodstone.” You stated, hand outstretched with payment, “Unless that isn't what you're staring at."

"Y-yeah, I uh, was looking at your necklace... It's pretty." He stammers, awkwardly stuffing the cash into his pocket. You could've passed him a repair manual, and he wouldn't have even batted an eye, too lost in his flustered daze.

"It's made to provide protection and emotional healing properties.”

“So, you believe in all that spiritual stuff?” He asks, attempting to put on a casual demeanor to hide his embarrassment.

“Sometimes you see shit religion can’t explain... So I tend to navigate towards the spiritual side of life.”

There was a vulnerable shift in your voice, and a truth behind your words, one that you usually attempt to conceal from the world.

By the time of graduation, you had discovered another dimension beyond this world and battled humanoid creatures. Life-altering encounters that haunt your psyche.

As you grasp the small crystal, its sharp edge pierces your skin, and particles fill your vision. You can still feel the saliva trickling upon your cheek as the slimy, slender-built predator looms over you. Within the silence, your thoughts interject, demanding that you change the subject.

“I landed a job at Haint Street Sanctuary over by the Hideaway, so I get complimentary stones and crystals working there. I uh, specialize in palm reading and tarot cards.”

The metaphysical store belonged to a laid-back, free-spirited woman from San Francisco, although the shop's spiritual focus drew criticism from the locals. 

Your friends certainly took an interest in your new employment.

Dustin was constantly asking for little trinkets to put around his room. You'd even taught Robin about how to read Tarot cards, making Steve her willing test subject.

The three of you, sprawled out on his living room sofa, curtains open to the sliding glass door; the only thing visible is the pool lights spilling into the darkness.

Robin pulls the death card in a three-card spread. Steve stares at it, misinterpreting the meaning and assuming the worst, "That's probably not good. Robin?... Uh, Robin? What does this mean for my love life?" He watches her lean over, flipping through the guidebook.

"Palm reading, huh?"

 Eddie rounds the counter, his knuckles tapping lightly on the surface, before leaning his hip against the side and crossing his arms over his chest. “So, you can tell my destiny through the lines on these… gorgeous hands?”

“Well, I mean, if you're looking for insight into your life, then yes. If you want, I can read yours, since I owe you for the pre-rolls."

He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a wide smile, trying not to seem too desperate, but the thought of you touching him made his stomach fill with butterflies.

Would he really pass up an offer like this?

You toss your jacket over the wooden armchair and lower onto the shag carpet, pressing your back against the cushion and folding your legs beneath you. Rolling the lighter's flint until it sparks, you bring the joint's tip to the flame, and rotate it slowly as the end begins to char.

The television flickers back to life as Eddie walks across the living room and settles directly across from you, "So this is all it takes, no candles or soft ambiance?"

He subconsciously picks at the woven strings below him, attention trained upon the cannabis cigarette between your lips as the cherry burns bright when you inhale the smoke into your lungs, receiving a distinct bubblegum flavor.

You lean your head back, exposing the graceful definition of your neck, and let the smoke seep past your lips into the closed environment. "As romantic as that sounds, loverboy, this is perfectly fine.” You tease, passing him back the joint before tapping his knee lightly. "Come closer. I won't bite."

Oh, Eddie would personally do the honors of banishing himself if he ever denied your teeth on his skin.

He gradually moves closer until his knees touch yours. From this vantage, he admires your thighs, embraced by black bell-bottoms that have ridden up to reveal your worn-out high tops, decorated with psychedelic waves, snippets of sentences, and- wait, is that Harrington's name written on the outer sole?

With a silent invitation, you turn your hand over, watching as he rests his knuckles in your palm. The cool metal presses gently against your skin while his fingers twitch. You pivot his wrist side to side, studying the canvas. His long, slender fingers, calloused tips, short, bitten nails, and a ring wrapped with a bandage for a tighter fit.

You trace the ridge of his thumb and gradually glide down to his wrist in a smooth, almost sensual manner, one that brings goosebumps to his skin. Curiosity inevitably guides you towards the ink on his forearm. It's a classic kitchen scratcher, imperfect linework in the design of a monstrous puppet, controlled by its master.

Eddie remains incredibly quiet, refusing to interrupt you amid this process, as if you're a cat he doesn't want to spook. He can only perceive the relentless drumming of his heart in his ears, managing to drown out everything else.

Do you like my tattoo? I have more... Shall I take off my shirt for you?

"You're resilient, but you tend to internalize emotions." You said abruptly, moving across to his palm, and sliding beside the long, deep wrinkle, directly between his thumb and the base of his palm. "See this line right here?... It's your lifeline."

He exhales from the corner of his lips and leans in, bringing your heads so close they almost touch, "So, is this supposed to predict when I'll kick the bucket?" He narrows his eyes and slightly curls his fingers, making the line more prominent in the skin, before you gently guide his hand to lie flat again.

"No, metalhead. It shapes your well-being, future encounters, things like that." You peer up at him through your lashes with a hint of amusement as he voices a soft, vague hum of recognition and takes another hit off the joint; the smell of weed starts to fill the stuffy trailer while smoke begins to whisper in motion around your bodies, almost pulling you together like a magnetic draw.

"Anyways, there's a noticeable break in the middle. You'll have a dramatic shift at some point in your life, but the resilience you hold will guide you through these experiences.”

"Is it good or bad? Like, is my band getting a record deal, or am I gonna get busted for selling pot?" He punctuated his question with a soft chuckle.

“Well, I mean, it could be the result of countless changes, lifestyle, personal growth, relationship, or employment.”

The rain taps against the windowpane, blending into the soothing ambiance while you handle him with care, tilting your head to the side, necklace slightly swaying, and biting your bottom lip in concentration.

You delicately stroke your thumb against his wrist, helping to calm the nerves as a faint line near this area, curved and deepening on the end, catches your attention: the headline.

“You're thoughtful and creative with an intuitive mindset."

His cheeks rose with small dimples forming, seemingly surprised by the uncanny accuracy of your interpretation. “Am I really that predictable?” He asks with an impish quality before he pinches the head of your shoe, attracting your gaze toward the rolled marijuana cigarette between his fingers.

"Essentially, at first sight." You joke, concealing the small bubble of pride inside your chest as you bring the filter up and take a breath, words strained with retained smoke. "Speaking of, I want to visit your relationship line."

In fleeting moments, the familiar uninhibited feeling takes effect, leaving an euphoric warmth inside your being, allowing you to overlook worries and fears.

“You know, I do consider myself a romantic...”

He was fishing, just like the way those wide, pathetic eyes were fishing down your blouse.

"Oh, I bet you do." You snicker, steadying yourself on the floor and leaning over to the coffee table. He could feel the heat radiating from your body and smell your sweet, delectable perfume on your pulse points as you roll the lipstick-stained joint along the rim of the glass tray, tapping off the ash.

Eddie swears you do this shit on purpose just to tease him. Maybe you get off on the thought of him desperate for your touch? Or is he a total pervert, bricked up at the sight of you doing normal things?

"You have a strong desire for a connection and emotional expression." You stated, slightly shifting his hand to concentrate on the prominent branches in his skin. “However, there's a guardedness; past relationships have left you to approach new ones with caution, as if you're anticipating abandonment or disappointment."

A flicker of insecurity passes through his averted gaze; those words had struck a nerve.

You had heard the countless stories of the Munson family through the grapevine; it was impossible to keep a secret in this town. If it wasn't the unfortunate passing of his mother, maybe it was his forsaken father referring to him as a worthless bastard in their final argument, before he was incarcerated.

Eddie watches as you glide your fingers across his, a silent form of sympathy that soothes him. "But, I see you're an incredibly strong-willed individual, and based on these branches, you're willing to sacrifice for the sake of the people you care about."

"You're pretty good at this."

The sincerity in his voice warms your heart and brings a soft smile to your face. "Thanks, Munson."

The final two major lines are the fateline and sunline. One indicates destiny and journey, and the next is a prediction of success, unique for the individual, though his was undoubtedly strange. The first wrinkle was faint and fragmented, and it touched the Mount of Saturn, located beneath his middle finger.

"There is a lot of uncertainty in your fate ahead, and with the breakage... It could mean challenges that need to be overcome, to fulfill your destiny; the whole thing is undetermined, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, of course."

Out of curiosity, you reach for his other hand, and he allows you to pull him closer. You take a long drag, gazing upon the mark, dull upon his skin, but visible in this golden hue of the lamp and the television. “They’re almost identical on either side...” 

Releasing his dominant hand, you felt him tenderly grasp your kneecap, testing the waters before delicately stroking the pad of his thumb against you, tracing the seam of your jeans.

The internalized palmistry insight stored inside your head is suddenly shut away, with your full attention on the man before you, wishing he would move higher and explore the space available. Perhaps he sought some encouragement.

“You’re an interesting case, Ed’s.”

A low, sultry tone is reflected in your voice. You couldn't tell whether it was the marijuana absorbed in your system, but you were practically tingling with desire.

"You think so?” He asks, giving you a goofy, lopsided grin and displaying his particularly bloodshot orbs, swept away by your sweetness.

"I do. I think you're quite intriguing." You said, making the older boy visibly flustered.

You reached out and grazed your fingertips across the small red plectrum around his neck, gaze shifting between his eyes and his lucky guitar pick.

"Red looks good on you."

There was a quiet pause, a recognition, both of you knew exactly what you wanted; it was just a matter of who made the next move.

Something takes over Eddie. A higher power, if you will, that brought him to do the unexpected. He swiftly closes the distance, and his soft, full lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. This was beyond his wildest dreams, though the most sane thing he's done all week.

He gave your waist a firm squeeze, desperate to anchor himself to the ground and ensure this was truly happening. Not just another dream where you disappear at the end, and he awakes to empty arms.

You stabilize yourself with a hand against his inner thigh and slowly slide onto your knees, overpowering him. Lulling his head back, you drag your fingers down his throat, leaving him breathless. Now, he's certain he's slipped into another dimension.

You reluctantly pull away, admiring his dazed appearance with tinted red lips. You inhale deeply, making the bud glow brightly, wishing you could savor him just as intensely.

As you start to turn away, he seizes this opportunity, holding your jaw and forcing you to look at him, demanding with gentleness, "No, please don't waste it. I want it in my mouth, princess."

A part of him expects you to reject him, but it's quite the opposite; instead, you move up to straddle his lap and gently pinch his chin between your fingers.

He obediently bares his mouth to you, welcoming the smoke. He holds his breath for a moment before finally releasing it through his nose, as if it were a cigar, savoring its fine essence. The sight makes your pussy ache, and your patience runs thin. "How long have you been thinking about this?”

"Since we were in Mr. Mundy’s class, senior year.”

You remembered that time quite well. Mundy despised him with a passion, referring to him as his given name, “Edward Munson,” which forever earned an irritated groan or scoff from behind.

Though Eddie was surprisingly pleasant to you, a bit of a distraction, reaching over his desk and poke answers out of you, whispering jokes, then watching you struggle not to laugh out loud in a quiet classroom. Sometimes, he was the reason you’d truly smiled in weeks. He was always the person to take the pain away…

He found enjoyment in that class because the prettiest person in Hawkins sat in front of him. He observed your little habits and traits, admired your hair, and the additions you made to your wardrobe, slowly discovering your style, dark, gothic, combined with a bit of leather.

"Are you serious? That was like- two years ago.” You express, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear as he kneads at your curves.

“Yeah, I was nervous to ask you out... But the day you asked to buy some weed was the best thing that happened to me.”

Shaking your head, amused by his dramatics, you firmly grasp his shoulders and push him back till his body reaches the floor. You feel the surface beside you blindly, finding the ashtray and setting the joint aside.

You loom over him, knees framing his hips until he finally captures your waist and forces you down onto his erection. Your necklace brushes against his chest as you tauntingly whisper into his ear, “So you've been starved for my affection, hm?”

A soft groan rumbles past his lips when you start to grind against him, smirking when his cock eagerly twitches inside his flannel bottoms.

Eddie gazes up at you and retorts, “Mhm, don't act like you aren't soaking wet right now... shall I check, princess?”

You press your lower lip between your teeth and nod, feeling his hand slide down your body, undo your belt, and slip into your jeans. As his fingertips brush against the soft cotton, tracing the seam of your slit, a jolt of electricity shoots through you.

"Told you,” He teased with a devilish grin, making goosebumps spread across your skin, “absolutely drenched.”

You move your hips against the heel of his palm, stimulating your clitoris. With a deft motion, he swipes your panties aside, collects your slick upon his fingers before slipping them into your aching heat.

A warmth spreads through your body, and thoughts dissolve into a sweet, hazy fog. You practically palpitate around his middle and index as they ease in deeper, the cool metal reaching your core. He was very aware of your heightened sensitivity.

Let's say, in the limited amount of time he's possessed this strain, he took to satisfying himself numerous times. Using this knowledge to his advantage, he moves at a slow, tantalizing pace and spreads his fingers apart. He's breaking you into a different pair of hands, demonstrating that he can reach those points of pleasure you can't.

"Ah, fuck, Eddie~" It rolls off your tongue with a familiarity, like you're made to be moaning your drug dealer's name in the middle of intimacy. 

A possessive lust darkens in his gaze, curling into the spongy region of your vaginal canal, feeling your back arch in response. His tone shifts low and confident, “Do you let all your clients’ fingerfuck you afterward?”

“Only my best..." Your words catch in your throat, breath hitching and thighs trembling when his speed suddenly picks up.

"Now who's the one starving for affection?" He retorts, throwing your words back in your face, earning a small groan.

"Shut up..."

You decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sneaking into the front of his pants, feeling him, so responsive against your warm caress as you slide down his length. He wasn't even wearing boxers. How did you not spot his erection earlier?

Heat builds between your bodies until he swipes his tongue across the valley of your breasts like a caged animal, leaving a trail of saliva across your exposed skin.

It's only a matter of time till he has you, slipping into a state of ecstasy with audible moans spilling into the trailer, and spasming around him, coating his rings in arousal.

Once you're satisfied, he withdraws his fingers and brings them to his lips, savoring your taste. A delighted hum escapes him, "You taste fucking divine, sweetheart."

You ease in, peppering kisses along his jaw while his hands slide around your waist, his thumbs gently stroking the small of your back.

Wayne approaches the trailer after a long day at work, his jacket completely soaked. He has a pack of beers tucked under his arms as he opens the door, and it produces a high-pitched creak that snaps you both out of your trance.

There's a strong scent of weed wafting into his nostrils, which wasn't the first time he's encountered it, though his weary gaze drops to an unexpected sight in the living room, the place where he sleeps, for crying out loud.

You practically surge to your feet with humiliation, buckling your belt and slinging your jacket over your forearm, scrambling to cover any physical remnants of the encounter, though he has already seen enough.

"I uh, thought you were gonna be late tonight,” Eddie voiced, crimson spreading across his cheeks as he nervously scratched the back of his neck, sitting upright, against the chair.

The older, southern gentleman recognized the delicacy of the circumstances, and though he wasn’t sure how to approach this situation, he did his best to avoid potential embarrassment or discomfort.

"Well, I took an early shift so we could watch’a movie or somethin', didn't know you'd have company over, my apologies..."

“I was just about to leave anyway." You informed with a sympathetic smile, looking back at his uncle. “Sorry, Mr. Munson.”

"No, it's ‘right, uh-" His sentence lingers as he mentally runs through a list of Eddie's friends. Although he had never met you, he knew his nephew had mentioned you before. You politely introduce yourself, and he repeats your name back to you with a nod. After that, you slip past him, out the front door.

You hold the article of clothing above your head, providing a bit of coverage from the pouring rain, while you rush to the driver's side of your beat-up, but reliable ‘72 Chevelle SS. You swiftly shut the door, muddy shoes hitting the interior floorboard as you toss your jacket aside, and turn on the ignition, listening to the engine sputter to life with a loud, deep rumble.

You look into the rear-view mirror, wiping the smear of lipstick, before defeatedly slumping into the white leather seat with a sigh. That was not an ideal first impression…

Wayne slowly closes the door behind him, running his palm over his forehead as he turns towards his nephew, who seems more reserved than usual.

"It's too late for this..." He mutters to himself before heading to the kitchen and putting his six-pack of Schlitz in the fridge.

Eddie blinks a few times at the television, where the men on screen defend themselves from the undead creatures breaking through the boarded windows, reaching into the household. He looks down at his hands. The ones you touched, the ones that were inside of you.

A part of him feels guilt, while another is ecstatic. He won’t understand his true feelings until he’s alone in his room, letting his mind drift. But all he knows is that he definitely owes you an apology.

Eddie Munson Smut Taglist: @sunflowerharrington @hawkins-honeybee @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rottenstyx @sexytwerkerr69 @natashamacimoff69 @zestychili @luna-munson83 @chaoticcancer @ruinedbythehobbit @emxxblog @decodedlvr @jjmaybankswifes-blog @scarletchase1989 @spider-starry @atyreinjuly

The chance hadn’t arisen for him to see this movie in it’s short theatre run, he’d been too busy with work and meetings and rehearsals to actually go (and he’d been quite pouty about it when he finally did have a free evening and has asked you if you’d go see it with him, only for him to find out that it had stopped showing a week before) but it had come out onto streaming relatively quickly.

You had pretty much no idea what was going on in the film mind, it was some indie flick that had a ton of characters and a lot of cuts, but you were content to just lean against Joe, his arm around you and enjoy the closeness. It hadn’t been something you’d been able to do much these past few weeks because he’s been so busy, promoting a project and flying here, there and everywhere to do it, as well as filming a few secret bits and pieces for another project he was doing and gearing up to start filming on another project for quite some time. He honestly had you awed at his work ethic, you love that he loves what he’s doing… but you’re also aware that he has a fear deep down that this won’t last forever and the projects will start to dry up, so you know he feels like he needs to take every opportunity thrown his away. Even if it is exhausting him.

You cast a look over at him, his eyes are on the screen and he’s watching the movie but you’re not sure how much of it he’s taking in. Because he’s fucking tired. You would have been cool with it if he’d headed to bed when he’d gotten back from his trip three hours ago, he looked absolutely wrecked when you’d picked him up but he’d insisted that he wanted to have something to eat and chill out with you first. Told you that he just needed to be close to you, because he’d missed you so much and you’d melted and relented.

But there is no way in hell he has a clue what’s going on in this goddamn film. “Joe,” you nudge him, wiggling closer to him still.

“Hmm?” You can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Who’s that?” You point at the screen. The character on screen - Lily - is about one of the only characters you know what’s going on with, her part of the entangled storyline that is playing out is the simplest.

“Anna…” Joe mumbles back to you. “She’s the one who’s dating the guy they think might be the serial killer.”

Completely incorrect, but okay. “Joe…”

“Hmm?” He mumbles again.

“It’s getting late, do you think maybe we should watch the rest of this tomorrow?” You ask him lightly. “Maybe have an early night?”

Joe turns to look at you. He looks exhausted. “It’s 8PM.” he points out. “That’s too early for an early night.”

You don’t think that there’s any statue of limitations on what is classed as an early night, but okay. “Oh come on,” you grumble at him. “You’re tired.”

“I’m watching this and cuddling you.” he retorts, giving you his cheeky little smile as he does so. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes and you’re frustrated that he won’t give in and go to bed. You know what he’s doing, you know him too well and you know it’s because he feels guilty about leaving you while he was away and so he’s trying to make it up to you by spending time with you, but he can spend time with you while he’s asleep, because you do kind of sleep in the same bed. Besides, he’s got a clear schedule tomorrow and you’re going out for lunch and you’d kind of prefer to do that with a boyfriend who is not dissociating throughout. He needs his rest. “You need sleep.”

“I can sleep once this is over,” he motions towards the screen and you kinda wanna yell at him because you know he has no clue what’s going on, he’s just being stubborn.

“Sleep.” You retort.

“Make me.” He retorts back, he’s still doing that cheeky fucking smile.

Oh my God. This man is acting like a child, quite literally. Refusing to go to bed and being a little bit cheeky, still, at least you’re getting a taste of what it’s going to be like when you two inevitably have a little one.

But make him? Sure, you’ll take that as a personal challenge because why not. Your mind whirs as you think about what is surely likely to knock him out for a good sleep. He likes hot baths to relax, but you’re not so sure that you want to lure him into one of those, just incase he does fall asleep and y’know… drowns.

Then it hits you.

Nutting. He’s always tired after a good nut.

You shift away from him slightly. Study him. Yeah, you think you’ve got a plan. You pull the hair tie off your wrist and shove your hair back messily. He’s not looking at you now, his eyes back on the screen. So he doesn’t notice when you slip off the sofa and kneel between his legs. Because he’s Joe. So he’s manspreading. Of course.

His eyebrow raises when he sees you. “What are you doing down there?” he asks, eyes still sleepy but looking down at you with interest.

“Making you,” you tell him, keeping your face straight. You reach for his zipper and look at him, you’re not going to do this if he doesn’t want you to and his face softens as he realises you’re waiting for permission.

He nods. “Okay. So make me.”

The candle still flickers in the background, the sound of his movie drones on as you work his belt open. He doesn't say a word, just watches you, sleepy eyes on you the whole time. You love when he gazes at you like this, his breath hitching in the anticipation of what's to come. Honestly, you would full on ride him you thought it wouldn't be too strenous for him - but that may need to wait until the morning, because no matter how much you would love to feel him deep inside you -- show him that you've missed him just as much as he's missed you -- this isn't about you right now.

His belt clunks as it hits the floor and you look up at him again, you smile sweetly at the sight of the lust in his sleepy eyes and your hands work down his zipper, he shifts his hips and you waste no time and tug down not only his jeans but his boxers too. His hardness springs out at you. You swallow. God, you've missed this while he's been away, probably just as much as he has.

Even though this is for him, to help him sleep, to make him, you can't help but blow on the head of his thick cock to tease him before taking it in your mouth. The moan he lets out shoots straight between your thighs, but this isn't about you - it's about him.

You suckle the head, just the way he likes it at first, keeping eye contact with those sleepy eyes of his, loving the way he can't hold in the little grunts that come out of him so naturally as you're in this teasing phase.

“Babe…” he croaks out.

And you take that as your cue to pull away, to let a globlet of spit drip down onto the head while you keep eye contact, to stroke him a couple of times, another globlet of spit to get it nice and wet and then to wrap your mouth around it fully.

He moans out as you take as much of him as you can, you can never take the whole of him because he’s just a little bit too big for that but that’s what your other hand is for. You’ve got one hand resting on his knee, the other one on his cock as you work your hand in tandem, soft strokes to match the way you’re suckling down on him. You’ve been with him long enough to know the way he likes it, you’ve had a lot of experience because what can you say? You’re generous.

And while you would normally take your time with him, today you’re here for a good time and not a long time.

He groans out as your hot, wet mouth works him, focusing mainly on the head while your hand plays with his shaft, just the right pressure a firm grip, but not a strong one. Your tongue occasionally sliding over his slit, teasing and tasting, making him gasp out.

You have your pattern for getting him off, sometimes you’ll switch it up to make things a bit more fun, but today is not one of those days - you have an end goal and you’re gonna get him there. You keep moving your mouth, he brings up a hand to tangle in the mess of your hastily shoved up hair.

You suck.

He groans.

His hands tighten, he tugs your hair and you feel another surge between your legs and the urge to just climb aboard and ride him to kingdom come takes over, so you internally scold yourself because it’s still about him right now and not about you. Hell, all of tomorrow morning in your bed with him can be about you.

“That’s it….” he gasps at another suck of the head. “Don’t stop…”

When his groans turn into grunts, you know it’s time to go to the next phase. Playing with his balls. You give another lick across the tip, your tongue running across the ridges before you pull yourself off with a pop. The hand that had been stroking his shaft slips down to his balls, cupping, squeezing and rolling, just the way he likes it. You can’t help the occasional gentle tug as well to get him going.

His breathing is heavy enough now for you to know it’s time to slip your mouth back around the head, sucking down on him again. When Joe breathes like that you know he’s getting close. You suck the head, pop off again and look up at him. “Good?” You ask.

“Don’t stop…” he grunts out, teeth gritted.

You dive back in, sucking and cupping and rolling. You murmur muffled praise about how good he sounds as you keep going until his hand grips tighter in your hair and he grunts loudly and floods your mouth.

You swallow down as much as you can, wiping the excess of your chin and licking it from your hand.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he moans, chest heaving as he tries to get his breath back. He reaches out a hand, helps you from your knees and back onto the couch. You sit down and he leans against you, his head on your shoulder and you reach up to stroke his cheek.

“You wanna finish the movie?”

He nods.

“You wanna lie down?”

He nods again and shifts so his head is in your lap, you play with his hair, fingers sweeping through soft strands and within minutes he’s snoring in your lap. You can’t help but smile as you tug the blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over him.

If you’ve gotta sleep sitting up on this sofa tonight so he gets some rest you will.

to say you weren’t expecting to be in this position tonight is an understatement. at first it was just a friendly stranger at a bar, noticing you by yourself and offering to buy you a drink.

and then one drink became two became three, and friendly small talk became stories of how you got that scar on your knee and how he broke three bones in the fifth grade.

and now, suddenly, you’re here. on his bed in his dimly lit room, fully naked and a little foggy from cumming on his tongue maybe ten minutes ago. the lighting from his single bedside lamp casts a faded orange glow across the room, and his sheets smell faintly of his cologne. distantly, you catch the whiff of a long put-out cigarette.

his thick, heavy cock nudges your clit, forcing a harsh whine from your throat.

“please, eddie,” you beg again, your body wriggling slightly in frustration.

“please what?” he asks, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. big brown eyes putting you in a trance and keeping you there.

you huff, but your annoyance is half-hearted. you don’t have the energy to put your all into it, all you can truly focus on is how badly you want him.

“eddie, come on. i need you,” you whine, gasping sharply at another slick glide of his tip through your folds.

“you need me? what do you need from me?” he asks, lips so tantalizingly close to your ear, his teeth taking the softest nibble. it sends a shiver straight down your spine and to your center, your toes curling where they rest towards the end of the mattress.

“i need,” you swallow, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. “i need your huge cock inside of me, please.” your voice comes out sounding strangled, your breaths shallow as his lips press to your neck over and over. “i need you to give it all to me, right the fuck now.”

“fuck, baby,” he grumbles against your skin. his fingers dig in to your hips, your breath hitching. “is that right? need my big dick filling you up?”

“yes,” you pant, feeling him twitch slightly against you. “fuck me, eddie, please.”

“well, since you asked so nicely,” he says, nose brushing your cheek, hot flush of breath fanning your face.

your mouth drops open at the slow intrusion of him, finally, into your soaking core. pressing so deep inside of you, hitting every spot you needed him to hit. filling you to completion, a moan leaving your lips as if it was desperate to come out.

“there, sweet thing. nice and full of me,” he rasps, one ringed hand coming up to squeeze your neck. “now what do you say?”

“t-thank you,” you pant, your body squirming with the need for him to move.

You hadn’t wanted to wake him, but resisting the urge to touch him had never been your strong suit. Your fingers threaded through his curls, relishing the way they tangled slightly before springing back into place. He hummed softly, shifting just a little but making no move to release you. Instead, he held you tighter, his face burying even deeper into the curve of your neck, as if clinging to the last remnants of sleep.

Your hand drifted lower, tracing idle patterns along the expanse of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. His muscles tensed slightly, stretching as he stirred awake.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His eyes remained closed, though he lifted his head just enough for his lips to graze your collarbone.

“It’s still early,” you whispered. “You can sleep a little longer.”

Joe didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he shifted, nuzzling against you until his head rested fully on your chest, sighing in contentment.

“Mm, it’d be nice if you let me get up, though,” you laughed softly. Not because you minded being his personal mattress, but because your body was beginning to protest being in the same position for too long.

“What if I don’t want to?” His voice carried a teasing edge now, a hint of something else curling at the edges of his words. His grip around your waist tightened. “You’re mine,” he murmured, lips brushing against your skin, sending a slow shiver down your spine. “And I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

You let out a breathy laugh, already knowing exactly where this was going. And you could feel it—quite literally—against your hip.

Joe had always been the morning type, all warmth and slow, sleepy kisses, his lips pressing lazy, open-mouthed affection across your skin. He liked to mark you in places only the two of you would know, teasing bites that made your breath hitch, his touch lingering, possessive.

And if there was one thing you had learned about Joe, it was that he never started something he didn’t intend to finish.

His hand slipped under your top, finding the soft curve of your breast with practiced ease. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles around your nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. You couldn’t suppress the quiet moan that escaped your lips, especially when his other hand pressed against the small of your back, urging you closer—letting you feel just how hard he already was, as if you hadn’t noticed.

“I want you,” he rasped against your neck, his breath hot, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses that sent shivers down your spine.

“I can tell,” you teased, your voice breathy as he stole small, teasing kisses from your lips.

Joe chuckled against your mouth before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide with need.

You kissed him then, deeper, greedier, as if you were trying to commit the taste of him to memory—as if even a few days apart could make you forget. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you pressed your body against his, chasing the heat between you.

But patience had never been his strong suit. He tugged your top over your head in one swift motion, tossing it aside without a second thought. His mouth was on you instantly, his tongue flicking over your hardened nipples, teasing, tasting, leaving you squirming beneath him. His right hand trailed lower, fingers slipping beneath the delicate waistband of your thong.

“Fuck, Joe,” you whined, the sensation of his mouth, his hands—his everything—turning you into a trembling mess beneath him.

He pulled back just enough to smirk at you, lips swollen, breath heavy.

“I love how you sound,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger.

And then, without another word, he shifted between your legs, settling himself lower. Your chest heaved in anticipation, your body already burning with need.

He didn’t bother taking your underwear off. Instead, he simply pushed the damp lace aside and buried himself in your heat, his mouth hot and desperate against you.

A gasp tore from your throat at the sensation—his tongue, his breath, the way he devoured you like he had been starving for you. Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging as his pace quickened, each flick of his tongue sending you spiraling.

“But fuck,” he groaned against you, his words vibrating through your skin, making your whole body tremble, “I love how you taste even more.”

You spread your legs wider, giving him all the space he needed, surrendering to the intoxicating pleasure of his mouth on you. Every nerve in your body lit up, shivers coursing through you as he devoured you like he had all the time in the world. No matter how many times he had done this before, he always found a way to make it feel even better—like this time would ruin you more than the last.

Your moans filled the room, mixing with the wet sounds of his tongue working over your clit. He knew exactly what you needed, exactly how to push you closer to the edge.

“Joe—” His name came out in a broken gasp, more of a warning than anything else. You were close, really fucking close.

You felt the curve of his stupid grin against your thigh before his fingers joined his tongue, sliding inside you with a slow, deliberate stretch. Two fingers, moving in perfect sync, curling just right.

Words failed you, lost in the overwhelming sensation, and the only thing that left your lips was a desperate, wrecked moan that sent a shudder through Joe’s body.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “Just let go.”

And you did. Within seconds, you shattered beneath his touch, falling apart on his tongue, his fingers. He groaned as he felt you come undone, as if he could get drunk on the way you trembled for him.

When his eyes finally met yours, you were still shaking, your breath ragged and uneven. He smirked, entirely too pleased with himself, but that look—the one that told you he knew exactly what he had just done to you—only made you crave more.

You grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. The moment your tongue slid against his, his cock twitched against your thigh, still painfully hard.

“You’re hungry for more, huh?” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with amusement and lust.

“Always,” you admitted, nipping at his bottom lip. “I’m fucking starving when it comes to you.”

Without hesitation, you flipped him onto his back, straddling him, your hips rolling against his still-clothed erection. You started trailing kisses down his neck, slow and teasing, leaving a path down to his shoulders.

Joe groaned, a curse slipping from his lips, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave bruises—bruises you knew would still be there tomorrow. But fuck, you loved it. You loved how he handled you like he needed you just as much as you needed him.

You stripped him of his boxers, just as you had done with your abandoned thong, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. You were desperate to feel him—completely, exactly as he was. And yet, you didn’t let him slip inside you right away.

Instead, you dragged your dripping center against him, letting the hard length of his shaft slide over your swollen clit. The friction sent electric pulses through your body. He could feel how wet you were, feel your slick coating him as you rocked against him, teasing, tormenting.

“I need to be inside you,” he groaned. It should have been a command, but it came out as a plea—low, rough, edged with hunger.

You wanted to tease him longer, to make him beg for it, but you were just as desperate. Maybe more.

Lifting your hips, you positioned yourself over him, feeling the thick tip of his cock press against your entrance. Slowly, Joe pushed inside, stretching you inch by inch, making you take him. Your moans tangled together, shameless and raw, filling the space between you.

No matter how many times he had been inside you, he always made you feel completely, devastatingly full.

Your hips moved instinctively, finding a slow, deep rhythm, pulling soft, breathy moans from him that matched your pace—controlled at first, almost painfully so. But it didn’t last.

Soon, you picked up the rhythm, rolling your body against him, and his hands gripped your ass tightly, guiding your movements, pressing you down onto him. You kept your eyes locked on him because you loved to watch him like this—lips parted, swollen, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you. He couldn’t take his eyes off your body, the way your breasts bounced with every movement, the way you took him so well.

You wanted to burn this image of him into your mind forever.

The groans spilling from his lips spurred you on, making you rock against him faster, harder, taking him deeper. The friction was dizzying, overwhelming, and the way he met your thrusts—his hips snapping up to meet yours, filling you over and over again—made your vision blur.

“Fuck, Joe…” you whimpered, and he cursed under his breath, gripping you tighter as he thrust into you, deeper, harder.

He answered by meeting your hips with his own, thrusting up into you so deep it knocked the air from your lungs. Your head tilted back, your breath turning ragged, the sound of skin slapping against skin growing louder, filthier.

“Babe,” he choked out, voice strained, his control slipping. You could tell he was close.

So you didn’t stop, chasing the pleasure flooding through you, knowing you were right there with him.

Joe caught on, grabbing your hips, shifting the rhythm so you were grinding against him instead of bouncing, the new angle making his cock press against that perfect, devastating spot inside you. Your mouth fell open, a strangled moan leaving your lips as your entire body tensed. The pressure coiled tight in your belly, spreading like wildfire, consuming you whole.

He felt it.

Felt the way your walls clenched around him, squeezing him, dragging him over the edge right along with you. He groaned your name as he came, spilling into you just as you shattered around him, your legs shaking, your body trembling violently against his.

The room was filled with the sounds of it—heavy breathing, skin against skin, the sharp thud of the headboard hitting the wall as both of you came undone.

And for a moment, nothing else existed but this.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with heat and the scent of sweat and sex. Your body still trembled slightly, your muscles aching in the best possible way as you collapsed against him, your forehead resting on his damp shoulder.

Joe's arms wrapped around you lazily, fingers tracing soft, absentminded circles on your back. His heartbeat was still erratic beneath your cheek, his breath uneven as he let out a satisfied, breathy chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You smirked, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss against his neck. “Then at least you’ll die happy.”

His chest shook with laughter, and he tightened his hold on you, as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Neither were you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need. Just the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

Then Joe hummed lazily, tilting his head to press a kiss to your temple.

“You up for round two?”

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “You’re insatiable.”

He smirked, flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion, his body settling comfortably over yours.

“And you love it.”

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option. 

-

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

-

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need. 

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need. 

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear. 

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

- 

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

-

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

-

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

-

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn’t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

-

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face. 

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold.  It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm. 

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”. 

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower—devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

The steady tick of the clock on your desk echoed through the office, the only sound competing with the rhythm of your fingers on the keyboard. You’d finished the stack of paperwork your boss dumped on you—a petty punishment for taking a sick week. Now, at 8:28 PM, your foot tapped restlessly, eager for the day to end. Your bag was already packed, resting snug between your legs, ready to be grabbed the moment the minute hand hit the mark.

At 8:29, irritation crept in. Your leg bounced more insistently. With a sigh, you stood and glanced around the office. It was nearly deserted, the cubicles swallowed in darkness except for the overhead light above your desk and a dim glow far off to the right. At 8:30, you finally gave in, slinging your bag over your shoulder just as a soft sigh echoed from the far end. A zipper, a few taps on a keyboard—and then quiet again.

Curiosity pulled you down the hallway. You approached the lit cubicle and peeked around the corner. Joseph. He was hunched over his desk, the collar of his suit slightly loosened, buzzcut softening with stubble, his broad frame tense. You weren’t new to him—quiet, dependable Joseph. You leaned against the edge of his cubicle with a smirk. “Boss got you pulling extra hours too?” He turned, his chair creaking as he faced you with a tired scoff.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he muttered, powering off his monitor. “What about you?”

“Sick leave. He wasn’t thrilled.”

He chuckled. “Figures. The guy gets off on overworking people.”

You gave a crooked smile. “What’s your excuse?”

“Apparently, he doesn't like people celebrating birthdays.”

You glanced at the clock on his desk—8:35 PM. “You done?”

Joseph nodded. His gaze lingered on yours for a beat too long. His eyes were a warm, velvety brown that pulled you in before you could stop yourself. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

You walked together toward the elevator. Inside, the quiet buzzed with something heavier than exhaustion. The screen above ticked downward as the floors passed. “Headed home after this?” you asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Weekend’s wide open.”

You turned your head slightly toward him. “Want to grab a drink? Blow off some steam and celebrate?”

He let out a low chuckle, almost to himself. “God, yes. I need a break from that bastard."

As the elevator doors opened, the two of you stepped out into the chilled night. The nearby bar offered warmth and a hum of life—music, clinking glass, laughter bleeding into the air. You both slid onto bar stools, ordering your drinks—your usual for you, a dirty martini for him.

“So,” he began casually, eyes flicking to yours, “why this job?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is this a date or a job interview?”

He grinned. “Can’t it be both?”

You smirked. “It was the only job that seemed comfortable, easy. Didn’t expect it to drain me like this.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s corporate. Slowly kills you.”

The bartender placed your drinks in front of you. Joseph lifted his glass with a smirk. “To quitting and aging.”

You clinked yours against his. “To quitting and aging.”

He downed the martini in one clean swallow, the sharp line of his throat catching your eye. You’d never been attracted to someone’s neck before, but there was something about the way he drank—confident, effortless—that made it sexy. He bit into his olive as you tilted your head. “So, what comes after this? Any plans?”

He paused. “Something better than this desk job, hopefully.”

“What about modeling?” you teased.

He laughed, taken aback. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you said. “You’re attractive. Like... really attractive.”

His lips tugged into a crooked smile. “You think I’m attractive?”

You met his eyes. “Very.”

The space between you thickened. He leaned forward slightly, searching your expression. You didn’t move. His lips brushed yours gently, slowly deepening until your tongues met, heat rising in your chest. When you pulled away, slightly breathless, he threw down cash and took your hand.

Outside again, he led you toward a shadowed alley near the bar. He pressed you gently against the brick wall, his lips moving to your neck, leaving hot, damp kisses that sent shivers through you. A quiet moan escaped your lips, your head tilting to give him more room. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice a low whisper: “I want to take you home so bad… Put you in my bed, make you stay awake for more than just this night."

You smiled through your heavy breathing. “Good thing we’re resigning.”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. He pressed his body against yours, mouth hungry, fingers trailing down your arm.

“Let’s go back to my place,” he murmured.

—————

You bellow out the lyrics to Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Getting Back Together” along with your three friends, not a care in the world for who would be unfortunate enough to hear you in the chilly 3 am evening. The girls pass around a bottle of tequila when your best friend, Tana, —seated in the passenger seat— attempts to pour a shot into your mouth.

“Babe, no. I drank enough at the club. The guy that asked for my number was practically throwing them at me. I had to kill a plant by pouring my drinks onto the poor thing. Men ruin everything.” You pout.

“Amen to that, sis,” Tana says, snapping her fingers. “Had a guy tell me that he thinks I’m the one for him. Turns out, he’s married with a baby on the way.”

You all playfully point your index fingers to your tongues, faking gags before leading into a giggling fit.

“I had a guy ghost me because he didn’t like me sharing my selfies on social media. Said that ‘they should only be exclusive to him’.” Your friend, Essie, shares.

“I feel like we need to get back at men for the shit they put us through,” Brooke chimes in. “I’m in the mood to make a man fall to his knees, whimpering for mercy.”

“You kinky little minx!” You laugh. “Are you trying to make men pay or are you trying to get laid?”

“Can it be both?” Brooke says, biting her acrylic-donned thumb.

“I say…” Tana calls attention to herself, raising a hand. “We choose a random house on this street to wreak our vengeance. One of the homes has to belong to a man.”

“I’m in!” Essie beams.

“Me too.” Brooke says, high fiving Tana for her devious plan.

“I don’t know, guys,” You say, reluctant to rain on their parade. “We’re pretty drunk but I don’t think we’re drunk enough to want vandalism charges. Let’s just go to one of those rage rooms and let out all this pent up energy. We could scream out female rage lines from our fave movies and break shit.”

“That’s…okay but it’s not as epic as Tana’s idea,” Essie says, leaning forward to be in better earshot range. “Come on, y/n. It’s only for tonight. You know, we’re just having some harmless girl time fun. It’s not like we’ll be breaking and entering. We’re just gonna do some silly stuff then leave. Pleeaaase. I just broke up with my boyfriend. I need this.”

You take a quick glance at the girls who all send big, puppy eyes your way. You sigh then laugh. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

They cheer at your response, knowing that they’ve won. You raise a hand to cease their cheers and they quickly go dead silent. “Since, I’m the most sober one here. We’re doing this my way,” While staring at the road ahead, a smirk slowly spreads across your face. “I get to choose the place.”

——————

The four of you sneak onto the open field, tiptoeing through the tall grass. Based on the smell wafting in the air, you are certain there are barn animals nearby.

With a nasal tone in her voice from holding her nose, Tana says, “Ugh, how could anyone work around this icky smell?”

“Shhh,” You order, putting a finger to your lips. “If we need to be quiet if this is going to be a successful in and out mission. Do you remember the plan?”

“How could I forget? It’s the most basic prank ever.” Tana whisper-yells, holding up the two rolls of toilet paper in her hands.

“It’s still a huge pain to the homeowner,” You defend confidently before letting out a wicked giggle. “He will be so inconvenienced when he wakes up in the morning.”

Tana shakes her head lovingly at you before peering to her right and left. “Umm, y/n, where’s Essie and Brooke?”

Your eyes widen as you unintelligibly peer to your right and left as well despite knowing the space is empty. “Oh shit,” You facepalm. “How could we have let them out of our sight? Who knows what those morons are doing?”

“Hew we awe,” Essie carries a ‘baby talk’ inflection as she materializes from the dark bluish night with a medium-sized pig cradled in her arms. “Evwyone meet Wilbur.”

“I’m sorry but where the hell did you get that pig?!” You say, no longer able to keep your voice to a whisper.

“The barn, obviously.” Brooke replies.

“What happened to not breaking and entering?! I take my eyes off you two for a second and you’ve already broken a handful of crimes.” You scold.

“But we’re saving him, y/n. You don’t want this pig to become bacon, do you?” Essie says, holding up the pig near your face only for it to wiggle out of her grasp and take off running.

“We’ve gotta catch that stupid fucking pig!” You yell and the girls obey. The group comically chases the animal around, slipping and sliding through mud and crops. In the chaos, the pig makes contact with the toilet paper you’ve long abandoned, tossing it around with the help of the forceful winds to guide it all over the field.

You spot the pig approaching the door of a small blue cottage. You dive forward, fully immersed in the thick mud that soiled your white tank top and denim skirt and you cared little for this fact with your concerns focused on obtaining the pig in your arms. He squeals and whines against you as you plead for its compliance.

Suddenly the porch lights turn on, shining down on you like a spotlight. The door swings open and not long after you’re forced to look into the eyes of your prosecutor from the ground.

A rugged, older man with unruly, curls of brown hair cascading down his shoulders and the deepest brown eyes that are as large as buttons. The same eyes that were now staring down angrily at you.

“What the fuck?” He says through gritted teeth. It’s not until he sees the full extent of your wrath that he decides to emphasize his previous statement with a fury of a thousand suns. “What. The. Fuck!”

You swallow hard, releasing the pig as you collect yourself off the floor. The man feels no need to check whether his pet had entered the home safely, wanting his eyes to focus on you in case you tried running.

“I-I could explain. W-we were just—”

“We?” He abruptly interrupts, upholding the gruffness in his tone.

You were afraid that he’d say that. After all, those bitches were a little too quiet for your liking. After looking behind you to confirm their abandonment, you slowly face your prosecutor once again.

Swallowing the hard lump in your throat you begin, you try scrambling for an answer. This is already a very terrifying situation. This man looked terrifying himself. He’s robust in build, littered with tattoos, and had piercings. You don’t see men like him everyday or at all on your side of town. Men usually groomed themselves like ken dolls where you come from. But when you have come across men that look like him, the experience has always been a negative one—-only this time you were the one at fault.

“I’m sorry.” You shrug with an awkward smile then tack on a “Please don’t call the cops.”

He sighs deeply. “I’m not going to call the cops…”

“Oh, thank god.” You sigh in relief, a hand to your beating chest.

“You’re going to call your parents,” He finishes. “And you are going to tell them that we’re going to come up with a solution for this or I will be calling the police.”

“Oh, fuuuck.” You groan.

————-

“I’m so very sorry, sir. Truly,” Your father says after profusely apologizing for the 7th time since his arrival. “She’s been acting out a lot ever since she’d gone away to university. My wife and I don’t know this girl but she is not the y/n we raised.”

You roll your eyes at the comment, texting away at your friends who wanted to know the details of your capture. Meanwhile, you’re too busy cursing them out to care about how badly you’ll be punished for this.

“I’m just glad things didn’t get any worse or when someone could’ve seriously ended up getting hurt.” The farmer says, staring pointedly at you.

“Now I was thinking…though I could very well pay for the trouble and we could be out of your hair, I’m a man that likes to go above and beyond when it comes to taking responsibility. My daughter’s exceedingly aware of this fact about myself,” Your father scoots his seat up closer to the table, fingers together as if proposing a business plan. “It appears that you might need some temporary assistance in tending to your farm work. If you’re looking for an extra set of hands to help with some manual labor for the next two weeks, my daughter is happy to oblige.”

“Excuse me!” You say, attention fully invested in the conversation. “Tell me you're joking.”

“Nope. You are grounded. Meaning that though you are visiting for spring break, you are currently under my roof, my rules. I am still your parent after all. To clarify, there will be no going out with your friends. You are to come straight to

Mr. Munson’s farm every day after your time at your mother’s shop. You’ll help the gentleman around with whatever he asks of you.” Your father explains.

“And what if I don’t?” You ask, defiant.

“Then you’ll be cut off and you’ll have to earn money on your own.”

“Y-you m-mean a j-job?” You ask, horrified.

“Exactly.” Your father confirms.

You stare wide-eyed at farmer Munson who has a prominent smirk on his face. “I like the sound of that, sir. You’re a good man.”

You shriek in anger. “You’re the worst!”

You furiously stomp out of the home, hating your life and men once again.

————

Your father had no doubts that you’d be going to work on the farm once he’d threaten to take away your (his) money. When you arrive at the address, you’re immediately reminded how you're not on your side of town anymore. It’s officially Hickville.

Reluctantly knocking on the door, you hope that Eddie won’t answer the door, praying that he’s changed his mind and took the money instead. Unfortunately, he answers the door with a huge smile in contrast to your deadpan demeanor.

“Oh, come on, lighten up, sugar. I made some of my famous iced tea ahead. One taste and it’ll all seem worth it.”

“It’s not fair!” You rant, pushing passed him. “Why am I being the only one punished? This was all Brooke’s idea. And Essie was the one who stole the goddamn pig.”

“His name is Wilbur,” Eddie corrects. “And who are we talking about exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter,” You sigh. “Bad things always happen to good people.”

“I’ll say.” Eddie says, staring you down.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You really think you’re the victim in all of this?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we check out the lovely view of the TP’d trees blowing in the wind?” He asks sarcastically, gesturing to his window.

“It’s just a little toilet paper. Never had a little prank done on you.”

“Wow,” He feigns a smile, shaking his head at you. “Your audacity to diminish all the negative things you’ve done to me into the spirit of good fun is astounding.”

“My therapist did always say I have a knack for looking at things on the bright side.” You retort.

“Is that so?” He asks mockingly. “Well then, you’re gonna love this special job I have for you.”

—————

Which leads you to the situation you’re in now. You’re staring into the eyes of a cow whose large brown eyes kind of reminded you of farmer Munson except they actually held kindness in them and not pure disdain.

“There’s no way I’m milking this thing. I have no idea how to do that,” You say, prompting Eddie to raise a suggestive eyebrow at you. “You know what I mean, pervert.”

Suddenly, an idea clicked in your head. Maybe you could use this ‘pervert’ thing to your advantage. He’s obviously single or he wouldn’t be this much of a crab. You can easily seduce him and get out of doing anything!

“Mr. Munson,” You say with a purr in your voice as you press yourself up against him. “I’m actually really good at milking other things after all. You’ve got me pegged at that. Maybe…I can show you just how skillful my mouth and hands can be for you.”

He laughs. He fucking chuckles in your face. How fucking dare he?! “That was rich. Seriously, that performance was just…moving. You can try to sway me with sex all ya want, hun. Trust me there are women and men who’ve tried,” He slightly narrows the gap between your faces, staring you down. “I don’t buckle under that kinda pressure, sugar. It’ll take a lot more than salacious words to make my dick jump. Now why don’t we go back to the task at hand, shall we?”

You’re fuming. This asshole really thinks he can get away with making you out to be a fool. Well, two could play that game. You’re going to make his existence for the next two weeks feel like a total nightmare.

He seats you on a small stool beside the cow before instructing you on how to milk her. You halfheartedly reach for an udder, shrieking at the feel of it between your fingers.

“This is so gross!” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m going to disassociate and imagine that I’m in a niche boutique in Manhattan.”

“Ah, spending daddy’s money even in your dreams. How thoughtful.” He mutters.

“You have no right to judge me just because you think I’m privileged.” You snap.

“I don’t ‘think’ you’re privileged. You are privileged. See the difference?”

You tug on an udder, purposefully targeting him as the milk drenches him. His face puckers his face before staring daggers at you.

“Oops.” You say in a sickeningly sweet tone.

——————

You begrudgingly enter your house key into the doorknob, body aching from the day's work. The moment you enter, your father’s happy-go-lucky spirit engulfs you and it takes everything in you not to explode.

“Hey, honey, how was your first day?”

“Question, father,” You begin, calling him the formal term instead of “papa” or “dad”. “Do you love me?”

“Now what kind of silly question is that?” He reverts back with his own question, befuddled.

“I’m just curious because I don’t think a father who truly loves their daughter would ever put her through the kind of hell I just went through today.” You respond.

“You milked a cow,” Your teenager brother, Aspen, enters the dining room before beginning a dramatic act. “Someone save the poor girl! She’s gaining new life experiences! You are such primadonna.”

“Shut up, ya little twerp.” You say, pulling his hoodie over his face.

“Your brother’s right, dear,” Your father says. “You are being really dramatic. I don’t get it. You never used to be this way. You loved reading books and conducting personal science experiments and geeking out over your favorite movies—”

“That just isn’t me anymore, dad. The sooner you accept that, the better it is for us all.” You grumble.

He decides to drop the topic in favor of keeping the peace for the dinner your mom prepared for the family to enjoy as a unit. But your mind couldn’t help but to wander back to those times where you were seen as a nerd and bullied for being different and having different interests. University was a different story though. There, you were able to reinvent yourself into the hot bad bitch you know today.

But why is it that your father’s words resonated so much with you? Had it been because it wasn’t the makeover or the new friends and partners you’d make along the way…it was the fact that he knew that you, yourself, couldn’t believe your own act. He knows that you're lying to yourself about liking the person you’ve become. No way could ever admit such a thing to him. And it’s not like you’d feel this way forever. Once you’re done with this hell labor with Eddie “The Devil” Munson, you can go back to your popular life.

————

The routine continued including your constant pushback. It went: shadowing your mother for the day with her bridal clients, heading over to the Munson farm soon after, non stop bickering between the two of you for 2 hours, then heading back home to soak your aching body and curse out the world.

Today is no different with the task of you grooming the stupid pig that got you into this mess in the first place.

“Wilbur. His name’s—”

“I know!” You shout at him, gathering the metal pail and wooden brush from the table. You grumpily made your way to the backyard of the home in search of the shed supposedly carrying the soap to clean the pig. When you notice Wilbur rushes out of a trailer home stationed in the backyard. “Hey, get back here!”

The pig is long gone and you don't care to chase after it once your interest is piqued by the mystery home in the backyard. Searching around to make sure there were no signs of Mr. Munson, you enter the place cautiously.

It’s as if the trailer had been stuck in the 1980s. Everything is vintage and old looking but also well kept. You see photos of the younger Eddie Munson scattered around the walls of the home and—-though you hate to admit it—he was just as handsome as he is now. In some of the photos including one pinned to the fridge by a magnet, you can see an older man. Maybe his father.

Your eye catches an old poetry assignment also pinned to the fridge with a large ‘C+’ above it. A little note at the top explaining his grade being contributed to some misspellings and some inappropriate language despite the good work.

You raise the paper to your eyes and read:

If I Were A Hobbit

If I were a hobbit, I’d be so free

I’d frolic in the grass and smoke some trees

With furry feet and a merry heart

From adventure’s call, I’d never depart

With Bilbo’s tales, I’d while away time.

In the beautiful land of Middle Earth’s rhyme

I’d wander the fields beneath the sun

I’d travel the world cause it’s all in good fun

If I were a hobbit, maybe I wouldn’t get laid

But, hey, it’s goddamn worth the price I paid

You giggle, amused at how fun Mr. Munson had been long ago. You wonder what could’ve happened. Immersed in the poem, you were unaware of his arrival until he whispered haughtily into your ear.

“We’re continuing the trend of breaking and entering, I see.”

You jolt away, facing him. “I-I’m sorry. But you said that I had to look for a shed. Should be more specific.”

“This looks like a shed to you, sugar?”

“Trailer…shed…it’s no different.”

He chuckles dryly. “You are a piece of work.”

“Look who’s talking? You know, you seemed a lot more fun when you were a teenager.” You comment, holding up the poem.

“Give me that,” He yanks from your hands, placing it back on the fridge. “Ain’t anyone ever tell you it’s wrong to go snooping around people’s things. Wait, who am I kidding? I met your father. Even if he were to have taught you these things, you’d probably go against him.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.” You hiss.

“Right back atcha, sweetheart.” He retorts.

“Then, I hope you don’t mind if I continue to do so.” You say, pushing past him to go into the hallway.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, hot on your trail.

You enter a bedroom and it’s another blast from the past. The typical kind of teenage boy bedroom. It’s no shock to you that he's a metalhead. You begin to rummage through his collection.

“You little brat,” He huffs. “I’m too old to be dealing with this shit!”

“Live a little,” You say, popping in a blues cassette into the radio. “Dance with me.”

He stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed as you begin to dance in circles around him. Your boot kicks up a newspaper article crumpled up on the ground and you go to retrieve it, ignoring Eddie’s protests.

It is an article about 15 years ago that expresses Eddie Munson’s exoneration in the death of Chrissy Cunningham and him receiving only a $50,000 settlement. It also goes into detail that his only known immediate family and caretaker, Wanye Munson, had died just a month before his release.

“Oh my god, Mr. Munson. I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t…” You trail off, knowing what to say or even where to begin.

“It’s all in the past now,” He sighs. “Besides, I’m fine now. I still have my friends. They’re like family. They’ve got their own lives but when they can they check on me. That’s more than enough.”

Without thinking, your arms curl around his body and for the first time you get to feel his body against yours and it’s addicting. He tenses for a moment, unsure whether this is okay but eventually he melts into your embrace.

His beefy arms cradle you, a large hand resting atop your head. Your heartbeats fall in sync with one another’s and you allow yourself the brief moment to nuzzle into his chest, the chest hairs peeking above his tank top tickles the tip of your nose.

You dare to look him in the eyes, seeing them already looking down at you. They were wet with unshed tears, pleading with you for something. It’s the first time you’ve seen that look on his face and like a magnet you're drawn to it. You’re suddenly moving on your own accord, tiptoeing to brush your nose against his. He lowers his face to your level. Your lips are only a mere centimeters from his full ones when the sound of his phone ringing takes you both out of the moment.

He’s quick to pull away as if freed from an intense spell. Excusing himself, he leaves the room and heads outside. You’re left standing in the room alone, the soft, rhythmic melody of blues playing in the background.

Willing yourself to cool down, you decide to go on with your original task and find Wilbur while hoping it’ll shake off the electric feeling he left on your skin.

————————-

Bathing the pig proved to be quite the distraction because this little shit is making you use all your brain power to keep it still. Having stripped into just your bikini and rainboots, you held the pig for dear life as you washed and scrubbed at him and practically yourself.

You notice Eddie from the corner of your eye, stifling laughter as he leaned against a nearby tree.

“By the way, I’ve already washed off all the barn animals, tended to my crops, and was able to make myself a sandwich in the meantime. You, however, you’re still working on Wilbur. Or should I say, he’s working you.”

“Hardee har har,” You say, unamused. “Will you just help me with this pig?”

“Alright, alright,” He says, heading over to you. The pig immediately jumps from your grasp and into his arms. “It’s all in the technique.”

“Easy for you to say. He already knows you.” You grumble.

“Now what you’re gonna want to do is come up behind him. He's a big fella so in order to hold him down you’ll need to straddle him like this and place your hands down firmly on his back. That way he’ll know to stay put,” Eddie says getting into position, his boots digging in the dirt for some leverage. “He’ll tussle with ya a little but it’s only because he’s not used to being handled by other humans. He’s still a little frantic with me even after all these years. I saved him from the slaughterhouse so it comes with the territory.”

“You mean you weren’t going to turn him into bacon?”

“No, sugar, Wilbur’s family. Now get up on here with me. Don’t put too much of your weight on him. Only just enough to hold him down.” He instructs.

You follow suit, straddling the pig and placing your hands over Eddie’s before looking back over your shoulder at him. “Like this?”

“Just like that, sugar. You’re a natural. See? Now I’m just gonna go ahead and get up and you’ll take the—”

“What? No, don’t leave me! He’ll just shake me off again.” You protest.

Sure enough, the pig began to shake the both of you off its back, side to side until you both fell back into the soil. You fall right into Eddie’s lap and he instinctively grips your hips hard, causing you to let out a yelp and scramble out of his grasp.

You sit on your knees, looking at him with wide eyes and he returns with the same expression. The blush on his face intensifies and you follow the way his hands rush to pull the cowboy hat from his head to hold against his lap.

He quickly looks away from you, clearing his throat.

“You’ve got—erm, your bikini bra…” You’ve never seen him so flustered. So speechless. You wish you could relish in it but when you realize exactly what he’s insinuating, you feel your cheeks begin to heat up as you wish the world will swallow you whole.

Your tit is hanging out for the world to see. A fucking nipple slip! Why did God cease at nothing to make you the butt of every joke?

You briskly adjust your bra, shaking in your boots. The itching desire to run heavy on your mind.

“I-I sh-should go,” Your shaky legs somehow allow you to stand as you peer down at him. “Have a good evening, Mr. Munson.”

You stiffly power walk your way to the small cottage home to gather your discarded clothes on the porch. Eddie’s large hand rests on your shoulder.

“Wait! I can’t send you off like this. You’ll track mud in your car.”

“It’s not like I haven’t done that before.” You scoff.

“Why don’t you shower here and I’ll offer you some fresh clothes? I’ll be making my stir fry in case you're hungry.”

“You being nice to me all of a sudden, Mr. Munson?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t help but think there’s some kind of hidden agenda.”

He smiles a genuine 100-watt smile. “No, sugar. I’m just extending some needed hospitality is all.”

—————

You pull on the long sleeved t-shirt Eddie offered you, studying its logo. A horned demon, swords, dice and so on.

“It’s my old high school club t-shirt.” He says, coming to sit beside you on the couch.

“You were in a Dungeons and Dragons club?”

“You know D’N’D?”

“Know it?! I loved that game.” You say, excitedly.

“I didn’t think kids in your generation still played that game.” He laughs.

“Oh, yeah,” You nod. “I was a dungeon master. My campaigns were fire. Anyone who’d joined my games would always go around telling their friends to come see me in action.”

“No way! I was a dungeon master, too! I took it a little too seriously at times but it was like my second passion,” He looks you up and down. “I would have never thought someone like you would be into that kinda stuff.”

“I’ll ignore your sly comment to clarify that I wasn’t always like this back in high school.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“Well, you heard my dad. I used to be a goody two-shoes. A nerd. And I even dressed the part, too. The old me would’ve totally geeked at your Hobbit poem. I’m different now though.”

“What’s so wrong about being a nerd?” He inquires, scooting closer to you.

“I used to get bullied everyday. Boys would ignore me. Even the geeks would only ever see me as a friend. When I got to university, that all changed. Everyone wanted me.”

“I think if I’d known you then, we’d probably be good friends.”

“Yeah right. You seemed like the bad boy type who fell for the cheerleader. You wouldn’t have looked twice in my direction.”

“No,” Eddie says firmly, staring you intensely in the eyes. “I would see you.”

He repeats for emphasis. “I see you.”

You swallow the hard lump in your throat, choking back tears. You’ve never felt so vulnerable. It’s strange to be so open with a man who 5 days ago you would have choked with your bare hands.

“Besides,” He says, breaking the silence. “I think it’s you who would have ignored me. I’m not the bad boy you think I am. Sure, I was a bit of a troublemaker here and there. But I was a huge geek, too. Hadn’t even lost my virginity until age 36. A year after my release. No girl wanted to fuck me back in high school. I was ‘the freak’. To some people today, I still am one regardless if I’m innocent.”

“I would’ve believed you’re innocent. I’d have been by your side, too. Us, geeks, have to stick together, yeah?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”

There’s that magnetic pull again. The attraction that makes you want to be as close to him as possible. You resist not wanting to make that move again but he takes the initiative, leaning in further only this time you're interrupted once again with the sound of your phone ringing. You throw a silent fit in your head. Eddie’s just as frustrated, expelling a long duration of air from his nose.

“Hello.” You say, answering the phone.

“Hey, baby,” A familiar voice says on the line. “It’s been months. I still think about our time in Venice and this spring fever is only making it harder to ignore.”

Now the memories come flooding in. It’s an ex-fling you met while studying abroad in Italy during your freshman year of university. The man who’d taken your virginity and showed you the ropes to popularity. The moment you left Italy you expected him to call you back but he immediately ghosted you. From then on, you became the maneater you are today.

“What do you want?”

“You, of course. I hear you are back in your hometown. Luckily for you, I am doing some research here and I was wondering—”

“Luckily for me? Are you on drugs, Stefan? I don’t care if you want me. You could forget my number and then you’ll forget me. Have a goodnight.” You quickly hang up the call, ignoring his pleas.

“Is everything alright?” Eddie asks, noticing the way you’re hyperventilating.

“I am now,” You sigh. “That was my ex. He was also my first. He treated me like shit, made me feel stupid, and acted as if I needed him because he created me. Back then, I felt like I did need him. Then he ghosted me. But boy did it feel good to give him a piece of my mind. Wish I could have said more.”

“I think you said enough. I’m certain you hit him where it hurts.” He laughs.

“I should probably go.” You say, standing up from the couch to grab your coat.

“What happened to staying for dinner?” He asks.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Munson—”

“Eddie. You can call me Eddie.”

“Eddie,” You say, testing his name on your tongue. You’re not exactly sure if you’re ready to be this informal with him despite your almost kisses and the boob slip incident. “I’m sorry but his call has left me shaken. I think I need to be in the company of my girls.”

“You mean, the girls who got you into trouble and left you behind? The ones your parents warned you to stay away from?”

“Come on, dude, I need this. It’s not like you can give me great advice about guys.”

“I could. Considering I am one.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re close enough for that kind of session.”

“We just had this whole heart to heart. I thought we were seeing some improvement in our friendship.” Eddie says.

“We’re friends?”

“Us, geeks, stick together?”

“That’s just an oath. Doesn’t exactly confirm a friendship between us.”

He exhales deeply, trying to contain his anger. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I tell your father about your little hangout.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Your eyes narrow at him.

“That would suggest that I’d be getting anything of value out of this which I wouldn’t be. Therefore, no this isn’t blackmail but it is definitely a threat. I don’t care if we’re friends. I don’t care to be your friend, sugar. But as the more responsible adult between us, I think it’s within our best interest that you don’t hang out with the people who cause you to commit crimes. So, I think I’ll be taking you home, hmm?”

“And what about my car?”

“I’ll take good care of it for tonight. I’ll pick you up tomorrow for your next job.” He smiles smugly.

If looks could kill, he’d be 7 feet under and you’d already be in hell.

————

Eddie pulls up to the front of your house. The whole ride there had been silent. You angrily gather your things, hurriedly trying to exit his van.

“Have a goodnight, sugar!” He shouts as you slam the door in his face.

Once you’re inside, you do the routine process of angrily ranting out your annoyance with farmer Munson while stomping angrily up the stairs. Your family used to this by now simply goes about business as usual.

You dial up Tana and after a couple rings she answers. “Hey, bitch! I was just about to text you the news. Did you hear who’s in town?”

“Yeah, Stefan, I know. How’d you know?”

“He's been calling me nonstop asking for you. Says he wants to talk to you.”

“I already did. Told him to fuck off,” You say. “And I thought I’d feel a lot better about it but I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to stomp on his weirdly-shaped dick.”

“Oh, yeeahh. I remember the dick pic he sent you. It is weird, isn’t it? Like an undeveloped banana. Anywho…you wanna get high at my place and watch America’s Next Top Model reruns. I’ve got Jell-O shots.” She sings-songs the last statement.

“I can’t. I’m on lockdown,” You sigh. “If I get into any more trouble, I might as well hand over a contract of my soul to the devil.”

“Bitch, you are a grown woman. These are the best years of our lives where we’re supposed to live it to the fullest. Sneak out! I’m coming over to pick you up.”

“Tana, n—” But she’s already hung up the call. Sometimes, you really hate this girl. With no choice, you’re forced to make a plan.

Firstly, you create a human-shaped pile in your bed, disguising it with your comforter. Next, you’ll be climbing out of your window and quietly land on your lawn. Finally, you enter your friend’s car and you’ll be homefree.

Although, the climb is a lot more daunting than you anticipated. It seemed like a lot of a higher jump from where you are standing. Tana’s car pulls in and she rushes out to jump up and wave, whisper-yelling to encourage you to do it.

“Tana, this is fucking crazy. You always make me do crazy shit.” You yell down at her.

“But it’s all for the sake of fun experiences.” She retorts. “Come on and jump. Be the bad bitch, you are. Think for a second. WWBD: What would Beyonce do?”

“She'd probably fire you as a friend.” You growl.

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, I’m ready to jump. Just be ready to catch me.”

“What?” Before Tana could register what you meant, you jumped, hurtling into her arms and straight to the ground.

“Huh, that wasn’t so bad.” You smile.

“Yeah, because I’m the one breaking your fall.” Tana groans.

“Payback’s a bitch, love.”

—————

“So, is the farmer plowing your garden?” Tana asks, while applying mascara to your eyelashes.

“Tana!”

“What? That’s got to be the only reason you’re officially over Stefan.” She says.

“I was already over Stefan. Eddie’s just my headache.”

“You’re on first name bases with him. Oh, you are definitely fucking him.”

“I’m not!” You insist.

“And did you say Eddie? That’s the infamous Eddie Munson. How could I have not seen the connection? He’s so hot. Is that okay to say about a murderer?”

“He’s not a murderer.” You quickly defend him causing Tana to raise her hands in surrender.

“Yikes, I’m sorry I didn't mean to offend your friend.”

“He’s not my…well, he is. But…he’s not a murderer. He never killed her or anyone. I did some digging on the internet and this town used to be really strange back then. Not how it is now. I don’t know but the circumstances in all the deaths that happened back in ‘86 are all too weird. No human could do the things that I’ve seen done to those corpses.”

“Bummer. Guess we’ll never know who did it. I hear people who know of this case still harass him to this day. It’s no wonder he practically lives off the grid.” Tana sighs. A knock at her front door leads her away and you’re alone to ponder your thoughts.

An overwhelming need to comfort Eddie hits you as you thought back to the moment he’d asked you to stay for dinner. You assumed it was all a ploy to get into your pants but now you realize that he’d genuinely enjoyed the little company he’d gotten.

You hear Tana’s footsteps and a set of another coming up the stairs and before you could get a chance to tell her that you’ll be leaving, she enters the room with your ex.

“What the hell is this?” You sneer.

“I just thought maybe you should hear him out.” Tana says with an anxious smile.

“I’m out of here.” You say, grabbing your jacket from her bed.

“Where are you going? Your car’s not here.” Tana rushes down the stairs after you.

“I’ll walk!” You hiss over your shoulder, pulling the door open where you’re unfortunately met with the presence of your father, brother, and the devil himself.

“Mr. Munson? Dad? What the hell are you all doing here?”

“Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Your father says.

Stefan steps out from behind you, handing you a piece of paper. “I can see that it is a bad time, mi cara. Please, call me when you can. It’s a new number since you’ve blocked my old one.”

With that, he acknowledges the men before him with a nod and leaves. It’s not lost on you that Eddie stares him down with a dirty look on his face before his eyes land back on you.

“If I could just explain...” You begin.

“No, y/n, I’m sick of your excuses. You sneak off at night to god knows where. You reek of pot and booze. Is this the type of example you want to set for your younger brother? He’ll be graduating next year. Should I anticipate that his time in university will consist of lollygagging around instead of focusing on his career?”

You look over to your brother who, instead of carrying a smirk, he had a look of genuine concern for you.

“I was just having fun.”

“Is that all you can think about? When did fun require drugs and alcohol and committing crimes?! Fun for you used to be attending cosplaying conventions, not vandalizing properties and drunk driving.”

“Well, I’m not that person anymore so you could fucking stop clinging to the past.” You yell.

Your father is taken aback and you could faintly see the waterline rising in his eyes. “Get in the car. Now!”

You shoot Eddie an angry look. “Us, geeks, stick together? Forget anything I ever said about believing in you.”

Your heart twinges at the shattered look on his face at your statement. No longer wanting to see the extent of your blow, you brush past him and follow your father’s command.

“As for you, young lady,” your father points to Tana. “I will be in touch with your parents regarding your misconduct.”

Tana’s mouth drops in complete shock at this revelation and for a moment you actually are proud of your dad.

————

You plop yourself onto your bed, crying your eyes out. Not even really crying for yourself but for Eddie. How could you have been so cruel to him? All for the reason that he cares enough about you to make sure you aren’t getting into trouble. There’s no way he’d ever forgive you for the way you spoke to him.

A knock on your door calls to your attention. You reluctantly answer, knowing you’ll be getting yet another punishment. You’re surprised to find your brother, Aspen, at the door.

“What do you want, twerp?” You say.

“You should really apologize to dad. You made him cry. I’ve never seen him like that.” He says.

“I know. It’s just that I hate when people remind me that I was…a loser. I didn’t mean to be so awful to him, though.”

“You were never a loser. In fact, I used to think you were pretty cool. I wanted to be comfortable in my weirdness as you were. I’m happy that you’re finding yourself and all. But you don’t have to change who you are to appease anyone. Not even dad. It’s your life, sis. If you like drinking and partying, that’s okay. If you like reading nerdy books and cosplaying, that’s okay, too. As long as it’s something you want to do and not something you do to make people like you. So stop acting like you’re some psycho fembot that wants to spend the rest of her life in and out of jail.”

“Wow, Aspen, I’m impressed. I did not know you could speak in coherent sentences.” You tease, pulling him into a hug.

“Fuck off.” He laughs, struggling to free from your tight embrace.

————

The next day, after some time to think of your apologies. You began with your father. He admitted to you that he was scared of the thought of you growing up and not needing him and let’s just say that the two of you ended up bawling in each other’s arms and confessing your love and appreciation for one another by the end of it. Your busy event planner mother stumbled into the scene both heartwarmed and confused.

The next one is going to be a tough one for you. But you felt prepared with a handy long written note in your hand in case you needed to find the right words.

However, the moment you arrived on his farm and were met with the look of indifference on his face, you began to break down sobbing. Hard. The thoughtful letter long abandoned to the ground.

His demeanor immediately softens, placing a hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

“I-I’m s-so sorry….you…friend…mean…,” You gasp an unintelligible apology through your tears. “Bitchy…geeks…believe you…stupid pig Wilbur…never would have met a great man like youuuu.”

He gives you a small smile, pulling you into his embrace. “I know, I know.”

“Understand?” You ask.

“Yes, sugar. I understand what you said. Crystal clear.”

“Accept?”

“Yes, I accept your apology.” Eddie laughs.

“You don’t hate me?”

“I never hated you. Even when you’re being an annoying brat. ” He says.

“Good,” You sniffle, pulling away from him to wipe your tears and compose yourself. “I’m happy we’re friends again.”

“Friends? Who said anything about friends?” He quips before patting your shoulder. “Yeah, we’re friends again.”

“Now we could get to work and then later you can make me that stir fry that I've been dying to try.” You beam, skipping into his home.

“Only if you’re a good girl.” He challenges.

For the day, the two of you would groom the horses together. Of course, you were still quite jumpy and the bougie princess he knows you to be but it was nothing he didn’t find amusing about it anyway.

“You should seriously take a look at my note though. I really thought out all the things I had to say for you. My weeping apology was only the tip of the iceberg.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anything in that note will top that moment but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Read it when you’re alone though. I don’t want to see your face when you read it.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you’ll be all smug about it.” You say, rolling your eyes.

“And you say you hardly know me,” He chuckles then switches to a serious, gruff tone. “So…Stefan…he’s a looker. Thinking about going back on your word to end things with him.”

You laugh. “I’m playing it by ear. He says he’s changed but that’s every jerks’ favorite line.”

“Just let him know that if he ever hurts you, I’ll kick his ass.” He threatens.

You step into Eddie’s space, his face flushes at the close proximity. Your hand raises up to cradle his heated cheek. “You couldn’t hurt a fly, Edward Allan Munson.”

Lost in your eyes, he fails to notice you tug the joint nuzzled behind his ear. Until you raise it up to his face with a knowing smile. “You smoke weed?”

“Baby, I used to be a dealer. In fact, I still grow my own supply.”

“No way.”

“Oh yeah. Maybe I was the freak but those jocks and cheerleaders were begging for a piece of my supply.”

“You wouldn’t mind if we smoke this one together.” You suggest.

“After your father chewed you out for it last night?”

“He knows I do it. And I learned this morning, after our heart-to-heart, that he was once a pothead, too. And now that I know that you are also a pothead, not only does this confirm my personal theory that most people smoke weed but also this makes our friendship so much more interesting.”

“You’re starting to throw that whole ‘friendship’ word around a lot more enthusiastically now.”

“My friend’s a dealer. I’m going to take full advantage of that.” You loop your arm around his guiding him to an empty stable so you can both fall against the hay.

He picks the hay from his hair, laughing. “I don’t even have a lighter and the fumes are not safe for the animals.”

“Babe,” You say almost insulted. “I always carry a lighter. You never know when you’ll find yourself in an impromptu smoke session or possibly get lost in the middle of the woods. Besides, we released the animals into the field for their little recess. We’re the only animals left here. Just you and me.”

“Alright, fine I guess we’re doing this. Don’t tell your dad about this, though. This will just be a one time thing.”

“Mhm, yeah sure, bud,” You say nonchalantly, busying yourself with lighting the joint. You hand over the joint to him and he protests, wanting you to take the first hit. You oblige. “It’s your joint. Don’t you know the rules? The one who bringeth, smoke..eth.”

“You wanted it badly so I’ll let you take it first.”

“I didn’t want it ‘badly’. I’m not a fucking addict,” You laugh, bellowing out a puff of smoke. “I just thought it’d be a nice bonding moment. Wanna see how you get when you’re high.”

“It’s nothing special. I’m the same as I am now.” He shrugs.

“You mean, ‘a stick in the mud’?”

He bumps you with his shoulder causing you to lay back against the hay.

“You jerk, I just picked all that out of my hair.”

“Serves you right. Now hand me the joint. You’re hogging it,” He tries to reach for it but you raise it above your head. “You’re such a tease.”

He attempts to reach for it again, falling on top of you. His full weight on your body is so damn delicious it takes everything in you not to moan. It doesn’t help that the weed has heightened your senses making you feel EVERYTHING. The way his hot breath feels tickling your neck along with the way his curls on his head gently caress your skin as he reaches for the joint. He seems oblivious to the state he leaves you in even after he’s gotten it, letting out a puff of smoke into the air then looking back down at you. It’s evident he can see the darkened lust in your eyes because of the way his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He suddenly feels so thirsty and it isn’t because of the weed.

Afraid a moment like this will be interrupted once again, you lunge forward attacking his lips. He’s caught fully by surprise, a strangled moan swallowed up in your frenzied fit of passion. You’re the one controlling the kiss, forcing him to roll on his back so you can grind down on the sizable erection in his jeans. The friction from the fabric of your lace underwear and the rough denim of his jeans are an undefeated combination against your puffy clit, sending flood after flood of your wetness to pool between your legs.

The kisses are sloppy. Your hands are everywhere; in his hair, yanking his shirt for dear life. His hands cup your face before entwining in your hair then they’re around your neck, unable to keep them still because he’d like to feel every part of you just as you wish to do to him. Every so often mewls would escape your lips as you grind harder and harder against him.

“Fuck, Eddie, you feel so fucking good.” You whisper desperately into his ear.

“So do you, sugar. Ain’t even inside you yet and I’m already about to blow.” He groans, sweaty forehead pressed against your own.

“Can I fuck you, Mr. Munson?” You plead.

And the whine Eddie lets out confirms that it won’t be happening anytime soon. You look between your bodies, seeing the dark, wet patch on his jeans then back up at him.

He’s obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while.”

“That’s okay. Um, this was…this was really spontaneous.” You don’t immediately get off, wanting more and hoping he’d give you more so that he can make you cum, too.

Instead he grabs you by waist, lifting you off him in a hurry. “I’m sorry. I need to—-this was a mistake.”

And again, he leaves you to your thoughts. All you could do is stare as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance, while you began to feel smaller and smaller on the inside.

He’ll lose interest for a little bit soon enough and toddle off to do something else, but he’ll be back again before too long for another look and that just brings you the most amount of joy right in the deepest pits of your chest.

Henry’s almost 2 now, so this isn’t his first Christmas, but rather the first Christmas where he’s more aware of what’s happening and less of a sentient potato. A smile curves on your lips as you think about how he’ll react to the tree when it’s really and truly set up - with presents under it, because right now that part of it is looking a little bit bare.

And it’s not that Henry doesn’t have presents, because he absolutely has - despite you and Joe having sat down and settled on a list of what you wanted to get him a couple of months ago, a list that had included a combination of clothes, books and toys that were relevent to his interests… that had not stopped Joe from appearing home from work at least twice a week with ‘something extra’.

You can’t wait until the presents can finally go under the tree in a few hours, when Joe sneaks into Henry’s room with a stocking full of little trinkets and of course, a satsuma and apple. When Joe eats the mince pie and you drink the milk that you leave out for Father Christmas and one of you gets rid of the carrot for the reindeer.

Henry is going to be so excited tomorrow!

The presents are currently still snuggled in the back of the wardrobe in the bedroom, thankfully they’re all wrapped up because you and Joe have been pretty good at keeping up with it, sitting on your bedroom floor whenever something new needed to be wrapped, you doing the actual wrapping and Joe writing the tags out - teamwork makes the dream work after all!

That’s one thing that you and Joe hadn’t agreed on, you’d thought about just having the presents under the tree so it looked really Christmas-sy in your living room, but Joe had gotten grumpy at that idea. It was Quinn family tradtion that until Christmas Eve the tree stays bare beneath, while the tradition in your family had been the presents would be under the tree but they wouldn’t ‘contain’ anything until Father Christmas visited with his magic and filled the wrapping.

Joe had insisted that your family’s way wasn’t as magic and had also pointed out that Henry had a habit of tearing things up and would quite likely manage to rip into a few presents before either of you were able to stop him.

You had to agree on that one.

Henry has grown bored of the lights now, toddling over to you and putting his little hand on your knee. “Mama? Up?” He doesn’t have to ask you twice, you scoop your little boy up into your arms and settle him down on your lap, he leans into you, his eyes casting back to the tree and cuddles into you and you can’t resist popping a kiss onto the top of those dirty blonde curls.

“Where’s Dada, hmm?” You ask him as you look at the clock above the mantle. Joe had slipped off to a work thing that he couldn’t get out of for a few hours, but you were expecting him to be back by now. You were a little bit worried actually, because the way that Henry is cuddling into you is an indication that he’s in his ‘wind down’ phase and well, you really don’t want him to fall asleep before you can start your Christmas tradtions… but you also really don’t want to do any of this stuff without Joe.

You pick your phone up and check for messages - none. You shoot a quick one off to him, asking him how much longer hes going to be because you’re not sure how much longer Henry is going to be awake and after you press send, you stand up, Henry scooped up in your arms. “Shall we go and get your bath sorted?” you coo at the toddler. “So you’re all nice and clean for Father Christmas to come?”

“C’ean…” Henry agrees in his sweet little voice.

Henry absolutely loves bath time, he loves bubbles and splashing and the little plastic bath toys that you can stick onto the wall that he can fill with water. Of course he has a new set tonight, a Father Christmas on his sleigh where you can fill the reindeers up with water, as well as the normal Disney toys in the water with him. He’s giggling and clapping happily when you hear the front door open. He’s extra splashy tonight, probably due to the all excitement he can sense and you’ve ended up with water dripping down your outfit, even the forest green tights you’re wearing (you got them in a three pack from M&S with a colbalt blue you haven’t worn yet and a burgundy that you have worn and that Joe had made quick work of) are damp from the water, you don’t have the heart to scold him.

“Oh, I think Dada’s home!” You coo at the toddler who claps in delight, the bubbles on the top of his falling off with the action, making you laugh. You can hear Joe pottering around downstairs, opening the living room door and then the kitchen door and then his steps on the stairs as he walks up them.

“You up here?”

“Dada!” Henry answers before you have the chance to and Joe follows his loud little voice into the bathroom, where he finds you - kneeling on the floor cooing over your son and Henry - bouncing on his little butt in excitement at his dad being home.

Joe kneels next to you and leans in to kiss the little boy on his nose. “Hi sweetheart, you getting all clean?” He asks him. Henry proceeds to babble in agreement, not really making any sense but Joe nods along with him as if he’s taking in every little word. He leans over and kisses you on the cheek as Henry continues to babble. “Father Christmas will be here soon!” Joe tells him as he starts wash the bubbles out of his hair. “Do you wanna go get his jammies?” he asks you, a soft fondness in his voice. “I’ll get his hair washed, spend a little bit of time with him before he falls asleep.”

“Yeah,” you smile and nod, climbing to your feet on the slippery bathroom floor, your tights clinging to your toes. Wet tights is an uncomfortable feeling and you can’t wait to take them off to be quite honest. Joe looks up at you to smile back and then his eyes widen and he gives you a quick going over, looking you up and down appreciatively, with what you expect was one a sweet smile turning wolfish.

What has gotten into him?

You pad into Henry’s room, scooping up the tiny pyjamas covered in gingerbread men that you’d left hanging over the side of his cot when you’d gotten him up from his nap earlier on in the day, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror as you turn and you blush.

Okay, that explains what had gotten into Joe (and you would bet money that Joe would be getting into you tonight), your shirt had taken the brunt of Henry’s splashing and you’re not wearing a bra underneath, which means that when Joe had looked up at you he’d gotten a nice vision of your shirt clinging to your bare breasts. You nip into your bedroom to find another shirt to cover your… well… nips before you head back into the bathroom in time to see Joe draining the water.

Henry is all squeaky clean, his curls damp from the water, Joe lifts him out of the tub and wraps him all up in a hooded towel, transforming him into the cutest little duck. Henry loves his duck towel and giggles and quacks as Joe quacks back at him playfully, sitting on the toilet with with him as he dries him off, making him giggle and squeal as he covers him in kisses. You’re quite content to just stand there and watch your husband and son, but Henry notices you soon enough.

He gives you the most heart melting smile -- you can definitely see Joe in that smile -- his little teeth on display, his little nose crinkles up.

And then he quacks at you.

Joe looks up and notices that you’ve changed out of your damp shirt and gives you a thumbs down, it makes you laugh.

Between the two of you, you and your husband get Henry all bundled up in a clean nappy and his fresh jammies. Despite his best efforts to avoid it, you manage to brush Henry’s teeth as he tries to close his mouth or bite down on the toothbrush. He really hates having his tiny teeth brushed and it makes him grumpy. Which makes you laugh because his grumpy face looks just like Joe’s grumpy face.

You carry him downstairs on your lip, the two of you asking him if he’s excited to see Father Christmas the whole way downstairs, which makes him clap and bounce on your hip.

And you start your traditions, Joe puts two cookies and a mince pie on a plate for ‘Father Christmas’ and you pour him a glass of milk. He holds the plate out for Henry to see, who takes it as an invite and is munching down on one of the cookies before you can stop him. “I guess Father Christmas is only getting one of Mama’s homemade cookies this year…” Joe says and there is an edge of disappointment in his voice. Like there weren’t a bunch more cookies in the biscuit tin.

Henry shows no remorse, happily chomping down despite his freshly brushed teeth.

You make a big deal of putting the carrot outside with Henry, cooing about the reindeer but keeping him close to you and warm in the cold London night as he yawns against you.

And then it’s back upstairs for him, you and Joe tell him how much you love him and what a good boy he is as he curls up in his crib and falls asleep quickly and easily. You love everything about Henry even his little tantrums and refusal to have his teeth brushed, but how easily he falls and stays asleep is definitely one of your favourite things about him. Joe’s Dad has told you that Joe was the same when he was a baby, reasonably cuddly and easy but that his younger sister had been wild and so you were sure that was something you had to look forward to when you start trying for your second in the new year.

You eventually pull yourself away from gazing at the perfect little man in his crib, flip on his George the Pig night light (…thank you so much to Joe’s mother for letting him start watching Peppa Pig…) and leave the room, just leaving a gap open so you can hear him crying out if he really needs you. You follow Joe into the bedroom and carry one of the lighter bags of gifts downstairs, arranging them under the tree for Henry’s delight in the morning. Joe eats the mince pie (you refuse a kiss right after because they’re disgusting) and the cookie and you drink the milk and naw on the carrot a little bit.

And now you can breathe. You know Christmas won’t always be this easy, that more and more traditions will come into your life the longer you and Joe are married, the more members that join your family, but this year you don’t have to worry about cooking tomorrow as you’ll be heading over to his Dad’s for dinner with his family and then Boxing Day will be spent with your family.

You’re lost in thought about how tomorrow will go and all the Chrismases and traditions to come when Joe wraps his arms around you from behind him, kissing your cheek. “What are you thinking about, baby?”

“Christmas traditions,” you tell him.

Joe gives you another kiss on the cheek and then another onto your neck. You lean back into him.

“It’ll just be a second,” you said, your smile evident in your voice.

Joe heard a door open, then soft footsteps, some light shuffling, and then silence. He wondered if he was going to be able to tell what needed a last minute wipe down. As if he was going to care about a crease in your bedsheets. You should see his bedroom…

“Okay, ready. You can open your eyes.”

Joe’d been a good boy and had really kept his eyes closed. When he opened them, it was to you stood in your doorway, both hands behind your back, biting down on your bottom lip as you smiled.

Cutest girl in the world.

“Yea? Am I allowed in?”

Joe saw your bedroom exactly as you wanted it to look every day, but how you never managed to leave it. With everything in its place, no dirty laundry on the floor, no clothes on the clothes-chair, no half-empty mugs on the bedside table and, most importantly, the bed made.

You never made your bed. You’d do it once when you changed the sheets, and then left a rumpled mess behind when you rushed out of bed after sleeping through your alarm each morning.

“Wow,” Joe said, overdoing it a tad, just to fuck with you. “This looks like a hotel room.”

It didn’t. Not really.

“Thanks.” You smiled, ignoring his humorous tone and taking the compliment as if he’d really meant it. When you looked at him, you saw how his gaze had landed on where you slept in your bed. He pointed a finger as he raised his eyebrows.

“Is this from where send me voice notes every night?” Joe took a step forward, his eyes on you as his index finger still pointed at your pillow.

You nodded, teeth digging into your lip as you smiled.

“This is…” Joe started, looking at your bed for a moment, scanning the sheets and trying to picture you in that spot. No make-up, pyjamas on. Face in your pillow, phone in hand. In a short while, he wasn’t going to have to imagine that anymore. “This is sort of strange, isn’t it?” Joe mused, turning his face to see you stood in your doorway still.

“Why?” you asked, watching on as Joe sat down on top of the covers, acting like he just took a seat on a throne which made you giggle. “You’re making it strange.”

“It’s like I’m visiting a famous landmark.”

You grinned as you watched him sensibly bounce on your mattress a couple of times, getting a feel for it.

“It is like visiting a famous landmark.” You joked, and then quickly added. “Don’t leave a Google review though, I move around a lot in my sleep and I couldn’t bear the negative feedback.”

Joe laughed as he got back up, couldn’t help his arms reaching out to grab hold of you as your face beamed with pride at making Joe laugh like that. You bit your lips so hard, you nearly drew blood.

For a moment you just stood like that. Close. Holding each other, faces just inches removed, twin smiles about to burst. You weren’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

“Did you um,” you cast your eyes down to his button-down shirt. To his jeans. “Did you bring a more comfortable outfit?”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I brought my pyjamas?”

“Were you planning on watching a film in jeans?”

Ha, he thought. A film. If he’d got the chance, he’d be watching you more than he’d be watching any film this evening. His eyes tended to stick to you with too much ease.

Like right now.

“Or is this a no-bottoms sort of evening?” you challenged light-heartedly.

Joe’s eyes scanned your face a moment as he grinned.

“I brought pyjamas.” He then said, leaning down a little in hopes of sneaking a kiss.

You let him sneak one without any fuss. Warm lips of a warm smile to warm lips of a warm smile.

“In your overnight bag?” you teased, having made a big deal of the backpack he’d walked in with earlier, before dinner.

“In my overnight bag.” Joe didn’t mind how the simple fact that he brought some things over was somehow entertainment he was providing you with. It was either that, or the bad puns he’d make, and a giggle at a pair of soft pyajama bottoms didn’t feel quite as embarrassing as an awkward joke would likely make him feel.

Joe was told to change whilst you made your way into the bathroom to take your make-up off.

You felt real butterflies about the prospect of having Joe over properly for the first time ever. This was the first time you had made plans that extended to the next morning. This was going to be more than just some raunchy touching in your living room before he’d leave just before or just after midnight to go sleep in his own bed.

You were going to be wearing pyjamas around each other.

Brush your teeth in your bathroom before you’d crawl into bed together.

Prepare and have breakfast in your kitchen the next morning.

You swiped a cotton round over your eyes and heard Joe move around in your flat. Just him existing on his own in your space made your stomach flip. Halfway through your facial cleanse, Joe suddenly appeared behind you, and for a moment, you smiled at each other in the mirror. He was still in his button down, but his jeans had been replaced with a pair of faded black joggers. For a moment you thought maybe he had a question about something, but before you could even ask, he stepped forward and casually placed a dark blue toiletry bag next to the sink.

So domestic.

You refrained from opening it and having a peek inside as you finished up in the bathroom, hair tied up, face clean and bare. You made your way back to your bedroom to change into your own pyjamas and found evidence of Joe left behind. His charger in the socket on the side of the bed where he’d be sleeping. His backpack to the side. His clothes semi folded in a messy pile on the dresser.

Looking at all of Joe’s things in your bedroom with the background noise of him pottering about in your kitchen made you smile so much, you wondered when your cheeks were going to grow sore.

So domestic.

“What do you want to drink?” he called across your flat, and earlier, when Joe had offered you a drink in your own home, it had solely been to make you laugh. This time, it didn’t feel so much like a joke as it felt like he genuinely wanted to do something nice for you. Get you a drink so you wouldn’t have to get it yourself. A simple sweet gesture that probably wasn’t meant to make you feel the way it did.

There were so many things about the beginnings of a new relationship that you didn’t like.

The risk of letting a new person into your life wasn’t lost on you. Letting someone in too quick, too soon. Revealing too much of yourself too quick, too soon. The vulnerability that opened you up to the possiblity to get hurt...

Scary stuff.

But the excitement of it all? The constant uncontrollable smile you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face. The butterflies wreaking havoc inside of your stomach. Giggly breathlessness that turned nerves into excitement. The way all of it could make you feel lightheaded in the good way?

Fucking gold.

With your body in a soft cosy outfit, you found Joe in your kitchen wearing an outfit not unlike your own. For a fraction of a second, the nervous thought of Joe getting to see you in your factory settings crossed your mind.

But then you saw his glasses.

Joe hadn’t yet worn his glasses in front of you, and stood here in your living area now, in a cream-coloured cotton long-sleeved shirt, you couldn’t help the way that made your eyebrows pinch together.

How could a man look sexy and adorable at the same time?

“Glass of–... uh oh,” Joe turned around holding up a freshly opened bottle of wine, but stopped mid-sentece when he saw your expression. “Sorry, was I not meant to–”

“No, no!” you cut him off, and tried your very best to keep the laugh that bubbled up inside. “No, that’s– yes. Yes. That’s fine, yea. I would love a glass, thanks.”

Joe frowned a little in confusion, eyes narrowing, but his smile unwavering.

“It’s just,” you hestitated telling him. Thought maybe he wouldn’t appreciate what you considered to be a genuine compliment.

“Just... a bottle of wine that you were saving for a special occassion that I wasn’t meant to open?” Joe made a face, and it was becoming a little bit embarrassing at how easily he had you in stitches. “Or what?”

“No,” you laughed, and Joe couldn’t help the slight muddled huff of laughter that escaped his nose. This really wasn’t helping the cute allegations. “No, it’s just that,” you tried again, grabbing two glasses from a cabinet and placing them down in front of Joe. “You look...”

Before you finished that sentence, you let your eyes dance over him. The flash of selfconsiousness across his face only endeared him more to you.

“A mess?”

“Cute.”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you were expecting, but you definitely didn’t think the comment was going to make Joe blush so fiercely. Hadn’t anticipated him turning slightly shy as he put the bottle down, dropped his head to his shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut whilst an arm reached to pull you in.

“Sorry,” you said through a giggle as you got trapped into a tight hug.

“Stealing my compliments now, are we?”

“I think it’s the glasses,” you gladly accepted the firmly pressed kisses to the top of your head.

“You think?” Joe pulled back a little and adjusted them on his nose as he looked at you through the lenses.

“Yea, I do.” You smiled, peering up at him, hoping that if you smiled and looked at his lips for long enough, he’d get the hint.

He did get the hint, but didn’t give you what you were asking for before he got both his hands on your face, both thumbs on your cheeks, both pinkies hooking your jaw.

“Guess I’ll keep them on then.” Joe managed to say through a kiss, and he said it like he’d be doing you a favour.

Which, he would be, actually. But he was joking, so you laughed against his mouth, and the giggle made Joe want to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. Squeeze your bodies together until they weren’t able to ever unstick again.

There was an open bottle of wine on the counter next to you, a TV waiting for someone to press play on its remote, and a bed eager for two bodies to occupy it all the way until the morning.

But Joe was kissing a cute girl in her kitchen, glasses bumping into her nose, and felt no rush to move out of the hold you had on him.

Cutest girl in the world.

Yea, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

---

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@xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

Well. Okay then.

You look around a little bit more, you literally do not know anyone here - obviously nobody else on set has turned up. God, she probably won’t even be back on set, you’re done filming the scenes she was in, so you probably could have just ghosted and she wouldn’t even know. You’re probably not even one of the ones she wanted to come anyway, this is one of your first movies and though you have a dedicated fanbase following your work, but you’ve not been in as much as some of the others.

Someone laughs from in the corner, loud and obnoxious and clearly a little bit drunk, your eyes follow the sound and you find a girl sitting on the arm of a couch, leaning down to talk to a man who looks like he’s doing his best to be polite but would rather not be here.

And hey, you know that man!

You edge a little bit closer to where Joe’s sitting and you hear some of the conversation going on between Joe and this girl, she’s clearly into a show he did a few years back and she’s praising his character in a big way. You can tell he’s flattered but embarassed by his body language.

You like Joe, Joe’s good people. He’s got a bigger role in the film than you have, but unlike some of the others he’s friendly with everyone on set, he started talking to you on your first day, you’ve become good friends.

And you’ve developed a massive crush on the suave bastard. There’s just something about him, you can’t quite put your finger on it (though you’ve got somewhere he can put his fingers if he so desires) but his laugh and his smile make your heart ache.

The smile and laugh he’s giving this very overenthusiastic party guest is nothing compared to what you can get out of him. And so of course, you slide up to him and plop down on the sofa next to him. “Sorry I was so long,” you fib, making out that you’d come with him. “What are we talking about?” You give the party guest a winning smile and she seems to lose her train of thought.

“Oh…” she thinks, her eyes slightly glazed over from the alcohol. “Oh! My drink is empty.” You kind of want to tell her that you don’t think she should have anymore but… well, she’s not going to listen to you is she.

“You’re here!” Joe seems quite happy about this, it makes you smile and it makes your heart throb. “I honestly didn’t think anyone else was going to come.”

“She cornered me,” you smile at him. He grins back. Your stomach flips. Ugh. “And I…”

“Was too polite to say no?”

“Exactly,” you chuckle. “I had nothing else to do and she was very insistent. I’m guessing she cornered you too?”

“She’s very persuasive,” Joe agrees. “But I for one, am glad you’re here.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow.

He leans over and pushes your hair out of your face. “It’s always good to see a friendly face.”

The drunk girls doesn’t come back, she’s obviously found someone else to talk to. Or forgotten that she was talking to Joe. The two of you sit together, drinking beer and chatting on the couch. A couple of people come over to ask Joe for a photo or an autograph, he politely turns down the photos but is more than willing to scribble on something and have a quick chat. Both of the people who come over are aspiring actors, he gives them tips and you love that when he does, he brings you into the conversation too… asking for your opinions on things.

An hour. Two hours. Three hours pass by. The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song blares out and you see The Extra walking around  with an empty bottle and talk about Spin the Bottle is mentioned. You realise just how young a lot of these people are, The Extra has to be around 21.

Suddenly you and 30 year old Joe seem a little bit too old to be here.

“She’ll be asking if we want to play suck and blow next…” you murmur.

Joe chokes on his beer. “What?” he splutters.

“Suck and blow! What, have you never seen Clueless?”

“...I can’t say I have,” Joe says sheepishly as if he knows what’s coming. “I’ve seen Mean Girls though!”

“You’ve never seen Clueless?! Joseph, did you even have a childhood?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I just spent a lot of it watching Lord of the Rings.”

“Oh, so you’re a nerd, nerd.” You tease him.

“Tell me more about this sucking and blowing.”

The way he says it makes your toes curl, he’s got to know what he’s doing to you. And to be fair, he pushed your hair back and he’s been maintaining eye contact and touching your leg and… he’s flirting isn’t he?

“Okay, so you get like a piece of card or something….” You’re just trying to explain, you aren’t actually planning a demonstration, but Joe starts looking for something. He can’t find anything, so he pulls out his wallet and holds up his credit card.

“So then what do you do?”

“You put it up to your mouth and suck down on it, trying to keep it in place. And then you try and pass it to someone without it dropping.”

“Like this?” Joe asks, putting his card up to his mouth.

“I don’t think just the two of us is a game, Joseph.” you tease.

“Then call this a practice round, we’ll ask the others if they want to play.” He raises the card again.

Oh well, might as well. You lean in and he immeadiately lets the card drop, pressing his lips against yours. It’s soft at first, sweet pecks but then he deepens into a proper kiss as soon as you don’t pull away. You can feel your cheeks turning red as you kiss him back.

“Oh.” You mutter when he pulls away. “I thiknk you lost the game.”

“Really?” Joe asks. “Because I think I won.”

You can’t help but laugh. “How cheesy.”

“I’m glad I didn’t read the signals wrong,” he mumurs, tucking your hair behind your ear again. “Do you want to get out of here?” Ugh, he’s using that voice again.

“Yeah, we can head back to my place.”

You smile and cock your head to one side.

Everyone has their good days and their bad days. And some days are just the worst.

And that has been your day today. From your alarm not going off, to being caught on your phone by your boss and being dragged into the office, to fucking up at said job because you’re so down and embarassed by being scolded as a grown woman, leading to another scolding in the office.

And then of course, at the end of the day your best friend at work had pulled you to one side and told you she had an interview for a competing company and that she was so excited about it and of course, that had felt like you were punched in the gut. You wanted this for her, but you also knew you couldn’t do this job without her there to pick you up.

Then you’d miserably gone for the tube home, only to find that there had been some sort of incident and so you’d had to get a replacement bus home instead, which had taken you twice as long and quite frankly had wound you up even more.

You just wanted this day to be over and you wanted to chill out for a second and so as you stepped into your apartment, you’d tugged your tights off, yanked your dress over your head and flopped down on your bed with your phone.

You wonder if Joe will text you tonight, he’s been pretty good at keeping in touch.

You’ll do adult things, like make dinner and maybe put some laundry on and take a shower in a little bit, but for now you needed some ‘you’ time to decompress and pull yourself back together again into a functioning human. Because it’s okay to have bad days and it’s okay to to take some time to yourself before doing the ‘important’ stuff.

Your scrolling through uninteresting social media when the green banner pops up at the top of your phone. A WhatsApp notification from Joe, the guy you’ve been seeing. You’re not quite sure what you are yet, but you’ve been talking for a while, you’ve hooked up a few times but you’ve also seen each other outside the concept of ‘hooking up’ and have been having fun together.

The thing is, you actually really like him. He makes you laugh and when you’re just hanging out, you have these deep discussions about the most ridiculous things. Or he recommends you books and movies and shows he thinks you’ll like and you recommend him songs you think he’ll like.

Also, he messages you like every night when he gets off work, so you’re not sure why you’re surprised.

“Hey, how was your day? Jx” the message reads.

“Not so great,” you text back. “But it will be okay! How was your day?”

His reply is almost immeadiate. “I’m sorry, do you want to talk about it? Jx”

And for some reason, that just makes you… cry. It’s as if someone caring about your shitty day has opened some sort of floodgate and you literally just start crying.

It’s not even crying. It’s bawling.

You stare at his message, trying to think about what to say back through your tears, because you don’t want to leave him hanging but you also don’t want to bore him with your whole story. So you consider throwing your phone down to cry it out and then respond to him, because crying always makes you feel better.

And as you go to throw your phone down, you see it.

Your face, your very red, tear-streaked face in the corner of the screen.

You’ve started a video call.

How the fuck have you started a video call.

Did you start the video call? Or did he start the video call?

You think it was you because that’s all you can see, your screwed up red face, your messy hair and god you threw your dress off.

You’re just in your bra.

And it’s not even one of the nice ones, it’s some awful bobbly gray number that’s old and comfortable and does nothing for… ‘the girls’.

And so you shriek.

And you really do throw you phone down on the bed with a “fucking hell!”

And then you stare at the phone, as if you’re waiting for it to explode or something. You don’t hear him speak and you finally lift it ever so gently by a corner and see… a blank screen. There’s no sign of the call anymore.

And then your tears turn to laughter, because you’ve met this guy you really like on a deeper level and you’ve just blown it by showing him your ugly bra and your red face. You’re just thankful it hadn’t gotten to the point where snot was dripping down your face.

Your phone rings in your hand and you nearly drop it in fright, seeing Joe’s name buzz up on the screen.

“Hello…?” You say gingerly, making sure this absolutely definitely is not a video call.

“Are you okay?” You can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Yeah…” You pause. “How much did you see?”

“A little glimpse,” he confesses. “But mostly I saw you throw your phone and heard you swearing,” there is an element of amusement in his voice but you don’t see the funny side.

“Oh my God,” you groan. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“I just want to know you’re okay.” And he seems so genuine with it that you melt a little bit. “What’s your favourite Chinese food?”

“What?” You ask him, confused.

“I’m picking up dinner,” he says it so casually, so coolly. “What do you want?”

Wait what?

“You… don’t have to do that.” You tell him, figuring out what he’s getting at. “You don’t have to come over I’ve had a shit day and I look a mess.”

“I don’t care,” he tells you. “If you’ve had a bad day, I want to come over and cheer you up.” He pauses. “Unless you really don’t want to see me, I don’t want to come over uninvited if you don’t want me there.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “I want to see you,” you admit.

“Then what do you want?”

You tell him your order. “Text me your bank details and I’ll transfer the money over.”

“No,” he tells you. “I can treat my girlfriend if I want to.” He pauses. “I didn’t mean to say that, I just assumed that’s where we were heading.” you can hear embarassment in his voice and it’s adorable.

“Yes,” you say softly. “That’s where we’re heading.”

“Cool.” He says, clearing his throat. “I’ll be over in about 20.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll see you then.”

You say your goodbyes and run to the bathroom to wash your face, you need to find something to wear too, you can’t answer the door in this hideous bra.