desc: back then during one of the higher risk crawls, you and mike jokingly made a promise to each other about treating yourselves to a dinner at enzo’s when everything was over. now after surviving vecna, you two finally bring that promise to reality.
genre/warnings: takes place in 18 months before epilogue, 18+ SUPER heavy making out like i'm talking the second the kiss they don't stop SO mDNI, friends to lovers, underage drinking
word count: 2.4k
a/n: HAI MY LOVELYS i hope you enjoyed this one! wrote it with the idea of belly and conrad in the tsitp finale!! LMK IF U WANT PART 2—i kind of left it open ending up to your own imagination but if u want i can try to make one
The bell chimed over Enzo’s door as Mike and you walked in. The warmth from the candles spread onto you, your ears listened to the soft classical music.
“We actually did it, ” Mike breathed out, his eyes looking over the scenes in front of you two. “I can’t believe this is real. This isn’t some sort of hallucination or trauma-induced fantasy, right?”
“It’s all real—but if we hear a grandfather clock chiming, we run,” you teased.
He snorted, then gave you his classic Mike Wheeler grin. “Deal.”
The two of you arrived a little earlier than you had reserved so you both sat down on the plush velvet bench, patiently waiting to be sat. Your heart thumped in your chest as you glanced a look at Mike. His eyes were sparkling with curiosity, and his usual messy curls were styled with care.
You noticed one curl falling out, and without thinking you reached out and pushed it back. Mike’s head turned, looking at you with confusion laced in his eyebrows.
“I was just fixing your hair,” you shyly said, embarrassment filling your cheeks.
“Oh, thanks,” he smiled, his hand absentmindedly reaching to where your hand was previously.
The hostess came over, signalling your table was ready. She led you to a small table tucked away in the corner, half-shadowed, intimate. A single candle burned in the middle of the table, the warm flame casting a yellow glow on its surroundings.
Mike awkwardly pulled out your chair for you, but you could feel the sincerity in his action. Enough for something to flutter low in your stomach.
“Thank you,” you softly thanked him.
He shrugged, but you could see the corners of his ears had turned pink. “It was no problem.”
When he sat across from you, the candlelight caught his face in a way that made him seem older despite it not being that long from when you had defeated Vecna.
You both picked up your menus, but neither of you actually read them.
“So,” you said, your eyes flicking over the edge of the menu. “Do you remember how this promise even happened?”
Mike laughed quietly. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Hey!”
He lowered his menu. “No—that’s not what I meant. It’s burned into my brain, we were stressed out. I was in the watch tower with Lucas praying you were okay in the Upside Down with Hopper. We were exhausted, you were convinced you were going to die.”
“And you said if we survived, we were coming here. No walkie talkies and strategy meetings, just us and delicious food,” you finished.
You and Mike made eye contact with each other, the tension between the two of you growing with every passing second. The moment was shortly broken when the waiter showed up to take your orders. Both of you ordered your main dishes as well as a side of garlic bread.
When the waiter left, Mike cleared his throat. “You look really good tonight, by the way.”
You raised an eyebrow. “‘By the way’?”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I noticed immediately, but I didn’t want to weird you out.”
You leaned forward slightly, lowering your voice. “Mike, you’ve seen me covered in filth and through sleep deprivation. I think we’re past worrying about being weird.”
He met your eyes. “Good, because I want to be weird tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said, with a light shrug of his shoulders. “Like an honest-weird. Not hiding fully behind jokes.”
He sounded so sincere, your chest ached.
“I’d like that,” you whispered out.
Dinner arrived, the steam curling up and between you two. You talked about everything but also nothing. It was so new to talk about the present with no more worries of supernatural danger knowing that you used to hope for times like these.
“You know,” Mike started. “I used to think if we ever got peace, it would feel bigger, larger.”
“But?” you prompted.
“But it’s like this,” he gestured vaguely, his hand motioning between the two of you and the ambience around. “It’s small, but peaceful.”
“I like it,” you smiled softly.
“Yeah, me too.”
Under the table, your knee brushed with his. You felt him still, waiting for your knee to move but when it didn’t, he relaxed.
His gaze drifted down to where you two were touching and then slowly to your face.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he murmured.
“What thing?”
“Making me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something.”
You tilted your head. “Maybe you are.”
Mike’s lips parted, like he wanted to say something but he didn’t. He just looked at you with those big, bright eyes. He didn’t know it but you saw his pupils dilate.
You shared bites of food, feeding each other without really thinking. Your fingers lingered, and your smiles turned slower.
“Do you think I could get us a bottle of wine?” you asked Mike, your voice low.
“What? How would you get it?” he questioned.
You dug through your purse and pulled out your older sister’s ID.
“Holy shit—wait it would totally work, you two look so similar.”
You decided it was worth a shot and asked the waiter for a bottle of red wine. Just to your luck, the waiter believed you and went to get your drink and two glasses. Along with the wine, Mike ordered a slice of chocolate cake.
When it arrived, the two of you split it. Mike scooped up a bite and held it out to you.
“Promise this won’t kill me?” you asked.
“If it does, at least you’ll go out in a classy way,” he laughed, as you ate from his spoon.
You picked up your wine glass, offering it up. “To not dying in the past 5 years.”
He smiled and clinked glasses with you. The two of you shared eye contact while taking sips. You two shared the bottle, helping each other when the other ran out to drink. Mike leaned back slightly in his chair, studying you in a way that had your heart beating faster than usual.
“You’re staring,” you pointed out.
He didn’t look away. “Am I not allowed to?”
You raised a brow. “Depends.”
“On?”
“On whether or not you’re going to say why.”
He exhaled a soft laugh, rubbing his fingers along the stem of his wine glass. “You make it hard to concentrate.”
Your lips curved into a small smile. “That seems like a you problem.”
He shook his head, smiling to himself. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Instead of answering, Mike watched as you shifted your attention to the cherry sitting on top of the cake slice.
You delicately picked it up between your fingers. His eyes followed your movements, and didn’t lose focus when you slowly brought it to your lips. You slipped the cherry into your mouth, closing gently around it as you pulled it free from the stem. Your lips stained a faint deep red from the mixture of wine and cherry juice, slightly glossy in the candlelight.
Mike was breathless. His adam’s apple bobbed as he forcefully swallowed. The way he was looking at you showed zero signs of casualness. He was staring at you with this look of infatuation.
“Jesus…” he murmured to himself. He dragged his hands across his face, a soft laughter coming out of him. “You can’t just do that.”
“Do what? Eat dessert?” you swallowed, smiling.
He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table "You know it wasn't just eating dessert."
Your pulse picked up. You softly whispered, "Mike."
"You have no idea how hard it is to sit here and pretend I'm being normal right now."
"Is that so?" you said with a hint of curiosity in your tone.
Mike nodded before signalling the waiter over. You watched as he paid the bill, a edge of olderness looming on him.
Outside the restaurant, the two of you walked along the sidewalks of Uptown Hawkins. The lamp posts illuminated the concrete path as you giggled at whatever Mike was saying.
"I'm just saying, with the way you're walking right now, you're definitely a lightweight," Mike said, using his hands to exaggerate his point.
"I am not," you argued back.
"Oh really? Prove it to me. Walk in a straight line towards me."
Mike sped up so he was standing in front of you. He was staring at you, waiting for you to meet him at the end of the street. His eyes were filled with pure bliss but that might also just be from the wine.
You tilted your head, biting your lip as you failed to walk in a straight line. Mike burst out laughing at your terrible attempt. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.
"Whatever, Wheeler."
Mike came back up to you, offering his arm out to you. "Let's get a cab home, shall we?"
You took his arm and the two of you waited for a taxi to come up. When one pulled up, Mike went over to the door and opened it up for you, letting you enter the car first.
Mike sat beside you in the backseat, it was small enough that your thighs brushed. His hand hovered near yours and he kept flexing his fingers as if he was deciding what to do.
You watched Hawkins blur past the window, you heart still racing from the night. Tonight was different, and you were sure he felt it too. You guys weren't kids anymore, at this wasn't just a stupid crush you were head over heels for the boy you've known since you were 14, the one you went through the literal worse with, the one who grinned whenever something science related was explained.
The taxi slowed down at a red light, and something about the pause made everything click. You turned towards him fully, his head turning to look at you after feeling your movement.
"Mike," you said quietly.
He met your eyes, and that was all it took for the two of you to meet halfway.
The kiss was filled with pint-up tension, longing for one another. Mike's hand came up and cradled your jaw. You melted into him, your fingers curling into his shoulder.
The kiss deepened as the car started moving again. All you could taste was the mixture of wine and cherry as Mike kissed you with everything he had. You pulled back just enough to breathe, he followed you immediately capturing your lips into another kiss.
You let out a sound of surprise before you reciprocated. You felt Mike's hand trail to the strap of your dress and you gently pushed his hand away, "Not yet," you murmured against his lips. He smiled at your words.
The cab pulled up to your house and only then did Mike let you finally catch your breath. He pulled out enough bills for the ride and thanked the driver as he pulled you out of the car and towards your front door. You managed to squeak out a thank you before the driver drove away.
Inside your house, everything felt different. Except for Mike standing in your living room, his lips swollen and hair a mess.
"Oh my god, that driver must've felt so awkward."
"It's okay, I tipped him enough," Mike grinned.
There was a beat of silence before he cleared his throat. "Can I—"
You crossed the space between you two before he could finish. Your hands slip up his chest, over his shoulders, and into his hair. He froze for a half second before relaxing into you completely. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
He backed you up gently against the wall. When he kissed you again, his hands were steady at your waist, thumbs tracing patters. You could feel him smile against your mouth when you kissed him back harder. Your fingers tugged lightly at his hair, and he made a quiet sound in his throat that made you want more.
Eventually, the two of you make it into your room. Mike's mouth moved against yours with grown confidence. You feel him everywhere. You tilted your head, giving him better access, and he takes it by kissing you like he's starving. He pressed closer neither of you breaking the kiss.
Your calves hit the edge of your mattress and you fall onto the bed together in a mess of breath and heat. Mike finds himself between your knees. Your hands roamed everywhere on his body, every place feeling electric. He leaned in deeper, bracing one hand on the mattress for support while the other stays firm at your waist, keeping you close.
His mouth moved against yours, his forehead brushing yours for a half second. Then, he's back at your lips, breathing you in, trying to get you to keep making those soft sounds.
You tug him closer by his jacket before attempting to pull it off him. He shrugged it off before coming back to you. Your legs slipped around his hips without thinking and he groaned quietly into your mouth. His hand tightened at your side with lost composure.
Every time one of you pulls back, it's only to change the angle before diving right back in. Both your breaths are super uneven now. Your foreheads are pressed against one another, noses brushes, lips still faintly touching.
"I can't stop," he breathlessly admits.
"Then don't," you whispered back.
He softly laughed before it turned into another kiss. You tug at his hair again, loving the feeling of his curls under your fingers. His thumb brushed along your jaw, your cheek, your temple, every touch he gave was intentional as if he was trying to memorize you.
He kept looking at you between kisses. His pupils blown like they were in the restaurant. Every time he looked at you, your stomach flipped with excitement.
"Mike," you breathe, barely a word. He kissed you again, his fingers finally reaching your dress strap. You moved slightly as he pulled it off you.
Outside the world disappears, everything you had wanted for months was finally happening. The boy you had slowly fallen in love with over the years was kissing you like you were precious and had been waiting his whole life for. You were both gone for one another and neither of you had any intentions of stopping.
the roommate reassignment - Issac Night x f!reader [smut]
wordcount: 6.4k
content/warnings: eventual piv smut 18+, virgin!isaac, fem!reader, an horiffically overdone bedsharing trope, soft isaac, reader calls isaac ‘baby’ (is she being sweet, or calling him A baby - you decide), light praise kink, i think I have avoided all mention of readers hair in case you sleep in a bonnet etc but lmk if i missed something.
a\n notes: so after so long not writing anything I decided to start with a soft fluff inspired by my chats with @toastiecrumble and our soft isaac. but then she agreed I should make it a smut. specifically with premature ejaculation and post sex cuddles. so, you're welcome, andie. | masterlist
When Morticia offered you her best smile, suddenly sitting a lot straighter on the edge of her bed as you stepped into your dorm room that evening, the smartest thing to do would have been to say no before her inevitable question had the chance to pass her perfectly painted lips. Alas, you did not. And in failing to do so, you permitted her the chance to offer you her best doe eyes and saccharine petition for one Gomez Addams to spend the evening in your dorm, and for you, the loving friend, to temporarily take his place in Caliban hall.
There were a multitude of sins you were willing to commit for your dear friend Morticia. Forgery. Arson. Extortion. The list was comprehensive. Switching dorm rooms, however, sacrificing your bed for what you only imagined would be the worst night's sleep of your life in the snore-riddled boys' dormitories was a step beyond being asked to hide a body.
Apparently, that view on things was ridiculous, and ‘Tish’s potent means of persuasion won again.
That was how you found yourself being led rather sullenly by a conversely enthusiastic Gomez through passageways you hadn’t even known existed just half an hour prior. Each twist lead you invariably into more confusion, so much so that you knew any attempt to retrace your steps without the practised ease of your best friend’s ‘Bubbeleh’ would prove fruitless, while an attempted escape through the usual halls would result in at least a week's detention. Neither was a particularly alluring option; the realisation only made the foolishness of your forced decision feel that much heavier.
When Gomez all but sent you toppling through the door to his room, having crossed the small passage of open hallway with alarming speed, you had half a mind to slap his hand away, tired as you were at midnight on a Friday after what had proven to be a particularly long week. However, the door had opened, a firm hand landed against your back, and the door clicked shut so quickly that you had hardly registered his swift ‘good luck’ before his dull footsteps could be heard retreating over carpet back to the passageway in a rather overdramatic attempt to avoid being caught.
From where you stood, pillow pathetically limp in hand, Isaac Night looked almost like a normal boy – perhaps he would have passed as one, too, had his scowl not etched itself so deeply in his forehead that you feared his skin might crease permanently.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
The book in his lap snapped shut, his now unoccupied hand tugging the comforter further up to cover the bare expanse of his chest, and the ticking heart inside it.
“Roommate reassignment. Didn’t you get the memo?”
“No, I was not made aware.”
It was offered without much fanfare, a slow huff seeping from your lungs as you shrugged off your dressing down and slung it over the back of Gomez’s desk chair. The room, you noted, was surprisingly tidy for a boy’s dorm, although you suspected that had more to do with Addams’ particular roommate than his own habits. Isaac shuffled again behind you as you sat unceremoniously on the edge of your temporary bed. Gomez appeared to at least have had the decency to change the sheets for you, you noticed as you tossed your pillow up against the headboard.
Isaac grumbled something you didn’t quite catch, his book thumping against his nightstand.
“May I ask how long this… reassignment is pencilled in for?”
“If I can help it, just the night.” Your hips shuffled on the mattress, poised fingers pressing against it in spots, unamused. “Why do the boys' mattresses always seem to be made of straw?”
“The girls have better?” Isaac sounded genuinely curious; instead of a deep frown, his brow had risen slightly, and the air of dissatisfaction dissipated somewhat as he pressed himself to sit up straighter. The duvet slipped again, but he made no great effort to retrieve it this time.
“Much better.”
With a considering tilt of his head, he twisted at the waist, allowing him to dig under his pillow for what you assumed to be a night shirt, and hoped wasn’t a gun. Although, that would be one way to ensure a sound night's sleep.
“And just how, exactly—“ he paused, tugging the shirt over his head, a loose thing with long sleeves, slightly threadworn at the cuffs (you’d live to see another day, after all) “—have you managed to test enough boys beds to come to such a solid conclusion?”
It had been huffed with a degree of lightheartedness. Isaac was, after all, a resolute man, loyal to fact over exaggeration, accustomed to picking up on people's hyperbole rather than letting it sit.
You eased yourself back against the headboard, tugging at the edges of the covers to ease your legs beneath. “Not all of us spend our evenings in book clubs, Isaac.”
Where you had expected some kind of short circuiting, a double take at the very least, at your sudden candour, he laughed. A short, breathy thing as he refluffed his pillow.
“Figures.”
“Excuse me?” It came out as more of a scoff than you intended.
He held his hands up in a comedy of a peace offering – surrender and apology mixed into one.
Unlike many of your peers, you usually had no particular problem with Isaac. He was strange and rude, but there was something to be appreciated in the way he often seemed to forget to filter his thoughts, nor dumb them down for the sake of those who clung to him like some faith healer – or cult leader – you supposed it was the same difference.
“I’ll have you know a girl is more than entitled to—“
“I really meant nothing by it,” he offered, already sensing the speech burning in your throat, "nor do I have any interest in what you get up to as part of your... extracurriculars. Let’s just sleep, hm?” Although phrased as a suggestion, the purposive settling of his head into his pillow encouraged you to take it more as an insistence. “Then we can put this whole inconvenience behind us, and you can return to your royal suite.”
You were in half a mind to continue the argument that sat on your tongue, but the pull of sleep didn’t sound altogether too awful to the sting behind your tired eyes, even if giving in to him would knowingly stoke his satisfaction.
“Fine.” Your head hit your pillow with decidedly more force than his had. “But don’t think you’re getting away with that.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The lamps flicked off without him reaching for them, plunging the room into near complete darkness save for the thin sliver of moonlight that broke across the floor between the two beds.
You shuffled from one shoulder to the other before resettling on your back.
“Isaac?”
A huff came before his voice: “what?”
“Have you really never felt one of the girls' beds?” You failed in your attempt to suppress the smirk that tugged at the edges of your mouth.
There was an odd silence for a moment, heavier than it had been a moment before.
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
A disbelieving hum was satisfaction enough as you fixed your gaze on the ceiling. “No. I have not yet found myself with the opportunity to… test out the girls beds.”
“Huh. Figures.”
His mattress protested as he turned on his hip, propping himself up to frown at you through the dark. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I really didn’t mean anything by it.”
He hesitated, “How do you know I haven’t had girls in here, huh?”
Your smirk stretched to a grin at the sudden strain in his tone, an ingrained urgency that seemed unbecoming of the boy genius. “I really don’t see how that is relevant to trying out mattresses.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve been told. Goodnight, Isaac.”
His bed creaked again as you could only imagine he flopped back down.
It was after the fourth attempt at making yourself comfortable on your right shoulder that Isaac’s irritated breath broke the quiet of the room.
“Will you just settle?”
You admit your responding sigh was on the dramatic side, propping yourself up on your elbows, your tired eyes just about making out the odd angles of his hair sticking up from the friction of his pillow. It was funny how he somehow looked more like the mad scientist now than he did in his lab coat.
“One, this bed is the most uncomfortable thing in the world – Gomez must be used to sleeping on nails to ever pass out here. Two, this room is freezing.”
“It’s chilly, but the ideal temperature for sleep is typically around—“
“It’s fucking fridgid, Isaac.”
“Maybe you should have worn more than just those shorts and that excuse of a top, then.”
“My clothes have nothing to do with it.” You sat up fully, immediately tugging the duvet back up over your shoulders as it slipped. “Besides, I had dressed originally with the expectation of sleeping in my own bed – you know, that nice warm comfortable one?”
You weren’t sure if his irritated sigh was at you or at the steadily unpeeling truth that the girls' dormitories were altogether more accommodating than the boys. “Then just use another blanket.”
“I have.”
“Oh for God's sake—“ eyes adjusting in the dark, you could just about make out Isaac turning over, settling on the shoulder to face you, before lifting his duvet. “Come here.”
Whatever you had been expecting, it was not this. For a moment, your brain failed to supply a response, stuck between a scoff and a protest. You waited for a punchline that didn't come.
“Hurry up before I freeze waiting for you.”
You got up before you could think better of it, the soles of your feet aching against the cold wood floors. “I thought you said the perfect temperature for—“
“Do you want me to change my mind?”
Slipping in beside him was more awkward than either of you had anticipated in the minute amount of time you had considered the potential solution. The bed was too uncomfortably small for two people in any rational situation; although your rationality had disappeared alongside the feeling in your fingers around five minutes ago. You shuffled awkwardly, very aware that this was the closest you had ever been to Isaac, as your chest didn’t so much as brush, but rather pressed against his own.
“Fuck, why are you so cold?”
“Bad circulation. Can you— just lay still.” He settled the duvet over you, tugging it back and forth a few times to ensure it covered you both.
“Is that why you always look like a Victorian ghost child?”
His fidgeting paused, and you were half aware of the way he looked down at where you had settled on his pillow. “I beg your pardon?”
You ignored the way his breath brushed against your cheeks, still minty from brushing. “You always look like death reincarnate.”
He remained still for a fraction longer, the tick of his heart (much louder now that you were so close) accompanying his momentary buffering. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
The notable uncertainty was strangely satisfying. “Isaac Night, speechless?”
Intentionally or not, he drew himself closer, his thigh, clad thankfully in surprisingly soft pyjamas, pressing rather awkwardly against your own as he shuffled down the mattress. “Well it isn’t every night someone gets into bed with you and proceeds to hurl insults. You could very well have done that from the comfort of your own bed.”
“Yeah, well, my bed was freezing.”
You felt his sharp exhale as it brushed your forehead, and for a moment, the pressure of his chest against your body alleviated, offering a brief respite from the rhythmic thrum of his heart, but with it the odd warmth that had started to settle between you. It returned with his subsequent inhale. “You don’t seem to think this one is much better.”
“It’s a bit better.” It felt strangely natural to allow your body to relax a little further, your muscles seeming to soften in response to his.
“So glad.” His general unimpressed air returned. “Now will you go to sleep?”
You said nothing in return, rather you allowed yourself to accept the unavoidable propinquity required to avoid tumbling off the edge of the bed and onto the frightfully cold floor. Isaac appeared to catch onto the subtle way in which your body relaxed tenuously into his own, and in the second shock of the evening, his arm, once balanced precariously along his side like some nutcracker soldier, draped itself awkwardly over your side, instead. His hand was tucked neatly against the low of your back, as proper as it could have been, as it smoothed over the material of what he had rightly called a poor excuse of a top, as if to catch your skin in the process would have been the weirdest thing to happen in the last 10 minutes.
The silence settled again, his breathing evening out far quicker than yours could.
“Isaac?”
The breathing hitched. This close, you could see the way his throat bobbed with an apprehensive swallow before a voice much further inclined to drowsiness broke through. “What?”
“Thank you.”
It took him a moment to respond – long enough that you counted the slow rise and fall of his chest and wondered if he’d already drifted off. When he spoke, it came muffled.
“Anytime.”
You tilted your head slightly, his chin brushing your forehead with the movement. “You mean that?”
A faint huff of breath followed, something like a sleepy laugh. His arm tightened just a fraction as he shuffled, the leg that had wandered accidentally earlier seeming to wind more securely between yours, then stilled again. “Surprisingly, yes.”
“You’re oddly sweet, you know that?” you murmured.
“You’re making me regret this,” he said, though the words lacked any real bite, his voice already slipping further under.
“Goodnight, Isaac.”
“Goodnight.”
You stayed still this time, far easier under the growing weight of his arm, listening as his breathing evened out, slower now, steadier, certain he’d finally fallen asleep.
Yet, you could have sworn you felt his lips brush your forehead.
You noticed the warmth first.
Not the vague, residual heat of thick blankets, but something far more immediate, close, a weight across your waist, the soft tick of the clock, the effort of sunlight pressing against your closed eyelids, trying to rouse you. You permitted yourself a few more hazy seconds of comfort.
Then your mind caught up. It wasn’t the clock.
Isaac.
Somewhere in the night, the already marginal distance between you had shrunk further. His arm, it seemed, had drawn you closer, his leg still hooked loosely around yours, anchoring you in place as if he feared you might slip away while he slept.
More pressing, however, his face was obscenely close to your own – far closer than you remembered. His eyes were still closed, lashes resting dark against his pale skin. The scowl you had grown so accustomed to was gone, replaced by something disarmingly soft. His lips were parted slightly, breath warm where it ghosted over your cheek.
As your eyes adjusted, you could have counted the sparse freckles across his nose, or the subtle spattering of stubble that seemed to have materialised, patchy and fine, overnight.
The impulse to shift was immediate, instinctive. To disentangle and put distance between you again. Yet you stayed impossibly still, caught between your rational brain’s insistence that this was a mistake, and the unsettling awareness of how natural it felt to be pressed against him, and how easily your body seemed to fit against his.
His fingers flexed against your back, his palm splaying flat against the curve of your spine, framing the bone, thumb pressing gently into your skin. You noticed, now, how his fingers had migrated beneath the thin fabric he had been so careful to smooth over the night before.
Your breath hitched.
His lashes fluttered.
You barely had time to register it all before his eyes opened. His gaze focused slowly, sleep-heavy, fluttering a few times in an effort to blink away the bleariness. It was fascinating to watch how quickly his usual practised sharpness set in with the dawning realisation of your arrangement, yet his hand didn’t move.
“Oh.” It was murmured, rough with sleep.
“Hi,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
For a moment longer, neither of you moved. Then, Isaac’s eyes flicked once – just once – taking you in properly now. The nearness, the angle of your faces, the fact that your noses were almost aligned. His breath hitched, stuttering slightly against your lips, the warmth of it horrifyingly inviting.
“You’re…” He trailed off, yet his frown didn’t deepen as you expected it to.
“Still here,” you supplied softly.
“Yeah.” A pause. You had never known Isaac to say so little, nor say it so roughly, his voice unpolished with sleep, catching on his words. To your terror – or your satisfaction – you were yet to decide, his lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but something close to it, potentially brushed off as a simple acknowledgement of the whole situation, but as his gaze lingered on yours, you found that line of reasoning harder to reconcile.
This close, you could see more of the colour in his irises. So often, people described them as cold, near black, as inhuman as the heart inside his ribs. But at this distance, in the morning sunlight, you could see the warmth in them, and for one suspended moment, you considered studying them for hours.
His hand still hadn’t moved.
“How did you sleep?”
The question came with far more sincerity than you had expected from Isaac, twinged with a curiosity you hadn’t heard from him for anything besides your bioengineering homework.
“Good, actually.” You decided against admitting that, despite the absence of your own bed, it was one of the best nights’ sleep you had had since the start of the school year.
“So the boy’s beds aren’t as bad as you slated them to be?”
“I’m not sure the bed was the deciding factor.” The laughed confession escaped you before you could consider the weight of it. Isaac didn’t laugh with you. You felt the shift rather than saw it, the way his attention sharpened, settling fully on you now.
“Oh?” he said at last. It was difficult not to fixate suddenly on the way your hand had been curled against his chest, the slow pins and needles spreading from your fingertips drawing your eyes away from his for one secure moment to where you brushed the fabric of his shirt.
“Did you?” you asked, quietly. He considered it for a moment, gaze dropping briefly before returning to yours.
“Yes,” he said, inhaling steadily, “I did. We should probably—”
“Probably,” you agreed, though neither of you attempted to finish the thought.
Shuffling your hips first in an attempt to edge your way out of his embrace was probably your first mistake. The instinctive tightening of his arm to prevent you from falling off the edge was his. You both froze, with the small exception of the smile that teased its way onto your lips.
“Your circulation doesn’t seem all that bad this morning, Isaac.”
“I—” If Isaac had previously been half-asleep, he was suddenly very awake. “It’s the morning, it’s normal—”
“I’m not saying it isn’t.”
The firm outline pressing against your upper thigh was undeniable, heavy against the curve of your muscle; the material of his cotton pyjamas strained taut against your bare skin. A good friend would have simply brushed it off, retreated, slid from the bed and put on their dressing gown for the stealthy return to their own dorm. Instead, your thigh pressed upwards imperceptibly, the movement slight enough to be passed off as incidental. You both knew it was far from it, but the knowledge did nothing to suppress the gasp his lungs demanded, nor the dig of his nails against the flesh of your back. That wasn’t normal. It was desperate.
“Isaac?” He didn’t dignify you with a verbal response, settling for a grunt of acknowledgement instead, as if he didn’t trust his voice. “Have you ever had girls in here?”
You suspected you already knew the answer to the question hidden beneath the words you had used. The strain in his voice the night prior had been subtext enough, but you needed to hear it from his lips.
It took a moment, but it came: “No.”
He was avoiding your eyes now – an impressive feat given the proximity of his face to yours. His head had tilted up, gaze fixing skittishly above your head, flicking between the room behind you and the headboard.
You weren’t sure when the decision took root, but you lifted your head just enough to press your lips to the edge of his jaw, the uneven stubble scratching at your dry lips as you caught the curve of the mole that had taunted you for the last three years.
“What are you doing?” He said it as if he intended it to be severe, tilting his attention back down to examine you, but the breathiness of it betrayed him. There was a quiver present that was unusual for him, but could hardly be excused as him having just woken up. His lips nearly brushed yours with how you had shuffled up the bed, so close that just a minute inclination of his head would close the gap.
“Do you want me to stop?” A glance at his lips and back again, the impulsive drop of your tone to little more than a whisper, and he was hooked. You could see it in the way his pupils seemed to widen, searching mercilessly between your own as if destined to find some hint that this was a cruel joke. Another carefully choreographed shift of your thigh seemed to be enough to convince him that it was not.
There was something charmingly innocent in the way he lost trust in his usually overactive voice, opting instead to shake his head as best he could with his cheek still pressed against his pillow. His lips parted with the increased demand for air, the subtle draw deepening into a gasp as your hand lifted and you wove your fingers into the roots of his hair, brushing the unruly strands from his cheeks, freeing them from where they had caught on his lashes. His neck craned with the gentle brush of your fingers, nails just catching his scalp, as if worried you might retract your touch, hyper-responsive to even the most modest terms of affection.
“Will you let me take care of you?”
A nod, this time, quick and desperate, lips still parted, but eyes fluttered shut, the picture of bliss.
“Need to hear you, Isaac.”
“Yes.”
It was resolute, no hint of falter besides the twitch of his throat forcing a swallow against his drying mouth.
Your hand left his hair only to cup the sharp expanse of his jaw, and again, his instinct required him to follow the warmth of your skin until his lips brushed yours at last. His pulse stuttered beneath your fingertips as you pressed yourself against him more insistently, bidding him to follow your lead – and follow he did. It was more of a question at first, as if he was testing your own consent before settling again, giving way to his quiet curiosity. The hand on your back crept slowly until it grasped the flesh of your hip, his desperation palpable but tempered with restraint, the hum of nerves settling in his stomach.
Your own palm drifted, brushing over the curve of his shoulder, down the lean muscle of his chest, catching the ridden-up hem of his shirt and delving beneath, setting against the tensed expanse of his stomach. He twitched unmistakably at the alien sensation of another's hands on him, accompanied by another gasp against your mouth. Your fingertips lingering along the soft trail of hair that sent your mind reeling before settling against his diaphragm, curving around the noticeable ridges of his ribs and pressing just enough to ease him backwards, the clement action responded to promptly.
For the first time, Isaac’s mind seemed to kick in, adjusting you with little complaint so that your knee came to rest between his thighs, both palms taking full advantage of the opportunity to balance you atop him, clasping urgently against your hips, working under the creased fabric of your shirt.
The broken sound drawn from his lips as you pulled back was so unlike him, you wondered if he had been swapped in the night. Yet his familiarly wet brown eyes pleaded with you as you sat up straight, straddling against the trembling muscle of his thigh.
“Shhh, just thought you’d prefer this—” Your top lifted over your head easily, and the whine came again, wandering hands drifting without thought to frame your freed breasts, an exploratory thumb brushing over a raised nipple, the flick tentative and a little too rough, his near-black eyes watching each of his imperfect movements carefully.
“T-teach me how?” The rasp of it settled deep in your stomach, fluttering at the unexpected hopelessness of his plea.
“How to what?” Your smirk was cruel; you recognised that, watching as he shifted beneath you, the stretched fabric of his pyjamas darkened deliciously under the strain of his cock.
“How to touch you.”
Your hand settled over the back of his, pausing as the tendons flexed beneath your palm, bidding him to relax as you guided him to cup your breast more confidently, adjusting the pressure of his as he sat up, lips chasing yours again as if he would suffocate without them. The subsequent tension in his thigh was unintentional, but unignorable, your hips grinding of their own accord against the thin seam of your sleep shorts, desperate for the friction of his body against yours but thwarted by the immodest scraps of now-slick material between your thighs.
You risked abandoning his hand – he always was an astute student – to flirt with the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing the skin beneath just barely until he acquiesced and drew back just enough for you to drag the fabric over his head, his curls bouncing back against his cheeks far too prettily for first thing in the morning.
It took a moment to remind yourself that this was supposed to be you taking care of him as our body pressed deeper into him, a splayed hand between your shoulder blades anchoring your chest to his, the alien metal of his heart disconcertingly cool against your heated skin. When his lips found solace at your throat, however, rushed and messy, those scraps of sense evaded you. His teeth clashed a little against your pulse point, the profuse lack of skill driving it higher still, the whole ordeal novel – to be in the lap of Isaac Night and hold superior knowledge.
His fingers ghosted over the crease of your hip, buried beneath the hem of your shorts, slow enough that you could feel the apprehension, a silent repeat of his previous request as he inched closer to the heat between your legs.
His lips faltered in their unfettered path, heated breath catching the slick skin. “Please?” His voice, barely above a breath, caught something in your chest. Reducing him down to nothing more than a desperate mess did wonders for your ego, your legs shifting awkwardly to remove the last of your sleep set before straddling him fully, pressing, now, against the ridged outline of him. He bucked up on instinct, the weight alone enough to drag a whimper from his lips as the material stained with your slick.
His hand acquiesced to your own as you led him to where you suddenly needed him. It was far harder to focus on educating him as the disappointing ache of your cunt clenching around nothing only grew, your body betraying you. His fingers traced your folds tentatively under your guidance, the groan that emanated from his chest matching your own at the friction.
“That’s it – fuck.” The angle was awkward for him, you realised, but it did nothing to temper his eagerness. His instinct seemed to kick in, one tenuous circle of his fingers followed another, gliding with ease over the sensitive ridges of your clit, his inexperience doing nothing to reduce the steady build of heat as you dripped unashamedly onto his palm.
“Is this right?”
He was watching your face patiently, gaze flicking across the contortions of your brow as your hips ground down against his fingers, willing them for more.
“Y-yes, yes, you’re – oh!” His digits pressed deeper, curling until they brushed perfectly inside of you.
“Like that?”
“Fuck, yes, like that, Isaac.”
Praise, you realised, was his leading motivator, a high, reverberating moan echoing off the high ceilings of his dorm room as he experimented, working against the needy suck of your cunt against his fingers, allowing you to grind down on the palm of his hand, grasping his wrist to hold him still with a grip that must have bordered on painful yet only seemed to inspire him deeper, quicker. His gaze strayed to where you rode his hand, thighs struggling with the effort of rolling against him. His barely held-back whine would have led you to believe it was his cock filling you, his receptiveness to the chasing of your own pleasure staggering.
“You’re do-doing so good,” another unabashed mewl softened his features, his lip had been dragged between his teeth so tightly you could only imagine it hurt. You pressed his palm impossibly closer to you, the wet sound of it almost humiliating as you anchored his fingers deeper into your heat. “Feel that, hm?” He took a moment to focus, the curling of his fingers never slowing, each twitch imperfect but no less maddening. His breathing quickened with your own as you tensed around his hand, the revelation of bringing you to the edge almost too exciting for him. “Gonna make me cum, just – don’t stop.”
Your hips ached with the effort, labouring against his fingers in an effort to help him, just this once – to give him the ego boost neither of you knew he still needed.
“I didn’t think you could look any prettier.”
The shock of the words alone had you spasming helplessly, gushing onto his palm like some wild thing, as if you were the virgin under his tutelage. You half imagined gasping his name as you shuddered, grasping at him in some attempt to stay upright, hardly aware of the way his fingers refused to let up, the hand not occupied with your cunt settling against your hip in some pathetic attempt to steady you.
It was only as you grasped again at his wrist, your nails relieving themselves from his shoulders, that he relented, mumbling a soft apology.
“Please tell me you have condoms?”
He nodded far too enthusiastically, swallowing hard at your sudden lack of composure. “In the drawer.”
He let you lean over him, digging through the contents of the nightstand until you found them buried at the back. You recognised the packet immediately, the same ones you often found in your dorm room trash can. It took a second to suppress a laugh at the idea of Gomez likely forcing a resistant Isaac to have some ‘in case’.
Perhaps you had something to thank his roommate for after all.
His eyes widened as you sat back more quickly than he anticipated, his fingers trapped between his lips, cheeks flushing further as if he were some kid stuck with his hand in the sweet jar.
“You could have asked if you wanted a taste.” His cheeks only darkened again, his fingers emerging from his mouth satisfyingly clean, his lips parting a few times. “Next time, huh?” His jaw clamped shut at the implication.
“Next time?”
You replied only with a smirk, already working to drag the frankly ruined trousers from his hips. He shifted as if suddenly awkward, your gaze snapping from his hips to his face.
“I’m sorry, It’s just—”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Your hands paused, setting the fabric back against his skin. “Do you want me to stop?”
“N-no!” He seemed to cringe at his own desperation. His cock twitched between you, betraying his desire. “Not exactly used to anyone seeing me like this.”
“Do you trust me?” He pondered you for a moment, and you could almost hear him running the calculations in his head.
“inexplicably, yes.”
He let you drag the pyjamas fully from him, this time, his cock already leaking as it snapped against his taut stomach, so hot beneath your touch you were surprised he had lasted this long.
“Doing so good for me, trusting me like this.” There was a noticeable buildup of moisture on his lashes that hadn’t been there seconds earlier, threatening with every subsequent blink to sully his flushed cheeks.
You took him in your palm deliberately, relishing in the small jolt it sent through him, his stomach tensing, almost sending him slipping from where he sat pushed up on shaky arms. You brushed against him more resolutely, twisting your wrist just enough to elicit a groan, low and broken, from his chest, before sitting back and tearing open the packet. Any more, you realised and you would have both been disappointed, his body hyper-responsive to every languishing touch.
His own slick made it easy to roll the latex over him, each measured drag of your palm against him encouraged by a buck of his hips, impatient as each touch teased more. His breathing surged as you rose over him again, settling not over his thighs, this time, but placed perfectly to drag his strained tip through the deluge his previous ministrations had resulted in. His body protested again, forcing itself up as if drawn into you.
“Ah-ah, slow down, baby. Don’t need to rush things.”
The name didn’t do anything to placate him, his fingers digging into the rough mattress below him as you grasped him more firmly, and sank, inch by inch, until your thighs bit into his. He sat deeper than you imagined, the weight of him making your breath hitch, your walls quivering palpably, drawing the softest flutters of breath from his chest.
“Oh fuck.” The pulse of him was far from promising as you remained seated in his lap, his hands flying to grasp at your hips at your first attempt to move. “W-Wait! Just, give me a second.”
Your hand slid into the soft curls by his temple, brushing the sweat-slick strands from his forehead; his neck tilted with the movement to expose his throat. “I have to move at some point, Isaac.”
“I know,” frustration boiled in his tone, his thighs shifting beneath you restlessly, “I just, I–”
“I’m not going to judge you for busting quick.” His eyes widened at the brashness of it. “Just let me move, please. It’s torture.”
His grip on your hips alleviated, setting behind him again as you rose slowly, not faulting as you rode him, the slick sounds of your arousal drowned out by his ragged breaths. He was already coming apart, his eyes screwed shut against the squeeze of your muscle around him, the exquisite drag of his length stretching you out, your warmth driving him to near madness.
“W-Wait!”
It was with a smirk that you continued, your palms pressing his cheeks, angling his head towards your lips again to silence him, still tasting the remnants of yourself on his tongue as his jaw fell slack with a defeated groan, the rest of his body going rigid, giving into the contractions of your cunt around him, your slick matting into the unruly hair at his base.
The threatened tears slid over his cheeks, catching against the tips of your fingers as you held his face, preventing his retreat as he continued to throb inside you. “F-fuck I’m sorry, I didn’t–”
Another kiss stopped his babbling. “You’re good. You held out a lot longer than I thought you would, hey–” your fingers angled his jaw, forcing him to look at you as he tugged his head from your grasp. “You’ll get better with time.”
His red-rimmed eyes searched yours for a moment, oddly vulnerable for Isaac, before fluttering closed with a curt nod. Your lips brushed his forehead as you lifted yourself, moving to settle back against your heels when his hand tightened around your forearm, tugging you unceremoniously back down against him.
“Isaac, we need to cl—”
“Just, indulge me for a moment, will you?” The flick of his right index finger and his soft hiss made you realise he was dealing with the matter more efficiently, the condom deposited neatly in the trash. Another had the rumpled comforter draping across you both, covering you with more ease as he tucked you tightly against himself with a subtle flex of his right palm. You pretended not to notice the way your limbs were momentarily not entirely your own, letting yourself sink into him as he desired.
His hand returned to your back, dragging a slow pattern over the skin he had so precariously avoided the night before, your head nestled far more comfortably into the crook of his shoulder than it had been sharing his pillow. You knew you didn’t imagine it this time when his lips ghosted your hairline. He lingered there for a second longer than necessary, his breath warming your temple, as if testing whether the tenderness might frighten you off.
“I almost understand Gomez’s insistence on indulging Morticia, now.”
His voice rumbled beneath the hand on his chest, curling with a laugh. A cursory glance upwards surprised you with a sight you’d rarely been privy to before — Isaac was smiling.
“Almost?” you murmured.
The way his chin creased as he angled his head to take you in, curious gaze assessing your countenance. “Perhaps I will understand fully when I’m able to keep from embarrassing myself.” It was your turn to smile, his self-depreciation flippant in the afterglow.
He hesitated, tongue briefly wetting his lips before he spoke again, his voice lowered, stripped of its usual certainty. “Will there really be a next time?”
Your finger drifted over the cool metal set into his chest, following the edge of roughened skin, watching the small gears move with quiet diligence beneath your touch. “If you want there to be.”
“I do.” The answer came too quickly, too sincere not to make you laugh softly.
“Maybe,” you said, settling closer, “you can try out the girls’ accommodation next time.”
“Yes,” his arm tightened just a fraction. “I think that’s only fair.”
Bonus:
“You drool, by the way.”
He stiffened beneath you. “I do not.”
“You do,” you whispered, barely holding back a smile. “It’s endearing.”
“Were you watching me sleep?”
“Only because you looked peaceful.”
He exhaled, defeated. “You find this amusing, don’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
"Wonderful."
dirty little secret mike wheeler x harrington!reader
desc: you and mike have been secretly dating, and tonight he misses you a little extra so he asks you to sneak over. as they say—like brother, like sister.
genre/warnings: heavy making out mDNI, characters are 18, established relationship, sneaking around, light begging, mike is a needy desperate boyfriend
word count: 1.1k
a/n: okay so i was rewatching season one and i was like omg this would be sooo funny if i wrote a oneshot of harrington!reader being just like her brother when she gets older by sneaking into the wheeler household hahahahhaha anywaysss HAPPY NEW YEAR (i haven't watched the finale yet cause i'm too sentimental but YAYYY 2026!!)
You had been halfway through a comic while lying on your bed when your walkie-talkie made a static noise.
Huh. No one ever chirped you this late.
You quietly picked up. “Hello?”
There was a pause, and then a soft rushed. “Hey—hey it’s me. Don’t hang up.”
“Mike, it’s almost midnight,” you said, smiling despite yourself.
“I know, I know,” he exhaled. “I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.”
You sat up, concern running through you. “Important how?”
You heard another pause, and then Mike practically pacing. “I just really need to see you.”
“Mike—”
“Please,” he interrupted. “I know it’s stupid. I know Steve will kill me if he finds out and my mom might ground me ‘till I’m thirty but I—I missed you. Like, a lot.”
You laughed softly. “Mike, you literally saw me yesterday.”
“Okay yeah, but not like this,” he said. “Not where I can actually talk to you, or just have you here…in my bed…with me.”
You hesitated, stifling a laugh from his words. “Are you suggesting I sneak over?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. “I mean—only if you want to. I’m not forcing you, I just—god, I sound desperate.”
“You are desperate,” you giggled.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”
You bit your lip. “But Steve—”
“—is out,” Mike responded. “I checked. Like, twice. He isn’t even home, right? It should be safe for you to come.”
You blinked. “How do you even know that?”
“…I may have asked Dustin,” he said. “Casually. I totally wasn’t stalking your brother.”
You laughed again. “You’re unbelievable.”
“So is that a yes?” he asked hopefully.
“That was a ‘you’re lucky I like you’,” you said. “Give me twenty minutes.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” You could hear him cheering through your walkie talkie.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t,” he happily promised. “Besides I’m the fastest window opener in Hawkins, you’ll be in right away.”
By the time you reached the Wheelers house, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest and your heart rate racing.
You climbed up the pipes and stones until you were in front of his window. You lightly tapped the glass and it opened immediately.
“I told you,” Mike whispered, grinning. “Fastest window opener in Hawkins.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered back as you climbed in.
He held onto your waist, steadying you so you wouldn’t fall. You could see his hands shake slightly as he let go once your feet hit the floor.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you softly said. “Are you though? You were a little shaky.”
“I wasn’t.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“…Okay maybe a little,” he admitted. “I just didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“You begged.”
“I asked,” he clarified.
“You begged.”
He sighed. “Okay fine, I begged.”
“So,” you whispered. “Was this worth risking our lives?”
He stepped closer. “Yeah, definitely.”
You sat down on the edge of his bed. “So, what was so important you couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before he sat next to you. “Today has just been bad. Everyone was loud, and I kept thinking about stuff, and then thinking about you, and it just made it worse that I couldn’t talk to you.”
You nudged his knee with yours. “It’s okay, I’m here now.”
There was a moment of silence before he blurted out. “I hate keeping this a secret.”
You looked at him. “Yeah, me too.”
“It’s not that I’m embarrassed,” he rushed to explain. “I’m not. I just want to be able to hold you in front of everyone, and kiss you whenever I want without needing to worry if anyone’s watching. I want to tell our friends, and not freak out every time your brother looks at me.”
You smiled softly. “Steve always looks at you.”
“Exactly, it’s terrifying.”
You laughed, then leaned back on the bed. “Come here.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes, Wheeler. You begged me to sneak through your window.”
He lay down beside you, careful at first, leaving space.
“Why are you so far?” you whispered.
He shifted closer.
“Closer.”
He finally relaxed, his shoulder brushing yours. “Thanks for coming,” he softly said.
“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, leaning in with Mike meeting you halfway.
Your lips touched, a slow deep press between the two of you. He responded instantly, his hands finding the curve of your back, and pulled you in close to him.
The kiss lingered as it became deeper and warmer. Mike’s mouth moved against yours with practiced ease, using all the techniques he knew you liked, like he’s learned how to get every small noise you make and pull them out one by one.
You sighed into his mouth, fingers tightening in his shirt. He groaned quietly at the sound.
“Fuck—” he murmured, slightly pulling back. “I missed this.”
You giggled, brushing your nose against his.
He kissed you again—longer this time. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you on top of him. His thumbs pressed into your sides, grounding and possessive in a way that makes your knees weak.
The kiss became indulged, unhurried. Your mouths were parting and reconnecting. There were little pauses that increased the anticipation for you two. You nipped gently at his lower lip, and the sound he makes goes straight through you.
Your hands roamed over his chest, his shoulders, his body. He’s warm beneath you, and every time you touched him—his breath hitched, grip tightened, and his body leaned into yours like he couldn’t get enough.
“God, do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
You smiled. “Yeah, I do.”
You kissed along his jaw, down to his neck, just enough to make him tilt his head instinctively.
“Please don’t stop,” he softly begged.
You didn’t. You kissed him long and deep, the kind of kiss that made time blur. Your bodies fit together perfectly, years of knowing each other written in the touch.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. Mike’s lips were swollen and pink from all the contact. His hair was a mess and his pupils were blown.
“Wow, I miss your lips already,” he said.
You laughed, your head ducking into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
When it was time for you to leave, Mike walked you to the window and helped you out. He whispered, “Same time tomorrow?”
“Only if you beg,” you grinned.
His eyes twinkled and he saluted you, letting you know he would.
desc: it’s the first fall of snow in hawkins and your friends want to make the most out of it, starting from a snowball fight and ending with a movie along with gingerbread cookies
genre/warnings: the use of snowball and snow is lowkey used A LOTTT sorry, fluff, physical touch activities
word count: 1.3k
a/n: HI GUYS im so sorry ive been m.i.a, i recently started my 1b uni term so im a little busy but woooo winter oneshot winter oneshot winter onshot!!
You were never fond of the winter.
You preferred basking in the sun beside the pool with Max and El, or bugging Steve for free ice cream despite him not working there anymore.
You hated constantly shivering in the cold air, or fighting the party for the thickest, warmest blanket.
Yet here you were, throwing snowballs with your friends and laughing even though your hands were freezing.
It all started when you were in the midst of putting on your snow boots and Dustin came knocking on your door.
“COME ON! SNOWBALL FIGHT RIGHT NOW!”
“Hi to you too!” you yelled through the door, quickly fastening your laces before following him out to the street.
The streets were chaos. There was snow flying everywhere, shouts were being yelled, and honestly you were starting to get excited.
“Shit shit shit!” you heard Lucas yell, your head turned toward the sound to see him backing up to Mike while Max and El laughed walking towards him with a snowball in each of their hands.
Dustin ran over to Will and they began to mold snowballs while whispering a plan to each other. They looked at the other two boys who were starting to retaliate and nodded. All of a sudden, the four of them started chasing after the two girls. They screamed and ran towards you, using you as a shield.
“Help us!” Max said, excitement and fear in her voice.
“Guys, we’re gonna kick their asses,” you replied, already starting to pick up some snow.
The real fight began. You were throwing snowballs like your life depended on it. Snow was hitting your jacket and soaking your mitts but you didn’t care.
The seven of you had decided to split into teams, boys vs. girls. Although, none of you guys were keeping score.
You were too busy laughing as your teammates tried to overthrow the boys to notice Mike sneak up behind you.
WHAM! A snowball hits you right in the back. You whipped around and found Mike standing there, his nose and cheeks a rosy pink with a wide grin on his face.
“MIKE!” you yelled.
He held his hands up in defence. “What? It wasn’t that hard.”
Instead of responding, you picked up snow and tightly packed it in into a snowball.
The fight erupted instantly. What once was considered chaotic before got extremely worse. Snowballs were flying in every direction, in hopes of getting a hit. At this point the teams were gone, it was every man for themselves. You ducked behind a parked car, mentally apologizing to whoever’s it was, and you laughed as a snowball narrowly missed your head. You scooped up some snow, packed it, and popped up just long enough to throw.
Boom. Direct hit.
Mike stumbled back dramatically, placing his hands where you hit him. “Oh my god, that one hurt.”
“Liar!” you laughed.
He charged at you, and you squealed, taking off down the street as he chased you, boots slipping in the slushy snow. You barely made it to the trees before he caught up with you, grabbing your wrist.
“Got you!” he said, breathless.
You turned around, still laughing, snow crunching under your boots. “You wish.”
You tugged your wrist free but he doesn’t move away. Suddenly, Mike is close to you, closer than usual. He was so close you could notice all the little details, the snow in his eyelashes, the dampness of his hair, the way his breath fogged in the coldness.
Mike’s smile softened and his eyes flickered from your lips back to your eyes.
You felt your heart start to race. And slowly, he leaned in. Just a little. Your breath gets caught in your throat.
But then—you felt cold flood down your jacket.
You shrieked, jumping back as icy snow slides down your back. Mike was laughing so hard, he was bent over clutching his stomach.
“I’m sorry—I saw the opportunity and had to take it!”
“You are dead,” you declared, shoving snow at him. “It is so on, Wheeler.”
You tackled him into the snow, both of you tumbled down in a mess of limbs and laughter. He landed on his back with you on top of him, both of you gasping for air.
“Truce?” he asked.
“In your dreams,” you squinted. You dumped a handful of snow on his chest, making sure you got some on his skin he forgot to cover up.
He groaned. “You’re evil.”
“Payback,” you shot back.
The rest of the party eventually found you guys, still tangled in the snow but no longer fighting.
“Get a room, guys,” Dustin said, mockingly rolling his eyes.
Both you and Mike yelled at the same time. “SHUT UP!”
Eventually, the party collectively decided to take a break as the snow began to fall heavily. By the time everyone ended up at Mike’s house, the streets were filled with snow. There was so much that it looked like a snow globe.
The state the house was in after everyone got in was a mess. Boots were kicked in piles near the front door, small bits of snow scattered in, and coats along with accessories were draped along chairs. The smell of hot chocolate wafted around the house, coming from the kitchen where Mrs. Wheeler was pouring it into mugs.
After heading down to the basement, chatter started happening all around. Lucas claimed the biggest cup before anyone else could grab it, Dustin and El were fighting over the marshmallow bag and Max was trying to convince a stubborn Will that the girls won the fight.
You curled up on the couch, tugging your sleeves higher on your hands. You were still cold from the outdoors, even though you had been inside for a while.
Mike dropped down next to you, and glanced your way. “Still freezing?”
You nodded. “You did dump snow down my jacket, Wheeler.”
“All in the game,” he said, attempting to sound strategic.
Without hesitation, Mike grabbed one of the warmer blankets from behind the couch and draped it over the two of you.
“Better?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “Thanks.”
The others were so into their own bubbles that they didn’t notice how Mike’s foot kept bumping into yours or the fact you two were closer than you needed to be.
“We should go sledding,” Dustin suggested.
“No,” Max immediately objected. “We just got warmed back up after the cold.”
Yet somehow, you were all back outside standing in front of Mike’s garage. The guys pulled out a few old sleds and you all trekked up the hill near his place.
It was decided to go two at a time. Dustin and Will went first, screaming the whole way down. Lucas and Max followed after. When it was your turn, you looked at Mike.
You sat at the front of the sled, and Mike settled awkwardly behind you. His hands were hesitating like he wasn’t sure where he could put them.
“You’re gonna have to hold on,” you said.
“Right—yeah,” he stammered, placing his hands lightly on your sides.
You felt one hand leave your hip, and suddenly the sled was moving forward, the hand coming back to your side.
You both screamed as the sled went down the hill, laughter filling the night. As you two reached the bottom, you were both out of breath and covered in snow.
“That was—” Mike started.
“Terrifying?” you suggested.
“Awesome,” he finished with a grin.
Later when everyone was exhausted, you ended up sitting on the steps of Mike’s front porch, watching the snow fall down peacefully.
Mike sat down next to you and nudged your shoulder. “Today was fun.”
“Yeah,” you softly agreed.
He glanced at you and looked away. His cheeks were pink, but not mainly from the cold.
You smiled to yourself, before letting your head fall into his shoulders. You felt him tense for a second before he relaxed and laid his head on top of yours.
When Mrs. Wheeler called the two of you inside to get warmth and Mike offered his hand, you happily took it.
A/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK WAY LONGER😭 ive have been SOOOO out of it and im so grateful to finally have this posted💆♀️ i genuinely put my heart and soul into this freaky ahh oneshot whenever i could focus on it. Its seriously probably the best writing i have ever ever done I dont know what overcame me during the duration of this measly 3.4k word fic but i hope you like it
Little pre warning: i wrote this sooo cringey and with bad like 2000s rom com high school bully dialogue LMAO 😭 just watch out its lowk a hard read but that smut is fiirreeee so i hope u freaks enjoy it as much as i did😛😛😛
WARNINGS: smut, cringe ahh dialogue, lowk breeding kink maybe icl, take a shot every time isaac says good girl and ur gonna have a crazy night, lowk not edited very well cause i got excited when i finished it and wanted to post after decades of working
WC: ~3.4
Masterlist
-
You slid into your usual seat in the back of the lecture hall, dropping your bag with a thud that echoed a little too loudly. The Professor was droning on about existentialism, or whatever, but your eyes weren’t on the chalk board. They were at the door.
Isaac slipped in five minutes late, as usual, his backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a complete mess. He scanned the room, eyes lingering on you a second more than necessary, before he took a seat two rows ahead and to the left. Not to close, not too far. You pulled out your notebook, watching the back of his head while you pretended to jot down notes, foot tapping impatiently under the desk.
Class dragged on. The Professor called on a few people, and when he got to Isaac he mumbled out a half coherent answer that was pretty spot on. You rolled your eyes outwardly, but admittedly, you were a little impressed. He's always been a smart student, just never flaunting it.
When the bell finally rang, you gathered your things slowly, watching as Isaac lingered by his desk too, fiddling with his zipper like he had all the time in the world.
You brushed past him on your way out, just enough to send a spark through your shoulder. ”Watch it,” you muttered, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
”Sorry,” he replied, low and even.
Outside the campus quad buzzed with students rushing to their next classes. Fall leaves crunched underfoot, the air crisp with mid-November chill. You walked side by side for a bit. Not touching. Not even looking. ”Bio lab next?” You asked casually.
”Yeah. You?”
”Art history. Across the quad.” You paused at the fork in the path, the science building to the left and the arts to the right. This was the routine. Keeping it under the table. Nobody had to know you were into a boy like Isaac.
He glanced around before leaning in, ”Text me later?”
You huffed, crossing your arms. ”Maybe. If I get bored.” But your face said yes, and he knew it.
He nodded and turned towards the science building. You watched him go for a second, feeling the familiar twist in your stomach—that some one you got when this all started. Three months. It had been three whole months of this weird, but addictive, push and pull between the two of you.
You headed to art history, finding a spot next to your usual friends. They were all chatting about the winter formal, sharing outfit ideas on their phones. ”Y/n, you have to come shopping with us this weekend,” Bianca said, batting her eyelashes at you. ”I need your brutal honesty for my dress.”
You smirked, leaning back, ”Only if you promise not to pick something basic. Last year you looked like the second choice in a romance.”
Matt, the cocky athletic jock that every friend group needs, laughed way too loud. ”Harsh, but fair. By the way, did you hear about Isaac fucking up a lab last week and getting scolded by the professor?? What a loser.” The table laughed.
Your jaw tightened, but you kept your head down, scrolling through your phone. ”Who cares? He's irrelevant.”
Bianca snorted. ”Right? Honestly I'm shocked he even comes to school. I'm sure he’d love to stay home and read comics like some greasy rat all day.”
The professor started the lecture, saving you from a response. But the words lingered and gnawed. Isaac let shit like that slide all the time—shrugs it off, keeps his head down. It drove you insane. He's smarter than half these idiots, kinder too, but he just takes it.
After class, you met with them at the campus cafe for lunch. The place was packed. You grabbed a salad and slid into the booth with the group. Matt was mid-story about some party hookup when you spotted Isaac across the room, tray in hand, looking for a spot.
He ended up alone at a table near the window, pulling out a book to read. Peaceful. Until Brad showed up. The same asshole guy from that frat party. Him and his crew of idiotic meatheads ”accidentally” bumped his table, spilling his over his book.
”Oops,” Brad said sarcastically, not even pretending to be sorry. Laughter erupted from his friends. Isaac just sighed, grabbing napkins to clean the mess and muttering what you assumed was ”It’s fine.”
Your blood boiled. You watched for a second, waiting to see if he’d push back. He didn’t. Just cleaned up. Head down. Same as always.
”Fuck this,” you muttered. Standing up abruptly.
Bianca blinked. ”Where are you going?”
”To handle something.” You marched over, heels clicking on the tile, your friends eyes burning in your back.
Brad was still laughing when you reached the table. ”Hey, asshole,” you said, voice breaking the noisy background ambience.
He turned, smirking, ”Y/n? What’s up, babe? Come to join the fun?”
”Fun? You mean being a pathetic bully who picks on people half your size because your dicks probably smaller than your brain?” You stepped closer, leaning into his ear, eyes narrowing. ”Touch his shit again, and I’ll be sending the whole damn school pictures of you when you wet yourself at that party last year.”
His face paled, his friends shifting uncomfortably. ”Chill, it was an accident.”
”Bullshit. Apologize.”
He glanced at Isaac, who was staring at you wide eyed, then back. ”Sorry, man,” he mumbled before scurrying off with his tail between his legs.
The cafe was quieter, people whispering. You turned to Isaac, who looked like he’d been hit by a truck. ”You okay?”
He nodded. Still stunned. ”Yeah. Thanks.”
”Don’t mention it.” You grabbed a fresh stack of napkins from a nearby table and tossed them to him, then walked back to your booth like nothing happened.
Your friends were gaping. Rachel leaned in first, ”What the HELL was that? You? Defending Isaac? Hello?”
You shrugged, stabbing your salad with your fork, ”Someone had to. Brad is an idiot.”
Kent laughed, a little nervous, ”Since when do you care about guys like him? Thought you hated nerds?”
”I hate bullies more.” You met their eyes, daring them to push it. Bianca raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, just exchanged a look with Rachel. They were all shocked, but inevitably dropped it.
Your heart skipped a beat. You’d just blown your cover a little, but screw it. Seeing Isaac taking shit like that? Not gonna happen.
Later that afternoon, after your last class, you texted him: My place. Now.
His response was instant: On my way.
Your dorm was quiet, Morticia probably with Gomez. You paced until he came, a soft knock on the door. You opened the door, pulling Isaac in before anyone saw.
He barely got a word out before you were on him, kissing him hard, backing him against the wall. ”What was that about?” He murmured against your lips, hands settling on your waist.
”You let them walk all over you,” you said, pulling back with a glare. ”Why?”
He shrugged, that stupid easy smile on his face. ”Not worth the fight.”
”It is to me.” You kissed him again, softer this time, fingers threading through his hair.
He chuckled, flipping your positions and pressing you against the wall instead. ”My hero,” he said, voice dripping with fake sincerity. But his eyes were dark, appreciative. ”Standing up for the poor loser. How sweet.”
”Shut up,” you huffed, but there was no heat in it. His hands slipped under your shirt, fingers brushing your skin, and you shivered.
He leaned in, lips grazing up your neck. ”Make me.”
That was all it took. You dragged him to your bed, pushing him down and climbing on top. But he wasn’t having it. He rolled you over with surprising ease, pinning your hands above your head with one of his. ”Uh uh,” he said, soft but firm. You had your fun out there. Now it's my turn. Consider it a thank you.”
Your breath hitched. This was the side of him no one else got to see. His soft dominance that made your knees weak. He released your hands, giving you a look that told you to keep them there as he peeled his shirt off. You had to stop yourself from feeling his lean muscles revealed under his shirt.
He started slowly, kissing down your neck, collarbone, taking his time. ”You know,” he started, lips against your skin, ”It’s cute how you get all protective. Like I’m your secret.”
”I’m not—” you gasped, his teeth nipping at your neck.
”Liar.” His hands pushed up your shirt, exposing your bra, unclasping it with one hand. ”But I like it. Makes me want to worship you even more.”
And he did just that. Lips trailing down, slow licks around your nipples, gentle bites that made you arch into him, whimpering softly. His tongue swirled lazily, teasing one while his fingers rolled the other, building a slow burning sensation in your belly that had you squirming beneath him. ”Isaac…” You breathed, tugging lightly at his hair.
He looked up, eyes hooded with desire, a smile playing on his lips. ”Patience, baby. Let me take care of you.” He switched sides, sucking gently, his free hand sliding down your stomach to your jeans. He popped the button open, slowly, mouth still on you.
You lifted your hips as he tugged your jeans down, along with your panties, leaving you exposed. The cool air hit your heated skin, making you shiver, but Isaacs hands were warm, soothing as they traced patterns on your inner thighs. He settled between your legs, his breath hot against your core, and you felt anticipation coil in your stomach.
”Look at you,” he whispered, his fingers parting you gently. ”So beautiful.” He leaned in, placing a soft kiss right above your clit, then another lower, teasing. You moaned softly, hips bucking toward him, but he held you down with one arm across your waist. ”Shh, good girl. Let me taste you properly.”
The first stroke of his tongue was agonizingly slow, lapping from your entrance up to your clit. You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair as electricity shot through you. He hummed in approval, the vibration making you whine. He took his time, exploring every fold, alternating between long licks and focused circles around your sensitive bud. His tongue dipped inside you, thrusting shallowly, before sucking gently on your clit.
”Isaac.. oh god,” you moaned, head falling back against the pillow. The room filled with sounds of your heavy breathing, his soft groans against you, the wet slide of his mouth. He added a finger, sliding it in slowly, curling it to hit that perfect spot inside you. Then a second, stretching you gently while his tongue worked faster.
”You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his lips glistening. ”Taste so fucking good. Good girl, take my fingers like that.” He pumped them steadily, thumb circling your clit now, building pressure until your thighs trembled.
”Please.. Don’t stop,” you begged, grinding against his hand. Butterflies filled your stomach at his words, at the way he looked at you.
He chuckled softly, diving back in. The combination of his fingers curling deep inside you and his tongue flicking rapidly pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry, walls clenching around him. He eased you through it, lapping gently until you shuddered from oversensitivity.
Kissing his way back up, he took your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. ”That’s my girl.” He whispered, grinding his hips against yours. You could feel him hard through his jeans, the friction making you moan into his mouth.
You reached for his belt, fingers fumbling in your haze, but he caught your hands again, pinning them. ”Not yet. I want to feel you grind on me first. Show me how much you want it.”
He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him. Your bare core pressing against the rough denim. ”Go on, baby. Grind on me.” His hands guided your hips, encouraging the motion.
You rocked against him, the friction of his jeans against your sensitive folds sending sparks through you. Moans spilled from your lips as you moved faster, feeling him twitch beneath you. ”Isaac.. need you,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulder.
”Good girl,” he groaned, his own hips bucking up to meet yours. ”Just like that. Fuuckkk, you’re driving me crazy.” His hands roamed your back, pulling you down for a messy kiss, tongues tangling as you ground harder, pressure building again.
When you were both panting, desperate, he flipped you back over. ”Now,” he said, voice dripping with need, stripping off his jeans and boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and you licked your lips at the sight.
He settled between your thighs, rubbing the tip through your wetness, teasing. ”Tell me you want me.”
”I want you,” you breathed, wrapping your legs around him. ”Please, Isaac.”
He slid in slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every bit of him stretching you. You both moaned at the sensation, his forehead pressing against yours. ”You’re so tight. So perfect,” he groaned, bottoming out and savouring for a moment.
Your breath caught, thighs trembling around his hips, and Isaac let out a low, broken moan that vibrated against your lips.
He bottomed out with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, burying himself to the hilt and then going still.
"Fuck... perfect. You're so fucking perfect." He rasped, voice wrecked. Neither of you moved for a long heartbeat—just breathing each other in, foreheads pressed together. You could feel every pulse of him inside you, the heavy throb of his cock filling you completely, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him like they were trying to keep him there forever.
You whimpered softly, nails digging into the back of his shoulders. "Isaac..."
"I know," he whispered, lips brushing yours. "I've got you."
He stayed there for several long seconds—deep, unmoving to let you adjust, let the anticipation coil tighter and tighter in your belly. His hands roamed slowly. One sliding up your side to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking along your jaw. The other gripping your hip, fingers splayed wide, possessive. Every little shift of his hips sent sparks racing up your spine.
Then, finally, he pulled back. Almost all the way out, before sliding back in with the same torturously slow glide. You moaned at the drag, the wet slide of him filling you again.
"God," he groaned against your mouth. "You feel.."
He didn't finish the sentence, He just kissed you instead—deep, tongue stroking yours in the same slow rhythm of his hips. Each thrust was measured, deliberate, grinding deep at the end so the base of him pressed hard against your clit. You rocked up to meet him, hips rolling in small, needy circles, chasing more friction, more pressure, more him.
The pace stayed slow at first, agonizingly slow, like he was savouring every second, memorizing the way you felt wrapped around him. His free hand slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again. He circled it gently at first, matching the lazy drag of his cock, then pressed firmer, rubbing in tight, steady strokes that made your toes curl.
Your moans grew louder, breathier, spilling into his mouth. He swallowed every sound, drinking them down like he was starving for them.
"Isaac—please—"
"Shh," he murmured, lips trailing along your jaw, down the side of your neck. "I've got you, baby. Just feel me."
He shifted his angle slightly, tilted his hips so the head of his cock dragged across that spot inside you with every pass. Your back arched off the mattress on a sharp gasp, walls fluttering hard around him.
"There?" he asked, voice rough. He did it again. Slow, deep, grinding right against that perfect place, and your nails raked down his back hard enough to leave marks.
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
He groaned, low and guttural, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "Good girl," he breathed against your skin. "That's it. Take it just like that."
The praise hit you like a spark. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering for the first time.
"Fuck, do that again," he begged, voice cracked. "Squeeze me like that again, baby, please—"
You did, deliberately this time, clenching tight around him on the next slow thrust. He shuddered hard, a broken moan tearing from his throat.
"You're gonna kill me," he panted, kissing messily along your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin. "Gonna fucking ruin me."
His fingers on your clit sped up just a fraction, still firm, still perfect circles. The dull sensation of him grinding deep inside you while he rubbed you exactly right had heat pooling low and fast in your belly.
"Isaac—I'm—"
"I know," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I can feel it. You're getting so tight again.. So wet.. Fuck, you're dripping down my cock."
His words made you whimper, hips bucking harder, chasing the building pressure.
"Come for me again," he coaxed, voice soft. "Come on my cock like such a good girl. Let me feel you fall apart. I want it—I need it—"
Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over you in shuddering pulses. Your walls clamped down hard around him, fluttering and squeezing, and you cried out his name. He kept moving through it—slow, deep grinds that dragged out the pleasure longer, fingers never stopping on your clit until you were trembling, oversensitive, gasping against his shoulder.
He kissed you through the aftershocks—soft, open mouthed, swallowing your little whimpers until your body went limp beneath him.
Only then did he let himself speed up.
His thrusts grew harder, deeper, hips snapping forward with more force now that you'd come once.
"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, eyes locked on where you were joined, watching himself disappear inside you over and over. "Taking me so well.. So fucking good for me.."
He hooked one of your legs higher over his hip, changing the angle again, and you both moaned at how much deeper it let him go.
"Isaac—its too much—"
"Too much?" He slowed just enough to check your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Tell me to stop if it's too much, baby."
You shook your head, nails digging into his biceps. "Don't stop. Just—harder."
He gave you exactly what you asked for.
The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts now—deep, punishing strokes that hit that spot relentlessly. His hand left your clit to grip your thigh, spreading you wider, holding you open so he could fuck into you exactly how he wanted.
You were babbling—half-formed pleas, his name, broken "yes" and "Please" lost in the overwhelming stretch and heat of him.
"Gonna come again?" he panted, voice strained. "Can you give me one more? Wanna feel you come while I'm filling you up."
You nodded, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. "Yes—yes—please—"
He reached between you again, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing fast, firm circles while he pounded into you.
"Come on, my good girl," he moaned against your mouth. "Come with me. Let me feel it—let me feel you milk my cock."
The second orgasm ripped through you. It was sharper, more intense. You arched hard, crying out, walls spasming around him in tight, rhythmic pulses. Isaac groaned your name like a prayer, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as possible as he came with you—hot, thick spurts flooding inside you, his body shaking.
He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, forehead pressed to yours again as you both panted into the quiet room.
For a long minute, neither of you moved, just trembling, breathing, hearts hammering against each other.
Then he kissed you—slow, soft, before pulling out carefully. You both whimpered at the loss.
He rolled to the side, tugging you against his chest, arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.
"Stay," he whispered into your hair, voice raw.
You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, feeling the rapid thud of his pulse under your lips.
I'm not going anywhere," you murmured.
-
a/n: god i wish men were real .. but anyways hope you liked :) trying to get back into the swing of writing … we will see !
Guys I am fumbling so hard to find the motivation to finish this😭 SO many things have happened in my personal life I genuinely feel like I don’t have the space in my mind for this but I wanna soooo badddduhhhh😓😓 TRUST ME YOU GUYS WILL GET UR PART 2
Description: Y/n isn't a fan of physical affection. Her only exception? Spencer Agnew.
Warnings: Fluff, angst, and a man (apologies). Also mentions of sex and intimacy issues
Notes: Hey, guys so I'm definitely missing writing Spencer fics. This one is slightly self-insert ish, but I'm posting it anyway. Hopefully some people can relate :)
Also, can you guys tell that I love writing protective! Spencer/Shayne?
Who, me? Pfft, no I don't think it's that obvious.
________
There wasn't some big, traumatising reason for it. It was just the way she was. Growing up, her family weren't physically affectionate. But it was never a hostile or unsafe environment. The only thing that happened was it had led her to tense up or squirm whenever someone touched her for too long.
And working in a place like Smosh, where a lot of the cast showed their affection through being touchy and cuddly, was still something she was working on getting used to. Even though she'd been part of the cast for three years. Over time, everyone seemed to become aware of it and respected it.
Sometimes she wished she could just accept it. It didn't exactly affect her friendship with people, she was extremely close with everyone. Of course, she wasn't opposed to everything. High fives and fist bumps were fine, and hugs were okay too depending on who it was.
She could accept a hug from Courtney every now and again, but that was about it. Everyone was respectful of her boundaries and she hadn't even really said anything about it. They all just seemed to pick up on it.
It wasn't a big deal, and she had never really felt like it would be a hindrance. It didn't get in the way of her relationships with people because she showed her affection in different ways. It made romantic relationships a tad trickier, though. It was suddenly a weird quirk.
But it was different with Spencer. There wasn't exactly an official status on the relationship they had. For the last few months, the line between platonic and romantic was wavering and neither of them had acknowledged it. But there was no sign of the other wanting it to stop, so whatever it was, something was kindling between them.
Spencer hadn't crossed a boundary with her, and he was the first to spot when someone did. Whether by accident or not. It was like a natural instinct he had, some might even call it a subtle protectiveness. He had her cues and tolerance levels memorised, and had a sweet way of handling incidents.
He never made it a big deal. Nobody even batted an eye. But it was nice to have someone keeping an eye on it. Sometimes Amanda would lean a little too close, or Angela might accidentally brush her arm when reaching for cards, but those were just fleeting moments she could brush off.
The real issues started when a new person joined the cast. His name was Kyle, and he'd been a great addition. He got along well with everyone and was really nice and funny. But, for y/n, he could be a tad physically affectionate. He hadn't picked up on how uncomfortable it made her. He wasn't inappropriate or anything, just couldn't seem to read the room well.
The first incident happened while filming a Try Not To Laugh. It was one of his first videos on the channel, and she was getting ready to do a bit with Shayne when Kyle put his hand on the small of her back to squeeze by. He meant no harm, but it had made her flinch quite hard. Not that he noticed, but it was enough for Tommy to see and ask if she was alright.
She had to force herself to brush it off. It was nothing. Just a brief moment that he didn't mean. But it didn't stop there. His little fleeting touches happened so often that it made her skin crawl whenever anyone else accidentally touched her.
And Spencer had rescued her a few times.
They were filming a Games video with her, Kyle, Shayne, Chanse, and Trevor. She was the only girl there, but she didn't mind. It was fun and chaotic as always. But she was sitting next to Kyle and she was starting to think his ability to keep his hands to himself was nonexistent.
Spencer had noticed, and was keeping an eye on it. But he didn't step in until she looked uncomfortable. They were in the middle of filming, so he didn't interrupt. The only thing he did was pick up some cards that had fallen off the table, which happened to be next to y/n.
He knew it would be cut out of the video.
Making eye contact with her, he silently asked if she was alright. She seemed to understand and nodded, but he didn't believe her. After all, he'd seen the way she flinched when Kyle grabbed her arm while laughing.
Before he went back behind the camera, he said something to Shayne that was unintelligible to mics and everyone else. But she saw the way Shayne looked between her and Kyle, and nodded.
After filming, she approached Spencer. He smiled at her and motioned to the mic still attached to her hoodie. There was absolutely nothing stopping her from taking it off herself, but she still let him do it.
"This okay?". He asked softly, making her nod. "Yeah. It's fine."
"By the way, if you need me to say something to Kyle, just let me know."
She smiled. "Why, are you jealous?".
"No." He chuckled. "Just not delighted with seeing you uncomfortable."
"It's okay. It isn't a big deal."
Pursing his lips, he sighed. "It is a big deal to you, y/n. You've made your boundaries pretty clear, and by the looks of things he's missed the memo."
The way he was looking at her almost made her heart do a somersault.
"Okay." She muttered. "Obviously I don't like it, but maybe I need to accept that people are just like that."
He shook his head. "No, you don't if it makes you uncomfortable."
Spencer was physically affectionate, but he never pushed it on to her. That's why she accepted it from him. She felt comfortable and safe with him, and he didn't take that lightly.
She headed to the communal kitchen to grab a drink before her next shoot. Kyle was in there already.
"Hey, y/n."
"Hi."
He smiled slightly. "You did a great job this morning."
"Oh, thank you. So did you."
She got a soda from the fridge, opened it and took a sip. She thought that would've been the end of the conversation, but nope. He stuck around.
"So, can I ask you something? If it's not too personal."
She furrowed her eyebrows, but nodded. "Sure."
"Are you and Spencer dating?".
"Uh... not to my knowledge."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I just kinda assumed because you two seem pretty close."
"Well, we are. But we're just friends."
Or something like that. She wasn't really sure what to call it.
He nodded. "Okay. Well, I've got another shoot to get to. So I better go, but I'll see you later?".
She hums, almost dismissively. "Mhm."
Then she felt him brush by her on his way out and she physically moved herself away to avoid it. Kyle stopped and looked back at her.
"Y/n, are you alright?".
She sighed, playing with her sleeve. "Yeah. I just... sorry, I don't really like people touching me."
"Oh." His eyes widened. "God, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
She pursed her lips and shrugged. "It's okay."
"Well, I'll uh... keep that in mind."
_
The work day was coming to an end and y/n was just finishing up at her desk when Courtney came over.
"Hello, my love."
She smiled. "What's up, Court?".
"What are your plans for tonight?". They asked, pulling a chair over to sit next to her.
"It mostly consisted of disintegrating into the couch and hibernating there for the weekend."
Courtney laughed. "Well, I'd hate to keep you from that. But just in case, a few of us were gonna go out for for some food, drinks, maybe a bit of karaoke. I thought maybe you'd like to joins us."
"Hm... I don't know. Let me think about it."
"Okay, no worries, babe. But Spencer's going to be there, so I don't know if that'll change your mind at all."
She chuckled. "How'd that happen?".
"He's the designated driver."
"Ah. Who else is going?".
"Shayne, Angela, Chanse, Arasha, Tommy and Kyle. See? Small group."
Her heart dropped only a little hearing Kyle was going. It had her hesitating immediately.
"Come on. It'll be fun."
She sighed. "Okay... fine, I'll come."
"Yay! I love you so much."
"Yeah, yeah."
When she finished what she was doing, she packed up her stuff and went to meet the group waiting by the front doors. Spencer's eyes were immediately drawn to her and he let out an amused chuckle.
"They drag you along too?".
She nodded, pouting a little making him soften. "We can stick together then, as the unwilling participants."
That made her giggle a little and she nodded. "Okay."
When they all decided where they were going, they piled into two cars. One being Spencer's and the other Shayne and Courtney's.
The place they had picked was like a mix between a karaoke bar and a restaurant, and it was actually a rather pleasant atmosphere. The group was seated in a large booth. Y/n hesitated a little when she realised she'd have to sit in between Kyle and Spencer.
Noticing the expression on her face, Spencer moved to stand beside her and gave her a soft smile. His hand never touched her, but it hovered near her elbow, which made her glance back at him.
"Want me to sit there?". His voice softened when he spoke. She nodded. Wordlessly, Spencer took a seat beside Kyle, prompting her to sit at the end of the booth next to him. She sighed quietly.
When his arm inevitably brushed against hers, she didn't mind. It put her at ease and she was able to relax and enjoy a night out with her friends.
After eating, with a little liquid courage Courtney, Tommy, Arasha, Angela and Chanse went up to the stage to do some karaoke. Y/n hadn't had any alcohol yet and neither had Spencer or Shayne since they were driving everyone home. Kyle seemed to be getting a little tipsy.
Spencer left to go to the bathroom and Shayne got up to get the next round of drinks. Which left y/n at the table with Kyle. She moved to the other side of the booth just in case.
"So...". Kyle sighed. "How come you let Spencer touch you?".
"Oh... it's nothing personal. I just don't mind it as much with him."
"Why?".
She shrugged. "I don't know."
He makes it feel okay, that's why.
He hummed, then looked at her. "If you don't like to be touched, then how do you have sex?".
She blinked, unsure if she heard him right.
"I'm sorry?".
"Well, it must make it quite difficult."
Sure enough, he did say that. "Uh... not really. I just need to be comfortable with someone beforehand, I guess."
Kyle looked over at the bar, where Spencer was now standing with Shayne, waiting for drinks.
"Like him?".
"Uh...". Her cheeks flushed a little. "Kyle, I think I'm done answering your questions."
He shrugged. "Okay, I was just curious."
He's just drunk. It doesn't mean anything.
Y/n couldn't help glancing back over at Spencer, though this time his eyes met hers. But he didn't look away. He tilted his head a little, a silent question from across the room. Subtly, out of Kyle's view, she motioned for him to come back.
She watched Spencer tap Shayne's shoulder and say something to him, and the two of them headed back to the booth together. Shayne with a tray of freshly made drinks.
Spencer sat next to her, not crowding or taking up space. He left space between them, but his expression was one of worry.
Spencer is sober. Spencer is safe. You can reach for him, but why can't you?
"Y/n?". His voice directed her attention back to him.
"I'm okay." It was like she was trying to convince herself more than him, but he accepted it for now.
The moment passed. The night went on. She laughed and had a good time with her friends. Angela was trying desperately to get Spencer to do a duet with her, some song from Wicked. She was now a little tipsy.
"Come on, Spence! Please, just one song."
He shook his head. "No way."
Y/n giggled beside him, forcing him to crack a smile, which then prompted Angela, Tommy, Arasha, and Chanse to chant his name until he finally relented. They all cheered, and Angela ushered him to get up.
Before he did, he looked at y/n like he was asking if it was alright for him to leave her side for five minutes. She just gave him a smile and nodded.
Only then did he let himself be whisked away to the stage.
Kyle was now off flirting with someone he met on the way back from the bathroom. And so, y/n felt like she could breathe a little easier.
She watched Angela and Spencer's duet, laughing and clapping along.
"Hey, y/n. Wanna get up and dance with me? Shayne's gonna stay and watch the drinks." Courtney offered.
She slowly nodded. "Sure."
Following them to the dance floor, she let herself relax and have fun with Court. The two of them giggled at each other's inability to dance.
It wasn't long before Kyle joined in. He'd made his way through the crowd after spotting them, and y/n froze when she felt his hand on her back, a little too low. He was laughing, completely unaware - either that or he was too drunk to care anymore.
She stopped dancing and moved away from him only to bump into a stranger behind her.
"Oh, sorry." She muttered, though it went unheard in the loud music and crowd.
Another sweaty hand touched her arm. Just another stranger with no spacial awareness. But it was enough for her to lose her breath a little.
It's fine. It's fine. It's fine. They didn't mean it.
Another person bumped into her, almost spilling their drink on her. Their hands touched her back, a half-hearted apology leaving their lips. But y/n didn't hear it.
Nope. No, no, no. Too much
She managed to navigate herself out of the crowd, but not without getting a little too close to people. Her brain was foggy. She had to get out.
Finding solace outside, the chilled night air cooled her flaring temperature. She sat on the ground against the wall of the building, unbothered about getting her clothes dirty.
Back inside, Spencer was laughing at Angela and Chanse. The two of them were undeniably wasted and it was rather amusing. With a grin, he looked away from them, subconsciously searching for someone else. When he didn't see her at the booth with Shayne, he straightened a little. Then he looked at the dance floor where he could see Courtney, Kyle, Tommy and Arasha. But no y/n.
Probably went to the bathroom.
Trying to brush it off, he went back to watching Chanse and Angela, only his mind was a mile away now.
Ten minutes later, he still didn't see her and he was starting to get worried. But he didn't want to leave two drunk people by themselves.
"Hey, you two. Let's go see Shayne, shall we?".
Chanse gasped. "Shayne?! We love him."
Spencer sniggered to himself. "Yeah, we do. Let's go."
He guided him and Angela over to the booth, where they both greeted Shayne excitedly and probably more enthusiastically than he was expecting.
"Oh, hey guys. Having fun?".
"Hey, keep an eye on them, will you? I'm gonna go find y/n."
"Okay. Yeah, sure man."
With an appreciative nod, Spencer grabbed his jacket and left, scanning the room again before making his way outside.
Finding her outside, he couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him. But it quickly evaporated, seeing how shaken she looked. She looked overwhelmed.
Y/n looked up when she heard footsteps coming towards her. The tension in her shoulders disappeared, though, when she saw it was only Spencer.
"Please don't touch me." Her voice cracked, breaking his heart.
"Okay." He just knelt in front of her with a sigh. "Is it okay if I sit with you?".
She paused, thinking about it before nodding slightly. He saw it and his expression softened before moving to sit beside her. Not touching.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. He just sat there in the quiet with her.
"Too loud in there?". He asked softly.
She shook her head, picking at an invisible thread on her clothes. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't like this."
"Like what?".
"Like... what's the big deal with a hug? It's a normal thing that people do all the time. But I just can't, and I don't know why."
He hummed. "It's not a bad thing. It doesn't make you a bad person."
"Then why do I feel so bad, Spencer?".
"Y/n, you're surrounded by people who use touch as their main form of affection. And honestly I can't imagine what that's like for you. I'm sure it's confusing as hell if you're not used to it."
She nodded as the corner of her lips quirked. Not quite a smile, but it satisfied Spencer nonetheless.
"It is. I know that they mean well, and sometimes they forget. And it's okay when that happens."
Spencer tilted his head. "Is that what you tell yourself?".
"Well, I shouldn't flinch for no reason just because someone accidentally brushed past me."
"It's not for no reason, y/n. It makes you uncomfortable."
She sighed, leaning back into the wall.
"So, what happened in there?".
She frowned, unconsciously rubbing the spot on her arm Kyle had touched. "I was just dancing with Courtney and it kept getting more crowded. People were touching my back and arms, and I just-".
She suppressed a little shiver that wasn't just from the cold. "I had to get out."
Spencer frowned. "Y/n, can you look at me, honey?".
Reluctantly, she did as told and he saw the red rims just beneath her eyes, indicating that what happened upset her more than she was letting on.
His expression softened. "You wanna tell me what actually happened, or are you sticking with that?".
She sighed. "It... wasn't just because people were touching me. It's because Kyle keeps touching me."
The softness in his eyes hardened, though he kept his voice down. "What?".
"Not... not inappropriately. Just...". Her eyes squeezed shut. "Unwanted."
Deciding to be brave, she looked at him. "I... I don't think it's just with me. He was getting a bit friendly with Court and Arasha too. It's like, whenever you, Shayne, or Tommy aren't looking, he tries to see what he can get away with."
"Okay." He breathed out, like he was trying to ground himself. "You might not like me for this, but Shayne and I have been keeping an eye on him."
"You have? Why?".
"I had a weird feeling about him for a while. Have you not noticed that when Kyle's in a video with you or the other girls, I cast Shayne in it, too?".
"Oh...". Now that he said it, it made a lot of sense.
He gave her a small smile. "You think I'd let anything happen to you guys on my set?".
"I guess not."
"But thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."
"So, what do we do?". She asked.
Just then, a shout that sounded an awful lot like Shayne came from inside. It made her jump and her hand gripped his arm. He didn't mention it.
"I think we're about to find out."
He gently got her to stand up with him and her grip on his sleeve tightened enough for him to feel it. He looked at her and saw the worry in her eyes. And he noticed her shivering, this time from the cold.
"Here." He mumbled. "Can I put this on you?".
He motioned to the jacket he was wearing, about to take it off, but he paused to hear her answer.
She nodded. "Okay."
With a smile, he took his jacket off, then put it around her shoulders to let her slip her arms through the sleeves. At least now if anyone touched her, it wouldn't be on her bare skin.
She followed him inside and they came across a crowd with Shayne and Kyle in the middle of it. The former looked furious, a rarity compared to the joyful and sincere personality they were used to. Courtney and Arasha had been pushed behind him and Tommy was holding Kyle back all by himself.
Chanse and Angela looked significantly more sober than they did earlier, the two of them also looked pissed.
Kyle's attention then moved to y/n when he saw them come in.
"Oh, y/n! Good, you're here. At least someone can vouch for me."
Spencer slowed to a stop, fingers tugging on the material of his jacket to get her to stop too. His eyes narrowed, but didn't say anything at first.
"Can you please tell Shayne to stop being so jealous? I didn't even do anything."
"Didn't do anything?". Shayne spat, glaring at him. "If you ever touch my wife like that again, you're dead. Do you understand me?".
Y/n felt her heart race. "Spen."
That was her fault. She left them. She left Courtney with him.
"Shh, it's okay." He whispered.
Kyle just smirked. "Y/n likes it, don't you?".
She immediately straightened. "What?!".
Oh, but Spencer didn't like that. His glare could've sunk a thousand ships.
"Go on. Tell them how much you like it."
"I... I don't." She stuttered, cheeks flushing from being put under pressure and her apparent inability to stick up for herself. Though it seemed like everyone in the group was more pissed off on her behalf.
Spencer noticed. He always did. His finger gently grazed the side of her hand, which didn't seem like much, but it was like an anchor for her.
"Kyle." Her voice sharpened, grabbing everyone's attention.
"I want you to leave right now."
"What?".
"You heard me. I want you to stop harassing me and my friends and stop spreading lies. I don't like it when you touch me. I don't like it when anyone touches me, and you're not the exception. So just get out."
Kyle just laughed, whether it was because he was drunk or he was a complete narcissist, nobody knew.
"Fine. Fine. I'll leave. I don't want you now anyway."
The way he said it made her feel ill. Then he looked at Spencer and smiled. "You're playing a long game, huh?".
Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at y/n for a second. "What?".
Kyle shrugged. "Hey, I can only respect it. I've just never seen someone wait so long to fuck a chick before."
Y/n had to hold him back at that, a gentle tug on his arm stopped him from knocking the fuck out of him. And as Kyle passed them on the way to the door, he dared to make a move to touch y/n's waist. But Spencer caught it and physically pulled her closer to him.
"Don't even think about it."
Kyle just chuckled like it was a joke before casually walking out the door.
When he realised he was still holding her, he quickly let go of her. "Shit, sorry honey. I'm so sorry."
"No, it... it's okay."
The crowd dispersed now that the drama was over, but the two of them reunited with the rest of the group. Y/n went straight to Courtney.
"Oh my god, Courtney. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you."
"Hey." Their expression softened. "It's okay. I'm alright, don't worry."
She frowned. "What happened?".
"We were just dancing and he grabbed my ass. He also tried to grope Arasha, but I pulled her away from him and that's when I had to get Shayne and Tommy."
"I'm sorry." She apologised again.
"It wasn't your fault, okay? I only blame Kyle."
She nodded slowly. "Okay."
When all was calm and everyone seemed to mutually agree that the night was over, Spencer looked over at y/n, who had been standing by herself for a few minutes.
Shayne was busy still comforting Courtney while Tommy, Chanse and Angela were making sure Arasha was okay.
And he slowly made his way over to her, like he was approaching a spooked animal. He gave her a soft smile.
"Ready to go?".
"Are you taking people home?".
He nodded. "Yeah. Shayne and Court are taking Arasha and Tommy since they live close together. I'm dropping Chanse and Angela off because I don't really trust them to get a cab home by themselves."
That made her smile slightly, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.
"Hey, you okay?".
She nodded, then paused and pursed her lips. "I... don't have an answer for that."
"That's okay."
"Spen?".
"Mhm?".
"Can I... I mean, would it be okay if I came home with you?".
He raised his eyebrows, but nodded warmly. "Of course."
They said good night to everyone before getting into Spencer's car. She was in the front next to him and the other two were in the back.
Y/n stayed in his car while Spencer made sure Angela and Chanse got to her apartment okay. It didn't take him long. He came out after a few minutes and got back in the car.
The radio played quietly, filling the silence. Between that and Spencer's thumb tapping the steering wheel every so often, it gave her some comfort.
The jacket he gave her was warm and comfy, and smelled like him. He glanced over at her occasionally, just checking on her. She realised that was something he did quite often.
Still, neither of them said anything.
But y/n's hand twitched when he stopped at a red light and rested his arm on the rest between the seats, like she was tempted to take his hand.
It didn't go unnoticed, but he saw her hesitation too and decided not to comment on it.
They arrived at his apartment building. Spencer parked and turned the car off, but neither of them moved to get out yet - well, he did until he noticed y/n wasn't.
"What is it, y/n?". The question wasn't sharp or accusing. It was careful.
Maybe he was right. Maybe Spencer doesn't care about you. No, but Spencer's nice. Spencer's there. Spencer cares. You trust him and he wouldn't do that. Would he?
"Hey." Spencer's voice brought her back to him. "Stay with me, okay?".
She looked at him.
He smiled. "There you go. That's it. Just look at me."
"Are you trying to have sex with me?".
The question tumbled out of her lips before she could stop it. Her eyes widened like she wasn't expecting it. And Spencer looked equally as taken aback. Shifting in his seat a little, he turned himself towards her.
"I-I'm sorry." She panicked. "I didn't mean to think- I mean, say that."
"Hey, hey. Slow down, honey. It's okay."
She frowned, and when there was a pause she looked at him.
"Let's circle back to that, shall we?".
She swallowed thickly. "I don't know why I said that."
"Because you were thinking it." He replied simply. "Y/n, do you really think that's what I'm trying to do?".
"Well... I didn't before. I don't know. But... Kyle said it and I kinda can't stop thinking it. I mean, we still haven't really established what we are yet."
His expression softened. "Y/n, I'm not trying to do anything. Having your trust means everything to me and I'd never do anything to tarnish that. I don't have any ulterior motives. It's only me."
He smiled, like it was a secret only for her to hear. "Hi." He wiggled his fingers playfully, making her smile shyly.
"Hi." Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink, feeling embarrassed that she even considered that about him.
"What about the other thing?".
Leaning into his seat, he tilted his head back. "Oh, you mean the thing about what we are?".
She nodded. "Yeah."
He hummed absently. "I don't know. What do you think?".
Puffing out her cheeks, she shrugged. "I don't know."
"Are you okay with that?".
"No."
"Neither am I." He sighed. "But I know that I like you. A lot. And that I'd really like to ask you out."
"Really?".
He nodded. "Some day."
She smiled slightly. "I'm okay with some day."
"Yeah?".
"I like you a lot too, Spencer."
"Well, good." He grinned.
When they got out of the car, Spencer walked at her side and she saw an opportunity. She didn't take his hand, still hesitant about that. But she did brush her finger against the side of his hand. On purpose. It made him look back at her and smile softly.
The second they stepped through the threshold of Spencer's apartment, things became softer. He gently took the jacket from her and hung it up, then he shut the door and made sure it was locked. He told her to sit while he made her a cup of tea without being asked.
But she didn't stay there for long. She got up and wandered over to him.
"Spencer."
"Mhm?".
"Can you please turn around?".
He furrowed his eyebrows, concerned but did as asked. He wasn't even fully turned towards her when he felt her arms wrap around his waist. At first, he froze, unsure of how to respond. But seconds passed, and she still hadn't let go. Her head nestled against his collarbone. Then, he sighed and loosely let his arms fall around her, leaving room for her to move away if she wanted.
"What... what's this for?". He breathed out slowly, like if he exhaled too hard she'd disappear.
note: a fic that doesn’t sit right with my spirit. another thing on my mind is cockwarming zombie!isaac… specifically where his dick doesn’t work. need my brain to relax for a second.
preview: “Couldn’t wait?” His voice winds through you with conspiratorial relish and catches in your chest.
→ [ masterlist. ]
His journal lies abandoned on the desk, pages trembling in the draft like frail, papery lungs endeavor one last, desperate gasp, fluttering against the uneven pull of the wind, but your gaze never strays from him. Instead, it is riveted, ensnared by the claim of Isaac’s hands pressing into the hollow of your back. His fingers trace the arch of your spine with inexorable intent, mapping each subtle ridge, each small shiver, each involuntary flex of muscle, as though memorizing you for the next hour, the next day, the next eternity. The warmth radiating from him presses into you with the same leverage he exerts over his machines, a magnetic pull impossible to ignore, effectively suturing your body to his.
“Couldn’t wait?” His voice winds through you with conspiratorial relish and catches in your chest.
You can’t bring yourself to answer; thought has absconded entirely, dissolved into the air like ether. Every sense is drowned by him, by the heat of his chest pressing against yours, by the relentless gravitation of his body pinning you in place, by the slow, inexorable drag of his length claiming every parameter of your awareness. The stretch feels so good — a wet, prurient absence you hadn’t known was festering inside you, gaping and hungry, always meant to be stitched closed by Isaac alone, by this exact thickness prying you open inch by devastating inch.
The low, reverberating timbre of his groan echoes through the hollows of your spine like a summons. Your knees slacken; your breath fractures into ribbons.
You had promised stillness, yet your flesh delates you, slick, needy, pulsating helplessly in waves of longing. It is treachery of the deepest, most delicious kind: your body professing what your voice can’t form. Every contraction of your cunt is a signal he receives in full, and he groans again: lower, rougher, a subterranean roll that seems to emanate somewhere just under your sternum, vibrating through you.
“You think I wouldn’t notice?” he murmurs, voice worn. “Don’t think you can hide anything from me. I feel everything you’re doing. Every tremor, every flutter… you’re practically giving yourself away.”
A slight shift, a feigned adjustment, accomplishes nothing. Your walls cling, pulse, drip slick heat across him, each flutter a secret, shameless surrender. The drag of him inside you is exquisite in its cruelty, unbearable and necessary at once. Your thighs tremble, and your soaked body wrings him higher. When he moans, it scrapes across the nape of your neck like a hot, serrated whisper, scattering your composure.
Isaac’s cock is heavy inside you, slender, yet pulsing with a slow, insistent insistence that makes your breath hitch. The vein runs like a heated cord beneath your slick walls, each subtle throb a private, intimate drumbeat, pressing into you with a quiet, relentless claim. The head is swollen just enough, a gentle, rounded crown that fits against your deepest heat, pressing without motion, teasing without mercy. Wetness slicks over you both: yours clinging to him, drenching him, glistening along the tender curve where he meets you, and the heat radiates from his body.
You concentrate on the vein pulsing insistently against your velvet-soft walls, swollen and straining as if it beats in time with your own fluttering heart. Warmth floods you from the base to the tip, a deep, unrelenting pressure that makes your slickness gleam and pool, dripping with need around him, soaking the groomed hair at the base.
“Fuck… how do you always feel so good?” you gasp, voice trembling, chest heaving. “Could cum just like this.”
“You know I’ve ditched an hour of work already?” His voice is low, rough, the kind of coarse sound that makes your pulse stutter. He leans closer, pressing you against him. The scent of him fills your senses, drowning every rational thought.
“Show me,” he rasps, the word a sonorous edict, thick with amusement and the tremulous undertow of anticipation. His lithe fingers trail from the hollow of your sacral curve, following each subtle undulation, memorizing your flesh. The press of him is relentless, as if your bodies were two pendula caught in perfect, suspended resonance.
“Don’t think I won’t make you work for it,” he murmurs. You can feel the weight of him, the way he relishes your helpless surrender, and it drives your cunt slick with need. Every inch of him pressed against you, the stillness forced upon your hips, the gentle drag of his cock nestled warm and pulsing inside.
And you do. Not with motion, not with will, but with every helpless flutter, every squeeze and pulse of your soaked, needy body. Your walls cling, tighten, wrap him, tremble around him as if your body has taken the lead. Thighs quiver, and every shiver sends slick heat over him, drawing low, guttural groans from his throat.
Still, he refuses to move, but he tilts, a minute, devastating calibration that buries him deeper, the kind of shift that makes your vision static out at the edges. Fingers dig into your back, thumbs brushing over your lower belly, grounding you while your trembling, dripping body coaxes him closer to the edge.
Your chest heaves, voice breaking in gasps and moans. The wet press of your body, the desperate, fluttering clench, the way your slick, shivering walls betray every promise of stillness, it is too much. Every sound, every subtle pulse, every involuntary squeeze propels you higher, until the world narrows to slick heat, trembling bodies, and the delicious torment of being utterly undone while remaining frozen in place.
“Isaac… fuck… you feel so—”
“Feel so…?” His voice is low, teasing, permeating the air like a command and a caress at once.
You moan, hips pressing against him in reflex, the brief pressure feels intoxicating, your eyes rolling but he holds you immobile, unyielding. “Ah, ah,” Isaac murmurs, voice imbued with amused authority. “Remember what you said — you promised.”
Every helpless press of your body against his, every pulse and flutter, is amplified by the restraint. You are trapped, suspended between desire and denial, and the tension coils tighter with each heartbeat, each breath. Your cunt helplessly spasms, gushing around the length of him until the curls around his base lie matted and shining. His jaw clenches so hard the muscle leaps, the sound escaping his throat closer to a wounded growl than breath, cock twitching inside of you.
“Feel so full. Wanna stay like this forever.”
Heat sluices over his features in a molten, a spasm of want that leaks through the fracture in his composed exterior, mouth dropping open slightly, eyebrows lifting. For a heartbeat you believe his lips tremble, stirred by some clandestine fracture of control he can’t quite smother.
“Well,” he breathes, husky, the word a concession wrung from him. “How about you cum. And then… we’ll see.”
