Secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought)E.M.
⭐︎ Warnings: 18+, mdni! idiots to lovers, best friends to lovers, smut smut smut, lots of pining, mentions of unrequited feelings (they're not), slight angst, unprotected sex, breeding kink? kinda. alcohol and weed consumption. high sex?
⭐︎ Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader
⭐︎ Word count: 20.4k
⭐︎ Summary: A weekend alone with Eddie at Steve's cabin reveals all yours and his deepest desires, feelings you were too afraid to act upon bubbling to the surface, leading to a steamy night that might change you and your best friend forever.
⭐︎ Author's note: I've been meaning to write a best friends to lovers with Eddie for a while now (especially after writing ikyllatk, if you know you know. this is Cheer and Eddie to me in a different universe hehe). @hellfire--cult and I went feral over this idea and we've been talking about this since foreverrrrr and here we are finally! thank you for inspiring me, love ♡
⭐︎ the library
divider made by @cafekitsune
The sun is beating down on your skin, kissing it with warmth as the cold water from the lake is still clinging to your body, making goosebumps appear as you shiver the slightest bit. Your eyes are closed, a content smile rests on your face, despite the way your blue lips tremble. Birds are chirping all around you, the trees rustle whenever the wind blows, the water splashes when your best friend makes his way out of the lake, cursing a few times when he steps over the sharp rocks on the ground.
You don’t open your eyes just yet but you listen to him moving closer and closer to where you’re laying on the pink towel you threw on the grass earlier. You don’t have to take a look to know that he is staring at you, he always is. Like a weight on your body, his stare always feels like a warm blanket, heating up your insides and making you feel something you shouldn’t.
Eddie’s eyes are roaming your body, your glistening bare skin, the skimpy bikini bottoms that are only held together by the strings on the sides, the little bow coming undone slowly. He kneels down before you, making a gasp fall from your lips when the water from his hair drips on your belly and his cold hands touch your hip, fingers reaching for the strings so he can fix the little bow.
You open your eyes to find him looking down with a smug smile as he plays with the strings on your bottoms, re-tying it for you. Your breath hitches in your throat from the touch of his hand and the closeness of him, if you were to sit up, your noses would bump together but you stay in place, only pushing yourself up on your elbows.
“I’m sorry, sweets,” he chuckles softly, taking his sweet time as his fingertips graze your bare hip, “didn’t mean to get you wet,” he smirks, a look of mischief flashes in his eyes as water continues to drip from his body onto yours.
“Are you sure?” You challenge him the way you always do, blinking at him innocently as you bring your knees up higher and bite your lip, making him gulp and blush instantly.
You always know how to break him.
Eddie is oh so confident and flirty, throwing looks and comments your way that are a little too suggestive for someone who is considered a best friend, but the moment you join in on his game, even if only subtly, he turns into a blushing mess, no longer the confident, cocky guy he wishes to be.
But even when he turns into this, blushing and nervous, you can still feel that one certain energy radiating off him and it makes you squirm, it fills you with curiosity and the urge to cross that invisible line, your deepest desires, the ones that are locked away begging to be released. You never let them, you never even looked or paid attention to what you really wanted or craved. You played his game, you flirted back, you teased him but you never admitted to yourself that there was… something.
“Hm, no,” Eddie murmurs, suggestively. He ties the knot, strongly and then, he hooks his finger around the strap, he pulls it back and lets it snap against your skin, making you jolt in your place, a tiny gasp falling from your lips once more as a bigger smirk appears on his face. His eyes roam your body, he takes you in fully before he leans back and plops down on his own towel, laying down, he places his arm behind his head, closing his eyes to the sun, he lets out a sigh of contentment, acting as though he didn’t just touch you the way best friends normally don’t do. Asshole.
“This is nice, I’m glad we came out here.”
You hum in agreement, taking advantage of the fact that his eyes are closed, you allow yourself to take a closer, better look at the man who had become your best and closest friend. He is attractive, very handsome, you aren’t blind, you never have been but he is your friend, you never allowed yourself to look at him a certain way but lately it’s become harder to stay so… blind, to not let his lingering touches make you weak in the knees, to not let his comments fill you with giddiness, to not feel something when he holds you in his arms, when he plays with your hair or places his hand on your thigh when you’re in his passenger seat.
You don’t know where this sudden change has come from, it’s always been that way with him, from the very beginning, he’s been touchy and affectionate with you but it didn’t always make you so excited, it’s been a recent development, something that Nancy and Robin teased you about, they saw your reactions whenever he kissed your cheek and called you pet names, whenever he walked into a room only smiling the moment his eyes would meet yours.
You never noticed it before, the feelings he left you with after all his sweet gestures and touches, only when your friends had brought it up to you, leaving you a blushing and a confused mess, did you start to open your eyes… a little, and suddenly things started to change, your reactions to his comments, no matter if they are flirty or sweet, your reactions to his lingering touches, the way his fingers would play with yours, the way they would drum against your skin, so very close to the hem of your skirt or your shirt, the way he would tuck your hair behind your ear or wipe the foam off your upper lip after taking the first sip of your morning latte before taking his thumb into his mouth and licking it off, moaning while doing so – what was normal before, suddenly wasn’t anymore, everything he did, everything he does now drives you crazy and leaves you yearning for more but you never dared to be the one to take another step forward, to cross that daring line, to make the first real move.
He is still Eddie, your best friend, your soulmate, the person you don’t want to lose, especially over something like this, over reading into something that might not be there, over losing control of your own feelings. After all, this could all just be a part of… him. Maybe it’s just who he is, affectionate, teasing, flirty, daring. Maybe he is like that with everybody, not just you.
But maybe not, maybe you are the only one and maybe, just maybe he is waiting for you to be the one to make another move, to take another step, maybe he has been waiting, maybe he has been waiting for a while now.
You bite your lips so hard, you almost rip the skin open, your eyes are glued to his form, to the way his chest rises up and down, his wet hair a mess around him, lashes fluttering as his eyes are squeezed shut, your fingers itch to touch the ink on his pale skin, you lick your lips as your eyes follow his happy trail, mouth watering at the way his swim trunks are so low on his hips, his bulge so… god, you need to stop – but how can you? Your best friend is just so pretty. And his hands are so big, fingers so long and you have felt them on your skin before but you would be a goddamn liar if you said you didn’t think about them in other places.
Your cheeks heat up at your own thoughts, though it doesn’t stop you from daydreaming some more and the longer you do, the more you start to lose yourself in them, wondering about all the different what if’s, wondering what would happen if you just made the move your friends have begged you to make, to be more daring, to be more teasing, to break him enough for him to do something you both clearly want.
A bravery you don’t usually have, surges through your body, taking over completely. The urge to tease him back the way he teases you is so strong, so before you chicken out, before you think too much and too long, you reach behind you, undoing the bow he tied on your bikini top, you turn away from him and take the skimpy black thing off, throwing it down next to you, the cool breeze kisses your skin and if Eddie opened his eyes right now, he’d be met with the sight of your bare chest.
You press your lips together and turn around, flipping your hair over your shoulder, you lay down on your stomach, stretching your arms out and letting out a sigh of contentment. You turn your head into his direction but close your eyes, even though you’re dying to see his reaction to you being topless but you are trying to play it cool, like it’s nothing.
Eddie peeks one eye open after listening to all your movement and he almost chokes on his spit when he does, jaw falling slack, both eyes shoot open as he takes in the sight of you, of the skin that wasn’t bare only seconds ago – how, when, what?
He blinks, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted as he is gawking at you, at the way your boobs are pressed against the towel beneath you, at the softness of your skin, at the single drops of water still clinging to your body that he wants to touch oh so badly, your hair looks so shiny and soft, your face so content as you lay half naked next to him.
Eddie’s cheeks heat up when he realizes that he would have seen you bare if only he opened his eyes a few seconds sooner. He licks his lips, nearly drooling over the sight of you. Suddenly, his trunks feel tighter than before when his mind takes him to places he only reserves for late nights when he is all alone and not afraid to risk to pop a boner.
He tries to look away, he really does but he can’t, not when you look this hot. He allows his eyes to roam again and it only makes his case worse, his breathing quickens, his skin heats up, his hands itch to touch your soft skin, his lips long to trail kisses down your body, to have a little taste of you.
If you were his, he would, he would start on your neck and he would kiss down to your shoulder and then your back, and he’d take it lower and lower until his lips would reach those skimpy panties, he’d take them off and taste you the way he always dreamed of, he’d lick a stripe up your pussy, suck on your clit, eat you out like the starved man that he is and he would get lost in your moans and your whines, in the pleasure that only he could make you feel.
Eddie clears his throat, he nearly curses when he feels his dick twitching in need of you. He clenches his jaw, even more so when he sees your lips twitching into a smirk. Oh… Oh.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, his breath halting for a moment when he realizes what you did, you did this on purpose, you aimed to tease him.
It’s not exactly something new, you being a tease but you have never taken things this far, you have never stepped up to his level.
But now that you did… he can take things further as well, right?
If you decide to tease him like this, then he will tease right back.
He pushes himself up, adjusting his trunks, he nearly lets out a groan when you wiggle your butt a little, pretending to get more comfortable.
He bites his lip as he looks around in search for the sunscreen you have brought with you, he finds the bottle peeking out of your bag. He presses his palm on the grass beneath him, leaning over your body to reach for the yellow bottle.
“What’re you doing, Eds?” You murmur, rather seductively
A smirk tugs at Eddie’s lips, the tone in your voice tells him that you believe you are in charge here and… maybe you are, right now, but he won’t let you win so easily.
He chuckles lowly when a gasp tears from your pretty lips after he squirts the cold cream on your back.
“Don’t want you to get burned, sweetheart,” he whispers, closing the cap of the bottle, he throws it on the ground before he lays his palms flat against your hot skin, spreading the white cream all over your back.
You grow flustered and you start blushing, your breathing gets heavier and you visibly gulp when he starts massaging the sunscreen into your skin. You suck in a sharp breath when his hands move up to your shoulders, gripping you there for a moment before he moves back down, the coldness of his rings making you shudder a little.
Eddie can’t even hide the smug look on his face after feeling your reaction, pride swelling in his chest when you sigh so beautifully because of his touch.
You easily get lost in this, eyelashes fluttering, soft breaths and sighs falling from your lips as his strong hands move up and down your skin, touching you in ways that make you squirm beneath him.
“Feels good,” you whisper as you arch your back a little, not knowing that just a small movement like this is enough to drive him insane, once again.
“Fuck,” he curses softly under his breath, he swallows harshly.
“What was that?” You ask, not hiding the smugness in your voice, very well.
“Nothing,” he lies, “nothing, sweets.”
“You sure?”
He hums, shaking his head at your teasing, at the way you think that you will win the game that he started.
Eddie moves his hands down to your sides, making sure to get the cream everywhere, so you won’t get burned, of course. His fingers dip dangerously low to the side of your boobs, and while it was only meant to tease you, to get a reaction out of you, he realizes that it was a mistake, only a little too late – it only makes his case worse when he feels just how soft and smooth your skin is that is usually hidden under all your clothes, when he feels himself craving to touch a little lower, to feel more of you, to make you feel–
“Mmmh.”
Eddie freezes, hands halting at your sides, his big brown eyes widen and his lips part once again, he stares at the back of your head, stunned.
You moaned at his touch, whimpered even, making those butterflies in his stomach feel stronger than ever.
“Why’d you stop?” You mumble, wiggling your butt as though to tell him to keep going.
Do you even know the power you hold over him?
Do you even understand what you do to him?
Eddie bites his lip, he bites hard, hard enough to taste iron. He sucks in a sharp breath, biting back the growl that threatens to fall from his mouth when he adjusts behind you, the rough material of his swim trunks rubbing against his dick. He is fucking rock hard and if you only turned around to take a look at him, you would see it.
“I’m sorry, got a little distracted,” he says lowly, voice getting a little shaky.
He feels so hot, and it’s not the sun that is making him sweat, it’s all you.
He can see the way your lip twitches, the way your dimple shows when you smirk at his words.
“Oh? By what, the birds?” You giggle.
He chuckles, shaking his head at your question even though your eyes are still closed. He takes a moment to look at your surroundings, at the beautiful scenery, the trees and the big lake in front of Steve’s cabin – well, his parents cabin.
God, he wonders where this weekend will take him, you and him.
A weekend you were both supposed to spend with your friends, turned into this. Just you and him, and no one else.
It’s only day one, and you are already close to making him cum in his swim trunks, like some pathetic teenage boy who couldn’t handle his crush’s teasing or touching.
This will either be the best weekend of his life, or this might kill him – if you are only teasing, then this will surely kill him but if you are not, then he owes your friends a lot, for pretending to be sick or busy. He knows that they were lying when Robin fake coughed on the phone after telling him that she couldn’t make it, that she and Steve couldn’t make it, cause he got sick too… apparently.
And Nancy forgot that she promised to help her mom with something, and if Nancy couldn’t come, then Jonathan couldn’t either of course – which led to Argyle staying back as well, cause where would he ever go without his best buddy?
Eddie looks back down at you, at his best friend, who is laying half naked before him so comfortably, teasing him so freely. Another sigh escapes your lips and you squirm beneath him once again.
Yeah, no matter how this will end, you will be the death of him.
“Yeah, the birds,” he mumbles, snorting at his own words.
He leans down closer to you, squeezing your sides which makes you jolt a little, a giggle falling from your lips.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, eyes lighting up at the sweet sound, “I forgot how ticklish you are,” he teases, as if.
“Mhmm sure you did, Eddie.”
With a mischievous smile, he decides to take his teasing further, playfully digging his fingers into your waist, he begins to tickle you, making you yelp and jolt in surprise as you start squirming beneath his touch, giggles now falling freely from your mouth as his name rolls off your tongue so effortlessly, awakening those butterflies in his stomach. God, he wishes he could make you call out his name in different ways.
You jump up, with your arms covering your front, one hand pressing against your boobs, hiding only just a little as you turn to face your best friend. You watch the way his eyes widen as they instantly fall to your chest, lust flashing in them, jaw dropping as his cheeks redden right this second, his expression makes you giggle even harder, even more so when you push him back and he falls onto the grass, flat on his butt, wet curls hanging in front of his hair.
Eddie is so stunned by you, he can barely move as he stares at you, at your half naked form. God, you are so beautiful it hurts.
The afternoon sun begins to turn golden, kissing your glowy skin and all your curves, your hair cascades down your shoulders, your hand that barely hides anything pressing against your boobs, he wishes it was his own. Licking his lips, he pushes himself up on his elbows, letting his eyes roam your body, shamelessly, dreaming about the way he would love to get between those delicious looking thighs of yours, the way he’d kiss every inch of your body, leaving no trace unmarked, the way he would nuzzle his nose into your neck and inhale your sweet scent, not playfully the way he usually does, but with a trail of kisses that he would leave behind.
He would worship you in ways he can’t even begin to describe. Oh, how often Eddie finds himself up at night, working on yet another song about you, thinking of words that haven’t been created yet, strong enough to describe you.
He feels uncomfortable in his swim trunks that are getting a little too tight, his skin feels on fire, not from the sun but from you. He lusts after you, yes, but there is also more than that, so much more. It isn’t just the lust that makes these feelings so intense, it’s all his deepest feelings for you, feelings that only his notebook filled with song texts know about… and maybe your friends, who aren’t as oblivious as you are.
“I’m gonna take a shower, and you should too,” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts.
Eddie clears his throat, watching you get up, not bothering to pick up your top or your dress that you wore earlier, you simply keep your chest hidden by your right arm.
“You’re helping me cook dinner,” you give him a pointed look before you turn around and begin to walk back to the house.
Eddie smiles cheekily as he pushes himself up further, eyes glued to your butt now.
“Are you telling me to get into the shower with you?” He calls after you, unaware of the butterflies that he caused in your stomach now.
You don’t turn around, you keep walking, hiding the flustered expression on your face from him. You flip him off without looking back, biting back your smile when he laughs loudly.
Eddie watches, craning his neck to see more of you, the way your butt jiggles as you skip up the stairs. He bites his lip, groaning at the sight of it.
“Goddamn.”
You will be the death of him.
-
It’s dark outside by the time Eddie comes out of the steamy bathroom, the cabin is mostly dark too, candles illuminate the living room and the sound of music fills the space. A smile lingers on his face as he makes his way down the hallway, his wet curls bouncing with each step that he takes, he throws on a clean shirt, his gray sweatpants hang low on his hips.
A groan almost falls from his lips when he walks into the kitchen to you standing there in nothing but one of his shirts, now that sight is nothing new to him but it never fails to take his breath away, though usually you have on more than just the shirt. Your bare legs are glowy beneath the dim lights, from hours in the sun and that delicious smelling cream you always put on your skin after showering, you sway your hips to the music, shirt riding up in the process. Eddie can’t help but wonder if you are wearing any panties at all beneath his shirt. Fuck. He shouldn’t let his mind go there, you have done enough teasing for the day, he almost jerked off in the shower and maybe he should have, maybe that would have released some of the tension in him but he wouldn’t have been able to stay quiet, he never is.
God, this really will be a long weekend filled with torture and teasing. He knows he should probably stop playing this dangerous game but he just can’t help but play into it.
He slowly makes his way to you, you’re humming to the music, knife held in your hand as you cut up vegetables, an opened bottle of beer on the counter before you, your damp hair is braided loosely, falling down your back. He can smell your body wash from here, the sweetness of it – of you is so intoxicating to him, he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around your waist, pull you into him and bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhale your scent and kissing your soft skin, he craves it so very badly, even more so, he craves for it to be something normal.
Eddie wants you to be more than just his best friend.
Everybody knows it, everybody but you.
And maybe it’s better this way, maybe he would lose you if you did find out.
You might be a tease, you might let him touch you in ways no one else is allowed to, you might give him hope sometimes, the hope that you could feel more than just something platonic for him but at the end of the day you are still best friends and he can’t lose that, especially not because he can’t control his feelings.
Because what happens when you do find out and you don’t feel the same?
What happens then?
What happens if it drives you away?
What happens if he loses you?
And he can’t allow that to happen, he can’t lose you, not you, anyone but you.
Eddie knows he should do himself a favor and stop being so touchy and affectionate with you, it does him no good, if anything, it makes him want you even more but he can’t help it, he has to take what he can get… right?
He comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist, he breathes in your sweetness, chuckling when you tense up for a second before a cute giggle falls from your lips.
“You scared me,” you whisper, tilting your head back, you look up at him as you ease into his touch.
“Sorry sweets, didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, teasing you with that pretty smile of his as he snatches a piece of the cucumber you’ve been cutting and bites into it, winking at you as he steps away again and takes a look into the large pot on the stove.
“Pasta?”
“Pasta Arrabiata,” you say, imitating the Italian accent that Steve always makes whenever he is cooking.
Eddie chuckles, “wow that was horrible.”
“Shut up,” you giggle, scrunching your nose at him.
If you knew how his heart flutters at your laughter and at your cute nose scrunches.
“Since when do we put cucumber in pasta?”
The disgusted look on your face makes him laugh again, he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes you up and down.
“I’m also making a salad, it’s for you, you need to eat more veggies.”
His lips curl into yet another smile, warmth blooms in his chest.
You take care of him, you always do. From making sure that he eats enough when he gets a little too lost in writing songs or working on campaigns to making sure that he wears a hat and a scarf when it’s cold outside, whether it’s something small or big, you are always there to look after him, you’ve always been there.
“Alright, I’m eating the greens just for you, sweets.”
He licks his lips as he eyes every inch of your exposed skin, tracing your soft features with the longing look in his brown eyes. The way his shirt looks on your body, the way your hair falls in front of your eyes despite you tucking it behind your ear just moments ago, the way you bite your lower up as you give him a disapproving look.
“No,” you shake your head, pointing your knife at him, “you gotta eat them for yourself.”
“Are you threatening me?” He smirks, closing the gap between you both again, you instantly lower the knife and place it on the counter.
You shrug, teasing him with a sweet smile, “what if I am?”
Eddie licks his lips, inching closer and closer to you, a smile tugs at his mouth, he hums as he raises his hand up to your face, combing his fingers through your wet hair before he tucks the fallen pieces behind your ear again.
He is unaware of the effect he has on you, of the fluttering in your chest, of the burning in your skin, of the shaky breaths you suck in.
“Then I think that’s really hot,” he winks at you as he moves his hand down your neck and then your shoulder, sliding it down along your spine, lower and lower until he’s holding your hip and pressing himself against you as he moves onto your other side, slower than necessary.
Your lips part in surprise, every trace that he has touched starts to burn, your knees grow weak and your heart starts beating faster – how much longer can you deny the emotions he causes inside you?
“So, how can I help?”
He is teasing you, you can hear it in his voice, and you don’t have to turn around to face him to know that there is a smirk on his face.
“Set the table, pick a movie to watch later, dinner is almost ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs into your ear before he walks away without another word, giving you a moment to take a few deep breaths.
You take a sip of your cold beer, closing your eyes for a moment, you listen to your beating heart, you feel the goosebumps on your skin, you feel the rush of blood to your cheeks, the weakness you feel for your best friend.
How much longer can you deny what is really inside of you, that it’s not just physical attraction?
Your heart flutters when his deep voice sounds through the dining room as he sings along to the music, your lips curl into an adoring smile. You can hear him rummaging through the drawers, trying to find the table cloth you assume.
Picking up the knife again, you continue chopping your vegetables, finishing up on your salad, though you quickly get lost in this… domestic energy you both have created. It feels so warm, so safe, so familiar. A feeling you can’t imagine sharing with anyone other than your Eddie.
He comes back into the kitchen, humming, he grabs two plates and cutlery and places them on the counter before he passes by you, without a teasing smile or comment, he places his hand on your lower back, he reaches over your shoulder to retrieve two wine glasses from the shelf and steps away again, leaving the kitchen once more.
It all feels so natural, so normal and yet, it makes you struggle to breathe because the butterflies in your stomach go wild – just the way they always do, but now it becomes harder and harder to not pay attention to them.
You take another deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, to push aside your feelings, to keep doing what you did before… be unaware of what is buried deep within your heart. So, you move along and distract yourself with finishing cooking dinner, not allowing your mind to take you further into this pit of hell as you call it, because that’s what love and feelings are, hell.
There is no good in love, there is no peace in having feelings.
It’s a rollercoaster ride that ends no matter how long it lasts, pleasant or not, it ends.
And you refuse to let feelings get in the way of yours and Eddie’s friendship, he means too much to you to risk taking a step further into something that your stupid heart desires, you love him too much to let your lingering feelings ruin what you both have, besides… who is to say that he could feel something for you?
You are his best friend and he is yours, that’s all you’ve ever been and it’s all you’ll ever be, best friends, nothing more or less, best friends who are affectionate with one another, who tease each other, who sleep in each other’s arms and do things that other best friend’s might not do… Though when you step into the dining room with the heavy pot in your hands, you halt in your tracks, freezing at the sight before you.
The table is set but not like usual, it makes you struggle to keep pushing away those feelings that have been sneaking their way to the surface because why did he place the plates so close to each other when the table is so big? And why did he place candles on the table and light them up instead of keeping the lights on? And why did he change the channel on the radio? Why is slow music playing instead of the rock channel he usually settles for when there is no better option for him?
You can handle his teasing, you can handle his touching, his flirting, his suggestive comments and looks he gives you so often.
But this is something else, this is something that would have normally made you run, a table set up so romantically, a dinner that seems to become something intimate. Yeah, if someone else had set this up, you would’ve definitely ran, you would’ve felt anxious, suffocated.
Those feelings don’t exist with him though, it’s quite the opposite, even with the lingering fear inside of you for what you feel for him. You feel giddy.
“Picked the movie, sweets,” Eddie calls from the living room, snapping you out of your troubled thoughts. He enters the room with a grin on his face.
You clear your throat and finally take the final steps to the table, putting down the pot in the middle, you glance at your best friend.
“Yeah? What’d you pick?”
“Something neither of us have seen yet,” he winks at you, moving closer and closer until he is right in front of you again. He grabs the chair and pulls it back, gazing down at you with his dark eyes, “sit.”
“I gotta get the rest of the food–”
“I’ll get it, now sit down, princess,” he murmurs.
Whenever his voice gets so low, your knees feel like they’ll buckle at any moment, shivers run down your spine and your cheeks grow hot.
“Alright,” you chuckle, plopping down on the wooden chair, you gaze up at your best friend, batting your eyelashes at him.
Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, there is not much you have to do to drive him crazy.
“Smells really good in here,” he comments, the mouth watering smell of pasta sauce and garlic bread makes his stomach growl.
“Thanks Eds, now get the rest of the food before it gets cold.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he winks at you, squeezing your shoulder before he turns around and makes his way out of the room and into the kitchen.
You take a deep breath when he’s gone, rolling your shoulders and trying to calm your nerves, your heart is racing and it makes you feel ridiculous. You are here with Eddie, your best friend, Eddie. You got nothing to feel nervous about, you’ve been here plenty of times before, at dinner alone with him… though, it was never like this, you never had candle light dinners with slow music playing in the back. And his touches, his smiles, his voice never drove you this crazy before, he never made your heart flutter, his hands never made your skin feel hot, he never made you feel like you’d fall to the ground because your knees felt like jelly, he never made you feel those things before until recently… or did he?
“I’m starving,” Eddie says dramatically as he places the salad bowl and the garlic bread on the table. Before he takes a seat, he opens the wine bottle and reaches for your glass, he glances at you as he starts pouring it in your glass, he notices your flushed cheeks and how fidgety you are in your seat as you eye him up and down, it makes his heart flutter.
“We can’t have that,” you chuckle, reaching for his plate, you start filling it with salad first to which he protests, claiming that it will only make him starve even more. “You need some healthy food!”
“Not too much of it though,” he shakes his head as he lifts the lid of the pot, inhaling with a smile on his face, “I need that.”
Your giggle makes his smile widen.
“Alright.”
“You know I love your pasta,” he grins as he watches you fill the plate.
“That’s Steve’s pasta,” you chuckle.
“Nah, that’s his recipe, you cooked it,” he retorts, tilting his head to the side, “besides, you do it better.”
Warmth fills your chest and your cheeks, your smile gets even bigger now.
“Don’t tell him that! He’ll be distraught!”
“Don’t worry, it’s our secret,” he mumbles with a grin on his face as he finally takes the seat across from you, taking the plate from your hands when you hand it to him with a soft ‘thank you’.
He waits for you to fill your own plate before he picks up the fork or even takes a sip of the wine you picked when you went grocery shopping together this morning. He leans back and takes a look around, your surroundings are so different than usual, so unlike the small apartment he recently moved into where you eat your dinners at his tiny kitchen table. He appreciates the home cooked meals you always bless him with and the way you always want to take care of him, it makes him feel warm, it makes him feel safe.
Eddie wants to do the same for you, he wants to make you feel the way you make him feel but he believes that he can’t measure up, that he can’t give you what you give him, that he can’t provide you the same feeling of safety or warmth and maybe that is the sole reason why he hasn’t made a move on you yet, not because he is scared of ruining your friendship – god, he wants to ruin it so bad. But because you deserve more than he can give you, you deserve this, a big house with a stupid fireplace, a big garden, stability, someone who can take care of you, someone who can give you more than a small, shitty apartment, someone who can give you more than just the flowers he gives you or the pastries he brings you when you’re taking your lunch breaks at work.
Yeah, your friendship is very precious to him, he is scared of losing you, every goddamn day he wonders if this will be the day where you don’t show up for him but it isn’t the reason for his lack of effort in fighting for what he actually wants, it’s the fact that he believes that you deserve better than him, someone less like him, someone more like… Steve.
So he settles for loving you from afar, he tries to spoil you, he tries as best as he can. He teases you whenever he gets the chance to, he becomes giddy when you react to it, when you blush and giggle or even tease him back the way you did today, it sparks something in him, maybe it’s confidence or maybe just an illusion that you could feel the same, whatever it is, he basks in the feeling in those moments.
His eyes soften and the beating of his heart becomes stronger as he watches you, the way you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, the way your beautiful eyes shine in the dim light, the light flush in your cheeks making you look so damn cute, the way your smile only widens when you glance at him, a small huff falling from your mouth.
“What are you looking at?” You tease, putting down your plate before you.
You.
He always looks at you.
Eddie knows he won’t have this forever, someday you will meet someone who will give you everything that he wishes he could, someday he won’t be the one sitting across from you enjoying your dinner, someday he won’t be the one in your life.
“At your shirt, is it new… or?” He teases, acting like he didn’t just get lost in his head, thinking of your future that he might not be a part of.
You look down at his shirt, smiling proudly, you stole it from him the last time you stayed over, “mhm got it from this store called the drawer.”
Eddie snorts, though he adores the look on your face, “you’re so lame, the drawer? Really?”
“Mhmm,” you nod, picking up the fork you start eating happily.
“Who sold it to you?” Eddie asks, squinting his eyes at you.
“Oh, this uh… really handsome guy, said he’s in a band, corroded coffin?” You raise your brow, pretending to think. “Yeah, that’s what it was.”
Eddie’s stomach flips in excitement at the compliment. You’ve called him handsome plenty of times before, but it never fails to make him blush.
“Damn, he sounds really cool,” Eddie says, laughing.
You nod, a serious and adoring look now flashing in your features, no hint of amusement behind those eyes, no teasing, just pure adoration for him, “he is, he is the coolest actually.”
He gets flustered easily when he’s with you but when you look at him like this, with that sweet smile and those soft eyes, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to say or how to act, so he hides his face by looking down at the delicious food in front of him, a sheepish smile resting on his face, one that makes your own even bigger. He finally takes a bite of the pasta and his eyes instantly close as he moans at the taste of it, making you giggle yet again.
“Fuck me, yeah I’m sorry sweets, but I ain’t letting you get married, you’re stuck with me,” he jokes as he takes another bite, completely forgetting about all the anxious thoughts that swirled in his mind just moments ago.
“Oh, you mean I’m stuck being your private chef?”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
You raise your eyebrows at him, chewing on the garlic bread slowly, you try to ignore the heat building up in your stomach as you look into his chocolate eyes, waiting for him to say that word.
“Oh, then what would you call it?”
Eddie looks at you through hooded eyes, a teasing smirk tugging at his plump lips.
“Housewife.”
A surprised giggle falls from your lips, though your cheeks start burning, especially under his gaze. Something tugs at your chest, something strong, something warm. Housewife. You never craved to be that, you never had such desires. Sure, you always dreamed of finding the one, finding true love, finding someone who will love you the way you can love, the way you always wished to love but that’s it, you never imagined yourself past the dating stage, you never daydreamed of weddings and a husband, you never thought of becoming a wife, a housewife at that but… when you think of yourself as that with Eddie by your side, with your best friend, with the one who had always been by your side through thick and thin, something in you beats a little stronger.
You clear your throat, lowering your gaze to his ringed fingers, you can’t help but let your mind take you to sacred places.
Eddie watches you intensely, eyes lighting up at the flustered state you are suddenly in, a state he only ever sees you in when he teases you with touches, with pick up lines, with his flirtations but never this. There is a little spark in him now, the sparkle of hope.
“Well that would make you my husband.” Your voice is shaky, filled with nerves and something else that he can’t decipher at this moment.
Oh, Eddie would put a ring on your fingers right this second.
He never really planned his future, he never really saw one, especially not one in which he would be happy with a wife and kids by his side but he would be lying if he said that he doesn’t want these things with you. You make him crave things that were never even a thought of his before he met you, you make him want to be that for you, a husband.
He doesn’t believe that he can give you what you want, what you need, what you deserve but he knows one thing for sure, if he was given the chance, he would make you so damn happy.
“Would that be so bad?”
You look up again and into his eyes, something in them is different now, something in the way he looks at you is so… intense and raw, there is a softness in them, one stronger than usual.
Would that be bad?
You shake your head before you can even come up with the right words to say, or with words you should say. Something has changed, perhaps a long time ago or just now, but you know one thing for sure, your heart never beat this strongly before and your hands never itched to touch his so badly.
You know the truth is hidden behind the walls you have put up, but that wall started crumbling a long time ago, long before you had the chance to even notice.
The energy in the room has shifted into something more… intimate and it’s not the candles or the music, it adds to it, but those aren’t the main reasons, it’s the energy you both have created, it’s the lingering touches, it’s his foot touching yours under the table, not playfully like usual, it’s different, it’s all so different but it’s good. A comfortable silence takes over the room as you continue eating and as the seconds and the minutes pass, and you both sip on your wines, pouring a second glass, you both get a little bolder when the alcohol hits you.
Your hands inch closer and closer to each other, your eye contact becomes a little more intense, making your breathing stutter and your heart skip several beats.
And when he is done with his food, he pushes his plate aside and leans his elbows on the table, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath and then, he brushes his fingertips against your own before he envelopes your hand fully, taking it into his large one.
You can’t describe the feelings rushing through you, he held your hand plenty of times before but until now, you never let yourself feel the rush of it, you never allowed yourself to pay attention to the electric feeling cursing through your veins but you allow it now, slowly… you allow it.
“They’re really missing out, aren’t they?” You speak the first words that come to your mind as you stare into your best friend's beautiful eyes.
Eddie looks around the dining room, shrugging when he looks back at you, his eyes roaming your face, his lips curl into a smile.
“I don’t know, I kinda like it just being the two of us, we never really get the chance to be alone like this.”
You nod in agreement, “that’s true, I like it too,” you murmur before you reach for your glass and take a big sip of wine.
“More wine and weed for us,” Eddie jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
You roll your eyes playfully, setting the glass back down, you tilt your head to the side, “speaking of weed, wanna roll us a joint?”
Eddie doesn’t want to let go of your hand just yet but he nods, he could use that relaxation anyways, maybe it will calm his nerves around you before he does something that he might end up regretting later on.
“Yeah, I’m gonna clean this up first.”
You shake your head, “no, I can do it–”
“Sweetheart,” Eddie says sternly, glaring at you, “I know I said housewife, I hope you know that doesn’t mean slave.”
You can’t help but giggle at the seriousness on his face or in his voice, “Eddie, I hope you know that that’s exactly what most men think of when they want a housewife.”
He frowns in disgust, scoffing at that, he begrudgingly lets go of your hand and pushes his chair back.
“Well, most men are pigs who don’t even deserve a wife in the first place,” he says, getting up, he glares at you and points at you to stay seated. “You don’t have to do all the work, you cook, I clean up, it’s simple.”
A smile graces your features, you tap the table before you reach for the wine bottle, pouring yourself a third glass, “well then, whatever you say, husband,” you giggle and get up as well, holding your hands up in surrender when he gives you a warning glance, “don’t worry, I won’t lift a finger, I’m gonna grab my wine and wait for you in the living room.”
“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs as he gathers the dirty plates, “sit your pretty ass down.”
You definitely feel the wine in your system now, that fuzzy feeling and the slight dizziness feels so welcoming though.
“Yes, sir.”
Before Eddie can stop his mouth from running, those words tumble out of his mouth just like that.
“Good girl.”
You nearly choke on your spit and trip over nothing, his words rush right to your core, your cheeks start burning hotter than before.
Good girl.
He called you a good girl, with that raspy, deep voice of his that never fails to make your insides crawl with need, that never fails to ring through your head when you’re in your bed with your hand between your thighs, imagining him and his voice calling you just that.
You don’t know how you manage to keep your composure but you do, only allowing a soft giggle to leave your lips as you continue your way out of the dining room and into the living room, you round the corner and rush to the big couch where he luckily can’t see you, your knees almost buckle before you can even take a seat.
You close your eyes and sigh out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Pressing a hand to your chest, you nearly gasp at the beating of your heart.
“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself.
Eddie will be the death of you, you are sure of it, if not tonight then tomorrow, and if not then, then on the last day of your trip.
The veil that was hiding all your truths was already being lifted when you were still in Hawkins, slowly everything was coming out, all the feelings you were denying, all the things you were so afraid of admitting, you lost control and power a long time ago. The moment Robin opened her eyes to what was there this whole time, the moment she confronted you about your feelings for him was the moment you could no longer hide. The veil is no longer there, it’s long gone and lost with the wind.
You run your fingers through your hair and lean back into the soft cushions, taking a big gulp of the red wine that will surely give you a headache tomorrow morning, you keep your eyes closed for a moment, you begin to curse her out in your head because all your reactions to his words and touches just now only confirmed all her beliefs.
Fuck Robin for saying all that shit to you that changed your feelings and opened your eyes completely, a month ago. Fuck her for telling you that you indeed have feelings for Eddie, for your best friend. Fuck her for making you start realizing it and be self conscious for it. Fuck her for making you feel scared of losing Eddie because of it.
“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, you open your eyes and look around the lightly dimmed room, you take in the sound of Eddie’s voice, of his humming to the music, of the way your heart flutters more and more.
You are so fucked.
You will ruin the friendship, you are sure of it.
If only you knew that this is exactly what he wants.
You keep yourself busy with your wine glass, staring into blank space as you continue letting your thoughts eat at you, letting the insecurities and the doubts creep in, when all you want to do is get lost in the feeling of what he gave to you at the dinner table, just moments ago.
You are so lost in your head, you don’t even notice the music being turned off, you don’t even hear his footsteps or his voice until he is standing right before you after throwing a bunch of different snacks on the coffee table.
“I know the munchies are gonna hit you,” your best friend chuckles as he finally sits down beside you, joint already between his fingers, lighter on the coffee table. He turns to you, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he offers you the joint.
Yeah, maybe this will help, maybe this will relax you enough to get a grip on yourself again, maybe this will stop you from doing something that will make you regret.
Your heart, your body, everything in you seems to be sick of living in denial though because before your mind can kill this moment, you are already moving forward, looking into his eyes, you lean down, closer and closer, you wrap your lips around the joint that is still snug between his fingers.
The widening of his eyes, the parting of his lips, snaps you out of whatever had possessed you, though not enough, not even in the slightest.
You raise your brows at him expectedly, waiting for him to light up the joint for you.
The flush in his cheeks, the rosy color taking over his face, his squirming makes satisfaction rush you.
You were teasing him all morning, all afternoon and every time you added one more, you wanted to risk more, but now things just have gotten out of hand, you got lost in your own little game and you let your feelings, your desires take full control of you.
Poor Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself as he looks down at you, if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his system, he would lose all composure and stutter like a little kid around his crush. He manages to reach for the lighter and he never looks away from your pretty eyes or your lips, or the shirt that keeps riding up on your thighs, a little more and more.
He lights the joint and he is surprised when you don’t look away, when your eyes stay locked with his and a satisfied moan escapes you – only worsening his case. You inhale deeply and furrow your eyebrows in concentration, a lazy smile spreads on your kissable lips and you lean back further after blowing out the smoke. You bring your knees up to your chest and hand him the joint.
“That’s nice,” you sigh out in pleasure, “I needed that.”
“You’re starting to sound like an addict,” Eddie smirks, hiding his blushing cheeks behind his curls as he takes the joint from your fingers and places it between his lips, unaware of the way you follow his every movement as he gets comfortable beside you, resting his feet on the table, he stretches his arm out and wraps it around the headrest behind you.
“What… movie did you pick out?” You ask him and he doesn’t even notice your stuttering or the way your eyes are glued to his exposed skin as his shirt rides up, exposing his happy trail.
Eddie shrugs, reaching for the remote, he glances at you, “I dunno, one of the movies Steve recommended we should watch.”
“Oh?”
“Mhmm,” He nods and presses play before he throws the remote on the coffee table, “let’s see how good his taste is.”
“You already know he loves the cheesy shit,” you laugh and scoot closer to him with your wine glass still in your hand, you’re searching for his warmth.
“Yeah, he does,” Eddie chuckles.
He lowers his gaze to your thighs, noticing the goosebumps on your skin, he puts the joint into the ashtray and he reaches for the knitted blanket thrown over the couch, he spreads it open and covers your legs with it, “don’t want you freezing, sweets,” he murmurs.
Your eyes soften for him, a smile spreading on your lips. You lean forward and place your wine glass on the coffee table and then you scoot closer to him and throw the blanket over his lap as well before you place your head on his chest, snuggling up against him with a content look on your face… beside the blushing on your cheeks.
Eddie wraps his arm around you without a second thought – this is nothing unusual for you, neither is the hand holding, or the sharing of clothes or the intimate touches but everything you do today, that you usually do as well, feels so different, it makes him nervous, it makes you nervous, it feels like the first time.
And when you place your hand above his heart, he grows anxious that you might feel just how strongly it’s beating for you, he is scared that you will figure out his feelings and that that will make you run, run from him.
“Your heart is racing,” you whisper softly, causing him to tense up a little but when you press your chin against his chest and you gaze up into his eyes, he feels a sense of calmness bleed through him, safety.
Eddie blinks, not knowing what to say without giving away the truth, without giving away just how much he wants to kiss you right now, how much he wants to make you his, how badly he wants to confess and get it off his chest.
“Is everything okay?” Your angelic voice makes him feel weak, the candle light makes you look so soft, your scent makes him feel drunk, his lips yearn to touch yours, his heart screams for you.
God, he really wants to kiss you so bad.
And he wants to kiss you even more when he sees the way your own eyes flicker between his lips, his neck and his eyes. He tightens his hold on you, prompting you to scoot even closer as you lean your warm body into his as your hand slips down to his stomach, your nails grazing the sliver of exposed skin on his stomach, he nearly whimpers at the feeling. You truly know how to drive him crazy.
“Yeah,” he whispers, lips curling into a smile, “everything is perfect.”
Almost perfect.
It would be perfect if he could just grab your face and smash his lips against yours, kissing you breathless.
You bite your lower lip as you keep staring up at him, you look as though you want to say something, your eyebrows pull together whenever you hold something back, whenever you desire to speak up about something – he doesn’t pressure you to talk though, he never does, he gives you time, as always.
His eyelashes flutter, his lips part in surprise when he watches you move closer to him, closer and closer until your lips are pressed against his jaw, you peck him once before you shyly pull away and bury your face in his chest, turning your attention back to the TV right as the movie begins to play and he is glad that you do, because his eyes widen the way they probably never did before and blood rushes to his cheeks, no doubt making him look like a tomato right now, his heart feels as though it will beat out of his chest at any moment.
You were teasing him this morning, you were very clear about that, the smirk and the smugness on your face gave it away every time but you are no longer teasing now, this is different, this is something else, this is something new.
Eddie swallows the lump in his throat and he takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly and shakily.
He wonders if you know the effect you have on him, he wonders if you know how he feels for you, he wonders if you know just what he would do for you.
“Pass me the joint?” He whispers, not recognizing his own voice due to how shaky it is.
You do as he asks, pulling away for just a second, you reach for the joint and hand it to him before you settle back comfortably against his chest, pressing your cheek tightly against it.
Despite the nervousness in him, he keeps his arm wrapped around you tightly, and he even takes it a little further, becoming a little bolder, he sneaks his hand under your shirt and lays his plat flatly against your warm back.
You sigh in contentment and curl further into him, welcoming the touch of his hand, especially when he starts rubbing up and down.
“That feels so nice,” you murmur, moaning softly, “don’t stop, Eddie.”
Of course it wasn’t the greatest move to make, of course it would backfire, of course he would be the one with the problem. It’s already not helping that you’re almost fully on top of him, hand underneath his shirt as your nails scratch against his skin and now you are moaning because of him.
He places the joint between his lips and takes a long drag, needing it desperately.
“Your hands always feel so nice, Eds.” The words tumble fall from your lips just like that, like you no longer find yourself caring about the consequences of your words or your actions, maybe it’s the alcohol and the weed in your system that makes you so careless and bold, or maybe it’s the reassuring touch of your best friend that gives you the confidence to let you say what’s on your mind.
Eddie freezes, shocked he stares at the movie playing on the screen, his hand stops moving as well for a moment, he wonders if he really heard you right. You press against his hand again, wanting more.
“And you don’t know what they can do, sweets,” he rasps into your ear, confidently and like he isn’t losing his mind over you.
A whimper sounds through the room, your whimper. You try to conceal it by coughing into your hand but he heard it, and he felt how you tensed up at his words.
He swallows harshly, squirming beneath you, he tries his hardest to hold back that growl. His hand slips from under your shirt and down to your thigh when you lean forward to reach for the joint in the ashtray.
“Rolling good joints?” You murmur, trying to hide your nervousness and how flustered you really are.
Eddie can’t help but snort, mumbling a soft ‘sure’ to your question.
Despite the tension in the room and your unwanted awkwardness, time keeps passing and the night goes on, the movie continues playing, moving into a direction that neither of you expected at the start of it – what begins with an innocent scene of the beautiful lead getting ready for her date with the guy she is keeping a secret, develops into something different, something more, something that should not have the effect on you that it does right now but when they start kissing in his car, slowly and sensually at first, her fingers buried in his long hair as his slip under her shirt, you can’t help but bite your lip. Your skin grows hot, your thighs clench together, your grip on his shirt tightens as your mind flips this scene into you kissing Eddie in his car.
The wine was supposed to help, the weed too, but neither of them did, neither of them managed to give you the calming effect that you were hoping for, if anything both only heightened your senses and intensified absolutely everything in you, because suddenly, his body feels so much closer, his cologne so much more intoxicating than usual, his touch heating your skin on fire, his breath on your skin tickles you and those evil thoughts in your head make you wonder what it would feel like to feel his breath elsewhere, to feel his lips on your skin and his hands holding you tightly, keeping you in place as his lips touch parts of you only your hands did before.
Your heart starts beating faster and you begin to lose composure, the rational voice in your head is gone for good, desire and need taking over now, a confidence you didn’t know you had rushing through you as you move your leg, pressing the heel of your foot against his shin.
And while you are getting bolder, Eddie is trying his best to stay calm, to not act upon his feelings and ruin the one good thing in his life, despite the clear signs you are currently giving, he makes no move, even when he wants nothing more but to bury his face in your neck and suck on your skin until you are marked up by him. The smell of your perfume drives him insane, the feeling of your skin pressed against his makes his stomach flutter with no end near in sight, his heart hasn’t stopped racing yet.
The blanket slips from your lower half, his shirt has ridden up on your body, revealing the panties you are wearing, the black lace resting so perfectly on your soft skin. He clenches his jaw at the sight of it, biting back the moan that wants to fall off his lips so badly.
Something else flutters now, not just his heart or those butterflies in his stomach and it makes him so uncomfortable because he won’t be able to hide it, not right now.
Soft moans fill the living room, along with the sounds of lips smacking together. You bite your lip even harder, hold onto him even tighter as your eyes stay glued to the screen, watching intently as the couple undresses each other slowly, their hands becoming more and more desperate on each other, whimpers getting louder.
You are so lost in it, you let your body move on its own, your foot continues to slide up his shin and his knee, hip angling as you twist your body further into him. As the scene gets more and more intense, the thoughts in your head do too.
The coil in your stomach grows, burning hotly, you are throbbing between your legs, growing wetter and wetter each passing second as you imagine yourself moaning like the girl on the TV – moaning for him, with him.
Eddie is frozen in place, stunned at everything that is happening this very moment, not only is the scene very erotic but the moves you are pulling now are just about enough for him to get hard – and he can’t exactly conceal anything, not when he is wearing grey sweatpants and you are tightly pressed against him.
Do you even know what you are doing to him?
When Eddie shifts beneath you and his fingers dig deeper into your skin, you lower your head and tear your eyes from the screen to his lap and your mouth waters in an instant, eyes growing wide and the burning in your stomach only worsens.
“Got a problem there, Eds?” You blurt out as you stare at the very prominent bulge.
He wants to crawl under the blanket and hide his flustered face but instead he rolls his eyes, trying to act cool, averting his gaze from you and back to the screen, pretending that it’s the girl in the movie that caused this.
“I am just a man, leave me alone…”
A giggle escapes you, and you look up at your best friend to find him blushing furiously. His long lashes kissing his skin every time he blinks, his dark eyes shine so prettily, his lips are just so… so kissable. His neck is so perfect to be marked up by you. His dark hair cascading down to his shoulders so perfectly, but you want to make a mess of him.
“Aw, poor man,” you tease him before you finally let go of any doubts, of any fears or anxious thoughts, you grab the joint from between his fingers and put it back on the ashtray and then, you lean back to him and do something that you always craved to do, you press your lips against his jaw, kissing him.
His lips part in surprise, heart stopping for a moment, he stares into blank space now as you repeat the motion, pressing your lips against his skin again and again, humming in contentment.
His legs feel like jelly and if he wasn’t sitting down already, he surely would’ve felt his knees buckle at this electric touch. Words can’t describe the feeling of this, of you. He imagined this so many times, your lips on his skin, just the imagination of it had him feeling giddy but this, he can’t even function.
You move closer and closer, your hand finding the chain around his neck, your breath kissing his skin, you gaze up at him with those pretty eyes that could make him do anything you would ask for.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing…?” He finds his voice again.
You shrug, looking at him innocently, “I don’t know, I just want to kiss your face, is that so bad?” You ask before you lean in again, not waiting for an answer from him, you press your lips back against his jaw, finger hooked around his chain and your other hand moving from his chest and up to his hair, giving it a slight pull.
Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, the soft smile that rested on his features before slowly falling now. He clenches his jaw when you kiss it again and again, his heart races like crazy now, the feelings in him, the love he feels for you bursting in him as he finally gets a taste of what things could be like if you were his girl.
You light up a fire in him, but make him weak at the same time, you make him feel safe but he also burns for you, he desires you in ways he wasn’t even aware existed, only a taste of this, of you, could kill him because if he can’t have you again after having you once, he surely will die slowly and torturously as he forever will be reminded of this, of what could be.
He breathes in shakily as his hands fall to your waist, gripping you tighter than ever before, it takes everything in him not to grab your face and kiss you senseless but it takes even more to stop you.
He wants this, he wants you so bad, he wants to keep feeling your lips, your touch, you.
But what is this to you?
His hand moves up to the back of your neck, he wraps his fingers around it, pulling you away softly with a deep inhale.
“Don’t do this to me now, darling,” he whispers weakly, not caring about how vulnerable he sounds, how vulnerable he must look right now.
You ignore his pleading, and you move closer again, straddling his thigh as you wrap your arms around his neck, you look into his eyes as you inch closer and closer to him, no longer caring about anything. You kiss his cheek softly and then the other, noting the soft sigh falling from his lips, the grip of his hand on you becoming tighter and stronger.
Eddie is breathing heavily now, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself as your lips are so close to his own.
“You’re killing me here, sweetheart,” he whispers.
You pull back to look at him, taking in the intense emotions flashing in his eyes as he stares at you with nothing but hunger, his eyes flicking back and forth between your lips and your neck.
“Why?” You whisper innocently as you lean in again and without thinking, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth.
Eddie’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, a curse word falls from his lips as he clenches his jaw again.
“Because I’m trying to hold back.”
“Who says I want you to?” You ask softly and he opens his eyes again, tilting his head to the side, he furrows his brows at you.
“Don’t do this to me, baby, you know how bad I–”
The brush of your knee against his bulge as you throw your leg over his thigh completely leaves the words stuck in his throat, you straddle him the way you only ever did in his dreams.
“How bad you what?” You whisper as you slowly lean your forehead against his, letting your lips brush against his own as you gaze into his eyes.
You can see the way he is holding back from doing what he wants, what you both want, so you give him a little push. You nuzzle your nose against his, giving him that soft look that gets you anything you want, that makes him weak.
If only you knew just the feelings you cause inside of him.
Eddie takes a deep breath, he shuts down all the racing thoughts in his head and finally, he cups your cheeks, holding your face gently.
“Oh, fuck me,” he whispers and smashes his lips against yours, kissing you finally. He pushes all his fears and his insecurities aside, not wanting to dwell on them any longer, not wanting to think of them now when he gets the chance to do this and your whimper, that needy little sound that comes from you when you kiss him back only fuels his need to kiss you harder and deeper.
You press yourself against him, wrapping your arms around him tightly, you bury your fingers into his curls, taking a fistful of his hair as you move your lips against his, slowly at first. You get so lost in it, loving the way it feels to kiss his lips, to kiss your best friend. It’s everything and more than you imagined it to feel like, it feels so perfect, so right, so safe. You let yourself fall into him, melting into his embrace as his hands move down to your waist, holding you tightly the way you do to him.
The sound of your sighs and moans, lips smacking and the movie still playing in the back, whimpers coming from the girl on the TV makes it all a little more intense, because the burning in your thighs becomes unbearable, the feeling of his tongue brushing against your lower lip as he pushes you down against his bulge has you aching and yearning.
To Eddie this feels like a dream, like it’s something not real, not even close to being real because this is something that only ever lived in his mind, whether he was just thinking about you at work, while writing songs, while sitting next to you or while getting off in the middle of the night, this was only ever a dream but now it isn’t. The kiss is real, your moans are real, your body is truly pressed against his, you are sitting right on top of him, slowly dragging your hips along his aching dick and it feels so fucking good, better than he could ever even dream of.
Everything in him burns for you, his heart, his soul, every cell, every organ, you are like a drug to him that he was already addicted to before he even tried it, but now? He is gone forever. A kiss that could lead to nothing, that could only stay this, a kiss, perhaps a mistake for you that you will regret come morning, enough to break him.
What is it gonna be? The kiss that will lead to the start of something his heart screamed for since the very beginning? Or will this be his kiss of death?
He has to be sure, he needs to be sure so he pulls away, begrudgingly so, he pulls away from the kiss that he never wants to stop, breathlessly, he opens his eyes to look at you for the first time after this change between you both but you are not having it, leaning in with a whine, you peck his lips again, making his heart flutter.
“Baby–” You cut him off by kissing him again, desperately and he once again has to pull away reluctantly.
“Baby, hear me out first, fuck–” he groans when you peck his lips again, whining at him in a way that has him clenching his jaw but this time, he cups your cheeks and pulls you away from him and you finally open your eyes and look at him, pouting at him with a needy look on your face. Fuck. “Fucking hell, wait– you need to tell me if you really want this or if its the alcohol and the weed talking.”
You shake your head wildly, grabbing his wrists as you lean closer again, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his chin and finally his lips again, the way you always desired to, the way you always dreamed of, the way you always denied yourself of it when it’s all you ever wanted.
“Is it the alcohol and the weed talking for you?” You murmur against his lips, looking at him through hooded eyes.
With a frown he shakes his head, “fuck no, I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart, you have no idea for how long.” He admits openly, not caring about being vulnerable right now, about admitting his feelings for you – the friendship is ruined now.
Your lips twitch, eyes shining with nothing but love for him, for your best friend, your heart bursts in your chest, everything in you calms down yet screams in joy. You can see the anxiety in his eyes, the fear that lingers within him, you want to take it.
“Good, then we’re on the same page,” you whisper happily, nuzzling your nose against his.
Eddie blinks, staring at you, stunned. A shaky breath falls from his lips, his heart has stopped beating for a moment, the world has stopped moving, time has stopped. He had dreamed of this for so long, fantasized about what it would feel like to kiss you, to touch you, to hold you, to love on you but he had never thought of this, simply because he never thought it would happen, that it would be a possibility, you feeling the same. He thought he was doomed, cursed to spend his life loving you from afar and watching you slip through his fingers as the years would pass, he would love you while you would love someone else, while you would build a life with someone else, he would stay your best friend, the obsessed, lovesick best friend who would never move on, the best friend who would choose you over and over again even if he was given the chance to be loved by someone else, he would never love anyone the way he loves you, his heart belongs to you, fully. He is yours, he had always been yours but he never thought that you could be his, no matter how many nights he spent wishing for it. Life had never been kind to him so why would it grant him the highest wish he has? And yet, here you are, looking at him as though he hung the stars and the moon, as though he is the best thing that was ever created, like he is something pure, something beautiful, something worth loving. Have you always looked at him this way?
His eyes start burning as his heart starts beating again, the warmth he felt because of you, turning into burning desire, the desire to claim you like he had always wanted to, to rip his heart from his chest and give it to you.
You whisper his name sweetly, grabbing his hand softly, you move it down your shoulder, your chest and finally placing it above your beating heart.
“All for you, baby.”
His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes flicker between your face and his hand, feeling the racing of your heart that matches the beat of his own. His eyes soften, love taking over the lust that was flashing in them just moments ago. He doesn’t know what to say, the words are stuck in his throat, he is speechless.
You can see it, you can see the shock in his eyes, he stares at you like he wonders if this is real or not. He is breathing heavily, blinking slowly, his lips part, cheeks flushing.
“Eddie–”
Suddenly, he moves forward and grabs your cheeks again, slamming his lips against yours roughly, desperately. He kisses you hotly, strongly, more intensely than he did before, like he is scared that you might slip away if he doesn’t do it this way.
You throw your arms around his neck again, whining needily into the kiss, you part his lips with your tongue and slip it into his mouth, deepening the kiss further as you grind your hips against him, making him moan against your lips as he holds you stronger, gripping you tightly as though he is scared that you will slip away if he doesn’t.
This kiss is much hungrier than the first, so much deeper and intense, it’s filled with a desperation that was pent up for a long, long time – not weeks or even months, but years. He waited for years for this, you can feel it and your heart races wildly for him. The need to show him just how much you want him too, how you reciprocate his love burns so deeply within you.
You grind your hips against his, feeling just how hard he is for you, the ache between your legs becomes worse, unbearable, and he can tell, he can feel by the way you move your hips, by the sounds of your needy whines.
Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself, never had he felt such desperation before, such an overwhelming amount of love. He feels stuck between wanting to cry out of pure happiness while making love to you and devouring you vigorously as he shows you just how much he needs, wants you.
His ringed fingers dig into your waist and he begins to push you off of him, guiding you down against the soft cushions without breaking the kiss, he groans against your lips when you spread your legs for him, tugging him on top of you before he can even do it himself. God, you truly want him just as much.
Eddie slides his hand up your body, cupping your cheek once more, he continues kissing you, clashing his tongue against yours, making you mewl as he takes control and grinds against you, a movement that tears out a different kind of sound in you, a whine so needy that it sends shockwaves through his body.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes against your lips heavily as he pulls away from the kiss and opens his eyes to reveal just how dark they are now.
You wrap your legs around his waist, causing your shirt to ride up in the process, your panties exposed to him now.
He clenches his jaw, trying to control himself but it’s becoming so hard when you are under him like this, looking up at him with those needy eyes as you grab each side of his neck, leaning up to kiss him, again and again, pecking his cheeks and his lips before you trail the kisses down to his jawline.
“I need you so bad, Eds,” you whisper into his skin, moving your hand down his shoulder and his arm, fingernails grazing his goosebump covered skin, you take his hand in yours and bring it back down to your body, placing it on your chest, “please?” You ask in desperation.
He takes a deep breath, making his heart flutter and his body burn when he grabs at your boobs for the very first time.
“Please what?” He murmurs as he presses you down again so he can latch his lips onto your jawline. “Tell me what you need, sweet girl. My fingers, my tongue… or my cock?” He surprises himself when those words fall off his lips when he doesn’t even know how to function at this moment.
You shut your eyes and bite your lip when he kisses down your neck, finding your sweet spot with no struggle, he starts sucking.
“Mmm, y-your fingers,” you whimper as you take his other free hand and guide it down your stomach slowly, “want your fingers, Eddie and then your cock.”
He could cum right here and there, he had dreamed of this too many times.
“Yeah?” He rasps against you, still kissing your neck, “you want me to fuck you with my fingers first?”
You nod wildly, bringing his hand down to your laced panties, you spread your legs further, grinding against him needily. You are so wet, having soaked through your panties already.
“I-I always think about you when I touch myself, I imagine it’s your fingers instead of mine,” you admit with burning cheeks.
Eddie opens his eyes widely, leaning back from your neck after marking it up, he looks at your blushing face.
“R-Really?” He stutters, though with a satisfied look on his face.
Through hooded eyes, you look at your best friend as you nod shyly, humming.
“Guess we got something in common then,” Eddie smirks as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, he pecks your lips as he slips his fingers down between your legs, finally, cupping your pussy, he presses against your wetness, growling at the feeling.
“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.”
“I always am for you!” You whine, desperately grinding against the heel of his hand.
His cock twitches at your words, stomach tensing up.
The thought that you might’ve been sitting next to him during movie nights, squirming because of him, waiting to go home so you could touch yourself while thinking of him drives him insane. If he had known… he could’ve done this way sooner.
Eddie pushes your panties aside, dipping his fingers through your folds, he makes both you and himself moan.
“Don’t tease,” you whimper, bucking your hips and pressing yourself against him as he teases your entrance.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Eddie says as he brings his digits up to your clit, “can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”
While the shocked look on his face and the disbelief is cute, you can tell what is going on – what went on in his head all this time that he thought that his feelings would never be reciprocated.
You grab his face and smash your lips against his again, kissing him just as roughly as he kissed you the second time, you try to show him, to make him feel what had been there all this time, and he welcomes it so happily, kissing you back right away while his fingers continue to move against your clit, teasingly at first, intensifying the aching inside of you. He licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours as he moans needily, getting lost in the feeling he had craved for so long.
His stomach flutters when you wrap one leg around his waist while rolling your hips, wanting and needing more, he can feel you getting wetter and wetter, moans getting louder, lips moving sloppier. He slips his fingers lower, dipping his middle finger into you slowly, inching it inside of you, pulling the neediest sounds out of you as you clench around him already.
“Fuck,” he mumbles against your mouth, “you’re so tight.”
“More!” You demand with a whine, making him chuckle.
“More huh? One finger not enough for you, sweets?” He asks to which you shake your head, furrowing your brows when he adds a second finger, scissoring them inside of you as he opens you up.
“No, I-I want more,” you whimper at the feeling of him splitting you open, preparing you for his dick, just the thought of it has you drooling already. “I need–” the words die on your tongue and you quickly forget what you even wanted to say when he starts fucking you in slow but deep movements.
“You need what, hmm?” He taunts you, unable to hide the satisfied smirk on his face as he watches you fall apart beneath him, losing your mind over just his fingers as your jaw falls slack and those sweet sounds begin to fill the room along with the squelching of your pussy. “God… You’re so fucking wet.” Eddie doesn’t even know what to do with himself, his heart is beating like crazy, his cock is aching in his grey sweats that feel way too tight by now, pre cum already leaking through the thick material, something he should feel embarrassed about, but he can’t, not when you look him up and down like you’re some hungry and feral animal in heat.
“All because of you, I’ve been wet all day!” You whine as you grab at his hair when he buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your skin as he covers you in love bites. He growls against you, loving those words a little too much.
His wrist starts moving faster, fingers splitting you open, he fucks them in and out of you.
“Do you fuck your tight little pussy like this too?”
Your brows are scrunched together so tightly, eyes rolling back when he curls them inside of you, hitting just the right spot to make you cry out.
“N-No! Not t-this good!”
You roll your hips against his hand, craving to feel him deeper. Your hands are all over him, his hair, his shoulders, his back, gripping at his shirt as you hold on for dear life while he sucks on your neck and fingerfucks your sopping pussy. The room is filled with such dirty sounds, something that should leave you a blushing mess, something that should leave your cheeks burning in embarrassment but you cannot bother to care, it just feels so good and Eddie fucking loves it.
He pulls back to look at you, to admire your face and those marks he left on you, proudly he looks down at you, a look of love, a look of lust flashing in his eyes. He watches the way you bite your lip, eyes open widely again, you admire him too. And then, you push yourself up on your elbow, pecking his lips before you look down at his hand, wanting to see, wanting to watch his fingers moving in and out of you.
“You like that, huh?” He mumbles as he presses his forehead against yours, “you like being fucked by your best friend like this?”
You whimper again, louder this time as you nod, clenching around his fingers so tightly that he can’t help but growl – how is he going to last? How will he be able to control himself not to cum the second he enters you?
Everything becomes so much hotter, the air around you, the energy in this room, his body against yours, his fingers inside of you, the coil in your stomach, everything starts burning and somehow, it only fuels the need in you.
You grab at the hem of your shirt and push it up to your collarbones, exposing your chest to him, your boobs bounce as you throw your head back against the pillow to see him better and his reaction does not disappoint, if you weren’t so lost in pleasure you would have giggled at the awestruck look on his face, at the wide eyes and the parted lips.
“Baby,” he whispers as he presses his large hand to your now bare waist, slipping it upwards slowly, “you’re unreal, fuck… you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as though in disbelief, staring down at you as though you are something that came straight out of his imagination. He grabs your boob roughly, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he leans down and wraps his lips against the other, wasting no time to suck on it, making you arch your back against him as you throw your hand into his curls, fingers grazing his scalp as you give it a harsh tug, something that he fucking loves.
“I-I… oh my god!” You whimper as tears begin to pull in your eyes when he presses his thumb to your clit, teasing you. “D-Don’t stop! Don’t stop, Eddie! That feels so good!” You nearly scream as he starts moving his fingers faster than before, fucking them in and out of you roughly. You are clenching around him, digging your heel into his ass as you move along to his thrusts.
He looks up at you, loving the sight of you coming undone before him, it’s the prettiest sight to him. He can’t wait to watch you fall apart beneath him when he actually fucks you. He licks around your nipple, adding more pleasure to your body.
“Eddie!” You writhe beneath him, blinking the tears away as you look down at him. Your stomach tenses up, burning as the pleasure builds up more and more, almost becoming unbearable, everything inside of you is lit on fire, absolutely every part of you. Your toes curl, your knuckles turn white from how rough you are grabbing at his curls, the sounds that fall from your mouth are almost not recognizable, sounding too pornographic but you have never felt anything like this before, especially not from just being finger fucked.
Eddie pushes himself back up, straightening his back, he slides his hand further up your chest, passing your collarbones and settling around your throat, he tests the waters at first, needing you to be okay with this – he watches the way your eyes darken at this, lips parting as you push yourself up on your elbows, you bring your hand up to his wrist, wrapping your fingers tightly around it, you press it harder against your throat, asking him to choke you.
Eddie laughs darkly, lips curling into a satisfied grin, he shakes his head at you, “of course you’re into that shit. You’re a naughty girl aren’t you?”
It takes you a moment to answer his question because the view before you is just a little too distracting. Eddie hovers over you with one hand between your thighs, knuckle deep buried inside of you while his other hand is now wrapped around your throat, rings on, veins popping out of his tattooed forearm, dark curls falling in front of his face as he looks down at you like he wants to devour you but make love to you at the same time.
God, he is beautiful.
Your eyes move down his body, the wet patch on his sweatpants, the bulge making you drool, making you want to drop to your knees for him, worship him, choke on him, suck the soul out of him. You can’t help yourself, moving your hand down his stomach, you grab his dick, wiping the smirk off his face completely as he moans loudly.
“F-Fuck, sweetheart.”
You palm him through his sweats, teasing him the way he teased you, though Eddie is less patient than you are. His hips stutter, a whimper falls off his lips so prettily and you almost tease him for it but he curls his fingers so deeply inside of you, presses his thumb against your clit so strongly that your vision blurs for a second.
“Eddie… Eddie!” You say his name twice, pressing your hand stronger against him, you hook your fingers around the band of his pants.
“D-Don’t tease me or else I’ll cum right this second,” he growls as his cheeks start burning at his words.
“Don’t do that,” you warn as you push his pants down just enough, his dick slaps against his stomach, precum leaking out and rolling down his length, his tip an angry red, thick veins so prominent. Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the sight of him, of his size, his length.
Eddie looks down at you with burning cheeks and begging eyes, he feels the way you clench around his fingers, feels how you soak his digits.
You look at him intensely, watching him fall apart at nothing but the touch of your hand, his eyelashes flutter, a content sigh falling from his lips when you wrap your fingers around his length, “your cock is so pretty, Eds,” you purr, jerking him off slowly, you tease him a little, “I want to choke on it.”
His hips stutter, cock twitching in your hand as he whimpers at your words, “fuck… you can’t just say that to me.”
You pull your hand away from him, holding it up to him, “spit.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, eyes darkening further but he complies, right away, he spits into your hand and watches the way you bring it back down to his dick, wrapping your fingers around him again, you grip him just perfectly, jerking him off in a way that he only ever dreamed off.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he moans, clenching his jaw in concentration, his eyes moving back and forth between your glistening pussy and your hand getting him off. “I-I won’t last long,” he warns you, wanting to get lost in the pleasure, but even more so, he wants to feel you wrapped around him.
With your free hand, you tug at his wrist, needing to feel his lips on yours again and without wasting a second, he slams his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly as he takes full control, parting your lips with his tongue, he moans into your mouth when you clench around his fingers again.
The room is now filled with heavy moans, no longer coming from the TV but from you and him, desperation so clear in both your voices, lips smacking against one another so needily and the alcohol, the weed in your systems only makes it all a tad bit more intense.
As much as Eddie is enjoying the feeling of your hand wrapped around him, he has to stop you or else he will cum before getting what he actually wants.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, lips twitching when you already whine in protest, “baby, I-I fuck… I need you stop or else I’ll cum too fucking soon.”
You pull away begrudgingly, wanting to pout at him but he quickly distracts you by speeding up his fingers inside of you. Letting go of your throat, he brings his now free hand down to your clit, wasting no second to play with your sensitive nub while he curls and slams his fingers in and out of you.
A gasp falls from your lips as he repeatedly brushes your sweet spot, the one that allows you to see stars. A single tear slips down your cheek, one that he instantly kisses away. You want to look at him, you want to watch your best friend but the pleasure becomes too much and you can’t help but shut your eyes tightly. Your stomach burns in a way that has you whimpering and when you try to close your legs to relieve that pleasurable pain, he grabs your knee and stops you.
“I can feel you clenching around my fingers, baby,” he murmurs hotly against your lips, “I know you want to cum, so let go for me,” he whispers, “let go.” One more swipe against your clit, one last thrust, one more kiss to your neck and you come undone for your Eddie, leaking around his fingers as your body trembles beneath his.
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
He slows down his movements, looking down at your legs to see them shaking, just from this. He lets you ride out your orgasm, giving you a moment to catch your breath. He kisses your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your jawline and your lips. And then, he pulls his fingers out of you, his mouth waters at the sight of your slick, wasting no time to bring his digits up to his lips, he dips them on his tongue, closing his eyes at your taste, he moans loudly.
You open your eyes at the sound, stunned, you stare at him in hunger and lust, watching the way he laps at his fingers that were inside of you just seconds ago. His eyes are closed and he looks content. If you hadn’t been so feral already, you definitely would have been by now.
“You’re even sweeter than I thought,” he mewls after releasing his fingers with a pop, opening his eyes to look down at you with a smirk. “I can’t wait to take my time and eat your pussy.”
You grab him by the chain around his neck, tugging at it harshly, you’re surprised it doesn’t break by the force, you pull him back down against you and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue.
Eddie smiles against your lips, loving the way you moan at your own taste. He feels your hands sliding down his back, tugging at his shirt, demanding him to take it off and he does so instantly, only breaking the kiss for a second so he can tear it off his skin before his lips are back on yours, his pants are next to go as you push them down further, with your help he kicks them off, not caring where they land.
He hooks his finger around your ruined panties, he begins to tug at them and you push your hips up so he can take them off, dragging them down your legs, he throws them to the ground beside his clothes before you both pull away from the kiss to take off the shirt that is still bunched up over your chest.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, looking at you in awe and then, his lips return to you and he places his elbows on either side of your head, pressing his chest against yours as you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him closer and closer until nothing separates you any longer, until he feels your heat against his aching dick and he is so close, so close to getting what he wanted, until he remembers.
“Fuck,” he curses in annoyance, clenching his jaw already as he breaks the kiss, “wait…” But you don’t listen, cupping his cheeks, you make it even harder for him when you keep kissing him, pleading for more.
Frustration bubbles up inside of him and he almost wants to cry.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, shakily. “Wait, wait, wait…”
Finally, you pull away, eyes filled with curiosity, “what?”
“I don’t–” he cuts himself off, rolling his eyes as he clenches his fists and closes his eyes for a moment, “I don’t have a condom,” he says through gritted teeth, feeling dejected but then he feels you pull him closer again, cupping the back of his neck, you press your lips back against his.
“It’s okay, I’m on birth control and I’m clean,” you whisper, pressing your heel against his bum, “I waited too long for this, so don’t stop… please, Eddie.”
A growl threatens to spill from his lips, the feeling of frustration is suddenly replaced by something else, not only the need he had felt for so long but something else, something much stronger, something that has him fighting his inner demons.
He opens his eyes, staring at you as though you had gone crazy.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me, sweets?”
You giggle so cutely at that, in a way that makes him want to pound you into this couch until you are nothing but a screaming mess.
“I have an idea,” you admit smugly, batting your eyelashes at him as your eyes flicker back and forth between his tattoos and his lips, hand already moving down his stomach, fingers reaching for him, you bite your lip as you look into his eyes, he is staring at you so intensely that it makes you blush. You wrap your fingers around his length again, mewling when you guide him through your wet folds, teasing both you and himself.
Eddie grips the pillow beneath your head, cursing at the feeling. You can tell that he is trying to control himself, trying to keep his composure but he is losing it quickly when he feels your heat, your wetness.
With your free hand, you hold onto his bicep, looking up at him with begging eyes, “please, fuck me, Eddie,” you whisper as you tilt your head up to kiss his lips, “show me how bad you want me, don’t hold back… please–”
With a growl, he lets your words die on your tongue, replacing your hand with his own, he guides himself to your entrance, nudging it with the leaking tip of his cock, he presses his forehead and his lips to yours as he thrusts inside of you, torturously, splitting you open around his length.
His heart could burst for feeling you so close, so intimately, his love for you burning stronger than ever, the immortal flame getting bigger and bigger, his body feels on fire, his soul feels at home and now he knows you feel the same, when you hold him close and you kiss him so passionately, tightening your legs around his waist in order to feel him closer, whimpering into him in such a needy way while you keep grabbing at him like he isn’t close enough despite being pressed against you, he knows you feel the same, in every way.
He pushes into you deeper and deeper, scrunching his eyebrows in concentration as he feels you fully, working you open with nothing between you. He feels your warmth, feels your heat around him, your wetness dripping down onto the couch beneath you as fills you up completely. He never felt anything like this before, he never thought he would but god, he is already addicted, he had always been to you but now even worse, he will never be the same again, he will come back to Hawkins a changed man.
“Fucking hell, darling,” he growls against your lips as he stills inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size and himself a moment to concentrate so he doesn’t ruin this by coming too soon, though the thought of filling you up with his seed drives everything in him crazy, he wants it, craves it so bad. “You feel so… so perfect.”
You’re wailing, squirming beneath him, already looking down, wanting to see your bodies connected as sensitive whimpers escape your mouth.
“Y-You’re so big, Eddie,” you say, eyes blurred with tears, words leaving your mouth breathlessly, “hurts so good.”
Your words don’t exactly do him a favor, especially when he opens his eyes and he looks down at you, watching the way your chest rises up and down heavily, the way you look down between your legs in desperation before your big eyes look up at him, glassy. Your lips are so puffy from all the kissing, your forehead glistening with sweat, your cheeks flushed.
Your walls flutter around him, making it harder and harder for him.
Eddie grabs your chin, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, baby, so fucking sweet and good for me but you’re driving me crazy, right now.”
“Fuck me,” you whimper, pouting at him as you hold his bicep harder, “please, fuck me, Eddie. I need it, I need you so bad– ah!” You scream out when he pulls out and slams back inside of you again.
“Shh, I got you, I got you, baby,” he shushes your words, “can’t believe you are so desperate for my cock.”
Your nails dig into his skin, your free hand gets lost in his hair, tugging at his curls as you roll your hips against his, going crazy at the feeling of him inside of you.
“Please, please, please!”
Eddie groans at your pleading, at the obvious desperation, at the need that you feel for him, and only him. His left knee digs into the soft cushions on the couch and he places his right foot against the floor, watching your face intently as he starts rolling his hips, making you gasp out loudly.
“Oh my–” He pants, eyes rolling back as your name falls from his lips.
“You… I…” You stutter, unable to find the right words, to even come up with anything as you lose yourself in this feeling. Your mouth waters and so do your eyes, his chain dangles before your face as he thrusts into you, faster and faster, deeper and rougher. You can’t help but clench around him, he fills you up so perfectly, his tip brushes against that one spot so rightly.
You throw your arms around him as he cups the top of your head, holding eye contact with you as he rolls his hips harder.
“I’m so fucking obsessed with you, do you even know that?” He kisses your lips, smacking them loudly against yours.
“Mmm, I’m obsessed with you too, baby,” you whimper as you meet his thrusts, rolling your hips as well.
“I never thought I’d get to have this, to have you.”
You only hold onto him tighter in response, leaning into his neck, you brush your nose against it and latch your lips onto his neck, pecking along until you find that one spot that makes him whine, you start sucking, marking him up the way he did to you, not knowing just how feral that makes him.
To wear your marks on his skin, to be claimed as yours makes his heart burst but it awakens something in him, because suddenly, he feels the need to pound you into this couch and he does so, he snaps his hips into yours, thrusting roughly.
“Eddie!” You scream out in a choked sob, digging your nails into his skin as you cling to his body.
“You feel so fucking good,” he moans loudly, not bothering to hide just how desperate you make him feel. He cups the back of your neck and pulls you back down, wanting and needing to see your face, he wastes no second before his lips are back on yours and his hips strike roughly into you, cock slamming in and out of you, the squelching sounds of your pussy filling the room, along with your moans and the slapping sounds as he fucks you.
Neither of you want to pull away from the kiss, no matter how sloppy it gets, you don’t want to break the kiss and neither does he, not even when you grow breathless. You cling to each like you never did before, welcoming the pleasure that becomes almost too much. There is soreness in your thighs, burning in your lower back and an overwhelming sensation inside of you, an itch that only he can mend.
And Eddie, he feels as though he is losing his mind, getting to feel this, to feel you, to kiss you and swallow your moans as your dripping walls cling to his cock, twitching around him and begging to be filled. Your arms and legs are so tight around him, you beneath him like he had only seen you in his dreams and in his imagination, you’re shaking, whining and trembling and you are close, he can feel it by the way you are getting tighter and tighter after each of his thrusts.
Reaching down, he hooks his forearm around the back of your knee and he brings it up, pushing it higher until he can thrust into you from a different angle, one that makes you scream out with a high pitched moan and the neediest look he had ever seen on your face.
“Fuck… just like that, baby, scream for me,” he rasps out.
“Y-You’re so good, fuck me… Eds! Your cock feels so nice, please don’t stop, don’t ever stop!” You sputter, not knowing just how those words make him feel.
You don’t know where to look, his pretty face, how he looks as he fucks you like you only ever dreamed of, how pretty his face is when he moans your name so sexily or how his glistening cock pounds in and out of you.
And Eddie struggles just the same, though he settles on watching your beautiful face, wanting to see you fall apart more and more.
And though you don’t want this moment to end, and neither does he, you both drag it out for as long as you can, not caring about anything anymore, not caring about the mess you are making on the couch. You are both sweaty, you are leaking down onto the cushions and Eddie is sure that he ripped a hole into the pillow beneath you earlier from how roughly he held it.
A strangled whine leaves your lips and he knows you can’t hold on any longer, so he brings his hand down your stomach, pressing his fingers against your clit, causing you to jerk and whimper against him.
“You’re close, baby, I can feel it,” he whispers against your neck, not slowing down his movements in the slightest, if anything, he starts fucking you even deeper, making you scream louder now as your fingernails rip through his skin from how hard you’re grabbing him and he welcome that pleasuring burn, “cum around my cock, do it for me, sweetheart. I know you want to be my good girl.”
With another loud whine, you finally let go of him, arching your back and shutting your eyes tightly, you cum around your best friend's cock, for the first but definitely not the last time. You tighten around him so strongly that his hips stutter and his knees almost buckle, heat spreads through his skin and his stomach tightens as his own body screams for release.
He can’t wait any longer either and panic ripples through him when you hold him tighter than before, locking him in as you refuse to let go. It makes his heart flutter and it does make him want to release but–
“I need to pull out, sweetheart,” he says shakily, knowing all too well that he doesn’t actually want it and apparently, you don’t either because you start shaking your head at him, opening your needy eyes.
“No, no, don’t make a mess– cum inside of me, please!”
His hips stutter once more, his dick twitches achingly inside of you, “you can’t just fucking say that–” he whimpers, unable to finish the sentence, one more thrust and he spills inside of you, coating your walls with his seed as your name falls from his lips before he smashes his lips to yours for the hundredth time tonight, swallowing your cry.
Tears of pleasure run down your cheeks, your leg starts slipping from his waist and his thrusts slow down, though his grip doesn’t loosen on you, he continues to hold you close, the way you do as well as you grab his shoulder and his bicep, squeezing him tightly while your tongue clashes against his.
Your walls spasm and contract around his length, sending shockwaves and an unbearable amount of pleasure through his sensitive body.
Slowly, he removes his hand from between your legs, sliding it up your hot body until he is cupping your cheek again, he makes you both whimper when he pulls his softening cock out of you.
Your name rolls off his tongue when you both pull away from the kiss, he says it like it’s a blessing, like a prayer. Your eyes make contact again and you stare at each other for a moment, lovingly, adoringly, and then, you both smile and giggle and press your lips back against each other, pecking one another again and again.
“My Eddie,” you whisper as you admire the marks you left on him.
“Fuck,” he whispers when he realizes that this isn’t just a moment, that this isn’t just for now, for tonight, that you waited for it just like he has. He looks down at you, brushing away and tucking your hair behind your ear as he caresses your cheek, his heart soaring in his chest. “I can’t believe this happened.”
You giggle at him, “I’m glad it happened.”
“Yeah?” He grins lazily, eyes dropping to your chest as he leans down and presses his lips to your jaw, “I’m fucking on top of the world right now.”
You brush your fingers through his curls, giggling yet again.
“You’re a dork.”
“Yeah, but I’m your dork, right?” He asks with a hopeful glint in his eyes, one that questions more than just this. He wants to be yours, he wants it so badly.
You nod happily, eyes flashing with happiness.
“Mhmm, you’re mine, all mine.”
“Fuck,” he whispers as he feels his sensitive dick twitching at your words, heart bursting inside of him, “I’m yours, all yours.”
You tug him closer and closer, breathing against his lips as you eye him hungrily again, you feel him leaking out of you and it only makes your thighs burn again, “and I’m yours.”
“Yeah, you are,” he rasps as his fingers dip inside of you, he groans at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you, he pushes it back into you with a moan, “you’re mine, sweetheart.”
“Mmm, Eddie,” you mewl, pushing your hips up and chasing for more already.
“You want more?”
You nod, “yes… more, please!”
Not needing to be told twice, he slowly pushes his fingers and his cum back into you, making you both moan at that.
“You know what, I'm glad we did this today,” Eddie mumbles against your lips.
“Yeah?” You moan, arching your back in pleasure when he curls his fingers inside of you.
“Mhmm, that means I get to fuck you over and over and over for the whole weekend,” he smirks before he slams his lips against yours again, kissing you passionately and sensually while his fingers move and in out of you, creating a mess with his cum leaking out of you and your own wetness sticking to your thighs and his.
You both fill the room with filthy noises, needy and desperately you touch each other, grabbing and pulling at each others hair as the night goes on, continuing to mark each other up, to taste one another, to fuck like animals in heat, the movie long forgotten as his tongue laps at your pussy when he is kneeled on the ground with your legs dangling of his shoulders and your fingers pull at his hair roughly.
This night never ends, the pleasure continuing until the early morning hours, until you can no longer take it, until you both get too sensitive, until you’re both nothing but a panting, sweaty mess and even then, you still kiss and cling to one another.
The night was filled with desperation, with pent up emotions, with filthiness yet with love and adoration, and this night has changed you both forever, for good.
-
“So… What you’re telling me is–…” Steve begins, arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched as he stands before you and Eddie with a stern look on his face. You are both on his couch, looking up at him like scolded children. “You need to buy me a new… bed?”
You are blushing furiously, embarrassment written all over your face. You glare at Robin who is standing in the corner, sipping on her soda with an amused look on her face.
“Uh… yeah.”
You know how badly Eddie wants to laugh, he is smug, you can see it on his face but he stays quiet, for a second at least.
“And a new arm chair?” Steve mumbles, looking between you both.
“Yeah.” Eddie snorts to which you elbow him, shushing him.
“Don’t forget the flower vase,” Robin snickers.
Steve throws his hands up, “and a fucking flower vase, thanks Robin!”
You put your finger up and straighten your back, “actually, the flower vase fell by itself–”
“Because you were fucking on top of the table!” Steve retorts to which your boyfriend chuckles in satisfaction, not being embarrassed by anything in the slightest.
You turn to look at him, he only smirks at you and shrugs, holding your thigh tighter than before.
“I’d buy a new couch too–”
“Eddie!”
Robin moves closer and eyes you both, eyeing the matching marks on your necks.
“I hope you used protection, at least.”
Steve raises his eyebrows, looking at you both expectedly, your flustered face gives you away completely as you sink deeper into the couch, wanting nothing more than to bury your face in Eddie’s neck.
“Great, now I might be a fucking uncle.”
“Godfather,” Eddie corrects him, making you giggle.
“Go to hell,” Steve shakes his head, though he can’t hide the look on his face and how delighted he is to hear that he would be considered a godfather if it were to happen. And despite the clear distaste on his face after hearing what you did at his cabin, he can’t help but feel happy for you both.
Robin looks down with a smile on her face when Eddie wraps his arm around you and kisses your cheek softly and Steve’s eyes soften as well.
He sighs and rolls his eyes as he finally takes a seat, he reaches for his beer and takes a sip.
“I’m happy my plan worked but you both will go back, replace the furniture and clean everything up before I lose my shit and I kill you before my parents kill me.”
You nod at him with wide eyes, while Eddie furrows his eyebrows, “clean up? Oh, we did clean up and besides, we didn’t waste a single drop.”
“Eddie,” you whine as you bury your face in your hands while Robin groans in disgust.
Steve only sighs but his lips twitch slightly, curling into a smirk as he nods at Eddie.
“At least I know your children aren’t running around my cabin.”
You give Eddie a warning glance but he is already smirking at you, gripping your thigh harder, slipping under your skirt.
“They’re somewhere else.”
“Oh, gross!” Robin coughs and turns away with a frown on her face.
“Eddie!” You whine and slap his chest to which he pulls you closer and kisses your cheek, chuckling in amusement.
Steve shakes his head, sighing.
“I’m never inviting you both to that summer house ever again.”
Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 7) - Oro Scuro
IT'S HAPPENING, SLOW BURN INITIATED Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom. Thank you for reading <3
It's early when Jayce walks into the lab. The familiar sight of Viktor reading and a new compilation of notes for him to look over, settled on his chair. What's less familiar is you. Your hand dangling off the work table, head buried under your other arm. It didn’t look comfortable to sleep that way. He would know. On the rare occasions he pulled an all-nighter now, Viktor would wake him from that exact position. His neck and shoulders berating his every movement for hours after.
"What happened there?" He whispers to his partner. Viktor glances at him, then you.
"She came back after you left." He didn't offer Jayce any more than that.
"Is she… okay?" He's taking in your desk. “Was that one of their burners?” The puzzled look on his face deepens, his mouth opening to ask more questions. But Viktor beats him to speaking.
"Probably, seemed like she had a lot to think about. Came to work it out her own way I suppose." Viktor didn't share that he had moved your items for you after he was sure you had fallen asleep. You had adjusted several times over the twilight hours. You almost knocked over your beetle paint. Paint? Not paint yet? He might ask you more about it later.
For now he just waited and read. Jayce was here, which meant that he would be forced to get some shut-eye himself. He's walked over to Viktor, large hands taking the book out of his own.
"You know the drill V." He’s still whispering.
"Yes, yes, no life changing discoveries without sleep." The sarcasm in his voice isn't there full force this morning. Hard to maintain sincere indifference with a yawn elongating his words. Viktor moves to stand, his knees popping with the effort. Jayce waits at his side, moving when he’s waved off. “I’m not an old man, Jayce.”
“But you’re so grumpy.” The retort is laced with humor. Jayce puts both his hands up towards his chest, palms facing out, saying “sorry” in his gesture immediately. Viktor scoffs, walking over towards you. “You’re waking her up?” Jayce’s eyes were slowly widening with surprise.
“Oh, so I am the only one who has to leave?” Amber gaze narrowing at his friend.
“No, I just,” his golden hands moving to scratch his neck.
“You are too easy to fluster.” This time it is Jayce who huffs in disapproval. The smile on Viktor’s face diffusing him instantly. He reaches down to wake you.
You feel a hand on your shoulder, it’s warm. You don't move. Savoring the heat that fills the spot there, as if it could warm all of you if you stayed still long enough. You feel yourself sinking back into sleep when it starts to move. The hand pushing and pulling on you forcing you to rush towards consciousness. A grumble escapes you in response. The hand leaves and your grumble shifts to a disapproving hum. You open your eyes, light a bit too bright for your taste. Blinking blearily to adjust.
"You should go to bed" a familiar accented voice greets your ears.
“Viktor?” Your voice was thick with sleep, a slight rasp to it. His heart jumped to his throat.
“Oh, this is new.” some part of him whispers, acknowledging the tug. When was the last time someone called his name like that? It felt tender, intimate even. Which is ridiculous because there was nothing abnormal about the situation. In fact, he and Jayce have both woken each other in the lab. Many times. He’s seen the sun shine on his partner’s golden skin and appreciated the glow he saw there before it was swallowed by black-brown hair. But something was different. What was different?
Has he noticed the dust before? The way it filters slowly in the still air of the lab. Weaving around the push and pull of someone’s breath? Swirling and settling. He’s getting a headache.
“Did I,-” You're sitting up now. “Did I fall asleep here?” You sound confused.
"You do not remember?" He tries not to look at you, at your sleep-addled movements. He is ignoring the way you have flattened your hair on one side. Ignoring this weird guilt and shame that's building in his gut. Like he's done something wrong for seeing you in this vulnerable state. He glances at Jayce instead. "You poured your beetle juice into a filter and laid on the table." Jayce’s brows raise in question at that.
"They weren't beetles." You're stretching when you reply, it forces a yawn out of you. He catches the flinch when you realize that your range of movement is limited.
"Yes, well. Beetle juice. Not beetle juice. You should lay down in bed.” He’s tilting his head when he looks at you. “Or is the table more comfortable for you?” You don’t miss the smirk there. You give a wordless reply, a simple hum as you stand. The joints in your body barking at you for your decisions. Twice now you’ve slept in an illy padded chair.
He gives you space to move, watching as you make your way to the doors of the lab. “I’ll see you both later then.” Another yawn and you were gone. He’s turning back to his own seat, grabbing his cane when Jayce speaks.
“Beetle juice?”
“She is making paint from bugs.” A factual statement said plainly does not take the absurdity of it out of the idea. He knows that. But it is funnier to watch Jayce be confused.
“Bug paint.”
“Yes.”
“In our lab.”
“Yes.”
He knows when Viktor is trying to rile him up, he sulks anyway. Shoulders lowering in a temporary defeat. “Tea today. When you get back. Please?”
The trek back to your room is a slow one. It’s early enough that not too many people see your disheveled state. You’re attempting to wipe dried drool from the corner of your mouth when you get to the door. Normally, you’d feel embarrassed. But you were too sore to really care. Your neck hurt, your back hurt, something in your left shoulder felt off.
A mirror in your entryway shows dark circles under your eyes and your hair is a mess. Your clothes weren’t overly wrinkled yet they definitely could not be worn again today. Peeling them off as you walk to your bed, you nearly trip over the chair you left lying on the floor. You’ve got a sock in your hand when you move the chair back to its position. You were going to sleep. For a long time. The pigment could wait. It would take days to dry without a dehydrator anyway.
You fall against your mattress, crawling your way under the covers. The ache in your left spine is soothed by laying flat, your neck is loving the soft pillow beneath it. You go to rub your shoulder, it’s still tense. Your palm is warm on the skin, working into the flesh slowly.
Warmth, you had woken to warmth. And it hadn’t scared you.
Viktor’s room was moved closer to the lab months ago, as was Jayce’s. He only needed to walk a few doors down. There’s the usual ache in his right leg, the same tightness in his shoulders from hunching. His right palm is buzzing, not residual pressure from his cane. But from you. The headache that started earlier was throbbing behind his eyes.
After you had well and truly fallen asleep, he had turned some of the lights off. They usually kept the lab naturally lit, so once the sun was down they had little light to work off of. You preferred the lights on, to help you see your drawings. Jayce did not mind the change, he had been getting on Viktor for weeks about straining his eyes.
He was tired. Unusually tired. And it did not help that your voice kept echoing in his head. “Viktor?” He sneered at the mental sound. Barely had opened your eyes and you called his name.
“Viktor?” Your voice was soft. Softer than it had been when you thanked him, for listening. “Unintentional”, he tells himself. You had been tired. He was tired.
He needed to sleep, a couple hours, just enough to get moving. Then he would grab tea for the three of you and get back to work. No confusing thoughts to haunt him. He was simply tired, and unused to your presence. Yes, that was it. He lays down on the couch, not bothering to change or even go to his bed. Viktor’s closing his eyes, letting the dull buzzing dissipate. He lets the annoyance move through his body, out through his limbs, and he settles. Your voice not echoing, not a bug in his ear. Not helping him sleep.
summary: people in lincoln county are dropping dead alongside their livestock, the wells are running dry and children are prompted from their beds to wander unconsciously in the night. billy has been hired as a last resort by the lawmen as a bounty hunter, charged with the task of hunting and killing the witch responsible in exchange for a reward and the clearing of his name. how could he turn that down?
pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader
wc: 7.6k
masterlists / nav / requests
tags/warnings: witch!reader x bounty hunter!billy, warning for like,,, witchcraft and stuff i suppose?? mentions of death, minor amounts of gore and animal mutilation. devil worship and other supernatural/biblical tea. also angst. probably.
a/n: impulsive new series dw ab it. i'm thinking this'll be only a few parts but based on how long part one is, i don't think that means much lol. buckle in.
my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)
send me any and all of your thoughts! here!
series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist
The reward had been posted for weeks, and any man who dared to set foot in the woods on the hunt for the witch who had been cursing local crops and killing livestock didn't return at all. Billy was confident, though. He could draw and shoot quicker than anyone, and he had not only been offered the reward, but also the clearing of his name and a clean slate- and damn if that wasn't an impossible offer to turn down. Even if the sheriff was pretty damn desperate in order to seek Billy out unarmed to beg him to go after this witch.
Rifle in hand, he walked for hours hunting for a girl he'd only heard rumours of. Of her pretty hair that fell in enchanting waves and her bright, sparkling eyes that were deceptive in a way that could suck a man in and kill him with nothing more than a quick flick of her wrist. But he'd met plenty of girls like that before. He also heard she was horrid, scary and old and plucked straight from everyone's mother's horror stories passed onto them as children to keep them in their beds at night. In truth, he had no clue what he was walking into.
The forest was quiet today, eerily so, without even the chirping of birds or the wind in the trees to keep him company on the foot journey. Nothing. He wasn't welcome here and something deep inside of him knew it. Walking into a clearing, he gets only the mildest relief as the wind brushes the long grass against his boots and the woods isn't suffocating him any longer. Until the breath is vacuumed straight out of his lungs when he sees the first sign of life in miles.
This girl must be his age, of all the things he heard he didn't truly expect that. It was hard to tell as she was crouched over one of many graves in the open clearing, the sun making her hair glow like it had hand picked that surface to reflect off of. She can't be the witch everyones afraid of. He can even hear her now, the subtle humming of a tune coming from her lips as she laid out flowers from a basket below the shoddy cross. This was just a girl taking care of a forgotten grave, that was all. Despite his better judgement, he wants to believe that.
"Hello?" He calls, tilting his head slightly as he takes a hesitant step closer across the clearing.
You already knew he was there, of course. You could feel the shift in the air when he entered the space a minute or so prior. You turn your head, standing up straight again and brushing off the front of your dress.
"Hello, there." You reply, offering him a small smile as you pick up the basket from your feet. Admittedly, he was the youngest (and handsomest) of the men you assume had come to kill you, but you're surprised the woods had even let him get this close. The forest can see something in him you could not, clearly. Who are you to deny its very will?
The power in your skin thrums like a second heartbeat in your fingertips and against your ribcage, and you bring a hand up to grasp at the crystal hanging around your neck.
He notices the way your hand tightens around the necklace in your fingers almost anxiously, and it makes his own hand subconsciously itch to raise his rifle as he takes another step closer towards you. He swallows, trying his damndest to not show even a flicker of fear behind his eyes. There is none. She's just a girl, he has to convince himself, but you can see it. Feel it in the air around him even as he stands perfectly steady and strong in front of you.
"Who are you?"
A pretty girl, alone in a forest that no-one else dares tread into. It's a curious sight, and it only serves to make him more on edge. No one in their right mind would be in this forest of their own will.
You tilt your head slightly, watching him as he steps closer but making no attempt to move away yourself.
You answer with your name, soft and sweet as honey as you twist the chain around your neck slightly, eyes locked now on the gun in his hands.
"You're..." You pause for a moment to think, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. "Billy. That's your name, right?"
His hand tightens on his rifle. The feeling of being somewhere he was never supposed to have entered made beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck as he felt the air thicken all around them. "How do you know that?"
You hesitate on how to answer. You can't very well tell him that you felt it, that you just knew. That you just knew he was here to kill you. You are far from the most social of girls, but you had to save face.
"You look like a Billy." You smile softly. "And it's a common enough name, is it not? A safe guess."
His eyes narrow slightly as his grip on the rifle relaxes. You were hiding something, that much was blatantly clear just from looking at your face, but still, he couldn't imagine someone like you to be the reason the townsfolk kept their doors locked and children well away come sundown.
"I suppose." He finally says, a hand coming up from his rifle to pull his low brimmed hat off his head- a small show of reluctant respect. Though, he still keeps his distance.
Your smile relaxes a little bit just as the subtle sounds of birds chirping and the wind through the leaves surrounds you again in background noise. "It suits you." You tell him, grabbing the basket handle with both hands now.
A hint of surprise flickers across his face at the odd compliment, but it fades just as quickly as it appeared. He lets out a hum of acknowledgement, watching you carefully. If he was being honest, he didn't want to believe that the woman in front of him was a witch. You are far more delicate than that.
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
"Oh, well, I was passing through and saw all these graves. I couldn't help but feel they were lacking some flowers." You explain, lying easily and glancing down at the ones you had already spent time laying lavenders over, five or six of them still looking fresh, without as much grass regrowing over the dirt just yet. "Lavender helps with sleep, you know. It ensures a peaceful rest."
He takes a moment to look at the surrounding graves, his stomach twisting at the sight of how many there were. Ten, at least. He'd seen graveyards before, many times, but something about the lack of proper head stones and the makeshift crosses that were just wooden sticks shoved in the dirt made this feel so much darker.
He frowns as he turns his eyes back to you. "Aren't you afraid of what people say about this place? That it's cursed or something."
"Cursed?" You ask, brow furrowing slightly as you look back at him with a slightly confused smile. "It isn't cursed. It's just a forest."
You knew as much as he seemed to that what you were saying wasn't true, but "cursed" was definitely not the right word to describe it. Though, if the townspeople were saying it was cursed, well, it made more sense as to why people came in here intent on killing you more and more recently.
He can't help but notice the way your smile tightens ever so slightly at the comment, like it was forced to remain on your lips in an attempt to keep up appearances when in reality you wanted to do anything but. You were nervous.
"It don't take a genius to figure out that no one goes in these woods alone for no good reason. A lot of people get lost in here. A lot of people don't come back." He can't help but look back at the headstones of people who most likely went missing, forever lost to the forest. To you. "And I ain't ever seen you in Lincoln."
The two of you stand in the clearing for another moment, neither of you speaking. Neither of you moving as the world around the two of you seems to hold its breath. He feels himself wanting to reach out and touch you, like he was in a trance of sorts. He wants to know what you're hiding, he wants to know who you are. A large part of him already knows, subconsciously wishing it wasn't true.
He tears his eyes away, shaking his head. He wasn't here to make friends, he was here for the reward- not to start sympathizing.
"Oh," You reply quietly, unsure what to say as you force yourself to keep your eyes on him instead of looking over at the fresh graves. "I... I am sorry to hear that."
He studies you for a moment, trying to decipher your carefully worded reply. He can't tell if you actually feel sorry for those who came here and never made it out alive, or if you're just trying to cover up the fact that you may be connected to it.
"It's a shame, really. A lot of good men have gone missing out here, never to be seen again."
He looks like he's about to ask another question before he notices the way your knuckles start to turn white from gripping the basket so hard.
"Your hands are shaking." The observation is formed more like a question, an accusing tone you pick up on easily.
You look down at your hands, eyes widening a bit before you tuck them behind your back with the basket. "Oh, uh... sorry. I can't control it sometimes." You admit sheepishly.
He watches the way you try and hide your hands out of view, and it only serves to make him more suspicious of you. Why would the thought of him seeing your hands shaking make you so anxious?
He doesn't call you out on it, though. "What do you mean can't control it sometimes? Are you nervous?"
"I-I just... I haven't eaten yet today. And it runs in my family, you know. Shaky hands." You explain, trying not to sound as nervous as you are.
"You're lying." He accuses, watching your reaction carefully.
As he speaks the previous chirping of the birds and the wind in the trees and in the grass halts in an instant, like the forest itself was tensing with you. You knew what that meant. Your gaze flickers from his face down to the gun in his hands and back quickly as you take a small step back. "I- I'm not, honestly." You reply with a slightly nervous laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere again and delay the inevitable. Either he wasn't going to hurt you, or he was the one meant to hurt you. It was a mystery of the universe you were less than eager to discover the outcome of.
His eyes flick over to the surrounding trees as the forest goes quiet, as if it was listening- waiting. He grips the rifle a little tighter when you take a step back, his shoulders tensing slightly.
"You're a very bad liar." He responds, his eyes back on you again. The change in your behaviour doesn't go unnoticed by him, as he slowly starts to lift his rifle to an almost aiming position.
"Don't-" You urge him quickly, your eyes going wide again with more urgency as you hold a hand up to try and stop him. In the same moment he starts to lift his gun, the clouds seem to cover the sun and the beautiful beams of light entering the clearly through the trees is all but gone to gray.
His eyes flick up to the sky as the forest is cast into darkness. He isn't an idiot, he doesn't believe that clouds could move across the sky that quickly- only one other thing could make a place this dark this fast.
"...You did that." He points out with an accusatory tone, his eyes back on you as he adjusts the rifle, aiming the barrel straight at you.
You drop the basket, raising your hands as the still air picks up a somewhat electric buzz to it, the sky darkening further. You didn't know what the forest had done to the other men, but you suspected you were about to find out.
"I-I didn't, I haven't done anything. I swear." You promise him, voice shaking a bit.
He holds the gun steadily as he watches you closely, the way your eyes dart around the clearing as if searching for a way out, the way the air is now thick with something that he can't put his finger on. It's something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up, it's something that feels dangerous. He's always been attuned to it.
"Don't bullshit me." He says, cocking the rifle with a click. His eyes watch you like a hawk, the barrel of the gun now pointed directly between your bright, enchanting irises.
"I know why you're here." You stammer out quickly, slowly moving your hands out to your sides toward the trees on either side of you as the leaves start to rustle more urgently in the wind. "I mean... I don't know why but I know you're here to kill me, right?"
He tenses slightly as you begin to move your hands toward the trees, his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger of his rifle. "You have the townsfolk scared shitless. They put a damn price on your head, and word spreads fast." He tilts his head, continuing to watch you intently as the air becomes more and more electric.
"What?" You ask, to him looking genuinely confused as you watch his finger graze over the trigger. "I-I've never even been into town. I've never done anything to them."
The wind picks up then, blowing wickedly through your hair and ruffling the skirts of your dress.
His body tenses at the feeling of the wind blowing so fiercely, the trees beginning to sway with the force of it. The air is thick, almost electric in a way that can't possibly be natural, and he's beginning to realize just what he's gotten himself into.
"You expect me to believe you?" He responds, the barrel of the gun still aimed at your head. He doesn't know why he hasn't fired already, he knows he's staring down the sights of his hunting rifle directly at the witch he was meant to kill. Who has killed six of Lincoln's bravest men and is currently standing over their graves.
When he moves the gun you wince, and the sound of the trees shifting becomes almost more intentional now as you hold your hands up higher at either side of your body. "I-I'll explain... Just... just put down the gun. Please."
"Why should I do that?" He asks, keeping his aim on you despite the trees that now seem so alive all around you- like they were whispering.
"You just have to trust me!" You call out, now that the wind was getting louder and louder, the sky darker as the trees closed in on the two of you, more specifically, the branches reaching for him.
He clocks it quickly; the branches slowly creeping down, the leaves reaching out towards him. It was like they were going to reach out and grab him at any moment, and the idea is making the hair on his arms stand straight up. It wasn't real, he knew better than that.
"How... how are you doing this?" He asks, his eyes flicking back to you, his rifle still raised.
"I'm not!" You shout, hands pushed out on either side of you as you squint against the wind, expression tense as the air pushes in on you from every direction. "I'm trying to stop it, just drop the gun!"
His eyes dart between you and the trees, noticing the way the branches are slowly inching towards him, and how you seem to almost be trying to push them back, your entire body tensing with some unknown effort.
"And if I drop the gun and you try something, huh?" He yells back, his finger still resting against the cool metal of the lightened trigger.
"You'll end up dead either way!" You shout, squeezing your eyes shut now as a couple small roots start to slowly coil around his ankles. "I don't want to bury you! Just drop it!"
He glances down at the roots slowly making their way up his lower legs, and his eyebrows furrow as he tries to comprehend how in the hell something like this is even possible. Finally, he grunts, clicking the safety back on his rifle and dropping it to the dirt. As soon as the weapon is out of his hands, the atmosphere in the clearing changes.
Even with your eyes shut, you can feel the pressure get taken off of you as soon as he drops the gun.
You drop your hands back down to your sides, winded from the exertion of keeping him alive. It seemed to have moved quick, the forest in its efforts to eliminate the threat, but you have to imagine it was much slower than it was when it set its sights on the other men who set foot in here to kill you.
"Are you okay?" You ask, gasping to catch your breath as the roots remain wrapped loosely around his ankles, incase it needed to grab him again quickly. Though, the skies had mostly cleared and the wind had stopped now.
He stands frozen in place for a moment, his breath heavy in his lungs as adrenaline courses through his veins and his heart hammers violently in his chest. "I.... I'm fine I think..." He responds, looking down at the roots still clinging to his ankles. He's at a loss as to how the hell something like that can even happen, even more so how you could make that happen.
He tries to get his legs free from the roots, but they cling to him stubbornly, even when he pulls with his full weight. He huffs in frustration, dropping himself to sit down on the ground. "Are you gonna get those things to let go of me? I dropped the damn gun."
They tighten a bit as he talks to you like that and you watch as more vines slither across the ground and wrap around his rifle, dragging it away while also doing the same with the revolver on his hip.
"I... I can't." You admit quietly, wringing your hands nervously in front of you. "I told you, I'm not doin' it."
His eyes widen as the roots from the ground pull his revolver off of him, and the vines drag his rifle towards some far off tree line. He realizes promptly he's being toyed with- like a mouse to an un-hungry cat.
"The hell do you mean you can't?" He asks frustratedly, his eyes locked on you as you fidget in place. His heart is still pumping faster than it has in years. "Do it!"
"I-I, well-"
You start, ready to try and explain but you don't get very far before he's quickly hoisted up off the ground by his feet, being hung upside down as bullets and coins rain from of his pockets. He curses loudly over your yelp of surprise as the forest tosses him up into the air, leaving him to hang by his ankles nearly twenty feet above the ground. He can feel the blood quickly rushing to his head, leaving him dizzy as the items in his pockets come tumbling out. As he tries to reach for something, he loses his balance and starts to swing back and forth like a pendulum.
You wince in sympathy as you hesitantly reach out toward him before pulling your hand back quickly. "Sorry, sorry..." You say through clenched teeth, a guilty expression on your face.
"Could you... please... get me down?" He asks in a strained voice, trying his hardest to keep what was left in his stomach where it was.
You frown, taking a small, hesitant step closer. "I... I told you, I'm not doin' it." You repeat, glancing down at the small objects that fell from his pockets.
"Do you... always carry that many bullets?"
This is the first time in a forever that he's felt so defenseless, hanging from his feet in some clearly, definitely cursed forest. Still, he tries to ignore the humiliation he feels at being in this position, trying to keep his cool while also trying to keep in his breakfast.
"I like to be prepared." He responds tightly, his eyes staring at the ground as he continues to swing back and forth slowly above you.
"For what..?" You ask, knowing that now probably isn't the time, but you truly are curious. And it's not like he could hurt you at the moment.
He pauses for a second, thinking it over before shrugging awkwardly in his hung up position. "You never know when danger might come knocking." He explains, his eyes continuing to be locked on the grass below him. This was a damn embarrassing position to be in with an audience, especially a pretty one.
"Yeah I... I guess so..." You agree, unsure what to do as the vines circle him further, searching inside his clothes for more weapons, no doubt.
He lets the forest strip him of his weapons in silence, his pride already bruised for the day anyway. He only lets out a small grunt as a particularly sharp branch pokes him in the stomach, searching for anything else that might be hidden.
"If I ask you something, these things aren't gonna try and strangle me or anything, right?" He calls down, gritting his teeth as his blood continues to rush to his head.
You can't help but giggle a little as you look up at him, his arms dangling below his head and his shirt starting to fall a little bit as well.
"I don't think so." You say, tilting your head slightly and squinting against the sun as it comes back with your quiet laughter, surrounding you in more warmth and lighter air.
He watches you as you laugh, watching the way your eyes crinkle and the way your smile spreads across your face. He's starting to realize that he's pretty unfortunately attracted to you, especially with the way the sunlight hits you the way it always seems to. Taunting him, tempting him- you were a gift from the trees he doesn't think he would do very well to try and pluck away from the stem.
He takes a breath, swallowing hard and lifting his hands to try and swat away the vine digging into the waistband of his trousers to get at the dagger he had there. "Why aren't you scared of me?"
You giggle again, lowering your hand as some of the tree branches grow up and out in the perfect spot to shield only your eyes from the sun.
"No offense, but you're not exactly very fear-inducing at the moment." You reply, watching in slight amusement as he dangles from the roots, spinning slowly without an ounce of control over it.
He watches you shield your eyes with the branches, finding himself a little surprised at how the forest seems to bend to your will. Despite that, a small smile appears on his face, his arms crossing in front of his chest. "What're you talking about? I'm terrifying."
You let out another laugh as he tried to cross his arms over his chest, and then the birds are singing again. The roots start to lower him just a little bit at his lighthearted joke and the way it made me smile, and he finally stopped resisting.
"Yeah, I'm quakin' in my boots."
He rolls his eyes as he lets the plants lower him down, still trying not to look completely humiliated. "Very funny, smartass. Mind telling them to lower me the rest of the way?"
The roots quickly jerk him back up again at the comment and your smile drops as you wince again. His lips form into a tight line when the roots yank him back up again, his head spinning as all his blood shoots straight back to his brain. "I can't tell them what to do, unfortunately." You remind him, head still tilted back at a mildly uncomfortable angle to look up at him.
"They seemed to listen to you just a minute ago to give you some shade." He mutters, feeling like an idiot just hanging there.
"I didn't ask for them to do that." You reply, another small smile tugging at your lips that seems to bring the sun back just a bit.
He watches as your lips pull into a smile again, noticing the way the sun seems to come back just a little every time it does. He's starting to get it, even if he was far from a comprehensive or even realistic understanding.
"Oh, so this stuff is just what- a coincidence now?" He asks, gesturing to a nearby tree that had pushed its branches out to act as your own personal umbrella.
You look up at the branches over your head before back at him. "Okay, well, I never said that." You chuckle, standing on your toes and reaching up to one of the leaves, letting a ladybug crawl onto your fingers.
He watches you stand on your toes and reach up, nymph-like in the most graceful of ways- a sight if he's ever seen one. He can't help but notice how the sun seems to break through the trees a little more now, lighting your face and hair up in a way that's almost angelic. He can feel his mouth starting to go dry as he watched you play with the ladybug. "So... you talk to bugs too?"
"What? No." You giggle, letting the bug crawl up your arm and into your hair. They did really seem to like your hair, something you had always picked up on. You didn't like it much, but they never stayed for long. Just explored for a few moments before continuing on their merry way. "It's... it's more complicated than that. More like a feeling. Not with bugs," You explain quickly. "Just like... the space, if that makes sense."
He lets his eyes linger on the small red bug that was currently making a home in your hair, trying to distract himself from the way a few strands of it seemed to fall against the exposed skin of your collarbone.
"I'll be honest... not really." He responds, a small smile on his face, "I'm not much acquainted with stuff like that."
When you look up at him again, smile widening a bit when you see he's smiling too, the roots start to lower him another foot or so again. "That's alright. I don't really get it either." You shrug softly.
He lets out a small huff of laughter as he's lowered down again, finally feeling like he's starting to get used to hanging upside down. "Well, I guess we're two peas in a pod then, huh?" The sun breaks through the trees even further, casting a golden glow on both of you and the plants surrounding you.
You grin up at him and his flushed red face as you step out of the little umbrella and pick up his hat from the ground, dusting it off before starting to gather all his things and setting them inside like it was a bucket.
"So... what did you say was happening in the town? Livestock are dyin'? People gettin' sick?"
He watches you dust off his hat and collect his belongings as you speak, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest that he felt when he saw you handling his stuff like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"Yeah..." He responds, his voice sounding a little distracted, "No one's been able to figure out why for months now. They tried blaming it on all sorts of things, but nothing's worked so far... that's why I'm here."
"They think it's me." You comment, nodding slightly, picking up the last of his things before standing up again, looking up at him.
He watches you brush down your dress, his eyes lingering longer than they should on the gentle curve of your waist and how your seemingly soft hand smoothed over the surface. With the sun lighting you up like you were an angel sent from heaven itself? Maybe you were just as dangerous as they said. "Well... are you?"
Your brow furrows slightly and you shake your head, a small frown pulling at your lips. "No... I... Like I said I've never even been to the town. Okay, well, maybe once or twice, but I just like to go to the farmer's market every once in a while. I'd never want to hurt anyone."
He watches you look down sadly, noticing how your expression shifts to the sad one he saw when you were tending the graves not too long ago. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest, realizing his comment had been a little thoughtless.
"Hey, I didn't mean..." He starts, pausing for a moment as the vines slowly let him down even lower, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."
"It's not your fault." You reply, watching him get lowered a little bit further. "If everyone believes it, I wouldn't expect you not to."
He's finally almost on the ground now, hanging just about eye level with you. At this point, looking at you from the upside down view makes his head spin a little.
"Yeah, well... I guess I still shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." He responds, watching as a soft breeze blows in through the clearing, messing your hair up for a moment and filling the air with the scent of wildflowers.
Your smile grows a bit at that. "Well, thank you. I appreciate that."
Then the roots are suddenly turning him upright again before he has the chance to even consider what to say, lowering him quickly to the grass and thrusting him forward into you. "Whoa..!" He stumbles forward, suddenly upright again, only to be flung forward at full speed straight into you. He grabs your arms by instinct, trying to keep from knocking you both backwards but failing as both of you land on a soft area of moss. The two of you fall back onto the ground, him landing on top of you with a soft thud. He can feel his heart racing in his chest as he looks down at you below him.
You're shocked at first, getting your bearings quickly though as you look up at him and into his blue eyes. It feels like you're looking straight through him at the beautiful and now clear sky above you, and you can't help but giggle when you've realized what happened. Clearly, the forest didn't see him as a threat to you anymore; stripped bare of his weapons and armed only with an apology for making assumptions.
His heart skips a beat the moment you start to laugh, the sound like music to his ears. He'd never heard a prettier sound than that. His heart hammers against his chest as he looks down at your face, the sunlight streaming through the tree tops to perfectly light up your face, giving you a golden glow. He can feel his mouth going dry again, just like it did earlier. He had never found someone so beautiful before, and for a moment, he's scared he's fallen victim to your rumoured enchantments.
He realizes after a moment how long he's been staring, and how close the two of you are. His face was so close he could see the individual lashes framing your eyes, the freckles spread across your skin, the light flush across your cheeks. His eyes fall to your lips, realizing how soft they looked... and how he badly he would like to taste them... Oh, he must be enchanted somehow.
"Are you quite alright?" You giggle, shifting a little bit, unwilling to outright ask him to get off. "I didn't expect them to throw you like that."
The giggling helps snap him out of it, and he suddenly realizes just how embarrassing the situation looks, and how strange it is that the forest would even do that to begin with. He scrambles to get off of you, sitting beside you on the ground.
"Yeah.. yeah... I'm fine...." He responds sheepishly, a flush on his own face as a few stray pieces of moss stick onto his clothes.
His face was still burning, and he couldn't get the sight of you laughing out of his head. The way your eyes had sparkled, how your hair had been splayed out around you against the grass... he shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He didn't have time to be getting all distracted like this. He glances over to you, noticing how your hair was still messy from the fall, a few blades of grass sticking out of it as a few flowers from the surrounding area are caught in the strands too.
You close your eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he moves off of you, smiling a little to yourself as you feel the sun on your skin. Just for that, it seems to burn a little brighter.
After a few moments you push yourself up so you're sitting as well, your gaze finding him again. "You must really believe me."
He tilts his head slightly, watching you push yourself into a sitting position beside him, your back against the tree and the sun still shining through the branches onto your face. He can feel his heart skip a beat as he stares.
"How do you figure that?" He blinks, trying to snap out of it and trying not to think too hard about how he was starting to feel towards you so quickly.
You nod over to the roots and vines retreating slowly back into the tree line. "They wouldn't have let you down otherwise."
He glances back over to the trees, watching the roots and the vines disappear back into the underbrush. He'd almost forgotten they were there, so distracted by you. A frown tugged at his lips, he should never be this distracted.
"I guess you're right..." He responds.
"You were the first to even get that close." You admit quietly, a thoughtful expression on your face as you glance over at the makeshift crosses and mounds of dirt a few feet away.
He lets out a soft breath of disbelief, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the little burial site, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realizes just how rude he'd been when he first got there. You had been taking care of something really important to you and he had just thrown accusations at you without even knowing you. And for some reason the forest had even allowed him to get that close... there must be a good reason.
Even in these past few minutes of speaking to you, he'd been able to tell that you weren't dangerous, and hell- you were honestly one of the nicest people he'd ever met, and by far the prettiest. Not that that mattered.
He finally looks away from the crosses and focuses back on your face, noticing the grass and the flowers, and he can't help but think that they look kind of cute on you.
"Who are those for? ...If you don't mind me asking."
"The men who came before you, I assume." You tell him, looking down and picking at the grass. "You mentioned that people were hunting me, and no one came back. And I was wondering why bodies kept turning up here..."
A lump lodges in his throat as you confirm what he already knew deep down inside. He swallows hard, trying not to let the realization that he could've been just as dead as them show on his face, but by the look on yours, he knows you can tell what he's thinking anyway.
"You... didn't kill them?" He asks, trying to sound strong, but not quite keeping the trepidation out of his voice.
Your eyes snap up to his and you quickly shake your head. "No! No, I-" You defend quickly, sitting up a bit straighter and pushing yourself back a bit. "I... Like I said, they just turned up here. I come out here often to check on the older ones and lay flowers, I started coming back and there would just be someone laying there dead. I didn't... I just buried them."
His face softens slightly as he sees the panicked expression on your face, how defensive you were at the accusation, how you quickly scooted away from him as if you would run if you had to. He knew you were telling the truth. He curses himself for letting his imagination create the image of you again, standing over a corpse with your hands covered in blood- that thought alone made him somewhat nauseous.
He lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes glued to the little crosses. He could've been there too, no better than carrion for the animals. Of course they were the men who came before him, and he's sure the forest was much less forgiving than just hanging them by their boots and taking their guns.
"Why do you come back here every day?" He finds himself asking.
"I... uh... I don't live far." You explain, glancing back over your shoulder. "And... um... my parents are here. And my brother." You add quietly, fiddling with the crystal around your neck as you look briefly over at some much older graves at the edge of the clearing.
His eyes follow your gaze over to where a group of older, smaller crosses laid on the other side of the clearing, and the realization finally set in that you were here every day to tend the graves of your family.
"You're an orphan...." He says it like a statement instead of a question, not realizing he'd said it out loud until a moment later.
You nod softly in response, leaning back on one of your palms.
"You are too." You reply, tone gentle in the observation.
He freezes, his eyes going wide as you call him out so delicately. The way you say it, it was almost like you had looked inside and had seen him for exactly what he was.
"How'd you know?"
"I can feel it." You tell him, knowing how vague it sounded- but you didn't have any better understanding of it than he did.
He blinks, looking down at the ground as he processes that. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach, knowing that somehow, you'd seen straight through every front he put up in seconds."What do you mean by that?"
You shrug slightly. "Exactly what I said. I can just... feel it. Like you can see or hear things, you know? I just... know. It's hard to explain."
He was silent for a few moments as he nodded slowly, still watching the way your fingers fidgeted with the necklace around your neck. He knew something was up with you, with how the forest seemed to welcome him when it made everyone else run. But he was starting to get the feeling he was only just scratching the surface.
He took a moment, looking up again at the simple crosses and mounds of dirt littered around the clearing, the thought that you'd had to bury your family by yourself and continue tending to their graves for who knows how long was making his heart ache in a way he didn't know was so familiar to him until he was faced with it.
"I'm sorry." He finally speaks after a few stiff moments, his voice sounding a bit softer and more tentative than before. "How old were you?"
"Fourteen." You answer quietly, looking over at him again and offering him a weak smile.
A lump forms in his throat as he takes in your answer. You'd taken care of them at only fourteen years old. The realization settled heavily in his stomach like a rock, how impossibly unfair the world was, to be dealing hands just like his out to others. To sweet girls with soft skin and perfect smiles. "Jesus ...." He mutters quietly, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes.
Picturing you as a reflection of himself, nothing more than a child, all alone in the dark forest trying her best to dig a hole for all her loved ones overturning into a vision of the last he had seen of his family. Year after hurtful year, standing over graves and tossing in handfuls of dirt to send them on their way. It made bile rise in his throat.
He looks over at you silently, and his heart aches again. He knows what it feels like to be all alone. You, in the cold, dark woods for so long with no one to look to and him, in the cold and bright lights of being hunted for his actions. You, sitting next to him on the soft forest floor, were his only chance at leaving that behind. Of looking to the future, burying you and the harm you supposedly caused behind him with his wanted posters left to blow inconsequentially in the wind. He wonders how long it had been since you had seen another face other than his in this little graveyard, and he realizes he couldn't stomach carrying your corpse back into town. If the trees would even let him take your body so far without leaving your cold skin covered in the claw marks of it's efforts to keep you here with it, nestled in the safety of its tree cover.
"No one should have to live like this... all alone." He says quietly, the words leaving his mouth before he even realizes it.
You pull at the grass in front of you mindlessly as you shrug. "I'm not alone. Not really." You say quietly.
You look over at him again, studying him for a few moments. "You're a lot more lonely than I am, I think."
He pauses at that, his heart panging in his chest again at the truthfulness of your statement. He knew you were right, he was lonely. No family, no friends. Hell- before today, he's pretty sure no one's ever looked at him the way you are now. With something like kindness. He lets out a rough sigh as he rubs the back of his neck.
"Guess we've got that in common, then."
"I guess so." You agree quietly, giving him a small, slightly sad smile.
You lean over and pick up his hat from the ground next to where you'd both fallen, checking inside that it still held all his pocket change and bullets before holding it out to him.
He stares at the hat in your hands for a moment before looking back up at you, studying the way you sat beside him with your head tilted to the side, the way your dress clung brunched up around your hips and the way your hair fell over your shoulders in messy waves in the afternoon sunlight.
He swallows hard as he reaches out and takes the hat from you, his fingers brushing yours for a second. "Thank you..."
"Of course." You hum, tucking your knees up to your chest and brushing some of the stray grass and moss off of your calves and arms. "Thanks for not killing me."
He lets out a short laugh, setting the hat back onto his head after shoving its contents back into his pockets. "I'm not going to kill you." He says firmly, his eyes following your fingers as you brush off your skirt.
A small smile twitches at your lips as you look over at him, and you feel that familiar pulsing of power in your fingertips and chest, running through your skin again.
You can feel that he means it, and you felt safe before, but even more so now.
The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for another moment, listening to the sounds of the forest around you, and he feels a sense of peace in this quiet space he'd stumbled into.
There were a hundred different ways he could be spending his afternoon. There were bounties to be collected, townsfolk to cheat at poker, and cards to be dealt and drank to. But instead, he was sitting in the middle of a makeshift graveyard with a lonely, beautiful, witch in the middle of the woods and he'd never been more at peace in his entire life.
"Are you... hungry?" You ask after a minute or so, glancing up at the sky to see whereabouts the sun was. It was likely mid to late afternoon by now, and you still hadn't eaten yet- that hadn't been a lie. You had to get back, but you didn't just want to let him go without making sure he would be able to make it back safely.
He was actually a little surprised that he hadn't thought about it. After all, he'd been walking around in the forest for hours. Now that you mention it, he can feel a hollow emptiness in his gut and a sharp pang of hunger go through his body.
"Yeah.. I could eat." He says, rubbing the back of his neck as he tilts his head up towards sky and squints against the sunlight streaming down.
You push myself up from the soft moss you were sitting on, ignoring the bits of it that clung to your dress and hair for the time being.
"Alright, well, c'mon then." You grin, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you go to collect the basket of drying lavender from the grave you were tending before he interrupted.
His eyes widen a little as he watches you stand up, his eyes lingering a little bit too long on the curve of your hips again. He shakes his head before getting up himself, gathering his things and brushing himself off before following the witch deeper into the forest that would inexplicably kill to keep her.
no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!
Synopsis:Viktor was never supposed to see you again, just like you had promised that evening when you both ended up heartbroken and bitter toward destiny and all its twisted ways. So twisted as to put you back into his life not only as a temporal working partner to cover Jayce’s absences, but also as the maid of honor in the wedding where he’ll be the best man. Hypothetically, it doesn’t have to be that difficult to find a way around the river of memories flowing between you both. Though, of course, hypotheses are flawed. Just like that part of him that still craves another ending to this story.
Tags: Second Chance (Past Lovers) | Angst | Exes to Lovers | Denial of Feelings | Viktor pining a lot tbh | Eventual Comfort | Eventual Smut | Eventual Happy Ending |
The Physicalities of Grief - Season 2 Arcane Viktor x F!Reader
Season 2 Arcane Viktor x F!Reader
Summary (SPOILERS): It's hard to grieve someone when their not really gone.
Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. HEAVY SPOILERS OF SEASON 2 ACT 1 OF ARCANE!! BE WARNED! Reader is described as having a vagina and uses she/her pronouns. Reader’s backstory is kept vague but is mentioned to be from Zaun (the Undercity), worked with Jayce and Viktor, and was childhood friends with Viktor. Mentions of masturbation, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, heavy grief, angst (not a breadstick fanfic if there isn’t angst), bad coping with grief and emotions, grief horniness LMAO, spoilers, brief fear that someone broke into your place, slightly improper use of his powers (not really use tho more like hinting at it), brief mention of vomiting but not in detail (!!), this is basically shameless PWLP (porn with little plot) that i'm using to cope ok?
Word Count: 3.3k
A/N: Unfortunately i am using Arcane Season 2 as a form of escapism bc i am not ok (context , i live in the US and i am a woman of color , , , , enough said ) anyways i am a Viktor stan and i love him SO SO SO much anyways AS PROMISE HERE IT IS ! LMAO i can't wait for act 2 to come out ! ! ! ! ENJOY ! (awhhh doesnt he look so normal in season 1 ?)
It feels like all you have ever known was this feeling.
This feeling of… swelling and crashing waves of anger and sadness. Of overwhelming crying screams, of bubbling tears that blind you, of aching emptiness that makes your joints feel sore and body retch after every meal.
Mel had to remind you that you were grieving, but you could see the way Jayce looked at her, shaking his head softly when she spoke.
“He isn’t dead,” he would whisper once Mel would leave, but you could only weakly utter “Then why does it feel like he is?”
He never knew what to say to that, just stepping back, face falling.
It was ridiculous at this point, the way he looked at you with… almost pity. You were sick of it. Everytime he came to you, updating you on the latest findings while you laid in bed, pathetically. Feeling like a waste as he went from spending hours in the lab, working beside his friend’s body encased in who knows what, to desperately fighting you to get you to eat something, anything.
You felt like a burden, like a waste of a mind and body that was once so ambitious and passionate, moving around the lab to help with whatever you could get your hands on.
“I’m useless,” you would whisper to yourself in the cover of dark, chest empty and eyes red and dry.
But his words… his words hurt the most.
“Please eat something, anything!” He cried, trying to ever so gently pin your arms down as he lifted a small cup of soup to your face.
“No Jayce, no! Stop it!” You cried, barely able to flail against him.
“I need you to eat something, please! You can't keep going on like this!” His voice cracked.
You pushed his hands away, successfully hitting the cup and making it clatter and crash to the floor.
Both of you flinched, pausing mid movement to hear the sound of the porcelain shattering into millions of pieces.
Stillness for a few seconds. Peace from him for a few seconds.
Until his voice brought you back.
“...Viktor would've wanted you to eat… to keep going…”
It made your eyes burn, chest tightening, throat closing. It made your heart race, limbs suddenly energized for the first time in days, feeling ready to run marathons.
Did Viktor feel this way the first time he touched the hexcore?
You shoved him away with surprising strength, making Jayce yell and fall to the ground, his arm moving up to shield himself.
Leaping from bed, you yanked the sheets around yourself, heavy and dark fabric covering the weakness of your flesh from sight.
“You have no idea what he would've wanted!” Your throat burned as you screamed, lips twisted into a sneer as you glared at him on the floor.
He couldn't even bear to look at you. Coward.
Paled hands moved to claw at your bedside table, yanking the drawers open. You yanked things out, throwing them to find it. Where is it?
Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?
Then you felt it. Soft beneath your fingertips, the embroidered ‘V' he asked you to add onto it scratching your skin ever so slightly. It made you pause, mind rushing and mouth rushing even faster.
“Better yet, you knew what he wanted and still went against him!” Your voice quivered as you yelled at Jayce.
Jayce gasped softly, head jerking back.
“W-what friend you are,” You stuttered, tears rushing back into your eyes and making your voice sound watery. You felt stupid.
Jayce’s breath hitched, his mouth opened to respond but you were too quick. You grasped the red fabric into your hands and rushed off, snatching your shoes on before you ran out the door with a choked sob, Jayce yelling out your name as you did so.
Your body ached as you ran, running into corners and slamming into walls you didn’t sense as you rounded hallways. Your body feverish, only shivered when you stepped out into the chill of the quiet darkness of the supposed city of progress.
Your lungs ached as you ran, panting and gasping between cries. You ran and ran, stumbling and nearly collapsing as you made your descent.
Down, down, down… to the city you knew too well.
Back home.
You tucked the blanket closer as you rounded corners with ease, effortless as you hopped over piles of trash and twisted into darkened alleys, avoiding the sounds of twisted laughs and growls.
You nearly ran into the door of your little old home, scratching at your neck to yank the necklace into the light of the partially broken street lamps. A trembling hand shoved the key into the lock, tugging yourself to press your cheek against the cold door with a hiss.
It was hard to tell what you were doing in the darkness of the studio, staggering as you closed the door and moved around, getting bruises as you ran into old furniture and beat up tables. You cried out, howling in pain as you made your way toward your bed, hidden in the back of the room.
One hand reached out, feeling the end of the furniture with heavy pants, eyes wide and barely able to make it out. But it was there, sturdy and reliable, the scent of comfort, of home, reaching your nose as you collapsed onto it, bursting out in wails.
The bed creaked as your body shook, the utter power of your lament echoing in the darkness of the room, red fabric clutched to your chest.
You could smell him, smell the mixture of coffee, toast, and the unmistakable scent of the lab.
You cried louder, rattling the windows with each sound as you held the fabric he used to tie his tie, nose buried into it. But it did nothing to muffle you, nothing to withhold the sounds of your cries.
It felt like days passed before you passed out, falling unconscious without a second thought.
But when you finally woke, it was dark again.
Body aching, you sat up in with a heaved breath, wincing at the pain that echoed throughout your being. It was hardly bearable, making you sigh as you realized that you finally did it, you pushed yourself too much and rendered yourself alone, sleeping the day away.
You felt like a ghost skirting around your home, blanket clutched around your form and hand clutching the red fabric to your chest with paled knuckles. Feet made soft sounds as you stomped, using all your strength to collapse onto the sink, holding onto the ledge as you stretched, one hand opening the tap and lips greedily sucking in the water that came down.
You knew that you would probably regret this later, Zaun’s tap water was not meant to be drunk without extra precautions made to ensure it was clean. Afterall, this wasn’t Piltover, where you could drink fresh water from the tap without worry.
You remembered the way your mother would have to boil it over the fire as a child, wincing as you drank the warm water after running circles around your childhood best friend, who would laugh and watch with a sad glint in his eyes as you did so. All you wanted was fresh, cold water after sweating, throat scratchy and knees scraped with a wonder only a child could possess.
It made you want to cry again, as your familiar scratchy throat was soothed by the cool water, if only temporarily.
Your hand barely had the strength to push the faucet shut, slipping onto your knees soon after.
The fabric pressed against your nose, darkening under the tears that slipped and hit it on its way down your cheeks. Burnt toast… coffee… metal. Burnt toast, coffee, metal. Burnt toast, coffee, metal, Jayce. Burnt toast, coffee, metal, Jayce, you.
You crawled back into bed, grunting and groaning as your limbs screamed, desperate for you to stop and give up. ‘Forget it, you're alone now’ they said, desperate for a break.
“Just… let me get to the bed… please,” you heard your gravely voice whisper out, begging yourself.
“...I’ll quit once I get to bed… please…”
‘Fine,’ you told yourself.
Crumpled there on the sheets, you encased yourself with the blanket like a body laid to rest among the flowers, eyes closed and breathing getting slower. You could hear chatter from just beyond the walls, the sound of people chattering before rushing off, the occasional argument either followed by commotion or silence. It soothed you like a lullaby, as it soothed all children of the undercity.
But as a fight breaks out nearby, harsh voices echoing the sounds of punches, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried desperately to think of something else.
Like the day he convinced you to go with him to Piltover.
“Come with me,” he whispered, hand extended out to you, amber eyes glinting with hope for what this opportunity would bring.
“Oh Viktor,” you whispered aloud, voice breaking just like in the memory.
“Please,” he said, brows creasing.
“But will I fit in? Will they accept me?” you murmured, holding your own hand, looking between his hand to his eyes.
“They accept me,” he breathed.
“That’s because you are a scientist.”
He scoffed, “Do not reduce yourself to utility, regardless of where you come from, you deserve to live amongst them.”
“But they will stare at me like… like I'm trash.”
“Nothing we aren’t used to already… besides… I need you there.”
Your breath hitched.
“You do?” you whispered to yourself, hand clutched to the fabric rising to press it against your nose again.
Eyelids softened as you thought of the way he smiled, chuckling softly at your bewildered face, smooth voice like melody that made goosebumps spread across your skin as he said, “Of course I need you…”
You didn’t even realize your free hand had inched its way down your torso until your fingertips hit the waistband of your bottoms, making you freeze up, eyes snapping open to stare into the inky darkness.
You panted, chest rising and falling.
“No…” you whispered, “N-no, no I… I can't.”
“Of course you can,” his voice echoed in your brain, smooth as a ray of sunlight, “Whatever it is you're worried about, I'll help you.”
Finally, your hand fell into his. He pulled you close, so close, that his eyes flickering onto yours felt like it had replaced the sun and the moon, “Come with me.”
Trembling, your hand pushed under the waistband and under your undergarments, fingers tracing over your mound before dipping down to the unabashed wetness of your core.
You gasped, chest tightening.
“No,” you whispered into the fabric.
Burnt toast, coffee, metal.
Your fingers glided down, hips rising and legs spreading, skin so so hot under your touch. With a smooth swipe, the wetness gathered itself on your fingertip, moving to ever so gently press against your throbbing clit.
It made you whine, voice muffled by the fabric held tight against your hand.
“No please…” you whispered once more, your resolve slipping as you thought of those amber eyes and how they glistened when he spoke about his work.
“C-can’t…” you just couldn’t bear it.
This was your childhood friend you were imagining, your friend who cared so deeply about you that he was willing to take you with him when he got a new opportunity in Piltover. Your friend who sacrificed his health for the sake of finding new tech to help people like you, who weren’t given a fair chance in the undercity. Your friend whose gaze would transfix on you as he explained what he was doing, voice tinged with an eagerness that made him whine when he thought your mind was straying from his words.
“Darling, are you listening to me?” he would say as you played with some geared models he set out for you to see.
“Yes Viktor, I swear!”
He would always chuckle and nod, either continuing to explain or instead staying silent, moving to stand behind you.
Your knees and mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut.
Burnt toast, coffee, metal.
Heavy pants filled the silence of the room.
You could almost feel the way his hand would slide over yours as you played with the model, long nimble fingers gliding over your skin.
You would gasp, hand stilling until he began to move it, guiding it with his own.“Here, let me show you… This is how you use it,” he would murmur, warm breath hitting your skin. It was so hard to suppress the shiver he gave you, no longer able to focus on the way he would turn the model the other way, guiding your fingers to press against a gear, turning it in a slow circle to get it working.
Your breathing hitched, hand moving in the way he showed you how.
His hand would speed up, moving away to let you try it. The gears then began to move on their own, prompting you to move your own hand away, watching the model with an excited smile.
The swelling pleasure in your belly grew, making the smooth movements of your hand become erratic, unable to keep a steady pace.
“V-Viktor,” you breathed, hips bucking into the air.
You could imagine it, the way he spoke so smoothly to you, an air of calm to it as if he was speaking to a frightened animal, “Yes, my darling?”
“L-like this?” you croaked, fingers dipping to press against your sopping hole, feeling it drool onto your fingers.
“Yes, exactly like that… you're doing so good…”
Your breaths grew more and more ragged, shivering as you chased your climax. It was so close, making your head fall back onto the sheets, fabric clutched to your nose, using it to run it up and down your body.
Burnt toast, coffee, metal.
“S-so… close…” you whispered.
Then you heard it.
A whisper.
You stilled, eyes snapping open and wide in terror.
You didn’t breathe, you didn’t move.
‘Go to her’, it whispered once more, a feminine voice you couldn’t make out, too low for you to distinguish.
But you could hear staggered steps, moving.
You knew you were hidden from view, allowing you an advantage, but this person was moving toward you, slowly but steadily.
You were frozen in place.
Did they come to rob you? Had you even locked your front door when you came in?
But you had no time to think, you were sitting here unarmed and vulnerable.
Gathering yourself, you sat up in bed, careful to avoid making noise as you peaked above the furniture that hid you, seeing a cloaked figure moving in the dark. You saw nothing, just them staggering. They didn’t seem to be here to steal, brushing past your things without a second glance.
You prayed to anyone who could hear you that it was just some weary soul needing to rest.
But right before you looked away, you saw it.
You saw the glow.
A faint blue-purple glow of footsteps that led toward you.
You swallowed, curling back and into yourself as your eyes trailed the faint humming glow of these footsteps, the way they led right to the foot of your bed.
The cloaked and hooded figure approached, moving around what hid you to stand at the edge of your bed, looking right at you.
Then you smelled it.
Burnt toast, coffee, metal, and… something… more.
Your breath hitched as a bony hand reached up and out, moving toward your face.
You flinched, squeezing your eyes shut as it moved. You didn't see the way it hesitated, pausing right before the warmth of your cheek.
“My darling…” They whispered, voice rumbling in a way that made your eyes snap open and body instantly and unconsciously sag, “Am i that scary?”
You gasped, shaking as you made out the iridescent eyes that traced over your sunken cheeks and eyes with dark bags underneath.
“Oh my darling…” he murmured, fingertips finally pressing against your cheeks.
He was cold, but somehow warmth thrummed through him like… machinery.
His thumb traced underneath your eye, gently, “Have you been suffering because… of me?”
You said nothing, pinned to the spot underneath his gaze.
You tried to say something, but nothing came out. Your mouth only opened and closed, silence emitting from it instead.
His gaze swept over you, making a shiver go down your spine as you sat there. His gaze stilled, eyes widening ever so slightly as he followed your hands. He paused and, after a beat of silence, he spoke up.
“Here… let me show you.”
Burnt toast, coffee, metal, and something indescribable.
The hand cupping your cheeks trailed down to your jaw, tilting it upward to look at him as he shifted to sit in front of you, the overwhelming scent of Him invading your senses.
His other hand moved, gently wrapping itself around your wrist, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath his own. He then slid in, over and down underneath the waistband of your clothes and to your soaked fingers.
You could only stare into the pools of opal that peered into your soul.
A gasp wormed its way out of your mouth as his fingers pressed against you, index tracing around your throbbing clit to your clenching hole. He moved in circles, teasing you by pressing his longest finger just against your entrance before pulling back, moving to press a tiny bit deeper with every movement.
You felt yourself instantly relax, unable to help yourself as the familiar face of Viktor stared at you, eyes softening as he saw the panic melt away.
“V-Viktor i…” you breathed, “You… d-”
“I'm supposed to be dead… I know…” he whispered.
His finger pressed in, making you groan softly as it moved against your warm walls, carefully pressing to find that spongy bit inside of you. He was always so calculated, even now as his gaze focused on your face, tracking every miniscule movement like the way your pupils dilated when you saw him, the way your breathing picked up when his thumb brushed against your clit, and the way your lips parted when his fingers curled.
“But I'm here now, my darling… you don't have to worry anymore… I just want you to come back with me.”
His voice made your eyes struggle to keep open, soft moans filling the once empty room. You were drunk off him, drunk off the way his fingers moved so deliciously deliberate, stimulating you in multiple ways and making you melt.
“Viktor…?” you sighed, barely registering what he said.
“Yes?” Viktor whispered, leaning to press his forehead against your own.
It sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, tingling with a purple glow over your skin.
“I…” gasping for air was all you could do, the overwhelming sensation flowing through your veins as his thumb pressed against your clit, fingers curling in and out of you. You were so close again.
“More?” He murmured, voice soft.
Your eyes could barely hold his gaze, “N-need you…”
“Like I always needed you?”
You moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you shook, the pleasure reaching its peak.
“Cum for me… come with me.” he murmured, lips brushing against your own.
He swallowed your moans as you cried out his name, body shaking. His hand on your jaw held you in place, continuing to move his fingers in you and on your clit, your hand wrapped around his wrist as he did so, the other still clutched onto his red tie.
Pure, white, hot, pleasure stole your vision and voice, making you see visions of a future where you and your people would never have to suffer anymore, not with someone like Viktor to lead them.
As you came down, body heaving and shaking, he carefully moved his hand off your core before wrapping your weak body with his lapis blue cloak, pressing you against him. Your head lolled, slotting against his neck, smelling the scent of burnt toast, coffee, metal, and something… something otherworldly.
“Come with me.” He whispered, “I need you.”
“I will.” You whispered, this time not hesitating.
forwards, beckon, rebound. / machine herald!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, angst, size difference, fingering, choking, dry humping, praise, russian terms of endearment, somewhat toxic relationship, mild augmentation kink, way too many emotions, mix of arcane + league lore / spoilers. word count: 16.2k
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Viktor enjoys making you feel helpless.
Technically, it isn't enjoyment so much as it is a responsibility; you'll repeatedly show up at his secluded lab in the Undercity, and as he does with everyone who comes to his doorstep worn and destitute, he'll take it upon himself to give you what you need. You are like the rest of his endeavors — meticulously examined, ambitiously furthered. But unlike his various grandiose experiments and his pursuits for evolution, it isn't just his mind you occupy.
There is some dusty, disregarded hole in his once-perfect mechanical heart, and if the hypothesis he's formed but doesn't want to acknowledge is correct, you are the most probable cause. Or perhaps, you'd be the cure.
Carefully, with his usual amount of precision, Viktor pulls his leather glove from his hand. He allows his fingers to flex: scarred skin improved by intricately-crafted metal joints. He's positioned above you, large and imposing while he keeps you pinned beneath him. The firm, steel surface of his giant worktable feels cool against your bare back. The room itself is dim, worktable lit by an overhead lamp that burns when you happen to look directly at it. Thankfully, Viktor's armored form above you, encased in dark shadow, blocks out most of the light.
The Hextech third arm on his back grasps your wrists unwaveringly, and keeps them in place above your head, utilizing an exorbitant display of strength. You can't move a muscle, not even if you tried. Lingering heat sears into your skin, radiating from the metal — from where the laser he's perfected could easily sever your wrists from the bone.
What's more, you can hardly think. Your head is spinning; your heart pounds from between your ribs, fiercely yet uselessly. You can only stare at the glowing, emotionless eyes of Viktor's mask, and wait for him to decide what he plans to do with you. Gentle. With the way you're looking at him, you need him to be gentle, this time.
He presses his palm to the center of your chest, where he can feel the erratic beat of your heart. Slowly, he begins to drag his hand down. It's a knowing, practiced motion — not as soft as it ought to be, considering his cold, purple-veined hand and calloused fingers. As his touch is brought down to your stomach, your waist, you shiver, and your body relaxes. Finally, fully.
It doesn't take long for you to arch into his touches, just as he predicted, just as you always do. Your flesh loves to sing for him.
This dance has been performed by the both of you numerous times beforehand. Viktor questions if you'll ever grow tired of it. Of the pirouetting, of revolving constantly around unspoken, trembling complications, just to return, to let your mind and your heart reel all over again.
What he feels for you — what he has evaluated from you, because machines do not feel — is something unexplainable, foreign, futile. He knows this, this dynamic you've fostered; it hardly makes sense. You are allies with no common goals. You were friends, some disregarded years ago. Every other night, you stumble into his lab to interrupt his work, and he lets you.
No, he indulges you.
"You are quivering," Viktor hums, voice muffled and deepened by the mask's filter. A usual, matter-of-fact statement, but the edges of his tone sharpen in the wake of a held-back, dark chuckle. "You want me to touch you. Say it."
The powerful, vastly-superior Machine Herald already has you right where he wants you.
Slightly riddled with static, the way his thick accent curls around the words only serves to make you shudder more. Your breathing is choppy, your chest rapidly rising and falling.
Not from fear, if Viktor had to guess. His scans of your heart rate would come across much differently if that was the case. This is from arousal. Clear, easily definable arousal. Just from his thick voice, his soft touch, and the imagery provided by his large body above yours.
The sight of you is addictive. Addiction isn't a sensation built into his mechanical repertoire, but it's the best word he can think of to describe this. You are small when you're underneath him. So malleable, so fragile. So human. How abnormal. The compulsive surge that runs through his veins should not, according to all of his tests and conclusive research, be occurring.
Viktor supposes this type of behavior would be more fitting of the past version of him. Presently, he doesn't have room to let time go to waste. His vision is all that matters. The old him, though, the Viktor you once knew would've given you whatever you desired without a second thought, even though he hardly deserved it.
He was weak, once. For you, perhaps a part of him still is.
You are intelligent, you always have been. He has cast away much of his past in pursuit of chasing a better, more important future, but still, he remembers each and every moment he shared with you quite vividly. They play in the background of his mind sometimes, persistent like a system error, recurrent like a late-night looping television program.
Your inventions often kept pace with his. Your smile was bright, brighter than the pillars of light that shone from Piltover's grandest lighthouses. Starry-eyed and driven, you wanted to improve, as a person and as a scientist. You challenged him to push further right alongside you.
Of course, you knew him better than most, but Viktor wonders: did you ever expect him to go this far? Did you ever plan on retreating back to Zaun with him, to fall further into madness together?
By now, you must be smart enough to know he is different. What you might've had, a friendship or a partnership or something delightedly improbable, it is now nothing. Nothing more than another one of his shed weaknesses and old, discarded memories.
Perfect machinery does not feel. Not even for you, no matter what it once felt. Scientifically, it can't. You should understand this relationship is not beneficial. He could and would gladly break you, it's what he built himself to do. And yet, as he's starting to realize, perhaps being broken by him is exactly what you want.
"Please touch me," You're begging, as his palm caresses the all-too-human curve of your side. Your voice is warm, lustful. A sweet, familiar taste settles in the back of his throat, as you coo the old nickname you still reserve just for him. "I need you to, Vik."
And just like always, because of you, because of his predisposed sense of responsibility, or perhaps because of an unrecognized fault in his complex machinery — Viktor gives in.
He revels in your vulnerable, quivering limbs and your heavy, desperate gaze. The grip of his Hexclaw tightens on your wrists, your hands closing, fingers tensed. He drags his palm down your stomach slowly, carefully. His gentleness is calculated, but it is yours, all the same.
Your legs spread for him on impulse when his hand reaches your thigh. He squeezes, before he brings his hand between them, allowing the end of his index finger to brush your clit; his touch is precise, with all the efficiency and learned confidence of a flawless, apathetic machine. He could make you fall apart for him so easily, every part of you perfectly attuned to his touch, and his touch alone.
Yet, he's teasing you, careful and slight touches barely grazing where you're oh-so sensitive for him. Your thighs shake, and spread wider; your body is exposed to him, soft and sweat-soaked expanses of skin contrasting splendidly with his bulky, armored chassis of metal. Now, instead of his index, Viktor uses his thumb, providing more friction and a slightly firmer touch. You squirm, the pretty features of your face washed over in pleasure, before you breathe a small, satisfied whine.
"That's it," He murmurs firmly. "To think this is all it takes to make you submit."
Viktor allows his thumb to trace circles onto your swollen, needy clit, and your breath proceeds to hitch so deliciously for him. An action, and reaction. Repeated experiments make for predictable results. Hextech hand practically digging into your wrists, Viktor brings his free, metal hand to your cheek. Oddly tender, his cold palm cups your face. He isn't surprised at the response it gets out of you, your chest heaving with a deep, trembling sigh. Every part of your skin tingles, as you lean into his faux, steel touch.
"Earlier, you wished to be defiant. Disobedient." Viktor scolds, his thumb flicking over your clit while his fingers brush your cunt, gathering your dripping slick on the digits. He takes his metal hand away from your cheek, and he presses it flat to the table, right beside your head. Your brows pinch disappointedly, clearly unsatisfied with his subtle form of punishment.
"And now look at you. Wet and desperate."
He's barely touched you, barely even begun with you, and you're already dripping.
"I wasn't- I'm not disobedient," You're countering, although it's damn near impossible to keep your voice sounding steady when his persistent touch is toying with you. He's teasing, circling your clit agonizingly slowly, just to make you squirm. "I brought you everything you asked for. Like always."
"Yes, and you did well," Viktor praises flatly. As though he's reading off a trained script, rather than watching the way your eyelids flutter as his knuckles brush your entrance. "Our current project will run smoothly now, utilizing the tech you acquired for us. But when I told you to wait, to bring the tech after I had finalized our plans, you did not listen."
You admit simply, foolishly, "I missed you."
Those words are familiar. You'll often tell him you missed him when he returns to the lab, home at last after finalizing a few affairs elsewhere. You said you missed his face the first time you saw it, your hands gently holding his cheeks, caressing metal and skin — despite how different he looks now. Despite the scars, the mechanical parts.
He knows you missed him. In a soft, delicate way. In an indecent, desperate way. His form of longing is much, much different. When the mortal matter and fraying wires of his brain yearn to have your presence beside him, with him, under him, it is strong, it is carnivorous. It is encompassing.
"You nearly comprised everything we've been working towards." Viktor's third arm tightens even more, making your wrists and arms go nearly numb. "There is only so much I can do to protect you. I disposed of the last enforcers to attempt tracking you down, but if you were to lead them here, you will not just be putting yourself at risk. You are threatening our entire vision with your recklessness."
Carefully, his index finger finds your entrance: sensitive and wanting. He deliberately pulls his hand away when you whine, instead placing his palm back on your inner thigh. Your skin is soft to the touch. Your gaze stays steady on him, on the unflinching shape of his mask, your eyelids heavy, pupils blown with clear arousal. As though he encompasses all you need, anything you could possibly want, and everything that could devastate you.
You are frustratingly beautiful.
Viktor hums, the sound low, somewhat mechanical. He gently guides his hand over your neck, just how you like, until large, metal fingers are wrapping around your throat. Not squeezing, just tightly holding. Enough to ground you, to remind you of who you belong to. You let go of a sigh, your eyes growing heavier. Your heart is skipping, and with his hand around your throat, the subtle vibrations of your quick pulse shudder through his complex machinery.
"Viktor-" You start, voice weak, barely there. "I'm-"
"I know you want more." He squeezes your thigh, applies just enough pressure to your throat to make your mind go fuzzy. "Tell me what you have been waiting for me to give to you, what you desired so strongly that you ran to me, instead of following the plan. And perhaps, I'll let you have it."
You tremble: a full-body, tingling shudder. Viktor — the Machine Herald — is so much larger, so much stronger than you. He's augmented himself to be significantly taller, significantly more imposing, and underneath him like this, you must look meager. Pathetic. Fully bare, your legs spread open for him. Giving yourself to him so easily. Your chest heaves, your mortal heart skipping and wavering at the sight of him above you, pinning you beneath his heavy, metal form.
"Breathe, zayka," Viktor murmurs, his grip on your neck loosening up. "Your heart is racing. Focus on me."
Taking in slower, deeper breaths, your mind quiets, your pulse calms. Stars and static thrum in the corners of your vision, your thoughts a knotted up blur. Viktor — his touch is all you can focus on — traces his fingers further up your thigh in approval.
"There. Very good. You're alright."
"Your fingers," You pant, "Please."
Viktor scoffs, his tone mechanical and rough, "You can do better. Try again."
Huffing, your head knocks the firm worktable when you toss it backward.
"Bastard." Your hands clench and unclench, your wrists giving a poor attempt at struggling against their hold. To no avail, of course. "Are you at least going to let me touch you?"
"No. Answer me. Do not make me repeat myself."
You briefly gnaw on your bottom lip, your jaw tense, thighs shaky. "I need your fingers inside me, Vik. I've missed you, I need you, please. I'm going fucking crazy."
Viktor's unmoving, glowing eyes examine you carefully. "That's it. That is much more sufficient. So exquisite, when you are begging. Take what you need, then."
You're well aware he isn't the same man you once fell for, nor is he the soft-spoken, bright scientist you once knew. Rumors paint him as a maker, a monster, a machine. He is cold to the touch. He isn't supposed to feel, he removed such functions ages ago; they were useless to him. As were his failing lungs, his weak legs, his heart. A heart made from machinery never skips. It can't be blinded by love, or lust. It cannot be distracted by old, unkindled flames, in the same way you often are. You envy him, somewhat.
But Gods, when it's just you and him in his lonely little corner of Zaun, and when you are at the pleasant mercy of his perfected touch, you swear, he feels more human than anything. Nothing else truly matters, because still, he is yours.
Viktor's index finger slides inside you slowly, just barely stretching you around its thickness. You're wet enough that he could press it in easily, could have you melting and drooling over whatever you're given — but instead, he chooses to let the digit fill you languidly. The feeling is slight, enveloping and enthralling and familiar, yet not enough to make you feel full, at the same time. His fingers are long, dexterous. Pretty and scarred.
You've watched him work on plenty of augments and automatons, hands tightly grasping a wrench to turn it, fingers carefully holding the ends of thin wires to thread them together. Each action swift, exact.
With the same level of precision, Viktor presses his finger deep inside you, and crooks it upward to nudge it right against your sweetest spot — and you whimper, your whole body shivering, collapsing.
"One is never enough to satisfy you," He asserts; he gently pumps his finger into you to a steady, easily manageable pace. "Isn't that right?"
If his mask weren't there, you're sure you'd see him speaking through a slight grin, maniacal and crooked, impossibly him. Your heart pounds. You're doomed, you must be.
In response, you nod your head fiercely. Another shaky moan tears through you as he works you on his slender digit. Pressing in, dragging out. Calculated and perfectly steady, like the continuous beats of a metronome.
"Or," Viktor questions, "Should I have you come undone around just one?"
"No," You snap quickly, although you're obviously in no position to be making demands. Your eyes flutter open, your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and frustration. He finds your desperation strangely satisfying. All for him. It's the same sort of hungry satisfaction that comes with working on an automation, striding closer and closer to a job well done. He adjusts, pushing your legs apart with his large knees when they tremble and threaten to close.
"Give me two," You're pleading, "Please."
Viktor hums, the sound low and vibrating.
"Guiding you to your peak would prove trivial, even without the means of penetration. You are simple. Easy to unravel." His low, intimidating voice effortlessly sends goosebumps careening down your spine. "You could most likely be led to cum against my shoe or my thigh, from modest friction and my voice alone."
"Viktor," You almost wince at how pathetic you sound. "Stop talking."
Viktor eases his index finger as deep inside you as you can take, and heat surges across your form in thundering, breaking waves. "Why would I stop when you are enjoying it?"
Oh, he knows you far too well.
"Dammit, at least-" You exhale, trembling through a moan, and Viktor's Hextech arm holds onto your wrists impossibly tighter as your hips roll into his hand — desperate to feel more of him. It works, momentarily. Until he is using his free hand to firmly grip your waist: thick metal fingers digging into warm, pretty skin. He pushes you back against the worktable, holding you in place.
You groan in frustration. "At least quit teasing me."
"Such impatience. I am working you upwards, gradually conditioning you to take higher levels of stimuli. It will make the process as a whole much more pleasurable."
"Gods if you weren't wearing that stupid mask, I would shut you up in no-"
"I always satiate you, milaya," Viktor answers calmly, as he slowly drags his finger out, leaving you quivering and empty. The nickname he uses is tender, familiar. It reminds you of your once different life. Vividly, it forms blossoms in your chest, unfurling flowers and delicate petals. Tugging sweetly at your thudding heart, despite the cold artificiality of his manufactured tone. Milaya. His darling.
Though, the Machine Herald does not covet. What he desires, he takes and makes his.
"Interesting," He's muttering, seemingly mostly to himself. "Your neediness has greatly increased since the last time we convened. Normally, you are capable of controlling yourself. To a certain extent."
He tsks, metal hand caressing slow, reassuring circles onto your waist, while his other palm dives back between your legs. His fingers drag over your cunt with an irrational sense of clumsiness, considering the motion is coming from him. He lets his fingertips search for nothing in particular, getting them slick with your arousal, nudging your clit carelessly with his knuckles until your back is arching, and your sighs are sharpening.
"Sorry." You mumble a half-hearted apology, eyelids softly fluttering.
"It was not a complaint." Viktor presses his fingertips close, dangerously closer.
Your body needs him, needs what only he can give to you. His hands, his fingers inside you. Every inch of you screams for his touch. As though you are a solved puzzle, a piece of technology broken down to let him understand each individual part. Your thighs shake, and that's part A. Your chest heaves, your shoulders go tense. Significantly human responses. Components labeled B, C, D, V. Your lips quiver, before they mutter another breathless, desperate plea of his name.
Predictable, and understandable. Yet, for certain, you are a delight to decipher. Those pieces and budding sensations come together as he thought they would, and they — and you, are primed to be bent at his will.
You expect him to tease you further. When he falls silent, becoming more impossible to read than he already was, you feel your arms and your thighs tense with what must be anticipation. Surely, he can sense how eager you are.
But Viktor doesn't falter, he does not hesitate. He guides his metal hand underneath your back, predicting its arch, and he presses two of his fingers, his middle and ring, to your drooling entrance. They slide into you with a filthy, wet noise; it's almost obscene how eagerly your cunt accepts them. How you plead with whiny utterances of yes, yes, your voice breaking, eyes closing. He eases them inside you slowly, fills you with them completely — until his scarred knuckles are nudging against you, and you're sobbing through a half-sigh, half-moan.
He doesn't wait to hear you beg for more. You're given a calculated amount of time, just enough seconds to catch your breath and get used to the stretch of both digits inside you. He fucks you on his fingers, pumping them in and out to the tune of your broken whines and gasps for air. It's a gradual process. A coded, mastered technique well-baked into his mind, his heart, and his hardware.
Of course, he's long since learned just how to make you fall apart. He has studied you, he's proceeded to subconsciously store your data in the most important vault in his mind. It is simply a matter of getting you there, of drawing out your pleas for him and your tremors and your pulses, to push you even further past your previous crescendos.
You can always be louder. Finish harder. You deserve to. And when it comes to any and all of his endeavors, including this one, he is persistently, unquenchably ambitious.
"Vik-" You're babbling, in a wavering voice he might logically, astutely label as precious. His quiet lab echoes with the whirr of various displays and devices. With your soft noises, echoing alongside the wet squelch his fingers make each time he presses them deeper. "Please, I just- I'm so- I want you so much-"
"You have me," He answers rigidly. Prepared and intentional, his fingers move slower, drawing out your moans and your shudders of pleasure. "Or were you demanding more?"
"I always want more with you." A faint, endearing pout forms on your features, the kind of look only he can draw from you. "Want- I want you to fuck me."
It isn't anything of importance; just an aimless, desperate plea. The kind you might be expected to ask of him when you're in this state — your mind wandering, your body relaxed. You need fuel for your building fire, you need to hear him outline through words what he can't through actions. You cannot make him feel as you do, but Viktor is kind enough to let you play pretend.
Though, for whatever strange, unrecognizable, illogical reason, he goes against the fixed line of actions he was previously adhering to, and he hesitates. He contemplates. He twitches, circuitry briefly inoperable, fuzzy and working against him. His center, his self-regulating core, hums with marginally more force than it did before. The hand he has pressed to your back trembles. It thrums with artificial, built-up heat, before he grips you much tighter.
Fortunately, he rediscovers his composure as quickly as it waned. Viktor quirks his fingers into your sweet spot to make you cry out for him, and then he drags them half-way out — every moment agonizingly slow, so he can admire the way the digits glisten in the lamplight.
"Filthy little thing." His voice is thick. His words are stern, making you picture how his jaw might be tightened. "I am already providing you everything you asked for, and yet still, you act greedy. Human desire is terribly intemperate."
"As if-" You're squirming, sweating, your hair a mess, warm gaze and moon-wide pupils locked onto his obscured face. "As if you feel nothing from this."
"I cannot feel. You are well aware of this reality. I suggest you do not continue to persuade yourself otherwise."
"Bullshit."
"In fact, I do feel nothing." Viktor brings his thumb to your clit on his next press in, rubbing it roughly, circling it precisely. "I am incapable of experiencing desire," His fingers crook and spread. "Nor enjoyment." They pump slowly, while they stretch you around their shape. "Or affection."
"But you were worried about me- fuck- when I went off on that stupid mission," You're mumbling, barely able to speak through ragged gasps for breath, "You were fretting over my safety. You- hah, you stopped everything you were doing just to check on me, because you felt relieved, you felt happy when you saw me walk in, didn't you?"
Did he?
Hours earlier, you returned to his doorstep, and he knew it was you from the way you knocked; he put aside the small automaton he was working on, and hurried to meet you at the door. He gave you a quick once over — in this form, he is vastly larger and taller than you, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at him — but you assured him you hadn't been injured. When you fell against his armored chest in something of an embrace, he didn't push you away. Nor did he protest when you pulled his heavy, bulky shape on top of you as you fell back against the nearest surface, his additional sensors picking up your already increasing breathing and heart rate.
He recalls your arms around him, hands tugging at his cape, removing sections of his armor, fingers threading through his hair. Soft lips pressing to cold steel —
Viktor tenses. You are plenty capable on your own, capable enough that he rarely considers whether or not you'll return. You always do, after all. This mission was considerably riskier, though. Considerably more worrisome.
If anything had happened to you, if he discovered you were injured or captured or worse, his subsequent reaction would be less than logical. His mental processes would malfunction, and he would lose the ability to think rationally. The stifling, unstoppable force that would build within him could be compared to something like rage, something like love.
You swallow thickly, and the room swirls around you in a dizzy haze as Viktor slowly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you empty.
He murmurs, "Look at me."
It's a little difficult of a command to follow, with your head spinning and your eyes all heavy. Still, you force yourself to breathe deeply, to steady, in the wake of the sudden lack of attention.
You look up, and his hand, fingers slick and filthy, momentarily moves to grasp your chin. He tilts you towards him, to make sure you're watching. Viktor reaches up, and he presses a mechanism on the side of his mask. It hisses, releasing air, small puffs of steam streaming from either side.
He removes it tentatively. He tosses it aside with a bit less caution, causing it to clink, spin, and nearly fall when it hits the upper edge of the table.
You're met with messy brown hair, scarred skin, and familiar moles. The entirety of his jaw is made of metal, reconstructed into intricately crafted steel that continues down his neck and underneath his armor. His skin is overly pale, to the point where you can notice deep eye bags, and the criss-crossings of several individual, purple-hued veins. His expression is stern and deadpan, his brows slightly creased. He takes you in, gaze flickering down for a moment, then back up — and searing eyes, dark purple pools and bright orange suns, finally meet your own.
"Your legs," He's instructing; his voice, no longer filtered through the mask, sounds warmer, clearer, a little less deep. Despite everything, terribly familiar, and blissfully human. "Place them around me."
Unable to stifle a smile, you lift your thighs, casually locking them around his back at the ankles. You rarely get to see his face, and it's impossible to keep your eyes off of him, nor can you stop your heart from pounding. Viktor returns your gaze, cold and unflinching. It's like he's examining you, regarding you with the same restrained interest as he'd have for the subjects of his experiments.
"There you are," You're cooing, head tilting, "Vitya."
Viktor's expression finally shifts from his usual indifference, his brows scrunching up to form a slightly irritated scowl.
"Defiant again. As expected."
"You used to like it when I called you that. Am I not allowed to tease you now?" You're laughing, and your smaller frame, still pinned underneath him, shifts somewhat when he loosens his grasp on your wrists. A faint amount of mercy. You offer him one of those radiant smiles he can't stand — can't resist. "You can be such a hypocrite."
"Open your mouth," Viktor sneers coldly, "So it can be put to better use."
With a firm, metal hand, he holds the curve of your soft side, measuring your individual tremors, paying attention to the steady movement of your lungs. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your lips. Your breath hitches, and your mouth forms a line. You can't help but roll your eyes.
"I can just leave, you know," You mutter, your voice still playful, yet noticeably a few volumes lower. "But I'm guessing you don't want me to."
Funny. You seem to think you could escape from his grasp.
"Open. Your. Mouth. Before I give in, and do something I shouldn't."
"I'm not-"
Your protest fizzles out into a surprised noise and a subsequent sigh; Viktor grabs you, he pulls you closer in tandem with surging forwards, and his mouth promptly crashes into yours.
Finally.
The kiss tastes sharp, like iron and ash, like something distinctly him when his tongue slowly brushes against yours. You allow your eyes to close — but Viktor hardly leaves you any room for air as he practically devours you. It's deep, enthralling, and clumsy. Needy, on your end, and hungry on his. The kind of kiss that possesses you, consumes you. Your mind is dizzy, your breath is gone, but you need to kiss him more than you need to breathe.
You melt into him gently, naturally. Like you were always meant to. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek: a motion far too soft, far too important.
When he pulls away, finally giving you some breathing room, your eyes immediately meet. Your chest is heaving, your heart warm and pounding to a tempo made just for him. His gaze is once again sharp, once again perfectly composed.
You miss the softness of his lips already. "Vik."
And he needs you, needs more of you. He's wanted to feel your lips against his for far longer than you or even he could have realized. Since those days when you were both young and stupid, when you vowed to achieve your dreams together. As though your gentle voice pleading his name is just tender enough to push him over a metaphorical edge, to flip some hidden switch in his complex mechanics — He kisses you again, again, again.
All of this, it isn't meant for him. It is unfathomably human, from the way you breathe fervently against his mouth; stuttered breaths, quicker than his, heavier than his own could ever be. To the way he touches you, a half-machine's best imitation of intimacy. His still-human palm moves to brush your neck, then glides further to hold the back of your head. Your body is all awkward limbs and soft edges and smooth skin, but you fit underneath him oh-so perfectly.
He can't stop. It doesn't seem real; Viktor imagines he must have fallen into a different reality, he's in a different body with a different, mortal heart. None of this makes an ounce of logical sense otherwise. Then again, when do you ever make sense?
He can't focus on anything but your lips on his — because for a few fleeting moments, he isn't defined by metal and machinery; he is himself. He is a mess of muddled thoughts and imperfect touches. Your legs around his back pull his figure closer to yours, and you have him wondering what it might entail without any steel in the way. Just skin against skin.
It'd be impossible for him to feel such a thing, when there's little skin left. His entire arm, his legs, his torso, his spine; they've since been replaced, improved upon. Is this the closest he'll ever get to you, to love?
Waves upon waves of warmth wash over you, they drown you, they envelop you. Even once Viktor has finally pulled apart from you with one last soft kiss, you still aren't able to breathe. Your heart pounds against your ribs, so fiercely it almost hurts.
He settles back above you, and as you calm again, he holds your gaze. His slender fingers move to trace the column of your throat, where they not-so-subtly seek out your pulse. It's racing for him. He looks remarkably composed now, compared to how disheveled you're sure you appear.
Gently, he trails his hand upwards. His thumb swipes your kiss-swollen bottom lip. Your mouth parts instinctually, allowing him to carefully press the digit into your warm mouth, onto your wet tongue.
"Do not leave," Viktor murmurs, an analytical edge already returning to his tone, in spite of what transpired between you. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, brushing it over your bottom lip again, smearing your lips with your saliva. "Stay for tonight."
"Are you asking? Or is that a demand?" Your breath on his skin is foggy and hot. When it's clear he isn't going to answer, his gaze regarding you inquisitively, you propose another question. Your hands clench, they briefly push against the unyielding grip of his Hexclaw. "Will you let my hands go now?"
"Tsk. Only if you are capable of keeping them to yourself."
"C'mon…" You hum disappointedly. He appears routinely unaffected by your pouting. So, you change your approach.
You shuffle, trying to get more comfortable. The table beneath you feels especially firm. "What if I say please? Is that what you're looking for?"
"Go ahead. It will not affect my decision."
"Seriously? But I want to touch you. You're so pretty."
Viktor hesitates, but only briefly. He senses the whirring in his chest, the usual hum of his augmented components. Substitutions where imperfect pieces should be, strength replacing frailty, mechanics coming to life once more as his mind becomes forcibly unclouded. His systems are working as usual again. All it took to experience a malfunction was your lips on his, and all he needed to do to rebuild his composure was pull away. And you are still a gasping, heavy-eyed mess.
Still, there is something troubling him. The same illogical functions that've been prodding at his mind since the very beginning. Lingering errors. Faults in his perfected frame. When he looks at you now, he strongly senses the push and pull of those inaccuracies.
If he allows you to touch him, each framework, every mechanism — Everything he's been carefully constructing might come crashing down.
Would that be so bad?
Pretty. How ridiculous. Viktor scoffs, his jaw tensing up, his next words arbitrary. "Most are afraid when they look at me."
Perhaps they should be. Perhaps you should be.
But you just smile, your expression growing soft as you tilt your head, and you answer in earnest: "I don't think I've ever been scared of you."
Again, there goes his worthless, thrumming, obsolete heart.
You should be afraid of a man who's designed himself to fit an image you no longer recognize. You shouldn't try to get so close to him, when his compulsive obsession to destroy and remake borders on a clear line of danger. This new chassis embodies perfection. It has long since relinquished any weaknesses, but if you detested him, he wouldn't blame you. Others are reluctant to embrace his vision, save for a select, fortunate few. You and him have history. History that would make seeing him like this rather difficult, he assumes.
Usually, Viktor is able to keep any oversights from throwing him off course. He can't be distracted from achieving his goals. The people of Zaun need him. This new body poses no hindrances. Pain doesn't disrupt him; it can be turned out, like anything else. Pain of the body, and pain of the heart.
You, though. Any thoughts he has of you start as small blips. Tiny, persistent sparks. They build overtime, burning brighter, hotter. Until he sees you, and you look just like how you did back then, so, so long ago. There are tired lines on your face, faint scars, and he knows they're his fault. All at once, his mind is threatening to become a mess of discordant, fraying parameters, of processes that are refusing to function in the manner they should.
He wants to keep you far, far away; far from him, from this lab. Far from this terrible, awful place you both grew up in. If he could, he'd have you go somewhere so very distant, where you couldn't distract him — where you could be happy and free. You will see the sky, feel the sun's warmth, and breathe fresh, cool air. It'd be what's best for you. And he will continue to further his endeavors in evolution. Alone, as intended.
But ultimately, no matter what he winds up doing to his mind or his body, he would think of you. Of holding you or unmaking you, sometimes he isn't sure which. If you were truly afraid, if you ran, he wouldn't follow on your heels. But along with you, you'd take a piece of himself, a faint trace he would never get back; for better, or for worse.
Viktor listens to the sound of your breathing: steady, deep. His gaze studies you, but it lingers on your eyes for longer than intended. You are still looking up at him, smiling, sparkling like a sky full of stars. As though he is a sky filled with stars.
Your breaths become heavier when he presses his palm to the center of your chest. He drags his touch down, down. You are more sensitive this time, he notes. You lean into him once his hand caresses your pelvis, your waist, and you loosen your legs from around his back to become more comfortable. His fingertips trail up your inner thigh, and you shudder, you shiver.
He thinks of kissing you once more. A couple times more, maybe. Proper judgment tells him he should resist. The thought remains there, lingering and burning between you.
"Viktor…" You murmur, your voice a bit broken, but he's hanging onto every word. "Touch me again."
Pleasant sensory inputs glow within him; tingling veins, reverberating wires. Overwhelming heat fills his shoulders, the back of his neck, his head — the heat of machinery, the warmth of his soul.
Viktor grabs your waist assertively, metal fingers digging into your hip. His gaze doesn't waver from yours as he guides your thighs to spread. Suddenly, he pushes himself against you, until you are hopelessly pressed between steel and metal. Between him, and the worktable.
You feel his weight, you feel the intricate ridges of metal plates and hard edges, the artificial heat of his much larger body radiating against your bare skin. Now, you are completely pinned, practically chest to chest, pressed underneath the Machine Herald so closely it's enough to make your head spin. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating. Perhaps he can hear it. Or maybe, he just knows your heart must be pounding for him, as it always does.
Your limbs tremor with excitement. As his palm squeezes your thigh, you can't help but arch into his touch. Thin, skillful fingers press close and feel how wet you are — still so sensitive, already dripping out onto him. You aren't teased, you aren't even able to catch your breath, because two of his fingers are swiftly dipping inside you, giving you exactly what you need.
It feels so right. Viktor reaches for your cheek. He encourages you to continue meeting his gaze when your eyes flutter and nearly close.
Your gaze on his, you let his name leave your mouth in a series of sharp gasps, and desperate pleas. He fills you slowly, but wastes no time building a rhythm; his fingers pump into your sensitive cunt gently, then methodically. Satisfied, Viktor hums, and he carefully shifts his other arm down. He holds your back as it arches, further pressing you against himself.
Now, the way he pleasures you is deliberate, it isn't enough, but Gods, you'll take anything he gives you.
"That name," Viktor starts, speaking in a smooth, level tone, perfectly contrasting the airy huffs and whines you utter for him. The name he hoped to relinquish, his name. "It sounds best when you are pleading it."
You smile through a soft moan. "It's my favorite. Such a sweet name."
Precisely, determinedly, his fingers crook into the spot within you he knows all too well, and you crumble, you sob.
"The tech you brought to me will accelerate the completion of our latest prototype," Viktor is explaining, matter-of-factly. As though the conversation is as simple as it is necessary. Like he doesn't have his large body shoved against you, and his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. It just serves to excite you further, honestly.
"I will install the heat core, and adjust its interior components accordingly. We could have its systems operational by tonight. However, I doubt I will be able to focus."
You take a forced, deep breath. "Yeah? Because of me?"
Obviously, he wants to say. You'll be here, staying in his lab, as you usually do after a tough afternoon or a previous sleepless night. He doesn't mind. Your chatter might occasionally be disruptive to his work, but your voice is nice, it is calming. Your presence itself might be a distraction, an interference that his mind tells him he should discard, but having you here is a nice change of pace, compared to the long, lonesome hours he's grown used to. He has never minded.
Sleep is less of a necessity for him. Resting for a handful of hours a few times per week is usually enough to keep himself operational. The torn leather couch he keeps in his quarters is there just for you. He no longer needs to eat in the typical sense, although he still needs to recharge burned energy. He keeps stocked up on the foods he remembers to be your favorites.
It's strange, out of everything he's forgotten, he still remembers such useless, trivial details. Each and every detail about you.
Without you, this space — the adjustments he's made to accommodate your presence, the dip in the couch from where you always sleep, your articles of clothing strewn over the floor and the couch arms. His lab would feel so empty.
His next words sound much gentler than usual. Warmer, more desperate.
"Because your voice will not leave my mind. Begging for me. Breaking for me," Viktor murmurs. He nudges his fingers against your walls, testing, teasing you. "Pleading my name."
Once more, he challenges your limits; his fingers slide into you deep, so deeply you can feel them everywhere. Nudging at your core, filling you perfectly. As if on queue, you whimper a broken plea of yes, and as your eyes flutter, you're cascading into a needy mess of pleasant, shaky gasps. You writhe, your pinned hands trembling, wishing for something to hold onto. Though, he keeps you in place underneath him, blissfully unrelenting.
"Say it," Viktor demands, "My name. Tell me who it is you need."
"Viktor," Your voice is light, clumsy and slurring slightly, but in the way you say his name, there's an unmistakable lilt of pure adoration. You need him, you need to feel him everywhere: his practiced touch, his soft skin, his steel-built anatomy. You want him to not have to leave you, to not need to choose between you and the Undercity's future.
You feel completely, utterly dizzy. You want so much. You want his hands, flesh or metal, to study every intricate inch of you. You want him to stop holding back, you need the both of you to make up for the stupid amount of time you've lost — "I- hhah- I want…"
With your eyes nearly shut, static and stars flickering at the edges of your vision, you hadn't noticed how close he'd become until Viktor's voice echoes warmly, right against the shell of your ear.
"You want me to fuck you?"
And holy shit, his tone is sultry, his accent is thick — you shiver so hard you're sure he's left feeling the aftershocks, your body still pressed up right against his, even through his layers of metal armor. Viktor doesn't stop the steady pace of his fingers, pumping and arching and working you so well. Nor does he quit speaking, simply because he knows this is what you want to hear. What you need to hear.
"You are insatiable," He scolds, although there's little emotion in his level tone. Just an obvious, already-known sense of acknowledgement. His voice is a thousand times more intense when it is curling directly into your ear; "You wish for me to render you even more weak than you currently are, so you can be shown exactly who you belong to? Oh, and how I'd fuck you. How I would take you. I would make a mess of you, I'm sure. You'd be begging to be given all of me. To be used by me."
It's merely theoretical, a set of fake promises and dirty words to put pleasant visualizations into your mind — calculated, like everything he pursues. And it works. Predictably, your entire body shudders with pure, forceful need. You pulse around his fingers, throbbing like a heartbeat. You sob, and try to twist to face him, although it's impossible, considering you're still tightly pinned beneath his figure.
You want to see his face, he figures, so Viktor shifts up. He re-puts himself in the center of your vision, and you glance towards him, eyes flickering across his face; your gaze on his is practically teary-eyed. Desperate and eager, you find ways to plead without words.
You want to let go. Of course you do — always forced to be strong, you need nothing more than to melt at the hands of the last person left in Zaun that you trust. Even if he is more machine than person. Even though he is not right for you.
For a moment all too brief, Viktor wonders what it would be like to push those boundaries. To truly have you, beneath his hands and in his heart, to feel you resounding beside him like the echoes of a rippling, rolling wave.
How would he take you? No, how would you want him?
He formulates a few possible outcomes. Perhaps you'd want him hard and desperately. You need to be put in your place, to feel him as close as he could possibly be while he molds you to his shape. You want to be obedient. A good little subject. You want to be called good, very, very good for him while he pounds you into the table, or maybe while he leans back, glowing, masked eyes focused solely on you, your hands gripping his armored shoulders so you can bounce on his lap however you'd like. The Machine Herald's perfect little pawn. He wagers with such filthy actions and words, he could make you even louder than this.
You'd be pinned underneath him, and instead of his fingers, he'd fill you with all of himself — carnal and raw. Warm and sweat-soaked. Yet still, your body pressed to his would be agonizingly tender.
Or maybe you'd want him in a different way. In a much softer way.
Tenderness has never been afforded to him, it's hardly a concept he knows, but perhaps it's what he once hoped for. With you, it's what he once pictured.
Every touch would be slow, delicate. Your hands interlocked. Bodies pressed together, galaxies against galaxies. So close, they could be mistaken for the same shape. He would learn you truly, and honestly. Warm and gentle, you would touch him soft enough to make him human again.
Your voice would beg for him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, against his form. Useless, perfect declarations of love. Viktor shudders. He imagines your hands, pretty and delicate, brushing the space between his shoulder and his steel spine. Feeling his scarred skin, alighting fiery sensations he assumed he'd long since lost.
Compared to who he was before, he is much stronger. He must be strong, must be forged of grit and iron, he must not submit to worthless, human desires. But you make him oh-so weak.
He isn't supposed to be weak.
"Please," You're gasping. You are barely able to speak at this point, babbling sweetly between broken noises as he fucks you on his fingers; it's just enough to make you shut your eyes and imagine more. "Fuck- Vik- Oh, p-please…"
Splintering, throbbing with mechanical heat, his inner workings surge with a sublime abundance of molten, unbridled energy. Burning, it's burning him up from the inside, melting him down and making him fragile.
You've gone fuzzy beneath him — No, his vision is fuzzy. Your edges are blurred, your chest is heaving as his fingers barely leave you before pressing back in. His hand adjusts, allowing his thumb to brush your puffy clit on the next press in. When you whimper his name, as you've done countless times before, he swears he sees nothing but flickering, colorless static.
Burning and heightening and building, he must be malfunctioning, experiencing crucial gaps in his design. This shouldn't be happening. He should not feel, and this isn't feeling, but there is something building inside of him, something with your name on it.
No, no, your name is flickering through him, pounding against his mind like a drum, and he has to establish control. He has to fucking fix this.
He needs to be closer, so much closer. He needs you in an unexplainable, all encompassing way. In a way that shouldn't be occurring. He doesn't want anything, he can't experience the sensation of wanting because it isn't meant to exist.
Truthfully, he's past the point of no return, and you might be all that's left to hold him in place. Impossible. The only thing he's ever desired is progress, evolution. Improvement is what matters. Improving, fixing, augmenting.
You are going to be the death of him. He needs to be pressed against you, holding you, in you, examining your inner workings, guiding you to reach your true potential —
Something snaps.
"Do you know," Viktor grasps your face, roughly tilting you in his direction. The newfound harshness to his tone is exhilarating. "How impossible it is to resist breaking you?"
He laughs, the sound sharp, almost chilling; his smile is crooked, barely recognizable, showing off even more crooked teeth. His gaze holds your own until it practically burns into you. His body is hot. To the point of overheating. You feel the heated metal against your skin, pressing to your chest, your thighs, faint puffs of searing steam pouring out from gaps in the plating.
The grip his Hexclaw has on your wrists is so tight it nearly hurts. But it's faltering, his hands are twitching. He seems to recognize he might be hurting you, and so he lifts off of you slightly, he forces himself to loosen his hold.
There's a sound coming from him that echoes like grinding gears, like the hiss of burning filaments. Like something is crumbling. Fighting against itself.
"It is all I have ever known, milaya." Viktor lets go of something akin to a sigh, although he has no need to breathe. He is utterly ruined — the poor excuse for a heart he once placed between his ribs is aching, shuddering with the anticipation of a touch, soaring with the softness that comes with a kiss. Is this what it feels like to be dizzy, to be lovesick?
You shudder as his thumb rubs your clit, and he digs his metal fingers into your side, feeling the space just beneath your ribs. "You will soon understand," He murmurs, "And if you are incapable, I am still willing to teach you. To make you into so much more."
There's a stirring in his chest at that, at the thought of completing you; a deep-rooted abnormality he can't quite pinpoint. Is it excitement? Guilt? Lust?
You swallow. You're crumbling, as he sends tingles through your veins in the wake of more enthralling words.
"You are mine. Your fundamental place is at my side." Viktor senses the building heat of his inner workings, a deep wave rolling up from his constructed spine to settle onto the back of his neck. Building, burning, breaking. "I cannot wait to unmake you."
Pulling you apart would be delightful.
Your pieces would be disassembled, separated by each individual, pretty, dizzying section, so you could be redone carefully, gently, with a sense of tenderness only he could manage. He wants to understand you. To know exactly what makes you tick, down to your most basic of functions. To be close. Indistinguishable, the both of you made from the same materials. If you were constructed in his image, your components marked by his influence, there would be no doubt who you belong to.
Through breaking you and mending you, he wonders if he could find new ways to make you sing. You'd relax under each touch, shuddering and breathing his name as he completes your newfound enhancements. Gazes locking. Touches lingering. Metal soldering. Viktor trembles. Gods, how he wants you.
Furthering your potential and heightening your pleasure both require similar sentiments. Trust, and vulnerability. Opening your chest to watch your heart pound for him is the same as measuring your hitching breaths, growing heavier the deeper and faster he presses his fingers into you.
Because delicately pulling you apart just to put you back together is some metaphor for intimacy. Carving out a space for you within the confines of his fake heart is some synonym for tenderness. Holding onto his memories of you, replaying everything he can't quite forget to the point of near insanity — to the point where he attempted to forcibly remove you, by removing those emotions. Only to fail. Feeling these sensations for you when he shouldn't is some form of devotion.
You shouldn't feel for him either, right?
Having you there from the very beginning meant something; you were beside him when he only dreamed of becoming someone greater. When his ideas for evolution were just prototypes, when he first put the full extent of his weight onto both his legs. Didn't it mean the world to you too?
You were equally misunderstood. By your peers, by the world. Just as you believed in him, he saw light in you, from the very start. He thinks you could burn bright enough to melt anyone who stands in your way. And now, years down the line, when he is seen as less than human, you only see him. Not what he's become. It's infuriating. It's unmistakably loving.
You are panting. Getting close. Your bottom lip quivers, and your body tenses, each shudder more forceful than the last. His fingers echo a filthy, wet sound each time they pump into you, and your back is arching, you are simply begging to fall apart around him. For him, because of him. You deserve to.
And you sing, voice trembling like plucked strings, "Just p-please. You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you- I've always trusted you. Vik, I need you. I'm yours. All yours."
All his.
Whatever he turns into, whatever becomes of his body, memories, and heart, you would still follow. No matter what his goal might be; to destroy this city for what it did to the both of you, or to work in unison to try and remake it. Or perhaps, he plans to become more. An example of perfection. A God. As if he isn't one already.
The first time he touched you, when he felt the softness of your skin and heard the plea in your voice, and knew you were in his heart still, still, wasn't it akin to a prayer?
Oh, he is going to unravel you.
Viktor allows his grip on your wrists to finally, fully loosen; his Hexclaw presses flatly to the table, helping to support his weight. Relaxing, you exhale a deep breath, but you don't hesitate for long. Your arms waste no time wrapping around him, pulling him close. When you kiss him, a hand cradling his cheek like he is something breakable, and not a perfected piece of unstoppable machinery, the tender press of your lips to his feels undoubtedly inevitable.
All he knows is since the day he pretended to forget about you, when he decided to become something more, his new heart beat steadily, his enhanced mind was clear. But his systems wouldn't stop buzzing.
When he hardly knew where you were or what state you'd return to him in, the noise grew sharper. Fervently pulling, Hextech whirring, unsated electricity sizzling like fireworks underneath his skin. Having you in his arms once more only made the static form so thick, he thought his mental processes might completely go haywire. All he knows is that now, as he's kissing you, feeling your lips on his, your body against his own, and your hands tangling through his hair — for once, the static is silent. Blissfully silent.
And he kisses you, harder than before. Softer than anything and everything.
"Faster-" You're pleading brokenly against his mouth, between breathy kisses, your voice echoing through him, "More."
Faster, harder, more. Whatever you desire, he's going to give it to you. Viktor mumbles, "Of course."
Finally able to move, you hook one leg around his waist, you use it to drag him in even closer. You rock into his hand when his fingers spread and crook inside you, and you grab tight, messy fistfuls of his hair. His lips on yours, kissing you over and over, leave you little room to breathe.
Once you've pulled away, you're gasping for air, and his gaze fixates on yours: examining, devouring. Viktor takes note of your every movement. How you grind into his fingers when his thumb teases your clit, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, brows pinched. How you fall back against the table when the sensations overwhelm you, eyes shut and limbs weak. Pulsing and tensing around him, so sensitive. So close to falling apart.
Your arms wrap around him again, and he tries to keep the pace of his fingers steady, while you begin placing hurried kisses to his cheek, his neck. You kiss the side of his face, soft lips on soft skin. Then, your lips continue down, they press to his steel jaw. He tilts his head to let kisses fall over the expanse of metal that runs down his neck. Tingling phantom sensations curl into him and split him open.
"Close," You're muttering, so quiet he nearly doesn't hear. You hold him as tight as you can manage. Your breath is warm on the side of his face, tickling his skin, making him feel even warmer within.
"You are close?" He repeats for confirmation; his hand finds your side, and you grip his shoulders, hands brushing over thick plates of metal, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Your nails dig in, firm enough that he thinks the steel might chip. Viktor breathes a slight laugh, "You sound so sweet."
"So- I'm getting so-" You swear, "Oh, f-fuck…"
The only way he might quench what's come over him and steady his systems is by watching you come apart. Pleading his name, while you melt into a needy puddle of all the emotions and pleasant sensations he could never let himself have. Brought to your peak by his touch, his voice, because you are his, all his.
Viktor's free hand traces up, cool steel carefully finding your collarbone, your neck. Then, his fingers are wrapping around. He squeezes your throat just barely, just how you like, enough to make you fall back with your arms sprawled above you. Your head is perfectly dizzy, as his fingers work you steadily, his thumb flicking your needy clit much faster. Pushing you closer, closer.
Until it's far too much, and you are at his mercy, guided right to the edge of an exhilarating, electrifying precipice.
"Let go. I have you," Viktor instructs, "Let yourself submit."
Everything you've been building towards, all of his touches, all of this ecstasy, and how terribly you've missed him coalesces into this. Into a single, shuddering moment, waves upon waves of pleasure pushing you over the waterfall's edge. You're melting, cumming hard for him, your arms shaking, until he's removing his hand from your throat and giving you something to grab onto — delicate fingers laced with thick, strong, metal ones. Perfectly contrasting.
Your vision goes white. Your body tenses and then goes limp, like you've been shut down. The high is forceful, before it becomes soft, ebbing over you with gradual warmth, his hand in yours enough to steady you. Heart pounding, you take quick, loud breaths.
You can't help but feel disappointed when Viktor's hand releases yours to return to your waist. He holds you carefully, cold fingers brushing your skin reassuringly. Every touch feels deliciously raw, alight and sensitive.
Your eyes open slowly. Viktor's hair is a mess in his face, likely caused by you. He seems flushed, if only slightly. His unflinching gaze flickers across your form, before it settles back on your eyes.
"Breathe," He instructs carefully, gently. His hand grips your side a bit tighter; he's clearly affected by the way you sigh. You do your best to follow along, the aftershocks fading as your pulse slows, and as you start to calm.
"There. Excellent, you have done so well," Viktor praises. He smiles slightly in satisfaction. "You have never been this breathless."
Whatever words you could've formed in response don't come. They can't, not when his fingers are still inside you; not when Viktor is pressing them into your sensitive cunt just barely, squeezing your side as he delights in the way you whine. Pleasure, white-hot and familiar, surges through you fiercely.
It's so much, it's so much, it's too much, he's already fucking you with his fingers, and before you can fully wind down, you're swiftly building towards another high. Your body needs this. You just aren't sure if you can take it.
"Ah- shit," You murmur; reaching up, you tangle both hands in his hair, gripping tight for leverage. His expression remains infuriatingly calm. "I want- I need more. It feels so good, Vik," You're practically purring those last words, your whole body shuddering through another wave of ecstasy. "But I don't- I'm not sure if I-"
"You can." Viktor interrupts, assured and composed. "You can cum for me as many times as I dictate."
You're smirking now, obediently spreading your trembling thighs wide, while you roll your hips into his touch; his fingers are so thick, so impossibly, perfectly deep — "Hah- and you said I'm the insatiable one."
"Yes. You are the most insatiable human I have ever known. And it would seem you are particularly insatiable with me."
"You were once- Oh-"
Your head falls back as Viktor nudges that sweet, tender spot inside you, and your body becomes limp once more.
He takes the opportunity to bring the Hexarm's hand to your cheek. It's large enough to eclipse your face, the same way it was big and strong enough to easily pin both your wrists in its grasp. The heat radiating from the metal makes your eyes briefly flutter, before he trails it down to your throat. Perfectly responsive, your eyes grow heavy. He provides you with your favorite, much-needed pressure.
You've watched him use this very same hand to solder metal and create machinery. The device could heat to a temperature a thousand times hotter than it is now, it's capable of firing off a single ray of concentrated energy potent enough to slice through steel. And he has that hand wrapped right around your neck.
Fuck, that shouldn't excite you. It shouldn't have you quivering more and whimpering, shaking while you try your best to keep meeting his eyes, all because you so desperately want to hear him speak again. Praising you — You are doing so well for me, so pliant, so adorable. Or scolding you — Pathetic, aren't you? Quivering like a rabbit, and all it took was a little brush with danger. You are amusing.
Whichever he prefers. Because Viktor is so much stronger, so much smarter, and it hardly matters what he chooses to say, when any and all of it still gets you off.
Deep within your heart, you know he'd never hurt you. He would take away your pain if you asked it of him, so you wouldn't have to feel it again. His words can be sharp, simply because he wants to protect you. He wouldn't even attempt to put his hand on your throat like this if he didn't have complete, total control over the Hexclaw's laser. Carefully, he observes your every movement for any sign of discomfort, calculating and controlling each aspect of your pleasure — and it only serves to make your heart pound faster.
Of course, he can tell when you start to truly shake. He knows every inch of you is melting with overstimulation, and he's going to give you more.
"Take it. I know you are capable." His voice gives you goosebumps, while his fingers press into you shallowly, but the smallest movements are more than enough to make a mess of you. "There, perfect, you are performing excellently. Relax. Continue breathing deeply, nice and slow breaths. I will take care of you, love."
Love.
"Don't-" You choke, trying to keep your eyes on his despite the way your vision wavers and blurs; your reaction is immediate, predictable, and instantly satisfying. "Don't stop…"
You're beautiful like this, when you're underneath him. Since his enhancements, compared to his new body, you are now much smaller. He had to learn to adjust to the touches you need, to be gentle. Like you once were with him. Your roles, reversed in such a crucial way. You are undoubtedly strong in your own right, but when it comes to him, you are as sensitive as you are receptive. He needed to study how to keep from holding you too tightly, how to regulate his temperature to not burn your skin underneath his hands.
You are a pretty sculpture of quivering limbs and glistening skin. Your chest heaving, eyes fluttering. As beautiful as you were back then, before this. Before he lost the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, before feelings on their own became mere faded memories. His iron consequence, locking away his dying love.
He gives you another. Three fingers press inside your dripping cunt, stretching you, filling you. A hand grips your side, his third lightly squeezing your throat — he works your pleasure for all it's worth, and has you gasping as he wrings out your aftershocks.
Viktor's mouth can't help but twitch into the slightest smile. "Look at you. You are worthy of the world."
He would give it all to you.
The Machine Herald will have this city in his hands. His vision is moving fast and accomplishing much, so it is only a matter of time. If you wanted more, he'd just have to reach even further. Relinquishing his human emotions left him without the need to be happy, nor content. But you, your happiness, keeping you safe, seeing you smile. It is stupid, foolish, doesn't make sense; his mechanics stutter, until he thinks he is choking on his own contradictory tenderness.
His body is betraying his mind. There is heat at his center, more than the normal amount emitted by his internal components. A very human, very filthy amount of heat. His skin underneath his armor is flushed and warm, his chest is aching from the weight of your heavy destruction. You are destroying him, and he can do nothing but allow it.
"I missed you," You murmur earnestly, voice weak, close to shattering. Your eyes are closed. Why, why are those words making his hands and his limbs and his heart shudder? "I missed you so bad- don't stop, keep fucking me Viktor- don't, please don't stop talking…"
Is that what you're imagining?
So he doesn't stop.
As you fall back against the table, Viktor removing the Hexclaw and letting go of your neck, he leans in to speak right against your ear. "I am proud of you, lubov. Infiltrating Piltover must not have been simple. You brought me more than I required, you did so with much efficiency. And you returned to me safely. Allow me to reward you. Fall apart for me, cum like I know you so desperately need to."
Your body curls, your hands move to his shoulders and grip them impossibly tight in an attempt to keep yourself steady. "Vik- Viktor-" You're gasping, you're close, "Kiss me, please kiss me-"
His hand holds your chin, the cool, rigid steel of his thumb swipes over your bottom lip; teasing you, making you whimper. Sliding further, into your mouth, until you're tasting the sharpness of metal. Until you're gently sucking, feeling the intricately crafted notches and joints on your tongue. When he pulls it out and kisses you hard, when his lips press to yours and your high-pitched moans become muffled on his mouth, you cum on his fingers hard enough to see the afterimage of stars.
He's trailing kisses down your jaw while you pulse around him, your thighs shaking, your head tilting to let his mouth find your throat. In the wake of his soft kisses, his foggy breath, you melt, and fully succumb to your shuddering high.
Working you back down is a slow, patient process. A kiss onto your neck for every gasp you take in, the feeling of gentle teeth once your body starts to fully relax. Everything you've wanted, everything you missed; far too tender for who he's become.
There are faint marks on your neck by the time he pulls away. Signs he was there. Proof he is softer than he is meant to be.
You could stop here. Instead, the next few moments happen in their own special space of reality.
Away from this city, away from his lab. A different plane made for just the two of you. Your mind feels dizzy, heavy. Viktor meets your gaze, momentarily scanning your face, waiting to make sure you've calmed.
He is all you can think of, all that has ever mattered. And even when he is right here, you miss him so, so much.
You tremble from the end of your spine to the top of your shoulders when he carefully pulls his fingers from you. He brushes his palm from your thigh to your side in one steady, soothing motion. You can feel the scars on his palm, the slight hesitant tremor to his still-slick fingers. You're reaching up, palm pressing to his chest. You absently feel the various ridges of metal. Smooth to the touch, armor radiating the faintest flickers of heat.
He glances down, watching your movement as your palm brushes further, further. Delicate fingertips trail the dips and outlines that continue down his stomach. Eventually, you reach as far as your arm will let you, your fingers drawing circles onto the rib-like sections of steel crossing just above his hips. As he glances back up to you, he finds your soft, pleading gaze to be already looking at him. As sweet as he's always remembered.
Your breathing is heavy. "Vik," You're begging, "We shouldn't- I'm sorry. This is stupid. I know we should stop, but…"
He is going to regret this.
Before he can stop himself, before his mind and his systems can even be led to form a single rational thought, Viktor is pressing the palm of his Hexarm just above your head, flat to the table. He is leaning over you, he is finding your cheek with a soft hand and a gentle touch. He's pulling you in, crashing his lips against yours, and he knows you're right — you shouldn't continue. He shouldn't allow this.
Machines do not feel. The Machine Herald feels nothing, and wants for nothing besides evolution. But Gods, you're kissing him like his lips are a drug, all you need after wanting to kiss him for so, so long. Since before you both became dim shells of what you once were. Your legs are wrapping around him, your fingers are brushing his face with such devastating tenderness, and Viktor believes he is feeling everything.
He's reaching down between your gasps for breath that make gaps in your kisses, and he's deftly activating a set of small, circular mechanisms on either of his sides. The armor on his chest unlatches with a clicking noise, platings becoming loose, unaligned.
The larger, more cumbersome sections of his armor, including his gauntlets, cape, and shoulder pieces have been discarded from the start, making the portion of chest armor come off as two simple halves. He has to pull away, sit up straight, and partially slide off of you to remove it all the way. Both pieces of armor hit the ground with a particularly heavy thud.
Most of his body has been replaced. Underneath the metal armor, there's just more metal; sections of iron that've been fused to replace muscle and skin, alloyed parts that reinforce his thin frame.
You have only seen him like this once. He was fixing some miscalibrated platings on his side, a wrench in one hand, the Hexclaw's laser busy welding a suitable replacement. Two thirds machine, and one part still human, he was definitely much different from what you remembered. Still, there were small sections of pale skin on his back, split where his spine had been reconstructed. And jagged scars, adorned by faint, dark moles. His messy hair still falls around his face just like you remember it.
You wanted to touch — he says he can't feel, but would he sense your fingertips as they traced his scars, would he shudder as your hands felt his skin? If you kissed what remained of him, his hand and each of his fingers, his back and each of those pretty moles, his chest down to his stomach, could you alight new sensations in him?
You've never wanted to touch him more than in this moment.
The bottom portion of his armor comes off much easier, leaving just the thick sections that cover his thighs down to his legs, including the steel brace mechanism. You're only able to catch the faintest glimpse, before he's pulling you into another deep kiss — a kiss that burns with every moment lost, his body pressing you against the table and beneath him. Your arms wrap around him, palms trailing across his back.
As they've always longed for, your fingertips feel the back of his neck: the ridges and hard edges of his spine, the solid base of the Hexarm, his soft skin. Viktor physically shudders. When one of your hands tangles in his hair while the other falls, landing upturned beside you, he kisses you harder, he absently finds your hand and holds it in his. Your fingers lace together. His hand feels so warm, still slightly larger than yours. His skin is scarred, your thumb brushing over calloused knuckles and thin, purple veins. Every touch is so tender, earnest, human, it's nearly unbearable. Your hand was meant to be in his. Even if it won't last.
It's a strange sensation, when his body presses ever closer to your own. Metal leads down from his navel, across to his pelvis, trailing underneath the armor on his thighs as one smooth, solid construction. Partially welded into his skin, but seemingly designed to make some sections removable. It is warm like the rest of him, designed with faint ridges and indents.
Your legs, locked around him at the ankles, encourage him to press ever-closer. He devours you, kissing you deeper than you thought possible. You sigh against his mouth, and hold on tightly to his hair. His body rocks against yours in an instinctual, clumsy motion. Close, pressing, grinding. Warm metal and those perfect little ridges grind between your legs, against your core, against your clit. And you practically jolt.
Oh. You break away from the kiss to toss your head back with a breathy, pretty noise. Pleasure threads through you, thick and unrelenting.
Viktor mumbles something that barely registers in your ringing ears: Should stop, you manage to make out. And then, Are you alright?
"Yes, I just-" You mumble, panting hard, "Don't. Don't stop."
So Viktor grasps your waist in a tight, yet careful grip. His eyes never leave yours, gaze burning with a fire you've never once seen. He guides you to press against him, grinds his body against yours until you're making a mess of the metal. Until the faint ridges are nudging your swollen clit just right, until the heat of the iron is burning through you, into you, and your slick arousal is glistening on the steel.
Your mind and heart are racing.
"Oh, fuck-" You're swearing, your words surely seeming broken; he finds your cheek, he tilts your head up towards him, and you can't decide if the gesture is tender, or possessive. "I need you, I really, really do."
His body feels as though he just touched the surface of the sun, and Viktor hardly knows if the warmth is coming from his overloaded systems, or if it's surrounding him, heat drawn thickly from the friction between the two of you. Perhaps it's a mix of both.
Either way, he is losing himself. It's all happening so terribly fast; when his body rolls against yours, and you whimper through a filthy utterance of his name, there is a clear, undeniable response. A tingling in his veins, an eager sensation that shoots from his back to his chest to his core, consuming everything like a wildfire, and threatening to envelop all of him.
He doesn't even know what to do with this. How to silence these disruptions, how to get his stupid brain to stop picturing you shuddering beneath his form as he presses against you, presses inside you, and brands every inch of you with his own name —
"Milaya," Viktor hums, and you swear, his tone sounds lighter, his voice sounds strained. "I have always needed you. I'm not- No, I want- I shouldn't…"
Trailing off when you cry out, he swallows. His thumb brushes your bottom lip as he continues to guide you towards him. Sweat beads on your chest, your thighs. He instructs, partially shakily, "Keep looking at me. Please."
You've rarely heard him stutter or falter, never seen him anywhere close to worked up. You hardly knew if he had the capacity to feel this way, even though he certainly wasn't built to, even though he definitely isn't supposed to. And isn't it all because of you?
The way your gaze locks with his as he rhythmically rocks against you has your heart skipping beats. There's a slight softness to his cold eyes, to his expression, that you're sure no-one else has seen before. Not since back then. You are impossible to resist, and this definitely needs to stop, this is definitely too far — it's going even further when your hand reaches down, fingertips clumsily tracing the edges of the metal seared into his navel.
He knows what you want. You're greedy, a glutton for punishment, a sweet, terrible fool. But if he's honest with himself, perhaps he is worse. You are pleading his name again, the sound echoing unendingly in his ears, and Viktor is removing the front-most section of the metal enhancement: a thin plate that forms a triangular shape from his hips, all the way down.
When he presses against your form, the next sensation to bleed into you is much different. It's smooth, soft latex, shoving against you. The last layer remaining between you and him and —
And you can feel him. Straining hard and heavy against his underclothes. Firm and warm as he rocks into you, grinding all of him onto your throbbing cunt. You aren't thinking, you can't think anymore. Not when Viktor is hard, and when your heartbeat is so damn loud in your ears, you couldn't possibly hear anything else.
"Viktor," You're murmuring, your chest pleasantly aching. Pleasure welds with emotion, walking the same shaky line, until your heart is unfurling with delicate petals that fill your throat sweetly, consuming you wholeheartedly, "I love you."
If Viktor's mechanized heart was still capable of faltering from its pre-programmed rhythm, he's sure it would be fucking pounding.
Every part of him is set alight. Burning, he feels smoke in his throat, and swears he tastes fire. He's overloading, practically overheating, like a fragile body trembling with need and want, like a system with too many programs open at once — and oh Gods, it just keeps opening more. His vision has long since gone blurry, and every sound in his ears is thick, as though he's been submerged in deep water.
How long have you wanted to say those words? He thinks of quiet days spent with you in Piltover, the lingering glances and faint touches he tried his hardest to forget.
How long has he needed to hear you say them?
Honestly, he could cry, if he was at all still capable of crying. His mind is a mess. Heat is threading through his circuits, devotion and desire, a terrible softness; he's so soft inside, it hurts. It actually hurts, and he believed he taught himself how to forgo any pain.
Electricity and faulty Hextech sizzle in his core, radiating, echoing. His damn foolish, worthless, synthetic heart. He needs to hold you, fuck you, break you. To encode this sensation into his head and his blood, because forgetting the way your voice strummed those words would be worse than admitting he is too weak to discard them.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
He doesn't deserve this. He was not built to love. Love should be thrown out, along with everything else. Love is a weakness. You may be fine with placing your heart on railway tracks, you might not think twice before putting yourself in danger, but if anything were to happen to you, he might be entirely consumed.
With his mechanized existence, he could soon become immortal. This longing would surely stick with him after you're gone, an eternity of something he could never understand. Swallowing him whole, holding onto him tight. Endlessly painful. But right now, when he is here and stuck in a dream at the same time, when he is more of himself than he has ever been, and you are all that exists in his veins, could he ever manage to stop?
You are so close to so much more. So close to ruining everything — just one last layer, one more touch. One movement, one press of his palms to your figure before he slides into you, one last massive, unfixable mistake.
"Vik, please, please, I'm-" You can barely hold on anymore, as much as you've been trying to. You curl into him, grinding back against him hard; "I can't, I can't fucking- hhah- I'm so close-"
Your bodies rock together desperately, beckoning and wanting more of what they shouldn't have. His heat radiates into your skin, and your breath fills the air in thick, heavy huffs. You're still so wet, and it makes every movement slick and simple. Your hands feel his back, his shoulders, his steel jaw, his face. Anywhere you can touch, you're making the most of it.
Viktor finds your chin, he holds it delicately, and when he says your name, it feels personal; devastatingly so. Like he could make a home with the familiarity laced through each syllable. He breathes them like he did back then, coveting you so deeply. Muttering it as one final plea.
If he can't fix this, perhaps you can reconstruct this part of him. Could you show him how to live again, could you instruct his mechanized heart, and finally teach it how to skip?
"I have you," Viktor sighs, because he's sure you want to hear his words as much as he needs to say them. He doesn't require a working heart, when he can let all of himself echo through his still-human soul. "I love you."
Your chest bruises with sparks in the wake of his gentle voice. Still somewhat robotic. Spoken as though each individual, inevitable word is one he is learning to speak. I. Love. You.
Your legs and arms wrap around him, holding him as close to you as he could possibly get. Exhaling shakily, your whines are broken, your nails digging into his back. They'll leave red marks onto his pale skin; he hopes they do. His chest is pressed right up to yours. Viktor allows his forehead to rest just barely against your own, utterly tender, and he melts, as your thudding heartbeat echoes through him. Body to body, scarred skin on softer skin. Delicate limbs held around a partial chassis of firm, strong metal.
Helpless. Perhaps for you, he is the helpless one.
It doesn't matter; everything is crumbling away, and the both of you are thrown right back into reality, because you are falling apart for him at last. One last time.
You shake, liquid hot pleasure drips over you like burning wax, and you're left at the mercy of your blistering, final high. Another few deep grinds into each other are all you need — the both of you throbbing, his jaw tensing, Hexclaw twitching, stiffening, and radiating a powerful amount of heat. His eyes flutter, the artificial glow behind them flickering like a dying lightbulb. You hold onto him tighter, and he lets go of a slight noise. A quiet, shaky, all too desperate moan.
You stay rocking against one another even while you're cumming, even after your voice is sore from chanting Viktor's name so loudly, you briefly worry that anyone just outside of his lab might've heard you.
Finally stopping, you only begin to relax once your whole body is entirely spent.
You breathe slowly. In, and then out. Deep, calming breaths. Your heart pounds with force. The room refocuses around you, the harsh light of his various lamps burning into the back of your eyelids and making you see colorful spots. Viktor waits a few moments, before he shakily pushes up to prop himself above you.
There's a hum of ambient, grinding metal coming from him. The hiss of steam. The echo of small shudders, and forceful gasps. Your vision is still fuzzy, your limbs incredibly weak, but you notice when he reaches for something; the thin metal plating, which he secures back onto himself.
Once your eyes are completely clear and your heart is beating to a normal tune, you're finally able to focus on him above you. In barely any time, with a half-machine's perfected efficiency, Viktor has already regained every last aspect of his composure.
"Stay. You require rest," He instructs matter-of-factly, his tone filled with his usual sternness. His gaze scans you up and down methodically. "I will supply you with a change of clothes."
Right. Viktor's heart can't shudder like yours. Soft sensations have no need to linger. You'd almost forgotten. This is what you were always bound to return to: you, an ally. And he is just a machine.
Through heavy, lovesick eyes, you admire the sight of him above you. His thin figure, enthralled in shadow, light reflecting off of the metal sections of his outline. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, a gesture you find particularly endearing and human.
"Oh, don't worry," You hum casually, stretching your arms and legs out. Your voice is light, foggy and still weak. The table beneath you feels firm against your back, but with how lightweight your whole body feels, you couldn't care less. "I don't think I'm moving even if I wanted to."
Viktor raises a brow just slightly. He taps your neck with a single smooth, metal finger. "And something needs to be done about these."
Briefly, your expression shifts into confusion. You tilt your head, allowing his fingers to trail further, and they examine the base of your neck down to your collarbones; the marks he left on your skin are swiftly darkening, forming blotchy, pretty bruises.
Realizing what he's getting at, you smile smugly. "Worried someone's gonna ask questions?"
"Half of Zaun acknowledges you as my right hand. I am not worried. But they will ask. It could prove arduous." Viktor explains, his tone exceedingly controlled. "Come. Hold onto me."
When you don't immediately move, he stares at you expectantly. So, despite your tiredness, you listen, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his middle loosely. Viktor lifts you with ease. His heavy boots clunk with each step, and he carries you just a few paces from the table, setting you down on your back, and onto the familiar, ripped-up leather couch. It shifts, accommodating your weight and his. Compared to the worktable, when your back hits the soft yet worn cushions, you feel like you're resting on clouds.
Viktor shifts, starting to move away, but you keep your arms wrapped around him, and speak before he has the chance.
"Vik…" You're purring, "Stay here."
A brief look of contemplation crosses his face, categorized by the slightest pinch in his thick brows. You smile, and nearly wind up kissing him again. He doesn't attempt to pull apart from you when you drag him closer to yourself, your lips gently brushing his cheek.
At first, he's overly stiff. His arm fits underneath your back to hold you out of mere obligation. In contrast, his metal arm is kept beside you, refusing to touch, steel-jointed fingers flexing absently. But once your hands trail up, your fingers tracing the back of his neck, before they run through his hair, he honestly, earnestly relaxes.
Your body underneath him is comforting. Limbs entangled, your legs brushing steel and the rigid metal brace. His head leans gently into the crook of your neck, almost hesitantly, as though he isn't entirely sure where to place it. He can't help but fall against you, bodies pressed into one another naturally enough to form the same grave. If he ever came face to face with death, he would refuse to accept it, unless it was just like this.
You let your tired eyes close. You allow yourself to focus on his warmth, on the weight of him, and you can almost pretend this is natural. That you are in the past, or perhaps residing in a much different future. You are both lovers, as you wished you would be; simple and uncomplicated, nothing more, resting together in the dizzying comfort of your afterglow.
It'd be nice. Nicer than anything you've been afforded. The only problem is Viktor is all firm steel and hard edges. His metal hand shifts to hold your side, and his fingers are digging into your skin, gripping a bit too tight. His weight on yours is making it damn near difficult to breathe. And right now, he is very, very hot.
You frown, your eyes fluttering open again. "You're overheating."
"My internal temperature is regulated by a liquid cooling apparatus," Viktor murmurs, after a moment. "It seems to be malfunctioning."
His voice is smooth, as it always is, but it sounds much warmer, much quieter, when it's spoken this close to your ear. You sigh softly, and shuffle a little under him, trying to get more comfortable.
"Ah. That sounds concerning."
"The device will adjust itself in time," Viktor clarifies. "If it does not, repairs will take a few minutes, at most."
Your fingertips brush over his back. They feel the thick ridges of his spine, and the thin steel shape of the Hexclaw's base. It feels cool and lifeless under your palm. "This is cold, though."
"It is inoperational. It stopped responding, I will need to reset it individually."
"That so?" You huff in response, laughing a little. You hold onto him tighter, and lean your head into his shoulder. "Whatever. Just don't let go of me."
He doesn't. You exhale a long, weak breath. Your hands tremble slightly, as they uselessly grip onto the sections of cold steel that frame his shoulders. Viktor stays perfectly still, and he allows you to hold onto him as tightly as you need to. This might be the last moment you'll have together. For a while, at least. He has much to attend to, after this. Some tasks he can work on at your side, with your assistance, preferably. Some missions he must complete alone.
The next time you speak, your voice is so fragile, he thinks he should be holding it in his palms. Or else it'll break.
"We shouldn't- or, I guess I shouldn't have said… you know." You shudder, shaking all over before you tense. You're holding him too close to allow him to see your face, but he can picture your expression: slightly playful, to attempt to hide your uncertainty. "Gods, I'm so stupid. But I meant it. And I just-" You laugh, "I'm sorry, Viktor. Maybe you were right. I've been way too reckless."
Viktor has no need to ponder his answer. "I know. Don't apologize. You should be resting, our conversation can continue tomorrow."
You breathe deeply, and he quietly murmurs, his voice echoing through your ears, "I love you, milaya."
Fake. Expected. A ghost of choked-back emotions, of all-too tender moments already slated to become forgotten memories. But something is there, something that tells you he's trying. For now, you'll take it. It's more than enough.
You are close to falling asleep; every one of your nerves, washed over by warm, inviting waves, enveloped in his persistent heat. As though he can sense your building exhaustion, Viktor rubs your back with slow, reassuring circles — as best he can manage, considering your shapes are pinned too close together. Your breathing evens out, and you relax into his touch. Your mind feels as heavy as your weary, weak limbs.
Your love would be soft, he considers, distracted. Gentless personified, warm like your smile, like the radiant sun shining down on one's skin. Patient and alighting. Like being pulled by the wrists, wrested out of a rocky, dark sea — finally alive, and finally able to breathe. The still-human part of him feels in measures of softness. The mechanical part is much, much different.
Heat is running through his veins. It's racing through his system, and he knows it isn't from any sort of malfunction. It burns. The taste of it is like sharp blood on his tongue, it spins in his head like the dizzy grinding of gears, sears through him with fraying wires and sizzling static. Pain and softness, forming a mix he might certainly call love, but might also swear to remove.
There's a certain sharpness gnawing at him. A flickering, raw bruise, brutalizing him from between his ribs, regardless of his attempts to try and ignore it. Your efforts are failing. You are feeling, and that means you have failed. Even dying embers burn out the same as raging flames.
You've drifted off, it would seem, your breathing slow, your body limp. So Viktor holds you just a bit tighter.
For once, for the first time since he truly decided who he wanted to be and what he wanted to accomplish, he is lost.
In the end, he is going to have to make a decision. One that will benefit his vision. Or one that will destroy him from the inside out. He must carve out these distractions, remove the sections of his heart that are faulty, or he must learn what it would mean to embrace them.
It scares him, truly. Viktor, the Machine Herald, genuinely scared over something meant to be so trivial. Fretting over the one person he never wanted to lose, even though he was sure he'd already lost you. He wonders what his opposition would say, what those who view him as soulless might think, if they knew the truth. And if you knew?
Just having to tell you, forcing himself to push you away, or coming face to face once more after he's altered his brain to completely forget you — No, the thought alone might be enough to seal his fate.
He'll make up his mind before you wake. His head will become clearer, eventually. When your voice is gone from his ears, when your phantom touches tracing his skin have finally disappeared. Besides, this moment won't last, and he wants to savor what's left of it.
Whatever happens next, wherever he takes this, he knows you will follow — to a different path, to a better future. Or to the ends of the earth.
There was always something unspoken between you and Viktor.
After the attack, you were certain you'd never get the chance to explore it. Find the words, hidden as they were, bring them together into something satisfactory. With smoke in your throat and blood on your tongue, you'd seen Viktor in the rubble, barely comprehended the mumble of Jayce's voice through ringing ears.
You thought then that the words would never be spoken. The sentence never brought to fruition, whatever that may mean. A ripe fruit left to rot.
And, now, with Viktor alive, weary against your headboard and awfully silent, you think again that the words are a lost cause.
"Can I see?" Is all you ask.
He raises a hand, sinewy purple accented by pure gold, and lets his robe fall loose to pool around his hips.
There's no sensuality in the way you examine him. The way you eye every curve in the dim candlelight, every meeting of gold and purple, the shade failing to find a name in your mind. The way you shuffle forwards, almost unconsciously, the way his hand finds yours when you come to straddle him. The touch is hesitant, fearful, almost. He looks to you for assurance as though weaving his fingers through yours could somehow offend.
Your free hand finds his collarbone, his chest, sinks down to his torso with a terribly gentle touch.
"Does it hurt?"
"I don't think so."
His voice, the sweet tone you've grown so accustomed to, remains intact. Changed, in a way, by a humming undertone. A simmering of something powerful present even in voice. Your hand finds his face, the pale skin beneath your palm, and the sound he makes is quiet. A mix of confusion and pleasure. Your thumb runs over his cheek, your fingers knead through his hair.
He's afraid, or something close to that. The sensation you bring to him seems to closely match the definition of fear, the uncertainty of it all. He slips his hand from yours, lets it rest instead on the curve of your waist. On skin covered by cloth. He feels it safer that way. He seems, now, to feel everything acutely at once, and yet, to feel nothing in its entirety. Apathy and passion pressed together into an amalgam of unknowns.
Your touch seems to be the only certain reality. Your quiet questions. Your deep breaths, your steady heart. He raises his hand to feel it in your chest. Encased in bone and flesh, your life, so terribly delicate against him.
The words sit heavy on your tongue. You feel almost like this is your last chance to speak, like the Viktor visiting you now is a shadow. No more quiet afternoons in the laboratory. No more shared lunches and exchanged laughs. Simplicity shattered, for better or for worse. He feels the same. You see it in his eyes, in the way his lips part, in the way his brow furrows so subtly.
"I should've said it sooner," you say, faces close, both equally enraptured by the intricacies of expression, "I care about you a lot. I should've..."
His kiss is gentle. It fills you with warmth, makes your chest feel as though it were stuffed with flowers and ginger. When you part, you watch the colours of his eyes swirl, mumble honeyed words against his lips.
It's selfish, you know. Thanking the powers that be that his life was spared, however changed it may be, however against persistence he may seem.
His face falls to the crook of your neck. You hold him like an idol, a prized possession thought lost.
And you hope, so deeply it burns, that he too can feel warmth in his chest. His hands wrap around you, the stream of something you can't begin to comprehend running through the skin, and you pray solely that he can still feel the way you do.
That the words can still find meaning in his mind.
synopsis: You are the daughter of a influential noble house. And Viktor is your little secret.
warnings: 18+, smut ofc, getting caught, him whimpering, soft sex 🫶🏼, reader getting eaten out, switch lean sub! vik, fingering
there might be some mistakes… -.-
[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3
Every shadow and flicker seemed to embrace the secrecy of your meeting, cocooning you in a world that was just yours and his. Viktor turned at the touch of your hand on his shoulder, his amber eyes widening in surprise before they softened, filled with a mixture of longing and tenderness that made your heart ache.
"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, his voice low and gentle, laced with both worry and desire. But his hand found its way to your waist, as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go.
"I had to see you," you whispered back, lifting a hand to his cheek, fingers grazing the roughness of his stubble. He leaned into your touch, and before either of you could say another word, his lips met yours.
The kiss started soft, hesitant, but soon grew with a fierce urgency. Viktor's hands moved to your waist, pulling you close, as if he needed to make up for every second you'd been apart. He broke the kiss only to breathe, his lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. You leaned back against his worktable, the cool metal pressing into your back.
With a glance up at you, Viktor lifted the edge of your blue dress, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your thigh. The contact of his hands sent a shiver up your spine. His gaze flickered up, silently asking permission, and at your nod, he continued, his hands guiding you, exploring every curve with a careful reverence.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice gentle, his eyes searching yours, filled with both longing and concern. "I don't want you to feel..."
"Viktor," you murmured, sliding a hand along his jaw, tilting his face so he could see the determination in your eyes. "I’m in desperate need of your touch."
He bit his lip and with a shaky breath, Viktor nodded. His eyes never leaving yours as he positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping your waist. He entered you slowly as he filled you inch by inch. This is what you were yearning for. His eyes were shut close trying to suppress his sounds, however here and there a whimper would slip through.
Each thrust was met with the wet, quiet sounds of your bodies slapping against each other, amplifying every sensation in the silence of the lab. All you could hear was the wet squelching sounds you’re pussy made as he continued to fill you.
As he moved, Viktor's hands slid under your thigh, lifting one leg to rest against his hip. The new angle sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out, your nails pressing into his shoulders.
Viktor's breath grew heavier, his forehead pressing against yours as he tried to hold back his own sounds. His gaze dropped down between you, watching where you were joined, the sight sending a shiver through him that made him let out a quiet whimper, his grip tightening on your thigh.
He began a slow, steady rhythm, each movement creating soft, wet squelching sound that continued to grow rapidly. The intimacy of it, the restraint you both held, only made the tension coil tighter. Viktor's gaze was intense, filled with both wonder and awe as he watched the way your bodies moved together. "I never thought..." he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "You're... everything I dreamed of."
You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a breathless kiss, muffling both your gasps as he quickened his pace. The sounds between you grew louder, the wet, rhythmic noises blending with the quiet hum of the lab, filling the space with a symphony meant only for the two of you. Every motion, every shift, was precise, Viktor's movements guided by both his passion and his care for you.
The tension built, coiling tight as Viktor's restraint began to slip. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and his eyes met yours with a look so full of longing, of devotion, that it nearly undid you. You clung to him, burying your face against his shoulder to stifle the moans that threatened to escape, your body moving in time with his, caught up in the quiet, forbidden passion.
With a quiet, trembling sigh, Viktor buried himself fully, his own quiet whimpers echoing softly in your ear as he felt you shudder around him. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining, grounding you as the last waves of pleasure washed over you both.
In the stillness that followed, Viktor pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, his hands still resting at your waist, as though he couldn't bear to let go. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice full of awe and tenderness. "For loving me... for being here."
Moments have passed since you have reached your first organism and you were still on the table. As the quiet settled over the lab, Viktor held you close for a few lingering breaths, his forehead pressed gently against yours. But soon, the intensity in his gaze softened, replaced by a tenderness that left you breathless.
With a quiet reverence, he carefully knelt before you, his hands resting on your thighs. He was weary to not hurt himself which would cause him more pain on his limp leg. Viktor’s golden eyes met yours as he slowly lowered himself, his expression filled with something almost worshipful. He pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, then to your thigh, each touch lingering as though he was committing every inch of you to memory. His lips moved higher, grazing over your skin with soft, open-mouthed kisses that left a warm, tingling trail in their wake.
Your breath hitched as his mouth moved closer towards your pussy, the intensity of the moment making your heart pound.
Viktor's metal fingers traced along your thigh, the coolness of his touch a delicious contrast to the heat he was leaving with his lips. His long, slender fingers followed the curve of your leg, slipping inside your walls with a grace that was gentle. You felt his thumb press softly against your skin, steadying you, while his other hand reached up to rest at your waist, grounding you in the moment.
The coldness of his metal hand sent a shiver through you, heightening every sensation, and he seemed to notice, a slight smile tugging at his lips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a hint of mischief in his gaze. "Still alright?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern, but his tone held a knowing warmth.
You managed a nod, your hand reaching down to thread through his hair, tugging him slightly closer. His lips quirked into a soft smirk before he returned his focus to you, pressing another kiss to your folds. His mouth moved with a slow, deliberate patience. His kisses growing bolder and deeper, as his tongue darted inside you.
Viktor's metal fingers traced light patterns along your skin, each touch careful, his control a testament to his dedication. As he moved higher, his thumb pressed gently along the inside of your thigh, guiding you open for him with a mixture of care and desire. The coolness of his touch, combined with the warmth of his lips, sent tremors through you that you could barely contain.
His mouth hovered near your folds, his breath warm against you, but he paused, looking up with a gaze full of tenderness. "You're... beautiful," he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, as though he was confessing a secret.
Before you could respond, his lips finally met your pussy, a quiet, reverent kiss that left you dizzy. His metal fingers continued their journey, a gentle, precise touch that sent waves of sensation through you, heightening every nerve. He took his time, savoring each reaction, each shiver, his mouth and hands working in tandem as he explored, worshipping every part of you with a devotion that left you breathless.
As his cool fingers reached deeper, finding your sensitive spots. His mouth followed, leaving soft, lingering kisses that melted any remaining restraint. The contrast of his cold touch and the warmth of his mouth created a rhythm that had you gripping the edge of the table, biting down on your lip to keep from crying out.
Viktor's pace quickened, his cool fingers moving with a newfound intensity. Each motion was calculated yet filled with passion, his gaze flickering between his hand and your face, drinking in every reaction, every quiet sound you made. His metal fingers, precise and deft, moved inside you at a pace that left you breathless, teetering on the edge as he guided you closer with each stroke.
He murmured soft, breathy reassurances between the kisses that he laid on your thighs. His voice filled with warmth."You're perfect... absolutely perfect," he whispered, his free hand caressing the curve of your thigh.
Viktor's replaced his slender fngers with his tongue again, alternating between teasing flicks and deep strokes, savoring every taste. His metal fingers splayed across your thigh, holding you firmly, while his other hand trailed down to his own body. He shivered as he began to touch himself in time with his mouth on you, his quiet moans and hitched breaths vibrating against you, only intensifying your pleasure.
He glanced up now and then, his amber eyes darkened with desire, watching the way you responded, drinking in every soft gasp and tremble. The sight of your flushed face and parted lips seemed to drive him further, his movements becoming more hungry as he lost himself in the pleasure he was giving you. His fingers dug into your skin, his grip tightening as he grew more desperate, his own moans blending with yours, low and needy.
The lab was filled with the squelching sounds of your bodies. A mix of his restrained groans, the wet, rhythmic noises of his mouth, and your own stifled whimpers. You felt like you could cum any second as your stomach turned tighter. Viktor seemed to sense it, as his tongue pressing deeper, his pace quickening. His free hand gripped your thigh harder, pulling you even closer to him, as though he wanted to consume every last bit of you.
Just as you felt yourself reaching the edge, Viktor lifted his head slowly, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. His chest rose and fell in deep, unsteady breaths, his flushed cheeks and slightly dazed expression showing just how much he'd enjoyed himself. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your thighs, grounding you as you came back down, while he gazed up at you with a look of pure adoration.
He brought his metal thumb up to wipe away a stray drop from his chin, a slight, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You taste... exquisite," he murmured, his voice low and rough, a mix of pride and lingering hunger shining in his eyes as he leaned up to kiss you, letting you taste the passion you had just shared.
Viktor then reached towards your soaked pussy to finger you again. The quiet wet sounds filled the air, amplifying the intimacy of the moment, creating a world that felt entirely your own. But then, a faint creak echoed through the room, and both of you froze. The unmistakable sound of the lab door opening snapped Viktor back to reality, and he stilled, his eyes widening as his gaze shot up to yours. You both turned, just in time to see Jayce entering, a stack of papers in hand.
Jayce's eyes met yours first, and then drifted towards Viktor, his fingers still inside you. For a brief, painful moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant hum of hextech machinery. Jayce's expression shifted from surprise to awkward shock as the realization dawned on him. His mouth opened, as though he wanted to say something, but words seemed to fail him.
"I... I didn't mean to interrupt," he finally managed, his tone caught between embarrassment and disbelief. Jayce quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing as he backed out of the room, practically stumbling over his own feet.
"I'll... come back later," he stammered, disappearing from sight. The door clicked shut, leaving the lab filled with silence once more. Viktor's face had gone red, his eyes fixed on the floor, clearly mortified. But as he glanced down at you, the edges of his mouth twitched, and a quiet laugh escaped him, breaking the tension.
"Well," Viktor murmured softly, a hint of humor in his voice, "that... was unexpected." He lifted his soaked fingers towards his mouth as his other hand still lingering on your waist, sucking all of your juices as he maintained eye contact. His mouth made a popping sound as he let his fingers go from in between his lips. He then led his once soaked fingers towards the back of your neck, caressing your hair.
"Perhaps we'll continue... later?" he suggested, his voice low, a promise glinting in his eyes as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. You couldn't help but laugh, nodding as you pulled him into an hug. You hoped that jayce didn’t go out and tell anyone what happened. Because if he did and your parents knew, you would sure be in for a scolding.
for anyone wondering, this performance is called “Success Isn’t Linear” by Yoann Bourgeois and is possibly one of the most inspiring things i’ve seen in 2022
now you’re allowed to write again, this is a formal request for the smut pls 🤝🏼😌
okay so, im bringing back bet!joe for you, because part of your brand is privately requesting specific smut, so our double or nothing boy's back with a new bet! (lil tw: it's.... it's right there, in the request, 18+)
Wordcount: 2.4K
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All The Aces
“You’re wrong.”
He was wrong.
“Am I?” Joe smirked before he threw his head back to catch a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Izzy, please tell him he’s wrong.”
He was so, so wrong.
The flake of popcorn he then threw over that got stuck in your hair went vocally ignored – you just fished it out and threw it back, watched how Joe was chewing an open mouthful of his own, smugly smiling at your bad aim.
That flake landed on the floor about two feet away from him. Izzy picked it up as she walked past, already annoyed with the two of you before she’d even sat down.
Him visibly enjoying her disdain wasn’t exactly helping his case.
“Don’t get me involved in whatever you two do to get each other off.” Izzy commented as she sat down next to you to which you audibly gasped.
You were pressed into the corner of your sofa with a little bowl of crisps balanced on the side – your own one, because neither Joe or Izzy wanted any crisps. They wanted popcorn, so they got to share the big bowl.
With your flatmate slash best friend next to you, your legs pretty much filled out the entire sofa, leaving Joe sit by himself in the armchair and thus placing Izzy in between the two of you, right in line of your crossfire.
“We don’t–” you started, but the dropped jaw you’d had on show for a second too long had prompted Joe to chuck a whole handful of popcorn at you.
None actually made it into your mouth.
“I genuinely don’t need to hear about what does or doesn’t get you off.” Izzy raised her voice slightly as she looked at Joe, telling him off for throwing food. He immediately stopped his laughter and apologised by handing the bowl over to her before he sat back, giving you the opportunity to pick and drop all thrown flakes back into the bowl.
“Just, just take it from me that he’s– you’re wrong.” you urged, and Joe just laughed.
Izzy shook her head as she took a deep breath in through flared nostrils.
Joe took that to mean more than just sheer annoyance at being dragged into whatever childish fight you had going.
“Izzy knows what’s up,” Joe held up a hand, ready to high five her, absolutely willing her refusal to get into this argument with you as an agreement to him being right.
Which, he very much wasn’t.
Izzy ignored him though, left him hanging like a loser, which made you chuckle.
“Will you just, hear me out? Did you hear what he said just now?” you sat up a little, legs crossing in front of you as you turned to Izzy who was now finding whatever she said she wanted to watch on the TV, remote in hand, eyes trained on the screen.
“She did hear me, which is why she won’t.” Joe simply said, leaning back in his chair all relaxed, hands behind his head, legs crossing at the ankles as he placed them on the coffee table.
“No, but, listen. Joe said–”
“I don’t care what Joe said,” Izzy deadpanned. “These lovers quarrels ain’t it. I know you live here so I can’t just kick you out, but…” Izzy’s eyes flicked to Joe, which made him scoff in mock-shock before he let his face turn kind.
Sarcastically kind.
“No, she’s right. It’s okay. I’m wrong. I’m wrong. I’m just a man, and what do I really know, right? You know, besides the fact that you have like, a billion more nerve endings than we do, which arguably should mean I’m right, just by the science and biology of everything, but, fine. I’ll be wrong if that makes you feel better. I accept my defeat.”
As Joe finished his small monologue, you were both frowning at him - for different reasons.
You, because he was being a little shit.
Izzy, because she was slowly trying to puzzle together what the fuck he was on about.
She then slowly turned her head towards you, eyes squinted in thought, and you sighed as you looked at her. You pretended Joe wasn’t able to hear you when you said, “Maybe you should kick him out, I’m not–”
“It’s 8000.” She interrupted you sort of casually.
“What?”
“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, it’s 8000 nerve endings for you,” Izzy nodded at you, and then turned to Joe to nod at him, “And 4000 for you.”
Joe raised his eyebrows in slight surprise as he smiled, reaching for another hand of popcorn with one hand whilst pointing the other at you.
“See? Double! That’s double the pleasure!”
“What do you mean, see? Like that proves you’re right?”
“Are you forgetting that we’re talking about something I am witness to? You can’t make such wild claims when I literally know how you–”
“Oh, my God. Stop!”
Izzy rapidly turned her head a few times between the two of you, trying to follow along, before she muted the TV and sat back a little.
“All right, I’m too invested now. What the fuck is the problem…”
“She said women don’t care for orgasms.”
“That’s not what I said, you– No, Izzy,” you had to laugh at the vile facial expression she gave you. “That’s not what I said! I said that for me–”
“No, no no. You said for women.” Joe was quick to correct you, wagging a complacent finger at you.
“Sure, yes. Fine. For women, sex isn’t just about the orgasm at the end. Like, that’s not the most important thing. It’s not all about that.”
Izzy’s face dropped as she blinked slowly, and you saw how Joe was studying her face as he did his very best to keep his own laughter inside of his body.
“Don’t you agree there’s so many other things–”
“Shh shh,” Joe held up a hand, “Let her think.”
You obliged with an eye roll.
Joe was wrong.
“I don’t…” Izzy seemed at a fucking loss. What the fuck was this conversation she’d just accepted herself into? It was bad enough that these were sometimes the type of discussions held within your group of friends, wild accusations thrown over a table that you all got far too passionate about. It was a whole other thing to have two of those said friends now together, as a couple, having the debate in Izzy’s living room where the issue was wholly personal and, worst of all, inescapable.
She sighed as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers.
“Sex isn’t just about the orgasm, right?” you tried, speaking softly, praying she’d at least sort of agree with you. You knew she did, but didn’t know if she’s vocalise it in the moment because you also understood she thought you and Joe were being fucking ridiculous.
She just wanted to watch her favourite show on TV.
Have a quiet night in.
And yet, here you were.
Talking about if orgasms mattered or not.
“Oh, then what is it about?” Joe couldn’t help spatting out as he went for another handful of popcorn from the bowl Izzy had now placed on the table in front of him.
“Um,” you sat up more, now borderline sitting on your knees and nearly knocking off the small bowl of crisps behind you, holding both hands up, ready to count on your fingers.
“Foreplay, intimacy, being close, feeling connected–” you saw Joe slump back into his seat, pushing his chin up as he sarcastically nodded at you with squinted eyes and a deep frown.
It was stupid how that made you laugh whilst you also tried your best at raising your voice to make sure he was hearing what you were saying. To convey you weren’t lying. Which, you truly weren’t!
You continued, “Doing a fun activity together, it’s like quality time, isn’t it?” you tried, nudging Izzy, but not waiting for an answer as you quickly carried on with, “The attention, being appreciated– giving appreciation! Learning about each other! All of these things go both ways, Joe, there’s just… there’s so many things.”
You looked at him a second whilst he seemed to think it over. Just when his facial expression seemed to give way with a raised eyebrow and a small cock to the side of his head, you sternly demanded, “Admit you’re wrong.” which was exactly the wrong thing to say.
“I’ll admit those things are nice, sure.”
Joe threw back his handful of popcorn and wiped his hands, giving himself a moment to think of how he was going to phrase what he was about to say.
You and Izzy waited expectantly, both sets of eyes on Joe who seemed far too relaxed for a single guy sat opposite two women, making wild claims that he somehow would know more about sex from a woman’s perspective than they would.
He truly did believe that to be the case, though.
So wrong.
“But, if we’re not crossing the finish line, what’s the point?”
“Did you not listen to the whole list of things I just gave you?”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You absolutely are wrong.”
“I’m not only not wrong. I am also, right.”
Izzy, who had been quiet for a bit, stared into the space in front of her as she suddenly loudly scoffed.
“He’s wrong right?” you pushed just slightly, desperately needing your best friend to be on your side for this one.
“Listen,” Izzy started, holding up a hand. “I’ve…” she faltered, and you made eye contact with Joe, a little panicked, a little confused.
What if she was going to tell you that you were wrong?
Oh no.
Best friend betrayal.
If Izzy disagreed with you, she could be an adult about it and pretend, just for the sake of it, that you were right and then tell you about her real feelings later, outside of Joe’s earshot.
Bros before hoes and all that.
“The finish line is important…”
Yes.
You smiled as smugly as you could and saw Joe’s slowly fade.
Izzy was a bro.
Yes.
You could just feel how she was about to side with you on this before she’d even said the words.
“But if it’s between all that she said and just, as you put it, crossing the finish line... she wins. She’s right.”
There.
End of discussion.
You didn’t cheer, or high five your best friend, or point at Joe to shriek at him that he was an idiot. You just accepted Izzy’s answer and gave a small shrug that quietly said, “See?”
Izzy reached for the remote she’d put down, unmuted the TV, and Joe watched as the two of you got comfortable on the sofa together. How you sat back and reached for snacks and laid the throw blankets across your laps just right.
It was a little suspicious how long he stayed quiet, but you knew it would only be a moment for him to try and argue his case once more.
There was no point, you knew, but you also knew Joe had an ego that was fragile, like all men had egos that were fragile.
Male egos couldn’t just take hits like this one, even if he was outnumbered.
You were chewing on a crisp when, from the corner of your eye, you saw Joe’s finger wag from left to right, pointing at the two of you before he spoke.
“You can’t actually be serious…”
“Oh yea.” Izzy didn’t even look at him as she answered, and it was hard to hide your smile. “So serious.”
“So, you’re saying…” Joe sat up, both elbows on his knees, whilst neither of you moved. “You’d rather have sex and not come–”
“Half the time, that’s just life,” Izzy complained, and you both laughed.
Joe didn’t.
Your moment of haha-men-suck that had its feet stuck in truths had you laughing louder when you saw how Joe definitely wasn’t in on the joke.
When Izzy saw, she snapped her head towards you and stage whispered, “Uh oh…” through her giggles.
Joe scooted forward even further and doubled down, “You would rather have sex and not orgasm, than have an orgasm? Is that what you are saying?”
He needed to hear you say it.
“Joe… please accept that you’re wrong and let it rest.” You were very much trying to be the bigger person, which was easy when your friend had just helped you win the argument.
But then Izzy grabbed hold of your arm as she looked at your boyfriend.
“Careful...” she warned alarmingly. “I’ve seen that face before.”
“Tell me you mean that. What I just said. Say that you would rather have sex without an orgasm than one with one...” Joe ignored Izzy, dark eyes locked right onto yours, facial expression made of stone.
“No, that’s not...” you sighed, looked at Izzy, said, “He doesn’t get it.”
“He doesn’t get it.” Izzy echoed.
You were still making fun, unable to stop your giggles.
“Say what you mean, then.” Joe was still leant forward, was still staring you down, all serious and urgent.
“Can we just watch TV now, please?” Izzy interupted, increasing the volume of the TV slightly.
Joe didn’t falter in this weird staring contest he’d started, one you weren’t participating in.
You looked down at your bowl of crisps as you fished out another one.
You bit it in half and saw how Joe grew a little impatient as his eyes followed your hand as you fed yourself.
Then, you finally answered, “Sex isn’t about the orgasm.” And Joe immediately clapped his hands together loudly, making both you and Izzy jump slightly. He seemed incredibly pleased as he sat back in the armchair, rubbing his hands together before he pointed a quick finger at you.
“I’m going to prove you wrong.”
A startled laugh escaped you as you and Izzy shared a look.
“All right, good luck mate.”
This time, it was Joe’s turn to scoff, and that smug little smile from before made its return.
“Won’t need it. You just wait.”
You looked at each other for a moment, and you didn’t trust his confident bearing one bit, but were too stubborn to let your own satisfied smile fade.
Note: Obsessed with Eric and I need to protect him from the world, please and thank you. Also, Frodo divider created by me 😊
Warnings: anxiety, panic
Words: 1.5k
The carved out hull of the decimated subway car offers little in the way of protection, but with the power out it seems likely not to cause any unwarranted noise.
Eric ushers you in before himself, the light from the fluorescents of the station giving the two of you just enough to see by. The seats and bent handrails cast gruesome shadows across the small space, and you decide to take advantage of one particularly large pocket of darkness in the corner.
Your back presses up against the cool metal, dented from God only knows what. Slowly, you slide down to the floor and Eric lowers himself down beside you. Both of you are caked with dirt and there’s blood smeared against one leg of your jeans. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to belong to either one of you.
A steady stream of water is somewhere near, the comforting sound letting you breathe just a little easier. Eric must feel the same because he dares to lean in towards you and speak softly.
“Are you okay?”
Never did that seem more complex of a question. You’re not okay in the grand scheme of things, but you’re currently still alive and, for the most part, unharmed.
“I think so,” you whisper in reply. “Are you?”
Eric nods, rubbing his hands up and down his shins, the worn brown material wearing even thinner in a few spots now.
The two of you were fortunate to run into one another in an alleyway between two buildings—the only stroke of luck either of you have had lately. A natural ease quickly proved that you worked well together and seeing as neither of you wanted to be alone, the choice was obvious.
Even though it’s only been roughly twenty-four hours since you’ve met, with all you’ve been through in that time, it feels as if you’ve known Eric for ages. There was no denying how cute he was either, but your brain barely had time for fleeting thoughts like that when your focus is on staying alive.
“How’s your hand?” Eric asks.
You look at the offending appendage, purple from bruising, slightly swollen, and throbbing. Though, it’s slightly better since you’d found that bodega and swiped all the Tylenol and ibuprofen they had.
During the initial chaos of the invasion—is that what to call it? —your back was up against the brick wall of an apartment building and a man was sent hurtling in the air towards you. Your hand had the misfortune to get crushed between the high velocity man and the brick wall. Ever since you’ve met Eric, he’s been helping you wrap your hand and always checking in on it.
“It’s sore,” you admit.
“Let me see?” Eric extends his hand.
Taking a deep breath, you place your injured hand in his.
Warm, calloused fingers undo the binding currently covering the wound and toss them to the subway floor. It feels nice to let your hand breathe a bit, get some air. With just a featherlight touch, Eric traces his index finger around the mottled skin. The delicate touch sends goosebumps up your arm. If he notices them, he doesn’t say.
A sense of disappointment fills your gut when he releases your hand to get fresh bandages. You chew on your chapped bottom lip as you watch Eric rummage through the Phantom of the Opera tote bag you’d snagged from one of those tourist gift shops.
He sprays a bit of disinfectant spray on your hand, the mist feeling doubly cold after having the warmth of his large hand enveloping yours. Next comes a fresh bandage. Eric always applies them so carefully, making sure it’s not too tight but gives your hand some support. You watch him as he works, your eyes taking in the small details of his face while he’s busy focusing on something else.
His dark eyelashes are so long that they kiss his cheeks with every blink. The curls on the top of his head are messy from everything they’ve been through, but it’s unkempt in a charming way. It amazes you how dry his lips are from dehydration, yet they still look so pink and inviting.
Eric secures the bandage on your hand, and you momentarily move on to admiring the color and depth of his eyes when you realize he’s finished and no longer distracted.
Heat comes to your face, so you lift your injury up to inspect it, hoping to give you a minute to cool down.
“Thank you,” you whisper when you lay your hand back down in your lap.
“Of course.”
The good thing about needing to keep quiet during all of this is that none of the silences could be interpreted as awkward. It’s just self-preservation.
It goes on that way for about ten minutes before you feel your head get heavy and decide to lean it against Eric’s shoulder. It’s not long before he gently rests his head on top of yours. Despite the circumstances around you, a small smile grows on your lips.
But your peace doesn’t last long. A groaning of metal and the now too-familiar skittering of legs or pincers or whatever they’re called.
By the sound of it, you guess that the creature is coming from your left, somewhere down the subway track. But there’s no reason for it to know you’re here. As long as you can remain quiet, the monster should just pass you by without trouble.
A hitch in breath from beside you grabs your attention though. Your head jerks in the direction of Eric to find his breathing speed up and his eyes widen in that recognizable panic.
Pressing one hand to his shoulder, you get his attention and his head whips to face you. With your other, injured hand, you hold up a finger to your mouth for him to stay quiet.
Eric nods but the rate of his breathing only increases. You shake your head and lean in towards him.
“Breathe.” The words could barely be considered a full whisper.
You’ve helped him through these anxiety attacks a few times now so you try to tell yourself you can do it again. You can’t blame the poor guy for being so scared, either.
The clicking of the approaching monster comes closer then stops. It feels as if time pauses while you wait to see what will happen now.
Smashing the play button, the creature falls from where it must have been crawling on the ceiling, to land on the subway platform.
Eric jumps and you see his teeth clench together as he tries to keep the panic at bay.
Step by crunching step, the being stalks closer to your subway car. Even though it can’t see you, instinct tells you to get further out of sight.
As silently as possible, you scoot over so there’s enough room for you to lay flat on the floor of the car. Eric glances down at you and you motion for him to do the same. He gives you a quick nod and with shaking hands, moves to lay down next to you.
Within the cramped space it’s hard for two adults to lay flat, side by side, so Eric ends up on his side, facing you. If you turned your head to look at him, your noses would brush.
One long black limb stretches out from the creature and crushes a piece of metal right outside your car—probably the remains of an adjoining car.
Eric’s anxiety spikes again and before you can think about it, you wrap your arm around his shoulders and bring his body down on top of yours.
It’s not the most comfortable angle for either of you, almost awkward. But Eric wastes no time grabbing onto your waist, his head falling to the juncture between your neck and shoulder.
Consciously, you slow your breathing down in hopes that Eric’s will follow your lead.
Another crunch of metal rents the air and you both jump, clinging tighter to one another. Eric’s grip on your body changed positions slightly, and now his head is resting right over your heart.
You glance down and watch as Eric visibly calms. He takes a few deep breaths and lets his eyes slip closed as he lays against you.
It takes you a few moments to realize what caused the change. Eric’s head is on its side, his right ear directly over your heart. He’s listening to your heartbeat. And it’s calming him. The thought alone makes your heart rate speed up.
Slowly, you reach up and gently rest your hand in his hair. He tilts his chin up so he can see your face and you give him a small smile. The one he gives you in return brings forward the confidence to begin running your fingers through Eric’s soft curls.
The two of you stay that way, listening as the creature moves farther and farther away, until you can’t hear it at all anymore.
But even then, after the immediate threat is gone and everything seems peaceful and calm around you, you both still stay that way. His hands holding onto your body, his head over your heart, and you carding your fingers through his curls.
Maybe this subway car is a better place to be than you originally thought.
bookstore joe hits different and i want to be hit once more right across the face pretty please
im sorry to the girls who arent into bookstore joe and im very not sorry to the girls who are into bookstore joe - enjoy babes!
Wordcount: 2.4K
---
I Want To Hold Your Hand
When Joe walked in just after three, he greeted Anne who was stood behind the counter, doing some till work, and he got a small grunt in reply.
Standard. Made him smile. No sign of you, though.
Joe looked, craned his neck, but every corner of the store was empty. You were probably doing something in the back. He’d see you in a second.
Like always, he found a book, found a seat, and settled in for at least an hour of reading. He had the time today. Time to sit. Time to read. To soak up the atmosphere. To maybe kiss you again, if he was lucky. Time to notice how Anne was being more quiet than usual. To see how she was helping customers in a voice so unnatural to her own, it kind of freaked him out a little. To see her disappear into the back and come out back on her own, and...
Where were you?
He’d kissed you a few days ago. Kissed you. And now, something felt... weird. Like something was missing.
It was nearing in on 4PM and Anne hadn’t yet told him to fuck off, or whatever, so he knew something was off.
It was quiet in the store when Joe spoke up and asked, “Hey, Anne... am I going insane, or–”
“It’s your fault.” she was quick to cut him off, not even looking up from her task.
Joe frowned. What had he done?
“What have I done?”
Anne sighed and gestured a vague hand at him as she said, “Just your mere existence.” like it was obvious.
Joe thought back to all of your recent interactions. Your granddad had sadly passed away just over two weeks ago. Last week he tried cheering you up by showing you some pictures from the shoot you allowed him to do in the store. He’d kissed you then. The funeral had happened, and Anne had let Joe help out behind the till for a second and... now, you were... hiding?
From him?!
Surely not.
That was going to make this plan of sneaking another kiss absolutely impossible.
Unacceptable.
Anne watched Joe go through every single thing he’d done or said over the past few days that could’ve upset you, and then begrudgingly sighed.
“You’re such an idiot.” Anne said, before nodding her head towards the door that read personnel - the same door Joe had walked through ten seconds into his first ever visit.
Joe didn’t need telling twice.
When he stepped into the breakroom, he wasn’t prepared for how he found you.
You were sat at the table, buried in your laptop, one leg up on the chair, chin resting on your knee, and it was obvious you’d been crying. No matter how sweetly you smiled at the sight of him, it was obvious. Your face still eyed somewhat blotchy, eyes void of make-up and the delicate skin around them coloured red.
“Hey,” you didn’t seem surprised at the sight of him, at the fact that he’d just walked right into a room he technically wasn’t really allowed to be in.
“Hey, you– I’m sorry, you weren’t in the store, Anne said I could–... are you all right?”
Your smile grew as you nodded.
“Yea, sorry. Something, happened... earlier, it’s nothing,” you were quick to wave a hand, dismissing whatever had gotten you to hide in the back entirely. “I’m okay. How are you?”
Joe didn’t believe you. Didn’t buy it for a second. He felt like he should, because it felt like it was polite to take you for your word, but he couldn’t help the suspicious narrowing of his eyes.
“What happened?”
“Well, nothing, really. I overreacted to something and–”
“To what?” Joe interrupted, and immediately apologised. “Sorry, I... I’m sorry, I just...”
He just, what? If Joe knew, he would’ve told you, but it was not that long ago that Joe found you crying in a closed store and this felt oddly similar.
He didn’t like you upset.
Made him want to fix it.
“I promise I’m okay, just... it was for the best for me to not face any customers for a second, and I had to do some administrative work anyway, so...”
Joe’s eyes fell on your laptop as you gestured at it, and then he saw what was next to it.
He recognised it instantly.
The book you’d never sell.
Was it insane to think that he knew something was missing in the storefront? That he’d subconsciously noticed that it wasn’t in its spot? On the shelf? Where it always sat?
Probably was.
“Oh, um...” you saw Joe’d noticed and laid a flat palm on the leather-bound cover. “Yea, this was,” you had to stop to swallow.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Joe quickly decided. He didn’t want to make you start crying again. He wanted exactly the opposite, actually.
“No, it’s not–” you cleared your throat and sat up straight. You didn’t want to get emotional again over such a silly thing. “It’s Anne. She sat me down here and refuses to let me do anything else.”
You used her as you excuse. You weren’t lying; Anne really had said that you could stay in the breakroom for the rest of the day. She’d man the front on her own fine. Would find you with questions but then would tell you everything was going okay and leave you on your own again. But she wasn’t keeping you there. You were keeping you there.
“Ah. Can’t piss off Anne, can we?” Joe smirked slightly.
“I think we piss off Anne all the time,” you laughed, and it broke the tension a little.
Joe awkwardly stood in the middle of the breakroom and you were sort of glad he was there, but you wished you would’ve just been in the storefront with him. That you would’ve gotten to see his face as he’d walked in. As he’d sat down with his book. As he’d crossed his legs and let his head rest in his palm of which the elbow pushed into the armrest.
Joe was still staring at where your hand was placed, and now that you couldn’t seem to move your hand away from the big book of fairytales and folklore your granddad used to read you stories from, it felt only fair to explain why you’d gotten upset earlier that day.
“Someone tried to buy it.”
It was so stupid, because, before, when someone would climb up a ladder and find it, you would smile and just tell them, “No sorry, that one belongs to the store, I’m afraid.” and calmly take it from their hands to put it back.
Where your granddad used to make you reach for it when you were little.
Where your mother would pluck you from a ladder and scold her father for making you climb up so high.
Where it lived.
Where it had always lived.
It had never been a problem before. People were allowed to touch it. To read it. To ask to buy it. You’d just tell them no, and that would be the end of it.
Not today, though.
“They caused a bit of a scene when I said they couldn’t.”
You smiled as you said it, but Joe saw right through it.
“They were right though. Why keep a book in a bookstore when it’s not for sale? It’s right in between all of the books that are... I should just, I don’t know. Keep it some place else, I guess.”
“Of course not.” Joe reacted, extremely matter-of-factly.
You’d just gone through something extremely traumatic, were still going through something extremely traumatic, and why would you listen to someone who didn’t know? Who didn’t understand?
Joe thought he barely even understood, but he understood this.
He understood the blotchy skin. He understood Anne banning you from your own store for the rest of the day. He understood why you weren’t moving your hand from your grandfather’s book that he used to read you your favourite story from.
“I hope this doesn’t sound insensitive, but... I kind of wish I’d have been here when that happened.”
Not so that he could be the hero. Not so that he could step in and tell them to maybe just accept what the store owner was telling them.
“I would’ve loved to see Anne’s face.”
That made you chuckle. Anne really was your personal guard dog, as so it turned out.
“It was a pretty great face,” you recalled, smiling to yourself. God, you really lucked out with her.
“Store’s fairly empty now, though...” Joe pointed a casual thumb over his shoulder, and you looked at the door to where Anne still was manning the front.
You took a deep breath and grimaced a little, “Yea, I know... but, I kind of... I have some things I can finish here,” you pulled your laptop towards you. “And we’re nearly closing, anyway, so...”
You had already decided this was going to be the place where you would do all of your work today, and didn’t really want to come out of hiding. You’d do that after Anne would lock up. When there wouldn’t be any chance of the bell above the door jolting you back into your anxiety.
Joe thought for a moment. Looked at you, your laptop, your grandfather’s book, and...
“Would you mind some silent company?”
That one other time he had found you all fragile and up in your emotions, he’d just sat down right next to you, started reading a book in silence, and it had worked. He kind of wanted to give it another go. See if it would also work a second time.
“I–...” you faltered and looked at the wooden chairs around the table you were sat at. “These aren’t half as comfortable as the ones out front.”
“I asked, would you mind it?” Joe let his eyes twinkle, lips almost smiling. It made you drop your shoulders a bit as you relaxed at the idea of a bit of Joe in the break room, just for your comfort.
“No, I wouldn’t mind it.” you copied his tone, and Joe’s almost-smile turned into a beaming one.
“Okay, one second.” Joe said, slapping the doorframe as he passed through it, and you heard how he rushed his steps.
“Not my fault!” you heard Joe call out to Anne.
“Absolutely your fault,” Anne calmly replied.
“Not my mere existence!”
“Just your face then.”
Joe jogged back into the breakroom with a book in hands and pulled out the chair opposite you. He sat down, found his page and gave you a last sneaky little look over your laptop screen.
Then, just like before, he offered you his hand.
His hand.
Joe laid his arm across the table, wrist up, palm open, with fingers just shy of touching your laptop.
You just looked at it a moment.
Joe didn’t need to comfort you the way he had done that day, in the store, when all you could do was think about your grandfather and cry at his memories and the fact that there wouldn’t be new ones made.
A customer hadn’t been very kind to you today about something you felt sensitive about, and over an hour had passed already. You were fine.
But the gesture was sweet. Joe offered his hand for holding and even though it wasn’t needed, necessarily, it was still a nice gesture.
Kind.
Joe was so sweet. So kind. Soft and gentle and lovely.
You remembered how nice the distraction of playing fingers had been. How it had calmed you down enough for you to reveal the source of your hurt that day.
“Come on,” Joe then softly said, not unkindly, and you made eye-contact for a second. If he wasn’t going to be able to kiss you today, he could still try for the next best thing.
“I want to hold your hand.”
Just like that, it all shifted from a comforting gesture that was meant to soothe you to just a thing Joe wanted for himself. It was a bit silly how that made it easier to give in.
You reached a hand over and let the tips of your fingers touch the warm skin of his palm before they spread out and found a way to hold onto Joe’s closing fingers. They curled together best they could in their position, and when you chanced another glance at Joe, you saw the faintest hint of a smile across his face as his eyes had found his page again.
You got back to your work on your laptop, and whilst it definitely was a lot trickier to work down your to do list with one hand, it was also definitely a lot more gratifying.
You sat in the breakroom together like that until you could hear Anne carry the A-frame into the store, and where before you’d wished the day had just been over already, you kind of wished you’d get at least another five minutes with Joe. All right. Maybe ten.
Joe stayed put until you closed your laptop.
Joe stayed put until you got up to go back out front.
And then Joe stayed put until you walked back into the breakroom to pick up your grandfathers big leather bound book; the one book you’d never sell.
Joe watched you place it back where it belonged.
Back on its shelf where Joe remembered finding it after your grandfather asked him to go fetch him something from up high.
“Thank you.” you said looking down from you position up on a ladder, and Joe just smiled.
“Thank you.” Joe said in return, holding up the book he’d been reading before putting it down on his little ledge where he kept them.
“Thank me.” Anne dryly said, mostly to herself, from where she was doing the till.
“No.” Joe gave Anne the same smile he’d given you, and made you giggle as he said goodbye and left the store with a small wave.
“Thank you Anne,” you made a point to say it, because Anne really had been the star of the show today.
Eddie gets a deal of a lifetime, while Reader gets stuck in a life changing position. Their lives are changing but not together, will they find their way back to each other or are things too different — ★ ✵ ❤︎
summary: eddie receives a deal of a lifetime, while reader is put through a life altering position. Their lives are changing, just not together.
warnings: pregnancy, break ups, just all angst
Eddie Munson had been everything to you, your boyfriend of two years, the love of your life and the man you had wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You had your future with him planned out from the first date, that was until it had all come falling down.
You had just graduated High School, Eddie was about to repeat his second senior year. It was a Sunday morning in the middle of August. A simple Sunday morning, before both your lives would change forever.
You had been feeling nauseous and tired for a few weeks, and had decided to run to the pharmacy for something you never thought you would have to buy at eighteen . A pregnancy test. It wasn’t far from the realm of possibility for you to be pregnant, You and Eddie were passionate to say the least. So there you sat on the floor of your bathroom and waited the ten minutes for the pregnancy test to give you your results.
While waiting you thought for the first time about the possibility of a baby. To be a mother, you never hated the idea especially if it was with Eddie, but now? at eighteen ? You had just gotten accepted to University, could you really let that go? It was a crazy thought. If you were being honest you weren’t that worried about it, fully denying the possibility. You were prone to overthinking, it was something that had caused problems for you and Eddie in the beginning of your relationship before you learned to trust each other, to communicate. So you thought it was just that. You, thinking too much.
Though the two blue lines on the pregnancy test before you proved your worries to be true. You were pregnant.
To be sure you decided to take five more, all with the same results. There was no denying it now, you were a hundred percent pregnant. Tears streamed down your face as you stared at the five positive tests. Terrified was an understatement on how you were feeling.
You weren’t ready to be a mom. Oh my god! your mom was going to kill you, she herself had gotten pregnant at a young age. Having to raise you all by herself, she had always warned you to be careful, it was something she always said every time you left to spend time with Eddie. She was going to be so disappointed in you.
Your body began to shake with how hard you were crying, but your thoughts then turned to Eddie. Your understanding and loving boyfriend, as you thought about it you knew that with Eddie by your side, you could get through anything. Or that’s what you thought.
While you were on your bathroom floor, with tears flowing down your face, surrounded by pregnancy tests. Thinking about how different your life would be from this moment on. Eddie was at his trailer surrounded by his bandmates thinking the same thing but instead of fear or uncertainty, he was feeling the exact opposite.
For the first time he felt true certainty for himself, he felt joy and hope for the future. For a second did he think of you through the smiles and joy but when he did he only felt panic. So he pushed it aside, it was a happy moment. He needed a happy moment for once because for Eddie Munson, his Sunday morning didn’t consist of pharmacy visits, pregnancy tests or tears. It was him and his bandmates and a phone call.
Never in his life did he think he would actually receive the life changing phone call, but when he picked up the receiver, saying his usual “The Munson Residence”
The news on the other line was one that Eddie had dreamed of hearing his whole life. He had almost dropped the phone onto the floor as the person on the other end, identified themselves as a LA Music Producer. They had actually listened to the Corroded Coffin tape he had sent them, and they loved it. Corroded Coffin had been offered a record deal, the deal of a lifetime.
Both of your lives were changing, just not together.
After you collected yourself, You knew you had to tell Eddie. For a flash of a moment you felt absolute fear, but you knew Eddie loved you. There was no doubt about it, he was your biggest fan. Always there to shower you with praise and compliments, it was also a known fact that the boy hated to be away from you. The boy practically had to be peeled away from you every time you had to go to class or go home.
So you picked up the phone, you weren’t going to deliver the news over the phone but you knew Sunday mornings were designated band practice days for Eddie and Corroded Coffin. So you called.
If you were being honest with yourself you just wanted to talk to him before placing such a burden on him. The phone rang longer than you were used to which only worsened the anxiety you were currently feeling. When the call finally connected you breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the voice you loved so much.
“Hello, Lead Singer of Corroded Coffin speaking” Eddie Answered with pure joy lacing his tone. You could hear Gareth's laugh on the other side of the phone.
“Well hello Lead singer of Corroded Coffin” you replied, giggling softly at his antics. If you only knew.
“Oh, Hi Sweetheart. What’s up” He said with less enthusiasm, if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own thoughts you probably would’ve caught the change in tone.
“Nothing, just wanted to see if you and the band were still practicing. Wanted to talk to you, hear your voice” Your voice shook slightly, trying to hold back the tears that we’re returning once more.
Just like you, Eddie was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the shake in your voice. Something he usually would’ve noticed instantly.
He was silent for a moment, a long moment that only filled your gut with a feeling of dread. Could he possibly know? Did he see you at the pharmacy? He couldn’t have. You would’ve noticed him.
After a few seconds of silence and shuffling on the other end, Eddie finally replied “Um.. Uh yeah we’re still practicing, Jeff is still having trouble learning the riff to this song we’re working on... Ar-Are you okay?”
“Yeah Yeah, I’m fine but can we hang tomorrow?” You asked, he had sounded so happy when he answered the phone. It had been a rare sound recently as he had been feeling low since flunking his senior year. Even when he congratulated you after you had walked in your cap and gown, you knew he felt disappointed in himself. You couldn’t drop this on him when he was finally sounding like his usual care free self. You could tell him tomorrow.
“Of Course, Sweetheart. I actually gotta get back to the boys but I’ll see you tomorrow” He rushed out. You should’ve noticed the unsteadiness in his voice. If you had noticed it, you would’ve been prepared for what was to come.
“Yeah, I’ll see you. I love you” you said and then he hung up.
Eddie never said goodbye without saying ‘I love you’ back. If anything he was always the first one, berating you for not saying it back quick enough. The dreadful feeling in your stomach only grew after that.
When Eddie hung up the phone, for the first time that day he felt the gravity of the deal he had accepted. He was undeniably happy, this was his dream come true. He would no longer be the trailer park trash that everyone thought him to be, the freak of Hawkins or the idiot who had to repeat his senior year because he was too busy drug dealing to actually participate in class.
But what did that mean for the two of you?
“What was that? Why didn’t you tell y/n? She should be on her way here to celebrate with us.” Gareth said his hands held out, confused by Eddie’s actions. Never has Eddie been able to keep something hidden from you. It was actually something that had bugged Gareth in the beginning as he knew that if he told Eddie something, you would be told the same information only hours later.
“Yeah! And I completely nailed that riff by the way” Jeff inserted, slightly offended by Eddie’s choice of excuses.
Eddie ignored them both, slowly and silently making his way to the couch, all excitement he had previously felt, gone from his body. The only thing on his mind was you. You would be happy for him, there’s no denying that. You loved him and always encouraged him to seek out his dreams. Hell, you were the one who convinced him to send the tape out anyways, helping him pick the right songs and mail it. This was as much your accomplishment as it was his.
Yet why did he feel like something was ending, like he was giving up one dream for another.
“What’s wrong dude?” Doug asked, moving to sit next to Eddie, sharing concerned glances with Jeff and Gareth at their friends' sudden change of mood.
“He lied to y/n for one thing, he never does that. '' Gareth replied, his arms crossed. While you were friends with all of Eddie’s bandmates it was Gareth who had introduced you to Eddie in the first place after meeting in Biology. You were true friends outside of your relationship with Eddie.
Eddie stayed silent, barely registering Gareth’s words.
“ I forgot about her. We just accepted the deal and I forgot about her” Eddie muttered silently more to himself than anything but the boys heard him perfectly, Suddenly understanding.
The boys knew how much you meant to Eddie, after having to endure two years of you two clinging to each other and sucking face. Though they knew you made Eddie happy and that’s all they wanted for him.
Jeff came to sit on the other side of Eddie on the couch, hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “ Don’t worry about it, man. Y/n will understand she knows this is your dream. I mean didn’t she help out with the tape”
“We’re going to have to move. That’s what the producer said. I was too caught up in the excitement, I- Oh god. Are we going to have to—break up?” Eddie's voice shook and it was the first time the boys had ever seen Eddie scared. He was their confident leader , the guy who stood up to bullies and made fun of them back. Even when he felt like shit for not graduating, he was never scared.
“Don’t think about that dude. It’s y/n, I mean she could come with us?” Doug suggested but even he couldn’t be confident about his words. Eddie always puts your wants and needs first.
You had just got into Indiana University, you had specifically chosen one close to home so you could stay close to Eddie and your mom.
“I-I can’t do that to her. Force her to live my dreams” Tears began to brim Eddie’s eyes as he thought about it. “She’ll hate me for it” The last part he said quieter but in the silence of his living room, the boys heard him clearly fully understanding where his mind was, knowing the history of Eddie’s parents.
His dad wanted kids, his mom didn’t but she had Eddie anyways to make his dad happy. She used to remind Eddie of that every day about how he ruined her life. That's when the fighting started, Eddie’s mom resenting him and Eddie’s dad for ruining everything. Then when Old Al Munson finally went to jail, Eddie’s mom did what she always wanted. She left.
He couldn’t let that happen to him and y/n, he loved her too much to force her to give up her dreams, to uproot her life for him. What if she began to hate him like his mom? But then could he give up his dream for her? The initial answer was yes but his evil mind played out the same ending, with him hating her for making him give it up. He could never hate her, but he’s seen couples break up for less.
“Y/N could never hate you, Eds. You know that, We all know that. That girl adores you, she loves you.” Gareth said, trying to help.
“Exactly, fucking exactly. She loves me, she would give up University, she would give it all up for me. Then in a few years she will realize how much she gave up. She’ll resent me for ruining her life. Then she will hate me.” Eddie stood up and began pacing, his words tumbling out.
This was how Eddie was, when he came to a conclusion no matter how twisted it was, he would stick to it. He was stubborn like that, the only person who could ever calm him down, change his mind, was you.
“Eddie buddy, just talk to y/n. I can’t believe I'm saying this but you two are meant for each other. I knew it from the moment I met her. Just talk to her and you’ll work things out” Jeff stood up, resting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder once more to steady him.
Eddie only nodded but kept his gaze low, far away. The boys looked at each other, Gareth nodding at Jeff. Though while they silently agreed it was good advice, they just hoped Eddie actually heard them and would listen to them.
Eddie had heard their words and for a while it calmed him down, you were Eddie and Y/n. There was nothing you couldn’t handle but that night as he tossed and turned all he could think about is what you would say when you found out. The boys might have been right in just talking it out with you, but they didn’t know you like he did. He knew you, he knew you would jump at the opportunity to go with him, you would give up everything and leave it all behind for him.
You were selfless like that and a selfish part of Eddie wanted to let you but then he remembered the look on your face when you walked to him in your cap and gown, you were absolutely beautiful but the look of happiness and pride in your eyes. You were proud of yourself and that look only increased by ten when you received your acceptance letter. You had raved about how you would come down every weekend to visit him and help your mom out. Another thing he couldn’t do, Los Angeles was thousands of miles away from Indiana. If anything happened to your mom and you weren’t there, you would hate him forever.
It was three in the morning and every way Eddie thought about it, it ended with either you giving up your dreams or him giving up his. He knew he would give it up for you and you for him, but he also knew that kind of sacrifice could only end in heartache. He rather lose you to your dreams and happiness then even let the possibility of you hating him one day happen.
Eddie Munson knew what he had to do, and it was just about to kill him.
You had spent the majority of the rest of the day in a trance. Your eyes redrimmed and face covered in dried tears. After your call with Eddie you hadn’t cried any longer, in a weird state of calm even with the dread filling your stomach.
There was nothing you could do at this point, at least not until you talked to Eddie. You laid in bed for most of the day, watching old movies and entertaining the different futures you could have with Eddie.
Could you be a mother? It would be terribly difficult, first with the way your mom would react to the news. You had had money saved for when you moved to school, hoping to start a fund for you and Eddie to move in together. Would you even be able to go to University anymore? Lots of people worked and went to school pregnant but could you? So far away from home?
You weren’t sure what you wanted.
Your thoughts turned to Eddie, how would he feel? He just flunked his senior year, what would being a teen dad do to him? Even when Eddie carried his carefree facade, you knew the things people said about him being “a freak” or “trash like his father” got to him. You knew because he told you, late night whispers as he ran his fingers up and down your side, and your fingers combing through his messy hair. Bodies slick with sweat after your usual night of dirty sex or ‘lovemaking’ as Eddie liked to call it.
The insults thrown at him would get worse if you had a baby, you knew that. A small conservative town like Hawkins wasn’t one that was particularly open to anything or anyone different. Eddie would support you but would he want this? Eddie wanted to be a rockstar, it’s why he spent every sunday morning and wednesday afternoon’s practicing so hard with his band. You even helped him send a bunch of tapes to music producers in Los Angeles. Eddie would support you but he didn’t want this, at least not now.
The true question was, if you wanted this?
You had spent all day contemplating every possible outcome for your ‘little problem’ and had fallen asleep early. So when you woke up, you didn’t want to think anymore about possibilities. You just wanted him, your sweet loving Eddie. So still in your sweats, you grabbed your bag. Holding up one of the five pregnancy tests, you looked at it for half a second before shoving it in your bag. Then you made your way to Eddie’s trailer.
As you walked up, a wave of nausea hit you but it was different than before. Probably a sign of the pain and stress that awaited you on the other side of the door. You knocked and waited for Eddie to open the door for you. When he did, you noted his messy hair, his eyes had dark circles around them, you wondered if he had gotten enough to sleep. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, your worries washing away for a few seconds as you stared at him, God did you love this boy.
Though while you smiled, Eddie didn’t. Which was odd, he would’ve scooped you up into his arms at this point.
“Sweetheart? You're here early. Is everything okay?” He asked, opening the door wider to let you in.
You made your way inside, noting the beer cans that remained on the coffee table.
“I- I don’t know, I just really needed to talk to you” You said looking at him, trying your best to keep your composure. Twiddling with your fingers, gaze set on the boy.
Eddie’s brows furrowed and for a second he looked confused before he sighed. Taking your hand and leading you to sit on the couch.
“I’m guessing you talked to Gareth”
This confused you ultimately, now you really looked at Eddie. You had noticed the dark circles around his eyes which was normal after a night with the boys but now you noticed that he looked much like you did yesterday, eyes bloodshot and swollen, a wave of panic flooded you.
“No? Why? What happened?” You questioned not hiding the panic in your voice, all the things were coming together in your head now. The redness in his eyes, his lack of “I love you” when you said it yesterday and even now while you sat on the couch, hand in hand, he was an entire foot away from you. Something was wrong, and it had nothing to do with you or the fetus in your womb.
He was silent for awhile, looking everywhere else but you. Which only worried you more, Eddie never had trouble expressing himself, especially to you.
“ Remember when we sent those tapes out a few weeks ago” You nodded quickly unprepared for the turn this conversation was going to go.
“Well um, they called, Sweetheart. They want me, they want to sign Corroded Coffin” For a second you forgot about all your life and problems, and smiled brightly, you surged forward hugging him.
“Eddie, that's amazing! You're going to be a rockstar. I knew they would love you” You pulled back but Eddie wasn’t smiling or giggling with you. His face was passive, he pulled back, putting you at arm’s length. Your eyebrows furrowed at the loss of contact.
“Baby? What’s wrong?” You tried to reach for him, to cup his face but he stopped you, grabbing your hand and putting it aside but not letting go.
“ The band and I were moving to LA” These words were like cold water being dropped down your spine, you pulled your hand away like if it burned. You were happy for Eddie but this news was very bad timing. Incredibly bad timing.
You mulled over his words, ‘The band and I’, and he had yet to say anything after, the silence telling you everything you needed to know. He wasn't asking you to go, he had decided, you weren’t going.
This was not how you expected this morning to go.
“What about me? Us? ” You said softly, you had already cried all your tears yesterday, if anything the feeling of dread and panic was now overshadowed by a bigger feeling, anger.
Eddie sighed running his hands through his hair, “You have your whole life ahead of you darling, and this is an opportunity of a lifetime and I - I don’t think” He stumbled over his words, his eyes focused on the wall in front of him.
He couldn’t look at you, if he looked at you he would break.
“Just say it Eddie” Your voice was harsher now, you had spent all of yesterday crying thinking your life was over. Your only consolation was that you would have Eddie but you were wrong. He was leaving you.
He turned to you then, looking you in the eye, his own brimming with tears. “I think we should break up.”
Just like that the world had dropped from under you. An ache settled in your throat and chest. You fought the tears brimming but that didn’t stop the strain in your voice when you spoke . “You think?”
You didn’t look at him, only heard him as he spoke. “Sweetheart, It’s not right for me to ask you to come with me”
You scoffed bitterly “You didn’t even ask. I thought you loved me, you promised— We We h-had plans”
His hands came to cradle to your face as you continued to stumble over your words “Shh Shh, Sweetheart breathe”
You pulled back and stood up, laughing bitterly, he only looked at you with a concerned gaze, tears marking his cheeks.
“When-When did you find this out? huh? Yesterday?” Realization hit you and you couldn’t help the glare that you sent to Eddie.
“That’s why you were weird, Why didn't you tell me you loved me? What? you were planning on how to break up with me, all day? What? So you could get a new hot LA model girlfriend?” You rambled angrily
He stood up trying to touch you but you stepped back, trying to be as far away from him as possible. “No No Sweetheart, I’m doing this for you because I love you”
“ YOUR LYING” you yelled, you and Eddie never yelled to each other but you also never lied. “I know you Eddie Munson, you aren’t doing this for me. You are doing this for you. What? Were our plans not enough for you! The family we dreamed of !” Your hands moved to settle over your stomach but Eddie was too focused on you to notice.He was silent, and his silence only made you more angry.
“SAY SOMETHING” you yelled
“NO!” he yelled back harshly, his eyes hardened “You want the truth? That little white picket fence dream family you wanted. It was never going to be enough for me? I never wanted it, to be stuck here as the town freak, stuck here with you” He stopped abruptly knowing the cruelty of what he was saying.
It was like all your worst fears and doubts about your relationship with Eddie came true, you could feel your heart shattering. Everything you had ever dreamed of with him, the silent promises whispered at night, all the hopes, they were all lies.
“Sweetheart I—”
“It’s fine, Eddie. It’s just the truth right? You never wanted a future with me, you were just settling until a better opportunity came around, and now it’s here” Your voice was cold and calm. Gone was any fight you had, what was the point, Eddie didn’t want you, or a future with you. So why fight a one sided battle.
“Right?” You asked as a final attempt, You looked him in the eyes, hoping that he would say it wasn’t true, hoping to see a little sliver of regret in those brown eyes that you loved. That he would say that he did want a life with you, even if it got messy, but there was none.
His eyes set on you, “Right. This— It’s what I want Y/n” He said dejectedly. No regret, just guilt, he was choosing a life without you rather than one with you.
Eddie Munson was a stubborn man, when he wanted something he was set on it. You could always talk him out of things because well he loved you more, wanted you more. Though it looks like he had found something better to want.
You only nodded, moving to grab your bag. The pregnancy test sitting inside, long forgotten. He only stood there, frozen, staring at you as you moved to leave. As you opened the door you looked at him once last time, “You were never a freak to me” you said before closing the door.
You walked down the steps to your car, stopping as you reached the door handle, you looked back to the trailer, thinking of the past two years you had spent with the boy you thought loved you. You waited, tears silently falling from your eyes, using the last thread of hope and trust you had in Eddie Munson. Hoping he would run out and stop you. He didn’t.
Eddie watched from the window of the trailer watching as you looked up at the trailer, unknowingly looking at him through the window. He didn’t move, he just watched you stare, then get in your car and drive away.
It was the last time Eddie Munson would see you for six years, eyes red, tears streaming, and heartbroken.
This is my first series, so let me know your guys thoughts in the comments.
Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?
CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, lil smutty, reader has hair long enough to tie up, season 3 of my flatmate!joe
Author’s note: oohhh big changes! we are TALKING! with our MOUTHS! what a time. This is the last part of flatmate!Joe - for real this time. I truly hope you've enjoyed what is still my most plotless (imo) bit of writing, lmk your thoughts <3
Wordcount: 4.4K
part one - part two - part three - part four - part five
There was something living inside of your chest.
It was only small, but definitely there. Soft. Vulnerable. Silently shrinking. It had gotten hurt and was wearing its bruises on the outside. When it got poked, you could feel the shooting pains as it curled in on itself more. It would find the safest spots to squeeze its eyes shut and you’d mentally tell it, it’s okay. You’re okay.
It wasn’t okay.
Maybe therapy wasn’t an insane suggestion, anymore, at this point. You felt like you were protecting a child to the point where you couldn’t let it see the light of day. Couldn’t let it go outside and play. Couldn’t let it have friends – let it meet Joe. Couldn’t let it experience anything joyful, because if you did, it’d probably experience more hurt too.
But it was hurting anyway.
And now it was only pain it got to feel. Never joy. Just bruises and cuts. Scrapes that slowly formed thick drops of blood that hardened into scabs which pulled at your skin and eventually turned into scars.
You wished you’d known that before you locked it up inside.
There was something living inside of your chest, and it carefully wished it could speak up and be heard.
When you’d walked out of your bedroom and into the living room, a surprised Josh raised his eyebrows at you. He was leaning back into the sofa and had an acoustic guitar in his lap that he was absentmindedly playing whilst he was watching TV on a low volume. The guitar playing stopped when he saw you and didn’t pick back up as he watched you walk over, pillow in hand, facial expression drained.
“Hey, what’s up?” the guitar got moved onto the floor.
You didn’t answer when you put your pillow down on the opposite end of the sofa and took the blanket you’d slept under before. You curled up, ignored Josh who tried to ask if you were okay a couple of times as you stared at the TV. He asked if you wanted to talk about it. Said you probably should talk about it if you didn’t want Josh to think about this all night.
“It’s going to keep me up if I don’t know if you’re okay.”
You ignored it all, didn’t give a shit if Josh was going to get a good night’s sleep, and eventually turned over and faced the back of the sofa. It sent the message it needed to. It took just another moment before Josh turned off the TV, and then the lights as he left you alone.
This was stupid.
But you were stubborn.
You were stubborn and were going to go to sleep on your sofa, even though you were the one that lived here, and maybe Joe should be the one to sleep on the sofa.
Or actually, he could go home. To his own flat. Where all things were his, and the only things that felt like they were yours were the plants you’d brought in and the toothbrush you’d left by his sink.
Yea.
Joe could just leave.
You didn’t care that he was still paying rent.
But you didn’t actually get up to go and tell him that. Of course not. You just wallowed in thought. In all the would-dos and would-says. Shivered because this new stupid blanket Josh got wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm throughout the night.
You made yourself cry inside of that soup of goopy misery. Felt what lived inside of your chest as it drowned and mentally apologised to it when, after three hours of not being able to actually go to sleep, after three hours of anger that turned into fragile neediness, you decided to get up and make your way back.
Find Joe.
Because, and fuck him for this, Joe always knew how to fucking fix it.
And there was something so silly about walking down the hallway of your flat with tears staining your cheeks to sneak into Joe’s old bedroom. To find Joe inside of the bed there, the lay-out of the room still the same. Joe’s side of the bed still the same.
The click of the door closing made Joe lift his head up in an attempt to see into the dark.
He hadn’t expected you at all, so for a second, he thought that maybe you’d just walked in to get something. Your phone. Or your charger. But then you walked around to your side of the bed and got under the covers. It was too dark to see your face, but you found Joe’s warm body and snuggled up. Pressed your forehead to his jaw and hummed through a sigh and Joe didn’t need to see your face to hug you closer. Didn’t need to see if you’d been crying to wrap arms around, and to tangle legs, and to press a small kiss into your hair.
You wiggled as you settled and sighed as you sunk deeper into the mattress. You could deal with the disappointment within yourself in the morning.
“I’m sorry.” Joe whispered into the dark, and you decided you could also deal with your disappointment in Joe in the morning, so you softly whined and said, “Pause.”
“Pause?”
“Mhm.”
Everything could just be paused. Postponed. Just for a few hours. You just needed to get some sleep.
Joe wasn’t in a position to not accept that. His heart felt full with the nostalgia he unexpectedly found with you sneaking into this room in order to get some sleep. It used to be like this. He was in the same location. In the exact same spot. Just, everything was yours now.
Me too, Joe thought.
Everything was yours now, including Joe. Whether you wanted him or not.
He squeezed you tighter and saw that you got to sleep. Traced finger tips across skin that warmed under the covers, and tickled into your hair by the nape of your neck, and he could feel how you were drifting off and, fuck off, he was yours.
He’d tell you in the morning.
Joe was going to tell you in the morning.
He would.
When Joe woke up, you were gone.
Fucking figures, Joe thought.
The private moment of waking up together that would’ve granted him the security and comfortability to say whatever needed saying was gone now.
Joe rubbed both hands over his face and scolded himself for not waking up as you had gotten out.
But it was fine.
There’d be another moment for it, he’d make sure.
Venturing out of your bedroom, you weren’t in the bathroom. Nor in the living area. He did, however, find Josh in the kitchen.
After awkward but polite good mornings shared, there was some uncomfortable shuffling around. Joe had made breakfast thousands of times in this kitchen, and he was already reaching to open the fridge when he realised that, actually, that was a weird thing to do. He no longer lived there. He couldn’t just go into cupboards and find the food that he knew was there – he knew exactly where the oatmeal went. He knew exactly where to find the cinnamon to sprinkle on top. How the coffee machine worked. Which cupboard to open to find the mugs.
Joe opted to busy himself making a coffee first. The machine was right there on the counter – less weird to reach for it and prepare himself a morning brew.
And Josh was cool about it. Opened a cupboard for him to fetch him a mug. It was a bit of an awkward dance, but a friendly one, tight smiles shared as Josh prepared his own breakfast.
It wasn’t until the loud noise of coffee beans being ground up that Joe decided to just… ask.
Might as well act like last night actually happened.
“Sorry about last night, mate,”
“Oh yea, no worries, I didn’t…” Josh frowned and shook his head as he scraped some butter onto his toast. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to. Took a bite before buttering the second piece.
“Have you seen her?” Joe tried sounding as casual as he could, but failed miserably.
It was as honest and vulnerable of a question he was ever going to ask Josh. It revealed he had no idea where the fuck you’d gone, which in and of itself revealed that there was probably a reason you hadn’t told him.
But Josh was relaxed about it.
“Yea. Morning run. You just missed her, I think.”
And it took all within Joe to pretend that didn’t surprise him as much as it did. He just nodded. Pretended like that was a normal thing to hear about. Morning run. Sure. Miss be-useful-first-thing, what the fuck? When had you picked up that habit?
The coffee machine stopped whirring, and Joe took his coffee. Went for a sip immediately and instantly burnt his tongue. Rookie move.
“Is um… is everything okay? I don’t want to pry, but,” Josh asked as Joe moved around the island to sit down.
“Ah, well… you know,”
No, actually, Josh didn’t know.
Which was good.
Joe didn’t really want him to know.
Joe didn’t really want to explain.
Couldn’t really explain.
Where the fuck would he even begin?
“Hmm, yea,” Josh accepted the non-answer easily. “She seemed upset, but wouldn’t really say anything.”
Joe had to suppress a smile.
Of course you hadn’t fucking said anything.
“I asked like fifty times if she was okay, but she… I don’t know, she fully ignored me I guess. Kind of went catatonic on me a little.”
Joe drank his coffee and nodded.
“To be fair though,” Josh made big eyes at himself, “I was being really fucking annoying. I would’ve rolled over and ignored me too, I think.”
Both men let huffs of air escape them in silent laughter.
Then a moment of silence followed where Joe drank his coffee and Josh ate his toast. Joe realised he didn’t like how Josh knew things about you that he didn’t, but the upside was that it was incredibly useful, actually.
Josh talked where you... well, you did not.
“Did she cry?”
He wanted to know.
“No, she just… watched TV for a bit. I don’t know, she seemed tired so I went to bed shortly after to make sure she could get some sleep.”
That meant that, if you’d cried, you had waited for Josh to leave the room. Joe didn’t know if that was a comforting thought or not.
It didn’t take much longer for Josh to finish his toast and to casually suggest for Joe to make his own breakfast. Mentioned that everything on the bottom shelves of the fridge was yours before he walked out, and this morning was just full of surprises.
You split the fridge?!
What kind of sensible flatmate behaviour was this?!
When it was you and Joe, your stuff would just be thrown in wherever. None of it sorted. Joe would end up having your oatmilk in his coffee and you’d end up using his cheese in your omelettes.
Actually, he remembered how this had been the source of bickering for more than once. More than a couple of times. You would fall out over Joe having your food all the time, if he really thought about it. But it was always playful. Always something fun about it. A reason to swear at him until you made yourself laugh, and a reason for him to shut you up with poking fingers in your sides. The back and forth had never prompted you to split the fridge.
Had you and Joe ever been normal flatmates?
Probably not, he guessed.
Joe decided against breakfast in the end and just finished his coffee. Waited until you got back from your morning run, which he still had a hard time wrapping his head around, and when he eventually heard the front door open, he got up to make you a drink.
You knew Joe was still there by his coat that was hung up by the front door.
Fine.
Fine.
It was fine.
You were sweaty and sticky and hot and you could feel your heartbeat in your face, but it was fine.
Walking into the kitchen, you were welcomed by Joe in jeans and a T-shirt, bare feet, hair stupid, already holding out a glass of juice for you.
You took it and refrained from talking as you had a sip. Looked at him over the glass though, and you hoped that what Joe would see was determination. Strength. That he saw someone who wasn’t going to take bullshit, because you weren’t.
You’d just gone for your very first morning run for fuck’s sake.
For a moment Joe just looked right back at you. Watched you have the drink he poured for you. You had bits of hair stuck to your flushed neck and had to breathe through flared nostrils. It was wildly attractive, if you asked him.
“Morning run?”
You caught a small smirk from Joe that you turned away from. Couldn’t look at him be cute when you were supposed to be mad at him still.
Then, in a rogue move, Joe opened the freezer and took a single look inside to find a frozen pizza he took out and tossed onto the counter.
That was meant to mean something.
You gave it a blank stare as Joe looked at you and you sighed.
“Hey,” Joe tried getting your attention back on him, but instead, you put the glass down and turned around. Walked out. Went to your bedroom.
Joe followed.
“Hey,” Joe tried again, stood in your doorway, watching you collect an outfit. “Talk to me.”
It went ignored.
This was the worst part of not having an ensuite; having to take just enough clothes into the bathroom to change in there. You and Josh weren’t exactly on a just-a-towel level yet. Bathrobe felt scandalous too, somehow, even for the five steps it took to get from your bedroom into the bathroom.
Josh could see you in clothes or not see you at all.
Joe easily moved aside when you walked past him, out of your room, and you looked at him as you did.
“Come on. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joe tried again.
It didn’t feel like you were fully ignoring him, but you weren’t answering him either.
You were thinking Joe was being an idiot.
You were trying, had been trying really hard to meet him where he wanted to be met, and then he just went and let you know he didn’t trust… you? Your flatmate? The situation he’d created with his own two hands?
Felt unfair.
You didn’t say any of that though. Just walked into the bathroom, and then left the door open.
Joe would get the hint, you thought.
He did, but only when you started peeling off your sweat-soaked top with the door wide open, still.
Joe moved quick. Sort of scrambled to get into the bathroom, to lock the door behind him, and then to help you get your top over your head as you struggled with the damp fabric around your shoulders.
You undressed, and Joe helped, and you made eye-contact the whole time.
You could see how he was searching. Trying to find whatever you weren’t saying in your eyes, his chin tucked in, his eyes pleading, all soft and rounded.
Joe tried.
He really tried.
You were getting naked right in front of him, body flushed and glistening with sweat and he got a good look as you stretched your body over the bath to turn the shower on and then you kept staring right at him as you removed more clothes and you were doing something with your eyes and Jesus fucking Christ, Joe was trying.
Trying to not grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake.
Trying not to let his eyes skirt downward because you’d just removed your sports bra and, oof, man, that was a lot of skin on show.
Joe was trying not to hold you by the face and trying not to get real close and trying not to whisper words into your mouth in hopes of coaxing out some of your own. Which… he failed. Because he did get your face into both his hands just after you’d reached up to untie your hair. He did get real close. And he did ask you once more to just talk to him, please.
You handled the close eye-contact fine.
Handled the cupping of your face fine.
And Joe couldn’t stop searching your face.
Was there truly no budging?
Was this… was this it?
Had he just gone and fucked it all up for himself? Had the big plan behind his move imploded because he couldn’t deal with the fact that you were now… no longer in his flat with him? Joe’s mind tried to make sense of it, but all he could really come up with, was that you probably didn’t even consider the two of you to be together.
You’d never talked about that.
Had never mentioned it.
Hadn’t labeled it.
You were just close flatmates that weren’t actually flatmates anymore, and… and now what?
He just wanted you to talk.
You were just in your underwear now, stood in a small bathroom and Joe ticked off all boxes in his mind: you were alone, check. You were close, check. You were in your safe space, check.
The shower was hot now, slowly filling the room with warm steam and, fuck, if you would just fucking talk.
Joe was about to repeat himself. Was about to say it again. But then he saw it.
Something changed.
Your eyes softened and your mouth tightened as you tried to keep your lips wobbling. As you tried to not let what was living inside of your chest get out. When you started blinking more rapidly as your eyes stung with tears, you also began avoiding eye-contact and, good. This was good. Joe let you go then, and watched as you got out of your last piece of clothing before you stepped into the shower.
You left the shower curtain open, and Joe thought he’d never undressed quite so fast.
You’d never shared a shower before.
Something about it felt really momentous, but you didn’t have the opportunity to think about it for too long. The thought vanished just as quickly as it had crossed your mind, because when Joe stepped into the bath behind you and held you by the shoulders before curling his arms around to hold you close, you decided that, actually, you were going to talk.
“You left,” you started, voice far thinner than you wanted it to be.
“I know.”
“You left and you’re making me feel bad about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not fair. It’s not my fault you moved out,” you reached up to hold onto Joe’s arm across your front and you felt how your eyebrows knitted together when you softly followed with, “Is it?”
And, fuck.
Something snapped into Joe’s chest.
Something swelled and popped.
He didn’t know what that was, all he knew was that it hurt.
“No!” Joe tightened his arms before he let you go enough to turn around. “No, baby, of course not, is that– do you think I left because of you?”
You looked at each other, and for a moment, Joe didn’t know if he was looking at shower water or tears that were running down your face.
You gave a small shrug before Joe lifted his hands to your face to wipe at your cheeks. If they were tears, they had no business being there, so he needed them gone.
“I didn’t leave this place because of you. Hey,” you avoided eye-contact, so he grabbed hold of you by the face again where both your of your hands found his wrists. “Look at me. Look– I did not move out because of you, all right?”
Well, he did… but, it was nuanced. He moved out for the both of you. He had to be careful. He couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin what already felt ruined enough.
You gave a tiny nod that he could feel more than he could see, and you looked so fucking sad, Joe couldn’t help but move in to try and kiss some of it from your face.
He hoped you believed him.
You were naked in a shower together, of which Joe was getting none of the stream, and you were trembling because of things Joe had said and done and all he could think to do was hold you.
So he did.
It was a terrible waste of water, but it felt so incredibly necessary for him to not pull back until you did. Let you take the lead. Curl an arm around your head, the other around your waist, and follow your pace.
Joe felt how you were trying to control your breathing, and, you were right. He wasn’t allowed to be the cause.
He was the reason why you were feeling the way you were feeling and he realised he had been, for a while, probably.
Joe pushed you.
Joe had been pushing you.
He shouldn’t have.
He shouldn’t have left and he shouldn’t have tried with all his might to keep you as close to him as you had been before and he shouldn’t have taken his jealousy out on you and he shouldn’t have repeatedly asked you to talk to him because look! Look what all of it had lead to?
Your lead.
Your time.
Your pace.
No more making you meet him halfway.
Joe was going to wait for you.
He would.
It didn’t fucking matter how long it was going to take you, or if you’d even get there at all. He was going to wait. If that meant actually befriending Josh like a normal person, then he was just going to have to befriend Josh like a normal person.
Joe held you close until your finger tips stopped digging into his skin so much, and then he softly said, “I’ll wait.”
That made you look up at him.
“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”
And, you frowned. Because what the fuck was Joe talking about.
“But…” you started, and you felt it then. You could feel whatever was inside of your chest collect every little speck of bravery it could find within your body. It pulled it from the muscles in your legs and from the bones in your arms. Found some hidden inside the beating of your heart and then some more in the humid shower air inside your lungs. And then, it said it.
“I’m right here.”
Joe blinked at you. Didn’t get it.
“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait. Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…” you furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you. All bravery gone.
Joe saw.
Heard what you were saying and, before you even fucking knew what was happening, Joe had both his arms around your waist and lifted you up, effectively pressing his face right into your tits as he scared the living daylights out of you because you were in the bath.
“Joe–” you shrieked, but were quickly shut up by his mouth that pressed to yours before your feet had even properly touched down again.
“I love you.” Joe squeezed it from his own mouth right into yours. Barely got the words out normal as he didn’t want to stop kissing. Didn’t want to break contact, lips and hands doing the most.
“Joe,” you laughed, giving his shoulders a light push before you felt something against your hip, and– oh.
“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you. I said I love–”
“I love you too.”
Joe froze before he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut, and you looked down to see how hard that had made him.
“I love you too,” you repeated yourself and saw it jump, leaking already, and Jesus, that was quick. This was a fun game actually. Talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him.
You took your shot and bit right into his fingers.
“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”
And, yea, you could actually. You shut Joe up with kisses of your own this time.
You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.
It felt momentous because you’d shared words that had been stuck in the back of your throat for a while now.
It felt momentous because Joe just told you that he loved you.
It felt momentous because you said it right back and everything about it felt right.
It felt momentous because you were going to have loud shower sex and Josh was likely going to hear you and you actually didn’t care about it. You cared more about the pizza that was slowly defrosting on the kitchen counter which actually sounded like the perfect breakfast food, if you were being honest.
You and Joe were just flatmates, but not.
Were just close, but more.
Were in love. Had said the words now, for the other to hear with their ears, and wasn’t that a shocking turn of events after last night?
Joe couldn’t explain it if he tried.
Didn’t really want to either.
As long as you knew. As long as you understood.
And you did. The proof was in the pudding.
Something felt alive in Joe’s chest. And in yours too.
Maybe someday, they could meet.
Have a chat.
Talk things through.
Or not.
They could also just look at each other. Sit on the sofa. Curl into each other and eat pizza. Watch the first ten minutes of films before they’d doze off together. Make fun of plants that got overwatered in a desperate attempt to keep them alive because they were buddies with yours and Joe could never be responsible for the death of plants that had friends, were you joking?
They’d call you idiots.
And, yea you were.
But it was fine.
You were just close. In love. Together. And that didn’t need explaining. As long as you knew and understood, that was all that mattered.
