🎸

rue • 20s • she/her • 18+! ❤️‍🔥 eddie munson ❤️‍🔥 joseph quinn ❤️‍🔥 just a sideblog for my blorbo

[iratetourist]

pour some sugar on me // eddie munson x reader

summary: an early morning meeting opportunity with eddie quickly takes a heated turn…

pairing: eddie munson x fem!cheerleader!reader

word count: medium-length (written on phone)

warnings: smutty stuff (18+, in a classroom, fingering, eddie does some nasty shit with his coffee, implied bl*wjob), banter in between it all

author’s note: he wasn’t even around for the song the title is based on… rip king you would have loved it… this fic contextually fits with my other one - after school only - which is kind of becoming something of a series, i guess? but this is separate enough that it can be read on its own… it is pure smut after all lmao

——————————

It was far from subtle or secretive anymore.

Sure, the technical extent of it known by the student body was still just that you were tutoring Eddie Munson, and given how long it had been going on… well, the jokes about him not graduating a third time had certainly ramped up, despite your deterrence and the obvious improvement of his grades. Rumours flew that the teachers had schemed to get you off final exam-free for the agonizing, dedicated venture, because why else would you, lovely straight-A cheerleader extraordinaire, continue bothering with the bum-ass skid kid wonder?

Now… you were well, well aware of what Eddie Munson could offer to keep you around - his hands, ring-clad and rough-palmed down your thighs, and oh, those lips buried between your legs - but at some point, you began to recognize it was just as much, if not more, the little things, the affection and the warmth it stoked in your chest.

Today was no different, the butterflies in your stomach no less fluttery at waiting for him, no less bursting when he walked in the classroom door that early, early morning, easy smile dimpling his cheeks and coffees and a small crinkly bag clutched in hand.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The nickname never not caused you to melt, and despite trying to keep your expression casual, your demeanour breezy, you practically beamed back at him, already moving to draw him to you. “Hiya. Almost thought—“ Your short greeting was cut off by a sudden yawn, only half-stifled by your hand.

“Oof, you need this,” he smirked and placed the to-go coffee tray on your desk. “How else are you gonna survive the arduous trial of dealing with me before 8AM?”

“Mm, I’ve done it before,” you remarked cheekily, “but thank you.” Standing straighter, you gave a little stretch, revelling in how obviously he was watching each and every movement you made. “Honestly, though, what I think I need more is…”

You leaned over and kissed him, hand gently holding him over your desk by the shirt. He returned it without missing a beat, dropping the bag in his hand on said desk to wrap around your waist. It was longer than intended, content and lazy in the warm morning rays, and most definitely exactly what you had required.

When you parted, Eddie lingered close for just a few moments, face flushed and eyes opening slowly to study you. He seemed almost mesmerized, unusually quiet and all attention on you, and you felt a paradoxical flood of guilt wash over you even as your heart skipped. He looked at you like that, made you feel like this… and yet, you had both convinced yourselves into a place where it couldn’t be acknowledged.

You wanted nothing more than to take his hand in the hallway, sit with him at lunch, kiss his knuckles and call him yours - but what kind of target would all that set up on him, on you?

You hated that you still let their opinions control you, seep into and poison the bright, simple happiness he brought into your life.

“Hey, you good? You kind of zoned out there.”

He brushed his ringed fingers down your arm, voice soft and low. You were struck out of your spiralling thoughts at the contact, and you shook your head and plunked yourself down before they could take root again, anchoring your mood to his presence, the way he angled into you and bumped his knee against yours.

Even with all that doubt and shame nagging at the edges of your mind, you weren’t about to let it ruin a rare morning with him.

“I’m all right,” you nodded, giving him a genuine smile and taking a sip of the coffee he had brought. A little burnt and stale, courtesy of the gas station, but triple-sugared and two-creamed just as you liked it. “Thanks again for… oh, you remembered! Thank you, Eddie.”

“S’nothin’,” he shrugged, but you could see a crooked smile dawn on his own features. “Got you this, too… uh, remembered you said you'd, quote unquote, 'kill a bitch' for one of those Daily’s everything bagels when we drove by there last time, and they actually had some left this morning, so…" He dangled the flimsy bag he had brought in front of you, brows waggling all the while.

Maybe it was the fact that you were ravenous, but it took everything in you not to lunge him into another lip lock right there and then. God, he had you completely and utterly whipped in the stupidest, sweetest ways possible.

“You, Eddie Munson, are an absolute godsend.” You had the bag playfully snatched from his hands before he knew it, a delighted, self-satisfied noise leaving you as you bit into the bagel. “Literally everything I could ever need in one perfect circle.” Your voice became theatrical as you next spoke. “However can I repay you, good sir?”

“Hmm…” He put on a look of mock-consideration and tapped his chin. “Well, I do seem to be in need of some… say, sugar, fair lady—“ He tipped his own coffee cup in your direction, “Perhaps you may provide?”

Your brows drew together at him for a second, before he matched your earlier gesture and was leaning in to press his lips to yours, kiss just as tender as the first. When he went to pull away, you instinctively gathered your hands up his chest, fingers gently tracing the line of his collarbone up to his jaw before settling on his neck. He was putty in your capable hands, an appreciative noise leaving him at the way your thumb massaged his nape, head tilting automatically to deepen the kiss. What was definitely meant to be something short and teasing quickly had him shifting to bring you to his lap, fingers ghosting beneath your skirt and tongue pushing to yours.

Breakfast was forgotten as the kiss went from unhurried to something desperate, needier - your hips grinding down on the growing tent in his jeans, seeking the friction the rough fabric provided, his hand under your shirt, bra shoved aside, his thumb and forefinger circling, rolling, punishing, appreciating… Every kind of noise left the two of you, a gasp and moan from endlessly-kissed lips, a groan that rumbled from his chest against yours, more than a few fucks shared alongside your names.

You were hyperaware of the location, the fact that a too-early student or janitor or teacher could wander by and see your activities, but something about that only added to the fervour with which your hands explored him, to the want coiling low. You weren’t sure you were quite ready to just straight up fuck the man right there in a classroom, but there were most certainly other ways to go about this…

He already had one hand holding you at the back and the other sliding down to press fingers against the thinly-clothed, increasingly-wet apex of your legs, spreading your folds, and you rolled your hips forward to meet him, earning a stutter and stir of his own and that groan you loved so, husky and yours.

“Raring to go, I see… damn near soaked…”

“Mmf, E-Eddie…” You buckled down on him as his thumb grazed your clit, a test of a touch, his mouth fixing itself into a smirk against yours. “God, are we—“ Another euphoric flick of a calloused fingertip, a sensitive whine falling from kiss-swollen lips, “Are we really doing, ah… this, mm—“

He kissed you hungrily, teeth hooking into the plush of your lower lip as he readjusted you higher on him, hand relocating to ass, his tongue following close behind to soothe the area and then sink upwards, never once settling on an angle to maintain. You matched his enthusiasm, tangling a manicured hand in his hair and tugging, nails and all, while you propped the other beneath his chin, thumbing the annoyingly-attractive dimple in it and craning his head to the side to kiss him even deeper, longer.

You were forced apart for air after who-knows-how-long, and with sweat sticking your foreheads together and your chests heaving in-time with hammering hearts, he gazed up you, dark eyes hooded and completely captivating. Finally slipping a finger past your soaked panties and into you as effortlessly as could be, he maintained the eye contact with little more than a crooked, cocky smile, watching smugly how the simple action had you writhing.

“Why don’t you tell me, sweetheart?” he practically purred the words into your ear, nose nudging at the shell of it. You nodded eagerly against his temple, arms tightening around his neck, but he did not heed the way your hips fidgeted, how you clenched around the digit deep within you. Rather, he only slowly added another, curled just the once to further your impatience, your desperation.

“Eddie—“

“I said,” he whispered, pressing a light, infuriating kiss to your jaw, “tell me.”

A hand of yours fell to grab the wrist of the one of his pressed to you, running over the chain bracelet he wore, heated all the same as the three bulky rings denting your asscheek and the jewelled one, slick and edging deliciously just at your entrance. Eddie’s hand twitched at the featherlight dance of your fingers against his inner wrist, the movement jolting his drenched fingers sat punishingly still within you, and you moaned, grinding down to any source of relief to be granted by your words.

“You’re going to take those fingers,” you breathed, quiet with mind to the potential for being heard, before guiding his hand closer, watching as he did so, your own fingers gliding over tattoos. “And you’re going to fuck me with them—“

“‘Atta girl,” he nodded, eye contact still intensely held peripherally, his stubble scraping at your neck and jaw. “Go on—“

“Curl them—“ He did so abruptly, fingers eagerly hooking and stroking, working into a steady rhythm, and you gasped, your walls spasming around him, spurring him on. “Oh…”

“And?” He shifted a little, letting his frustratingly-clothed arousal press slightly from where his fingers played, just below your backside, and your mind blanked as you naturally strained down and back for it. He kissed the hollow of your neck and then prompted again, an amused lilt to his low voice. “…And?”

“Th-thumb,” you murmured, hand rising from its place at his wrist back to around his neck, clutching at his shoulders to maintain your own pace against his relentless fingers. “You’re gonna keep fingerfucking me, and you’re going to take that thumb and— now, now—“

Eddie took the cue, feeling the way you pulsed around his fingers, hips chasing every movement he made, and finally darted his thumb back to that point of pleasure. Abandoning any care that you could be caught, you made an obscene sound that struck him clear through to the cock, pressing almost painfully against you, and he rocked his hips once, twice, again and again as he teased and kneaded at your aching clit.

“Don’t stop, Eddie,” you moaned, fisting his shirt, frantically riding his hand, “you’re— you’re going to— it-it feels - I’m—“

“Oh, it’s all you, sweet thing,” he exhaled raggedly, “Feel that, feel me? What you do - fuck, babe, you deserve it all, never gonna let a day go by where you don’t know that… so come on, right on my fingers, right here, right now, babe… let me look at you…”

He kept at it as he basically babbled, fingers continuing to glide and curl and thumb, never once easing up on you. His words paired with his movements had you climbing ever-higher to that peak, the tightening in your lower belly cresting, close, close, until you were crushing your mouth against his and cumming hard, cursing as muscles contracted and your cunt clenched around his hand. Your chest heaved against his and you had to break away after a long moment to breathe, lungs and heart feeling as though they were about burst, and you caught him staring, simply watching, luxuriating in you as he always did when either of you came, whether together or apart.

Sinking down against him, you pressed your face, flushed as could be, to his collarbone, a lazy kiss or two from your lips to the skin lingering as you came down, body impossibly warm and thrumming, mind blanketed blissfully in a fog of just him.

Slowly, reluctantly, Eddie removed his fingers from within you, and your face grew all the warmer as he raised them in front of you both, a devilish grin on his face as he admired them, slick and shiny, in the morning light. His ring practically glittered, and he caught you watching it alongside him, his smile turning into a glowing sidelong smirk as you buried your face back where it had been.

“Eddie…” you groaned, balling up your hand and lightly play-hitting him on shoulder, embarrassment welling up in you. Shifting slightly, you could feel the mess you both had made below, underwear - of which you clearly didn’t have another pair readily available - absolutely drenched, your legs automatically pressing together as your embarrassment only mounted… fuck sakes, you still had the whole school day to get through…

“Mm, shy now, are we…” he teased, rolling your face from the crook of his neck to look back up at him. “Not sure why,” he mused, self-satisfied smile widening as he raised those glistening fingers higher. You watched with wide eyes as they finally arrived at his mouth, and he gave his thumb a long, thorough lick upwards, heavy-lidded gaze never breaking from yours, a low, appreciative hum leaving him as he continued.

He proceeded to spread your slick over his lips then, tongue darting out to lap it up immediately, a mockingly-playful bite taking to his lip as he carried on with his agonizing display. “You taste fuckin’ amazing, as always, sweetheart.”

Though a part of you felt nothing short of thoroughly bashful, the sight stoked at you all over again, and you squirmed against him, too overwhelmed to think or act coherently quite yet. “God, you are utterly ridiculous,” you huffed, allowing your embarrassment to be soothed by pride at the way he, still hard and straining, rutted beneath you, into that tantalizing soaked heat of yours.

“Can’t deny a man his sugar, princess,” he quipped, leaning past you with a groan and reaching for his coffee. You gave him a curious look that almost instantaneously re-registered a maddening flush of desire and mortification as he popped his index and middle finger into his coffee as casually as could be, swirling them around before taking a long, long sip.

“Y-YOU— Did you JUST—?”

“Yes? Just a little natural sweetener, babe. Courtesy of you, of course.”

You swore you were about to burst into flames, hands flying to cover your face, ears burning and heart palpitating. “Ohhh. My. God…” He would be the end of you, and would relish in every second of it.

“Don’t be like that,” he laughed, a genuine thing that, along with the glorious aftereffects of the orgasm and bizarre, heady flush of your embarrassment, had you going light-headed and those butterflies returning to your stomach. “You’re my favourite flavour, after all.”

“Okay, you know what?” You leaned back on his lap, very deliberately reaching down to fiddle with his belt and zipper, his erection tickling the skin of your inner wrist as you went along. “I think it’s about time you shut up—“

“Oh, of course, you’ll hear not a word,” his face split into yet another grin and he pulled his fingers across his mouth, miming them zipped. His hands then fell to help you with his belt, but you swatted them away, and he exhaled a breathy laugh, running a hand back through his hair.

“I highly doubt that,” you grumbled, finally freeing him from the restricting confines of his jeans and boxers. You caught his eye for a brief second and licked your lips, swallowing through a dry throat at the way his rigid cock bobbed before you, precum practically beckoning you to bend down and—

“Mrs. Pratt, Mrs. Pratt, do you know where the AV equipment was last seen? It’s been missing since Wednesday, and Kenny and I need it—“

The shrill call of a voice much, much too close to the classroom you two occupied had you freezing and your heart leaping to your throat, and one quick glance at Eddie showed that even he had tensed into something of a panic mode.

“Fuck, what’s the time—“ Eddie shifted the chair you were both on at an angle away from the windowed door, obscuring at least a bit if a passerby were to skitter down the hall, before quickly checking his watch. “Goddamn, already 7:55…”

“So much for helping you with last minute review…” You blew out a breath that had his bangs flying up, and he laughed hoarsely, still very aware of your fingers skimming around his length, before leaning forward to tap your nose.

“Ah, it’s not like I didn’t learn something new,” he smirked for the umpteenth time just that very morning, and as always, it made you all the more hot and bothered. “For one, now I know you have a thing for going at it in classrooms… kinda figured you might, what with the whole studious, goody-two-shoes cheerleader act, but damn, you didn’t even hesitate…”

“I thought you were going to shut up,” you narrowed your eyes at him and ran your thumb under the length of his cock, and he groaned as he leaned in and kissed you squarely on the mouth - you wondered briefly if you could taste yourself on his lips…

“People are about to start flooding into the school… gonna be walking down that hallway, going about their day…” he whispered against your lips, “and yet here you are, still basically begging to suck my dick like half your cheer squad and the basketball team aren’t about to walk in that door any minute now… god fucking damn, you’re a bolder one than I, sweetheart…”

“Am I, now?” you finally found yourself leaning into the goading, to the excitement and danger of really, truly getting caught. Experimentally, you brushed the head of his cock with another featherlight skim, and his hips drove forward instinctively, heat throbbing and twitching against your palm and your mind going haywire with the need to sink down on him.

“No shit, babe,” he nuzzled your neck, voice a little breathier than before, “but whereas you somehow might have ended up as the freakier of us - no idea how that happened - I—“ He sighed and made to retrieve his tossed-aside belt, “Well, I’m a glutton for punishment, and the only person I want seeing you like this is me. So, unfortunately, sweetheart, I do believe this little foray is gonna have to wait until at least lunch…”

With that, he was, with much difficulty, removing your hands from his length and rearranging it in his boxers and pants, hissing and half-bucking as he did. You watched with confusion for a second, before squinting at him in frustration and, Jesus, really, truly whining, none of which helped with Eddie’s issue.

“Are you for real right now?”

Your voice was incredulous, your face screwed up in genuine exasperation, and fuck, the indignation had him wanting to drag you to the parking lot and to his van that very instant.

“You want my cock in your mouth that bad, sweetheart?” He jutted out his bottom lip mockingly, eyes sparkling with pure ego as he took your chin in his fingers and tilted it downwards. Through it all, your fingers still toyed around him, something he was more than happy to allow. “God, I love it when you get needy, like, seriously needy. Whore-adjacent, even.”

A sharp, abrupt laugh left you at that, his words doing nothing to alleviate the coiling sensation deep in your gut. “You’re lucky I like you so much, pretty boy,” you murmured as you rolled your eyes and looked away, and yet he knew you were quietly revelling in his taunting, in the name-calling.

“Mm, I am…” Finally having put himself back together, he reached up and brushed his knuckles along your jaw, a fond flash to his eyes and a gentleness to his touch that both contrasted and complemented the entire odd air of the situation. “Very, very much so.”

You rolled your eyes yet again, more embarrassed by the blatant affection than the teasing about, you know, being a desperate slut whom wanted little more than to blow him right then and there.

“Fine,” you humphed, sitting up and back in your own chair, crossing your arms in a way that deliberately hiked up your breasts as you did so, receiving an approving raise of his brows at the action. “But you best believe this is happening the second that fucking lunch bell rings, you hear? Your van, 11:45AM—“

“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” he groaned, shooting forward to tilt you back in your chair and kiss you absolutely breathless. You clutched to him out of sheer surprise, but he had you completely secured in one arm, the other tending to your seat.

It was a little mischievous, a touch longing, and warm above all, and you couldn’t help wrapping an arm around him to kiss him even deeper. Despite the potential for being walked in on at literally any second, it wasn’t rushed, rather quietly, intensely yearning, all-consuming, the ever-present butterflies in your stomach going off erratically as he angled back further and further yet.

“Nothing, and I mean nothing, could keep me away,” he whispered as he finally broke away, once again just caressing you, his thumb stroking down your neck, tickling the flushed flesh. “Putting this off for the next few hours, s’gonna be pure fuckin’ agony—“

Pure fuckin’ bliss—

The delayed gratification was already stoking at the fire in his gut, and it had only been barely ten minutes… “—only thing I’m gonna be thinking about is you and that gorgeous goddamn mouth—“ Fuck, he was not helping himself, cock still as hard as ever and clearly evident to you before him, a raised eyebrow directed at it.

“But, oof, the come-up and drop down—“ He put his fingers up to his head and pretended to shoot off like a gun. “Gonna send me to seventh heaven, cloud fuckin’ nine, baby.”

“Mm, right answer,” you smiled, playfully rolling your eyes at his puppy-like enthusiasm, while letting him slowly put your chair back on four legs before you let go of his leather jacket. “And we’re listening to ABBA when we get out there.” You could have requested fucking gospel music and he would have agreed like it was nothing. “Now I suggest you do fulfill your previous promise and stop talking before you blow your load right here and now, Munson.”

At that, he stretched out his arms and did a goofy half-curtsy, applying a kiss to your hand, before turning and retrieving his coffee and bagel, eyeing you the entire time he took a good, long, loud drink of the beverage. “Better eat that,” he pursed his lips at your own once-bitten everything bagel, “Gonna need the energy for later, sweet thing.”

With this, he waggled his eyebrows and took off to his officially-designated desk several spots and a row behind you, leaving you to splutter as your fellow classmates conveniently started to filter in. Unable to mutter or scold or whatever, you tried to school your composure and instead took to his cheeky request, grabbing your bagel and taking a ragged bite, knowing all the while he was watching you, munching away at his own.

Just as a few more people entered the room, you heard a slurping sound from behind you, and you went ramrod straight as you slowly twisted around to find Eddie doing just so, his coffee cup hanging at his lips, doing nothing to conceal a massive smirk. Your attention now on him, he dropped the cup, finished, to the desk, and maintained eye contact as he slowly, heinously licked his lips. He was all casual in the way he held himself above the desk, shoulders relaxed and whole demeanour unbothered, but a quick glance below showed him unsubtly trying to angle his chair to the side, legs awkwardly half-crossed trying to hide the quite obvious.

When he caught you so blatantly staring there, accentuated all the more with a challenging, cocky wink, that smugness of his fell away in a second, replaced with something a little wild, more than a bit pathetic, and nothing short of desperate.

With a furtive little smile and definitive lick of your lips, you turned back to face the blackboard, mind swimming with anticipation and your gut aching with a familiar warmth all over again.

Oh, the next few hours were going to be torturously fun for the both of you, indeed.

[mari-positas]

More Than Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Just Friends

Summary: When your date goes south and you call Javi to the rescue, you have no choice but to come to terms with how you really feel about him—how you feel about each other.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18 + Only Minors DNI. Reader is bilingual, but no race or ethnicity is mentioned. There is also a moment she gets carried by Javi, I apologize but it just fit the scene. I know, but I promise there are no specific descriptions of appearance, minus that she is femme. Attempted sexual assault on reader, but she saves herself, brief scenes of violence (reader doesn’t get hurt, she does the hurting). Angst. SMUT. Oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up folks) pet names both in English and Spanish, praise, reader asks Javi to finish inside of her (not sorry). Fluff, some comedic moments too. There’s a lot, so apologies if I missed anything. Translations at the end. I apologize, this was a lot more Spanish heavy than I intended!

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: This only took me like two months? lmao. Idk the first part did so unexpectedly well that I kept on psyching myself out for this second part. But you know what, everyone has been so kind about wanting a second part, and not to mention very patient with me. I wanted to pay a lot of homage to the first part while also making this it’s own thing and diving deeper for these two? Idk. That made more sense in my brain. I hope everyone who read Just Friends likes the conclusion! 🤍

You ended up choosing the scarlet red minidress.

The one that Javier had said he’d liked the best.

That was the dress you’d decided to wear out for a date with another man—another man that you still planned on sleeping with tonight.

Another man who wasn’t Javier Peña.

You stood in front of the full length mirror running both of your hands down the front of your dress to smooth out a couple of wrinkles that you’d missed while going over the fabric with the hand steamer; however, with the amount of skin peeking through the diamond shaped cutouts in the sides, chances of anyone even noticing a wrinkle or two were slim to none. After checking your hair and make up one last time, you slipped on a pair of nude pumps and reached for the gold clutch on your dresser—you’d only managed to cram the essentials into it. Pesos for the cab there and back, along with extra bills in case of an emergency, a tube of cherry scented lip gloss, a compact mirror, a pack of mint gum and a set of keys to the apartment, copies that Javi sent out to have made when you’d first moved in.

“Oh, I forgot earrings,” You mumbled. Putting your clutch back down, you rummaged around through a tangled mess of jewelry until you found your pair of small gold hoops. You slipped them on and then turned around to face the mirror again for one last glance before it was time to head out. Your fingers fussed with your hair, smoothing down a couple of stubborn strands that refused to stay in place. You tried, almost painfully, to ignore the heavy, sinking feeling that had been lingering in your chest, but it only intensified, worsening with every second that ticked on by and the time to head out drew closer.

You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.

Javier’s voice echoed in your mind, causing you to exhale sharply, as if someone’s fist had driven into your stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs.

For as much as you had tried to erase the memory of what happened earlier, it was impossible. It was all that you could think about, even as you readied and dolled yourself up in preparation to fuck some other man whose name you couldn’t even seem to remember anymore—Daniel? Or was it David?

You didn’t know. And you didn’t care to know.

Javier Peña was all that you could think about.

How his lips molded so perfectly to your own.

How your body seemed to fit right in his hands.

How every part of you ached for more of him.

So, so much more of him.

It was as if the two of you had been made for each other. Being in Javier’s arms had felt so natural, as natural as the air you breathed.

“Get a fucking grip,” You muttered to yourself. The logical side of you struggled to keep you grounded in reality, the thread it held you by was far too thin, so breakable that you were just one single thought away from canceling the date and marching out of your bedroom to find Javi to finish what he’d gone off and started with his stupid lesson.

You’d had a taste and that taste had been lethal.

You wanted him more than anything, but it was far too risky. 

Javier Peña was your work partner.

More important than that, he was your friend. 

The two of you were just friends. 

Then again, friends weren’t supposed to know the way each other’s kisses tasted and friends weren’t supposed to make you soak and ruin your panties, either. Friends didn’t leave you longing to be filled up, your tight walls begging to be streched.

“I see you took my opinion into consideration.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of Javier standing in the doorway with a glass of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in his opposite hand, pinched in between his fingers.

Lifting your chin, you replied in the steadiest voice you could possibly muster. “I did.” You paused and crossed your arms over your chest. “Peña, can you please not smoke in my bedroom? I’ve worked too damn hard to keep it from smelling like an ashtray like the rest of the apartment.”

Javi took a long, slow drag and exhaled the smoke through parted lips, purposefully blowing it over in your direction. “I’m not in your bedroom—I’m over here by the door. Besides, last time I checked, this was my apartment and I can smoke where I damn well please.” He took another drag, his dark brown eyes slowly tracing over the curves of your body in a once over. It stung him a little, knowing you were wearing that dress out on a date. The thought of it ending up on the floor of some twat lawyer’s hotel room by the end of the night only made it sting so much harder than he cared to admit. He exhaled a second cloud of smoke over his shoulder and then brought his bourbon to his lips, taking a sip before he murmured the compliment out over the rim of his glass. “Te ves tan hermosa, mi muñequita.”

Heat burned at the back of your neck. “Thank you, Peña,” You mumbled in response.

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

“You’re not really going to put me on a permanent last name basis again, are you?” Javi couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you shift from one heel to the other, squirming under his gaze. “It took me six fucking months just to move off of it when you and I first started working together on the job.” He drained the rest of his liquor in one swallow before flicking the last bit of his cigarette into his glass. It made a soft sizzling sound as the lit end touched a cube of half melted ice at the bottom. “What did I do to warrant such a harsh punishment?”

You glared at him. “Don’t act stupid, Javier.”

He feigned innocence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cariño.”

Your knees wobbled slightly as Javi walked further into your bedroom. He came up to you and placed his glass on the dresser right next to your clutch.

“If something’s on your mind—”

You were quick, too quick, to cut him off.

“That can’t happen ever again, Javier. Alright?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Nothing happened.”

“We kissed each other, Peña. You made me co—”

You stopped abruptly, your face growing hot.

Javi raised an eyebrow. “I made you what?”

You made me come.

Averting your eyes, they fell down to the floor. But Javier was having none of it. He hooked one of his index fingers underneath your chin and tilted it up gingerly, coaxing your gaze to meet his. “What did I make you do?” he asked, his breath fanning right over your slightly parted lips. “Hmm?”

Your knees threatened to buckle. “You know.”

His finger lightly trailed along your jawline.

“I want to hear you say it out loud, baby girl. I need to hear you say it. What did I make you do?”

Javi snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and momentarily rendering you speechless.

“Well?” he prompted after a minute.

“Javi, please,” You breathed out. “Don’t do this.”

His nose skimmed your cheek. “Don’t do what?”

He had to feel how hard your heart was pounding.

“I don’t know what sick, twisted, little game you’re playing at right now but it needs to stop—”

Javier softly kissed the corner of your mouth. “I’m confused, who said anything about playing games here?” His fingers grazed along a patch of smooth skin through one of the cutouts in your dress. “I’m just waiting for you to answer my question. That’s all. What did I make you do?”

“How much scotch have you had to drink, Peña?”

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re implying.”

You placed both hands lightly on his hard chest. “I need you to let me go,” You managed to tell him. It was the opposite of what you really wanted, but at least one of you needed to keep a level head and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. He might have been telling the truth about not being drunk, but it was obvious he was impaired to an extent, enough to lead him into making a huge mistake. “I have to leave, the cab I called should be pulling up soon. It might even be outside already.” You pushed Javier back gently, but firmly, prompting him to hold you even tighter against him. “What are you doing?”

“No te vayas. No te vayas con el.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“You heard me. Don’t go.”

“Javier. Please, you have to let go of me—”

“Quedate conmigo.”

His request was tempting, much too tempting.

“I want you and you want me,” Javi reasoned. “We shouldn’t fight it—we don’t have to fight this.”

Sighing, you fiddled with one of the buttons on his khaki colored shirt. “Think about it,” You said, your own desires becoming harder to suppress. “Really think about it, Peña. With your head, not with your dick. Is fucking me worth risking losing this job? If Messina finds out, she’ll reassign one of us and we both know whose ass she’s going to send packing. It sure as hell won’t be mine. Is that risk worth it to you?” You challenged him. “After all that work that you’ve put into catching Escobar, and dismantling the most dangerous cartel in South America?”

He didn’t even miss a beat. “Yes.”

You frowned at him. “Seriously, Javier?”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Messina won’t know! She hasn’t even figured out that we have been living together for the last eight or nine months,” he reminded you, grinning. “So it might be safe to say we know how to keep secrets from our boss, hermosa.” He drew you even closer to him, his biceps flexing against the short sleeves of his shirt. “No one is getting reassigned, okay?”

“Okay. Well let me ask you something else, then.”

He dropped his head, pressing a kiss to your neck, followed by another and then another. “What?” He hummed, the word vibrating over your pulse point.

You ignored the heat growing in your lower belly.

“Is fucking me worth risking our friendship?”

Javier froze for split second, then dropped his arm from around your waist and stepped back, looking at you with an equal mixture of guilt and shame. It was a simple, fair question but somehow it felt like you’d just slapped him across the face—it sobered him up quicker than a cold shower ever could. Javi took another step or two backwards, touching one of his large hands to the back of his burning neck.

“No,” he answered, his voice strained. “It isn’t.”

Your expression softened slightly. “Javi—”

He held up his other hand to stop you. “No. Don’t.”

You tried again. “I just said that to make a point.”

“Well, you made it,” Javier remarked, quietly.

He almost sounded wounded. And his eyes?

Glazed over with dejection like you’d never seen.

“Peña,” You groaned. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. “Like what?”

“Like you’re a puppy whose tail I just stepped on!”

Outside, you heard the gravel crunching under the tires of an approaching car and you hoped it was a neighbor pulling up and not the cab you’d called.

You couldn’t leave, not without patching things up with Javi first.

He was far more important than some date.

Javier smiled wryly. “I just feel like a fucking dick. I don’t want you to think I’m willing to throw out our friendship for a piece of ass,” he admitted. “I know I don’t have the best track record with the way I’ve treated women before. But you? You’re not like the girls that I’m always bringing home. You’re not like them at all and you need to know that.”

You almost laughed. “Because I’m not a whore?”

“Because I actually feel something for you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Stomach dropping into your panties, you stared at him almost as if you were waiting for a punchline.

There had to be a punchline.

Javier Peña didn’t do feelings.

Right?

The sound of loud honking outside shattered right through the silence that had fallen over the two of you.

He peeked outside the window, his jaw clenching.

“There’s that cab you called to come pick you up.”

You swallowed harshly. “Javi—” You stopped as he strode up to you. Your throat bobbed again. “Javi.”

Javier leaned down, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Have a good time, muñeca. And don’t worry.” He paused for a second then added, “I won’t wait up.”

The bitterness in his tone was subtle, but present.

Before you could say anything, he spun around on the heel of his boot and left your bedroom.

For the second time that day, he left you there in a state of complete shock.

Diego.

That was his name.

Fortunately, you’d remembered it by the time he’d greeted you in the dimly lit bar of the upscale, four star hotel his firm had set him up with in Bogotá.

He was nice enough.

Handsome. Charming. Successful.

He was the whole package and judging by the way several other women sitting in the bar were ogling, it was apparent that they thought so too.

Diego seemed to be the perfect man, the kind you would consider dating if it hadn’t been for the fact that he would only be in the country for a few days for business. Well, there was that and the fact that you had another man on the brain, a man who had been consuming your thoughts all evening—Peña.

Javier Peña.

His confession continued to bounce around inside of your skull, echoing over and over again.

Because I actually feel something for you.

“Are you alright?”

You blinked, lightly shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, did you just say something to me?”

Diego laughed. “I asked if you were alright.” He sat beside you in the booth, the scent of his expensive designer cologne filling your senses as he slid over to be closer to you. “You seem a bit distracted.”

You glanced down into your lemon drop martini.

“I’m so sorry,” You apologized, sheepishly.

“Is everything alright?”

“I just have work on my mind,” You fibbed. “What I do, it can be hard to leave at the door, you know?”

“Oh, trust me. I know that all too well.” Diego put a hand on your thigh, his fingers tugging playfully at the hem of your minidress. “I think I know a way to get your mind off of things. How’s about we go up to my suite, sweetheart?”

That was the last thing you fucking wanted.

“Sure,” You squeaked out without thinking.

Grinning, Diego stood up and held out his hand.

You took it, allowing him to lead you out of the bar and into the lobby towards the elevators. The both of you boarded one with another couple—but they got off on the third floor. You squinted to see what floor Diego had punched into the number panel.

Your stomach churned. He was on the tenth floor.

Diego turned to you. “Can I have a little kiss?”

“Mhm,” You forced out in reply.

He leaned down, pressing his mouth against yours as his hands found your waist to pull you close. He was a little bit rougher than you had anticipated. It felt off. It felt wrong.

Cold. Passionless. Suffocating.

It was nothing like Javier’s kiss.

The elevator came to a stop at the tenth floor, the doors pulling open with a soft dinging sound.

Diego grabbed your hand, nearly dragging you out of the elevator. He pulled you down the long, quiet hallway towards the door of his executive suite. He produced a single key from the pocket of his black suit jacket with his opposite hand, using it to open the door. Before you could even think, he’d shoved you inside, practically throwing you up against the door as soon as he closed it. He ripped your clutch out of your hand, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Diego, wait a minute—”

He crashed his mouth onto yours, cutting you off.

His hands immediately went around you, fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

“Diego,” You mumbled, your heart pounding as he just about swallowed your face whole. You planted your hands on his chest, trying to push him off. He tore his mouth away from yours, moving it to your neck. “Diego, wait. Stop—”

“God, you’re the most beautiful fucking woman.”

His hands were everywhere you didn’t want them.

Your hips, your breasts, your ass.

Yanking, palming, grabbing.

“Diego, please! Can you just stop for a minute?”

He pinned you against the door. “Don’t be coy!”

“I said stop—”

You gasped, feeling him slide his hand underneath the hem of your dress and between your legs. You felt him cup you through your panties and brought one of your six inch heels down, stomping his foot so hard it almost went through his dress shoe. You took advantage the minute he stepped backwards and brought back a curled first, connecting it with the side of his jaw so hard that you busted his lip.

Diego staggered back further. “What the fuck!” he growled, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “What’s the matter with you, you stupid little bitch?”

“I said stop and you didn’t.” Your voice trembled in a mix of anger and fear. “I’m leaving now.”

Drawing himself back up to full height, he reached for your arm. “You’re not going anywhere!” he said as he slammed you against the door again. “What, do you think I’m fucking afraid of you just because you’re some glorified cop?” He sneered at you. He held you up by the throat with one hand, while the other hand tore off the straps of your dress. “Here, let me show you exactly why women don’t fucking belong in law enforcement.” He pulled up the hem of your dress and then went for his belt buckle.

You clawed at his hand around your throat, sinking your nails into his wrist hard enough to break skin.

Somehow, with enough thrashing and wriggling in his grasp, you managed slide out from underneath him—he’d been caught so off guard he didn’t even have time to think about what was coming next.

Grabbing two fistfuls of his suit jacket, you yanked him down so he was bending over.

Simultaneously, you brought one of your knees up and drove it into Diego’s nose with such force that the sickening sound of it shattering filled the suite. He fell to the floor, clutching his face as he cried in agony.

Whirling around, your shaking hands fumbled with the brass door knob until you managed to throw it open. You ran out and down the long hallway—not wanting to wait around for the elevator, you chose to take the stairwell instead. Kicking off your heels and leaving them behind, you flew down the metal stairs taking two steps at a time. There was a door at the bottom of the stairwell that you assumed to be the door that led to the hotel lobby. Instead the door led to the street behind the hotel.

At least now you didn’t have to explain to the hotel owner that you had broken the nose of one of their guests.

You ran down the street, going as fast as your legs could carry you towards a familiar bodega you and Murphy had visited before a handful of times—the owner, Mateo, kept the shop open late and he had gotten to know you and Murphy whenever the two of you were in need of late night, stakeout coffee.

“Mateo!” You cried out, zooming through the door of the bodega. Rushing up to the counter, you saw the older man sitting behind the register watching one of his usual evening telenovelas.

He looked up at you, jumping to his feet.

“Señorita! Qué le pasó? Estás bien?”

“Puedo usar su teléfono, por favor?”

“Por supuesto que sí.”

Mateo pulled his phone from under the counter.

“Gracias.” You dialed the apartment’s landline into the base and picked up the handset, bringing it up to your ear as the line started to ring. “Please Javi, be home. Please be home. Please be home. Please be home—”

“Hello?” Javier answered on the fifth ring.

He sounded confused and you didn’t blame him.

It was the middle of the night, after all.

“Peña, it’s me.” Your voice wavered. “I need you.”

You could practically feel the way he’d stiffened on the other end of the line.

“What did the fuck did he do?” he demanded.

“Peña, please. Can you just come and get me?”

Javier didn’t even hesitate.

“Tell me where you are and I’ll be right there.”

Javier jumped out of his Jeep Wrangler, his hands clenched into fists as he stormed into the bodega.

He looked around the shop frantically.

“Mateo, dónde está?” he questioned the owner.

“Los pasteles.” He pointed towards an aisle closer to the back of the shop near the ice cream freezer.

He nodded and followed his direction.

“Muñeca,” Javier breathed out in relief the second that he saw you standing there in the aisle with an array of packaged Marinela pastries in your hands. He rushed up to you and took your face gingerly in between his large palms, taking a look at you. Javi managed to keep a calm and collected composure for the sake of not making things any worse, but it would be short lived and he knew that—he felt the anger boiling underneath his skin, bubbling hot in his veins when he realized just how poor of a state you were in. The straps of your dress were torn off, your high heels were missing and so was your bag. Your eyes were bright red, brimming with tears he could see you trying your hardest to hold back. He let his hands fall from your face and shrugged out of his tan colored jacket, quickly draping it around your shoulders as he asked, “Estás lastimada?”

You shook your head. “No, Peña. I’m not hurt.”

He had never heard you speak in a voice so small.

Javier stepped back. “Tell me where he’s staying,” he demanded, furiously. “Tell me right now! Which hotel is this motherfucker staying at?”

“That’s not necessary. I handled him myself.”

“Tell me which fucking hotel so I can kill him—”

Finally, a tear slipped down the side of your face.

It nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He had never seen you cry before, either.

“Javi, please,” You pleaded in a whisper. “Please. It isn’t even worth it, alright? I just want to buy these cakes and then I want you to take me home where I can put on my pajamas and eat them in peace. Is that too much to fucking ask for?”

Javier immediately softened. “Of course not. Here give me those.” He took the cakes from you in one hand and grabbed your hand with his other, lacing your fingers together as he led the way over to the counter. As soon as Mateo finished ringing up and bagging the pasties, Javi dropped a twenty on the counter; he had pulled out the bill from the pocket of his jeans. “Quédese con el cambio.”

Mateo reached underneath the counter and pulled out a small paper bag, sliding it across the counter to Javier. “Para la señorita,” he stated with a small and subtle nod of his head. “Para sus nervios.”

“Gracias, jefe.” Javier thanked him and placed the paper bag into the plastic one before picking it up, sliding the handles over his forearm. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Let’s get you home, querida.”

He led you outside to his Wrangler, opening up the passenger door. Javier gave you a slight boost and helped you into the slightly lifted vehicle. After you were all buckled in, he shut the door and made his way around to the driver’s side, climbing in.

Putting the plastic bag in the backseat, Javi pulled out his keys but made no move to start the Jeep.

“Cariño—”

“Peña. Please. Don’t.” You choked out the words.

He’d already seen you shed one tear.

You would be damned if you let him see another.

Javier sighed out in defeat. “Alright. I won’t.”

He slid the key into the ignition, turning it until the engine roared to life.

The first thing you had done was take a shower.

Long and scalding hot.

You emerged from the bathroom in nothing but an oversized Def Leppard tee shirt and parked it right on the couch where you immediately dove into the plastic bag of pastries, eating one after the other.

Meanwhile, Javier was in the kitchen, fussing with something boiling in a pot on the stove. Just when you were about to ask him what he was making at almost three in the morning, he walked over with a steaming mug in his hand. “Here.”

“What is that?” You mumbled through a mouthful of pineapple flavored sweet bread. “Coffee?”

“I think it’s some kind of tea. Mateo gave it to me,” he gave a careful shrug of his shoulder. “He said it would help ease the nerves.” He sniffed it. “Smells like it might have some lavender in it.”

You wrinkled your nose at it. “I don’t like tea.”

“Hermosa, por favor. You could be in shock—”

“Shock?” Scoffing, you shook your head at him, in disbelief more than anything. “I’m an agent for the DEA and I have worked undercover. Do you realize that I’ve been felt up by Pablo Escobar’s men a lot more often than not? That they’ve groped me, and some of them have tried to—” You stopped as Javi sucked in a sharp breath. Of course he did. He had put the cuffs on the scumbags himself. “I’m not in shock, alright?”

Javier sighed. “Please, for the sake of my sanity, it would make me feel a lot better if you drank some. At least a couple of sips?”

“Fine,” You reluctantly agreed, accepting the mug.

“I added a little honey for taste.”

Murmuring thanks, you took a few careful sips. As you leaned over to set the half full mug down onto the glass table beside the couch, Javi reached out and grabbed it from you.

“Here, let me do that,” he offered, putting the mug down for you.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to fucking baby me, Peña.”

Dropping to one knee in front of you, Javi placed a hand on your bare thigh, his thumb tracing a small circular pattern into your soft, smooth skin. “Must you make this such a battle? Why can’t you just let me take care of you?”

“Because I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Then why did you call me saying you needed me, hm? Or did you forget about that part already?”

“I needed you because I needed a ride home.”

He tossed you an annoyed, frustrated glare.

“For once in your fucking life, spare me that damn tough girl act. Please, just let me fucking take care of you.”

Swallowing thickly, you brought your eyes to meet his. “Javi,” You croaked out his name softly, feeling an emotional lump rise in the back of your throat.

“What happened?” Javier asked you gently.

You exhaled a shaky sigh.

“We met at the bar in his hotel. We had a couple of drinks and he asked if I wanted to go upstairs. And I didn’t even think about it, I just said yes.” Despite knowing that your initial acceptance did not mean you’d deserved nearly being assaulted, part of you still couldn’t help but blame yourself. “We went to his room. He shoved me inside. He started kissing me and touching me—he was being kind of rough and I didn’t like it. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t want it, so I tried telling him to stop and he didn’t stop.”

Anger flashed in Javi’s dark eyes, but he remained calm and composed. “And then what happened?”

“I busted his lip and broke his nose.”

He couldn’t help but let out an amused huff.

“Sounds to me like you let him off easy.”

“I can’t wait to explain to Valeria why her brother’s going to show up to court and present a case with a swollen lip and a cast on his nose,” You chuckled in spite of yourself. “Messina’s going to be pissed. I can almost tase the week of assigned desk duty.”

There was a short, comfortable silence.

“Javi?”

“Dígame, cariño.”

“Did you mean what said you said to me earlier?”

His throat bobbed. “What did I say earlier?”

You knew he knew what you were referring to.

“You said you actually feel something for me.” You paused, peering at him. “Did you mean that?”

“I did. I know you might not believe me but—”

“I believe you.”

Javier pulled back slightly, looking surprised.

Shocked, almost.

For once it was him and not you caught off guard.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The entire night, all I could do was think about what you had said. It just kept replaying in my mind over and over again like a song on loop,” You confessed to him. “I don’t think I even tried to stop thinking about you, Javi.”

“Muñeca—”

“I didn’t want to be with another man. Even if he’d turned out to be a great guy, I wouldn’t have had it in me to go through with it. I want to be with you. I want you, Peña.” It all came spilling out. There was no stopping it now. “I want you, Javier. So bad.”

His fingers dug into your leg at the admission.

You leaned forward. “Javi?”

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Can I kiss you?”

His nod was so subtle you’d barely caught it.

Delicately, you took his face between your hands as you brought your mouth down to meet his.

Your lips moved together with his slowly, sensually and deeply. Your heart was pounding in a hard but steady rhythm inside your chest. Dropping both of your hands from his face, you reached for his shirt and fisted the polyester fabric, pulling him closer.

Javi’s hands smoothed up and down your thighs.

“Baby,” he mumbled into the embrace.

You broke away slightly.

“Don’t talk, just touch me. Please.”

His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head and discarding it behind him.

“Fuck,” the word tore from Javier’s throat in groan so guttural it sent a shiver up your spine.

All you’d been wearing underneath were panties, a pink pair with white polka dots—the same ones he had poked fun at before.

Javier Peña found himself eating his own words.

Somehow, those polka dot panties were about a hundred times sexier than any lace lingerie could ever be.

His cock hardened, straining against his zipper as his dark eyed gaze dragged over your body.

“Tócame,” You whispered, lustfully. “Tócame. Por favor, Javier. Toca mi cuerpo.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Javier slipped an arm around your waist. He pulled you to the edge of the couch, bringing your legs to rest on either side of his waist before taking one of your breasts into his mouth. You gasped out, back arching when he rolled his tongue over a hardened nipple. He lifted a hand to the other soft mound of flesh, kneading it in between his fingers.

“Javi,” You whimpered, legs squeezing at his hips as a blazing heat ignited between them. His touch was everything you’d been wanting—needing and craving. Your hands fell to the buttons of his khaki shirt, fumbling with them clumsily. Javier laughed, pulling back from your breasts as he swiftly undid them and tugged his shirt off his shoulders, letting it join yours on the hardwood floor.

Your mouth nearly foamed at the sight of him.

It wasn’t like it was the first time you had seen him without his shirt on. You’d seen him shirtless more times than you could count on both hands—but it was hard not to admire how his smooth skin, gold and sun kissed, stretched over the broad planes of his shoulders and the lean muscles of his chest.

Throat dry, you licked your lips and reached out to pull him back into you.

“How long have you wanted this?” He questioned.

He started licking a line, starting from the delicate spot behind your ear. He drew it slowly, his tongue dragging down and across your collarbone.

“Too long,” You rasped out. “Too fucking long.”

Javier pushed you back against the leather couch, lifting himself slightly off of the floor. He started to nibble and kiss his way down your body, taking his sweet time moving his mouth over your chest and stomach, going lower and lower until he came to a stop at the elastic band of your underwear.

He glanced up at you through his dark lashes, as if silently asking you for permission.

Chest heaving in anticipation, you nodded, almost a little too eagerly. “Yes. Please, keep going.”

Javier hooked his thumbs underneath the band. “I might need some assistance here, hermosa.”

Without hesitation, you lifted your hips up to bring them off of the couch, just enough for him to slide your panties down your legs. He tossed them over his shoulder, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Lay back,” he instructed, his own heart pounding hard, hammering wildly against his sternum.

Cheeks burning with heat, you did as he told you.

Javier’s tongue swiped his bottom lip, hungrily. He had been starving for you for too damn long.

He parted your thighs and nearly salivated. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking beautiful, baby girl.” Javier’s cock had gone rock hard. It twitched, aching to be freed from its constraints as his eyes greedily took in the gorgeous sight before him. You, completely naked, your soaked cunt dripping onto the supple, brown leather of his couch. Javi grinned, using his thumbs to spread your slick folds. His lustful gaze met yours. “This all for me, mi muñequita linda?”

“Yes, Javi,” You breathed out. “It’s all for you.”

Grin widening, Javier lifted one of your legs and he started trailing a line of hot, open mouthed kisses, beginning from the inside of your ankle. Slowly, he kissed his way up your leg, leaving a burning fire in his wake. “I’ve been wanting this for so long,” Javi mumbled against your skin. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid my eyes on you. Remember that day? You walked right into my office and I—”

“You thought I was a new secretary,” You finished, gasping as he nipped at your inner thigh, scraping his teeth along the tender flesh there. “Javier—”

“Little did I know that you were a badass agent for the DEA, my future partner and—” He paused and placed a kiss on your mound. “My best friend. The woman who stole my heart piece by fucking piece until she had the entire thing in her damn hands.”

You shuddered, your head spinning in a daze.

His mouth was so close to where you needed it.

“You were so focused on making a man feel good, baby.” His breath on your blazing core sent shivers shooting throughout your body. So, so close. “But do you want to know what really makes a man feel good? What makes me feel good?”

“What?” You asked, breathlessly.

He draped your leg over his shoulder. “Making you feel good.”

Javier finally dipped his head in between your legs and ran his tongue up the seam of your center, his fantasies of tasting you coming to life.

“Javi,” You moaned, fingernails digging into one of the couch cushions behind you.

“Fuck, your pussy tastes as sweet as it looks,” Javi growled burying his face between your thighs. You moaned again as he moved his tongue, writing his name into you with the most delicious, rhythmic strokes that had you seeing stars.

Your hands abandoned the couch cushion, fingers finding and tangling themselves in his dark brown hair instead. “Fuck, Javi, that feels so good—” You scooted closer to the edge of the couch, your hips bucking forward, desperate for more.

You could feel Javier smirking against you.

“Quieres mas, muñeca?”

“God, yes, please! I want more, I need more—”

Without warning, Javi wrapped his mouth around your clit, his tongue flicking the swollen bundle of nerves and causing you to cry out. He wrapped his arm around your trembling thigh as he sucked and licked, his technique already bringing you so close to the edge. It was happening too fast.

Wanting to draw out the blissful pleasure for just a bit longer, you found yourself squirming away, but Javier had other plans. With one arm still wrapped around your leg on his shoulder, he lifted the other and placed his hand on your hip, pressing down to trap you against the couch as he devoured you.

You cried out his name so loudly, you were certain the tenants upstairs could hear it.

His name spilled from your lips over and over right in between shallow pants and breathless moans.

It was the sweetest song he’d ever fucking heard.

Javier could feel how close you were. He flattened his tongue and dragged it down your slit, and then back up again, the lewd, wet sound of him lapping at your core causing the tightly wound coil deep in your lower belly to finally snap and spring forward.

“Javier, fuck! Javi!” You cried, your orgasm driving into you so hard it almost knocked you backwards into the couch like a rag doll.

Legs shaking, your fingers dug further into his hair and your nails lightly scraped against his scalp. He pulled away slightly and looked up at you, his chin and mouth glistening with a sweet mixture of slick and saliva. He lifted himself up and kissed you, the taste of yourself on his lips lighting up another fire between your hips. You placed a hand on his neck, then dragged it down the length of his hard chest, down over his stomach, going lower and lower. He sucked in a sharp breath as your hand brushed his bulge, then cupped it through his jeans.

“This all for me?” You couldn’t help but tease Javi, just like he’d teased you.

“Yes, baby. It’s all for you,” he replied in a strained, low voice. He was throbbing for you, so hard it was borderline painful. He needed relief, release. But it would have to wait until he was sure that you were ready and willing to take it further. “We don’t have to, by the way. This is as far as it has to go—”

“Javi?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you stop talking and fuck me, please?

Javier chuckled. “Since you asked so politely.” He slid one arm under your knees, and the other went around your back. Rising to his feet, Javi lifted you off of the couch. “But not here. Let’s go to mine.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Peña put me down!”

“But I’m trying to be romantic,” he joked, carrying your down the hallway and into his bedroom. With you in his arms he managed to open the door and switch on his lights.

“There is nothing romantic about you hurting your back or throwing it out,” You deadpanned, relieved when he set you down on your feet.

Javi started guiding you back towards his bed, the back of your knees meeting the edge of the queen sized mattress. Giving you a quick kiss, he pushed you onto your backside and took a step backward, his hands undoing the brass button of his jeans.

You watched with dazed, half lidded eyes as Javier pulled his zipper down and slid his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs.

His hard, thick cock sprang free, his head slapping against his lower abdomen.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, gawking at him. Suddenly, you knew why the women of the office could never stop talking about Javier Peña’s dick. Hopefully the last look they’d gotten of it had been a good one, because none of them were ever going to see it again—if Javi was serious about his feelings for you, he would have to understand that you weren’t the kind of woman who liked to share.

He seemed to have read your mind. “It’s all yours,” Javier promised, wrapping his long fingers around his base. He stroked himself once, then twice, and groaned at the slight relief of pressure. He stroked himself once more, his eyes locking with your own in a sinful exchange. “It’s all yours, baby girl. From this point on, I’m all yours. Don’t want anyone but you.”

Something shifted.

A silent understanding that this wasn’t about him adding another notch in his bedpost. Javi did have feelings for you, and he wanted to be all yours, the same way you wanted to be all his.

“Javi, please.”

“Que, mi muñequita? Dime que quieres.”

Your reply was instantaneous, no hesitation.

“You.”

Javier climbed onto the bed, settling himself right in between your thighs. He fisted his length before running his tip up your slit, letting it graze over the sensitive, swollen mess his tongue had left behind when he’d feasted on you back on the couch.

“Segura?” he asked. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He pumped his cock one last time, positioning his head at your entrance. Keeping his brown eyes on you, he pushed into you slowly. Javi felt your body tense underneath him and stopped. “Relax. I need you to relax, amor,” he murmured, planting gentle, loving kisses along your jawline. “I got you, okay?”

“Javier,” You rasped out his name, your fingernails digging into the lean muscles of his back. It didn’t hurt, but the pressure was intense.

He let a minute pass and pushed in further, giving your body chances to adjust with brief pauses. He relished in the feeling of being sheathed in such a tight, taut heat. The way your velvet walls gripped his cock as he sank further and further into you, it felt like your pussy had been made just for him.

Both of you moaned out in unison as he bottomed out inside of you.

Javi held his breath for a second, burying his face into the hollow of your neck as he urged himself to not explode right there on the spot.

“Peña,” You choked out. “Move. Please. Now.”

He slid out, letting out a strangled groan as he slid back into you. “Fuck, hermosa. You’re so tight,” he breathed out. He kissed your collarbone, finding a good pace, one that wasn’t too fast or too slow for either of you. “So tight, so beautiful, so perfect.”

You whimpered, digging your fingernails deeper into his back so hard that you were sure you had to have broken skin.

Javier gripped one of your thighs, hitching it up to hike it around his waist. His other hand was curled into a tight fist at the crown of your head. Opening up his palm, he placed it on your head as he drove his hips into yours, keeping you in place under him as your body bounced with each of his strokes. He picked up the pace one more notch hitting deeper and deeper, the tip of his cock finding that spot he knew would make your toes curl.

“Yes, Javi, fucking right there—fuck!”

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head, the sound of Javi’s guttural groans mixed together with the sound of skin slapping against skin made the edge come creeping up closer and closer.

Javier looked down at you, his eyes trained on you as you writhed underneath him, beautiful features twisted with sheer pleasure. “Fuck, baby girl,” Javi grunted out. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Suddenly, you had the urge to put his lesson from the evening before to good use. “Javi, wait. Stop.”

Afraid he’d done something wrong, he froze.

“What? What is it?” he asked worriedly. “What—?”

Catching him off guard, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, moving your body and rolling it out from underneath his. He exhaled a sharp breath of air when you pushed him again, this time onto his backside on his bed. You swung one of your legs over and climbed on top of him, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you straddled his lower body.

“Muñeca,” he choked out, his eyes wide.

“My turn to make you feel good,” You winked.

Gripping the base of his throbbing cock, you lifted yourself and ran his head along your swollen folds, eliciting a growl that had rumbled from the depths of his chest.

“Oh fuck me,” he cursed, his heart missing a beat.

“That’s the plan, Peña.”

You slid yourself down into him, taking every inch.

Taking his hands, you placed them on your hips as you started rocking them back and forth. Your hair spilled over your shoulders as you threw your head back, your deep, husky moans bouncing off of the walls of his bedroom.

“Fucking Christ,” Javier gasped, letting his fingers dig into the softness of your hips. “You’re going to fucking kill me—” He stopped, his jaw dropping at what you decided to do next.

You reached up, cupping one of your breasts, your fingers rolling and pinching your nipple. Your other hand sensually dragged itself down your stomach, slipping in between your legs, finding your clit.

“Fuck—that’s it. That’s it, baby girl. Touch yourself for me. Touch yourself while you ride my cock,” he encouraged. He watched as you circled your index finger around your clit, amplifying the pleasure for the both of you. “What a good girl,” Javier praised, somehow finding the words in between his groans and heavy pants for air. Unable to help himself, he let his hands abandon your hips, raking them both down your chest, fingertips collecting little beads of perspiration along the way. “Just like that. Such a good fucking girl for me baby.”

“Javi, I’m so fucking close! I’m gonna—”

He sat up and grabbed your arms, quickly guiding them around his shoulders as his own circled your waist and pulled you closer to him. Javi caged you in against his chest and began bucking his hips up into yours, frantically meeting you halfway as both of you chased that sweet release with each other.

It was just like before.

Bodies moving in perfect unison.

Your went down and he went up.

You pulled and he pushed.

Could it be possible they had known each other in another life?

“Javi,” You whimpered his name over and over.

“Come for me, mi muñequita linda. I’ve got you.”

You cried out in bliss, unraveling all over his cock.

Feeling your walls flutter, Javi felt his own release, and he rasped, “Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

“Dentro de mi,” You nearly begged. “Inside of me, please, Javi. Come inside me, fill me up—”

He grunted out a moan and pulled you down onto his lap, holding you in place as he spilled into you, your cunt milking him down to the very last drop.

“Fuck me,” Javier groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck.

“I just did,” You giggled, breathlessly.

After taking a minute to recover, he swiftly flipped you onto your back, his cock still buried inside you completely with no immediate plans to pull out.

Leaning down, Javier swelled your lips with a slow and sensual kiss. Once he pulled away, he brought a hand to your cheek, gently cupping it in his palm as he echoed his own words from before.

“You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”

Smiling, you pushed his damp hair out of his face.

“So are you, Peña.”

He chuckled, touching the tip of his nose to yours.

“Looks like we have another secret we’re going to have to keep from Messina,” Javi mused.

“What? That we fucked?”

“That we’re more than just friends.”

Translations

Te ves tan hermosa, mi muñequita. - You look so beautiful, my little doll.

No te vayas. No te vayas con el.- Don’t go. Don’t go with him.

Quedate conmigo. - Stay with me.

“Señorita! Qué le pasó? Estás bien?” - Miss! What happened? Are you okay?

“Puedo usar su teléfono, por favor?” - Can I please use your phone?

“Por supuesto que sí.” - Of course you can.

Mateo, dónde está? - Mateo, where is she?

“Estás lastimada?” - Are you hurt?

“Quédese con el cambio.” - Keep the change.

Para la señorita. Para sus nervios. - For the lady. For her nerves/anxiety.

Dígame, cariño. - Tell me, darling.

Dime que quieres. - Tell me what you want.

Tócame. Por favor, Javier. Toca mi cuerpo. - Touch me. Please, Javier. Touch my body.

Segura? - Are you sure

[mari-positas]

Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

Summary: You’re planning to have sex for the first time and you’re nervous—Javi offers to show you a thing or two, but just as friends of course.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags 🏷 18+ only, minors dni. reader is in late 20’s; reader is an agent for the DEA; established friendship, idiots in love lust, overprotective/slightly jealous Javi; Javi is his canon manwhore self, reader is a virgin, talks of virginity loss and her desire for no strings attached sex, a bit of pining and yearning, lots of pet names, a couple insults, friendship fluff; touching, groping, dry humping, reader gets off, Javi does not. I know, I know. I will make it up to him in part dos. this does not follow the timeline of the show accurately, Messina is in the picture, Connie is still around. reader is bilingual, no descriptions of her race or ethnicity mentioned though.

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: This took me forever to edit and post because I’m scared lmao. I included a sneak peek at the next part at the end, along with a couple translations. 🤍

thank you to @cutesyscreenname for encouraging me to write this idea. I owe you cherry gansitos!

You observed your own reflection in the full length mirror in front of you and let out a curious little hum as you lifted the short, scarlet red minidress, holding it right up against the length of your body. You then held up the second dress that you had clutched in your opposite hand, a stunning, satin black midi number whose length was a lot longer than the first option, the hem of it falling down to your calves.

It appeared rather innocent, modest enough while it was still on the plastic hanger, but it fit you beautifully, just like a fucking glove. The bodice of the garment cinched at your waist and it was tightly fitted, hugging the curves of your upper body so closely that it looked and even felt like something of a second skin whenever you wore it. The billowy skirt of the dress flowed out around you, darling and sweet at first glance, however it came with a borderline dangerous slit in the side of it that stopped about two or three inches above the middle of your thigh near the hinge of your hip. It exposed the entire length of your leg whenever you walked, danced, or moved around in it—Murphy had once referred to it as the infamous femme fatale dress, telling you that it was a far, far more dangerous weapon than your gun could ever be. 

You were fairly certain his remarks had something to do with the fact that you’d worn the dress on a number of different occasions while you were out on the job, going undercover in Bogotá for the US Drug Enforcement Administration. 

As the only female agent on her team in Colombia and a younger, very beautiful female agent at that, Messina found herself using you to her advantage quite often these days. She would send you out all over Bogotá in that very same black dress with the hope that it would aid you in luring in members of the Medellín drug cartel in efforts to capture their leader, Pablo Escobar.

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

You were doing something much more frightening than mingling among some of Colombia’s most dangerous men. 

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date. 

“I like the red dress the best,” Javier’s deep voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He had mentioned to you earlier that day that he was going to some lounge with Murphy for a smoke and some drinks after work hours since it had been a long, draining week for him at the office; Messina had stuck him with an endless amount of tedious paperwork to do and it had just about driven him insane, but nothing a pack of cigarettes and some bourbon couldn’t fix. With the soft, Latin cumbias playing from the old stereo perched on top of the white oak dresser beside you, you had completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing when he’d gotten home.

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Javier’s dark brown eyes were fixed intently on you, a small, devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he casually leaned up against the door frame of your bedroom. Well, technically, it was actually the guest bedroom of his apartment unit that he’d let you take over several months ago. The housing department of the agency had placed you into a unit in the building across the street from his, right next door to Murphy and his wife, Connie. It had been a special arrangement requested by your diligent supervisor in an effort to make sure that no one found themselves in a compromising situation—she trusted you enough not to get any dumb ideas, but she didn’t trust Peña as far as she could throw him. It wasn’t very far.

While it had certainly been quite nice, and even kind of comforting at times to have Steve and Connie as your neighbors, you’d expressed to Javier one night over dinner at his place that you weren’t all too fond of having to live alone. Without an ounce of hesitation on his part, Javi offered to have you move into his spare bedroom that very same evening after you were both done eating, but only on the condition that Messina didn’t find out about the new living arrangement. She would wring Javier’s neck with her bare hands if knew that you two had been sharing his apartment this entire time. 

Hell, she would wring yours too. And you were the favorite child of sorts. Less annoying than Murphy and certainly a lot less problematic than Peña. 

She only liked you because she never had to worry about you. On or off the job.

But even though you were Messina’s number one, her star player, that would do absolutely nothing to spare you from her wrath if she ever came to find out that you were living with Javier Peña. She wasn’t a fan of just how close the two of you had become over the last several months; she’d told you herself that she much preferred it if you kept your distance from him while you were off duty. One wrong move on your part or Javi’s and it was game fucking over. Messina wouldn’t hesitate to send one of your asses packing, back home to be assigned somewhere else, somewhere far away from the other.

Pursing your lips together lightly, you turned your attention back over to the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, you lifted the red minidress up against your body once more to get another good look at it, as if you hadn’t just been staring at it for the last five minutes before he’d appeared. “I don’t know, Javi. I don’t like this one all that much to be honest. I’m not even sure why the hell I let Connie talk me into buying it in the first place. She said it was cute,” You remarked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You wrinkled your nose at the diamond cut out design in the sides of it. Whoever designed it must have not had enough money to spring for more a teensy bit more fabric. “But it’s kind of tacky. And it makes me look like a whore.”

“Mm yes, but a very beautiful whore,” Javi stated, his smirk widening as he drank in the gorgeous sight of you before him. He licked his lips, openly admiring the way you were clad in nothing but one of his shirts, his pink button up with short sleeves that you had once told him you loved so much because it was your favorite color; you’d sneakily stolen it out of his closet on laundry day a couple weeks back while all of your clothes had been in the washing machine and had never given it back to him. Not that Javier even really wanted it back at this point—his shirt looked a million times better on you than ever it did on him. Seeing you in it did inexplicable things to him and he fucking loved it when you padded around your now shared apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and his pink shirt. He took another glimpse at you, nearly foaming at the mouth at how it fit your frame, how the hem of it fell to the tops of your smooth thighs, the material hardly doing anything to cover up the tantalizing curves of your hips and your perfect ass. “Hermosura. The most beautiful whore in all of Colombia.”

You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror, wishing you had a free hand you could flip him off with. “Gee, thanks for the compliment, Peña. You are always such a fucking charmer, aren’t you?”

“Oh, come on. Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. I’m just messing around with you. You know I don’t think you actually look like a whore—and trust me, I know what a whore looks like,” he responded with a deep and hearty laugh. He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall down to his sides as he pushed himself away from the door frame. He sauntered his way further into your bedroom, uninvited. “I’m being serious about the dress, though. Go with the red one. El vestido rojo. It’s perfect. Besides, that color would look gorgeous on you, cariño. I bet it would look almost as good on you as pink does.” He laughed again as he added, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

Your annoyed expression immediately softened into one of guilt. “I’ve been meaning to give you your shirt back,” You told him, sheepishly. “Te lo juro, Javi.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Javier snorted, waving off the little white lie. He finally forced himself to tear his attention away from you and glanced around, observing the current state of your room instead. It looked like a tornado had hit the inside of your closet; dresses, jackets, and high heeled shoes were strewn all over the place. He wasn’t all too surprised by the mess. He knew you like he knew the back of his own hand by now, and this was typical of you when you were searching for the perfect outfit to wear on a free night out in the city. “I don’t remember you telling me you had any plans tonight, bonita. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with the chismosas of the office? Or are you going out for a girl’s night with Connie?”

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

Through the mirror, you saw the smile fade from Javier’s face almost instantly.

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

“You have a date? With who?” he demanded. 

Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. “You know Valeria, don’t you?”

The color drained from his face.

“That’s the translator who works up on the third floor, right?” He touched his hand to the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around a couple of times.”

You almost laughed at the manner in which Javier tried playing dumb. 

Of course he knew Valeria. 

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

Javi had tried to keep it on the down low, but loud mouthed Valeria would brag to anyone who would listen all about how Agent Peña had fucked her in her office one evening while they’d been working late together and everyone else had gone home. Not that Javier even needed her services as a translator, he’d just needed an excuse to find himself in her office after hours so he could get his dick wet.

For some strange reason, you felt oddly fucking generous and decided to let Javier have this one, playing along with him and his sheer stupidity. “Yeah, her. She has an older brother who’s visiting the city for a few days. His name is Diego. He’s an immigration attorney who is here on business in Bogotá. She offered to set me up with him,” You explained, keeping everything as brief as possible. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight.”

Javier frowned. “Have you met him in person?”

“Well no, but Valeria showed me his picture and she told me all about him. It’s not like he’s just some random ass guy I met on the street, Javi. He’s her brother, she advocated for him,” You tried to reason with him, knowing all too well where this conversation was heading. Sure, it was nice to know that Javier cared about you enough to be concerned about you meeting up with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself. You’d spent many evenings sitting right in the laps of the violent criminals who worked for Escobar—a blind date with a coworker’s brother was nothing for him to make a fuss over. “I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about with him.”

He rigidly shook his head. “Look, no offense to Valeria, but I don’t like the idea of you running around this city at night with some fucking prick that you’ve never even met before. And before you throw all that undercover bullshit at me, just know that it’s not the same thing. You aren’t going out on the job tonight. You’re not going out with your team on standby to watch your back, you’re not going out with me and Murphy armed and ready to jump into action if things head south. What if something happens to you?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his drama king antics. “Oh, give me a fucking break, Peña. Diego’s not a member of the fucking cartel, he’s a lawyer. And besides that, you’re acting like I can’t take care of myself.”

“Listen, I know damn good and well that you can take care of yourself just fine, muñeca. But still, that doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole arrangement.” Javier’s hands went to his waist and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once again. “I’m going to need to meet this guy before you go out with him. I don’t care whose fucking brother he is—whichever way you try to spin it, the bottom line is that he’s a still a fucking stranger and I want to check him out for myself before I let you go out with him.” He saw the mischievous twinkle in your eyes and peered at you suspiciously. “Please tell me he’s coming to pick you up here at the apartment.”

You laughed. “Of course not, Javi. I’m not stupid. I already knew you would behave like this. I knew you would go straight into overprotective mode, just like you always do. I didn’t want you scaring him off, so I’m taking a taxi cab and we’re meeting up at the bar instead.” You easily clocked the all too familiar glint in his eye and smiled sweetly at him. “And don’t even think about trying to guess which one it is so that you can show up and keep tabs on me the whole night. There are thousands of bars in this damn city and I can promise you that you’re not smart enough to figure out which one we’re going to, Agent Peña.”

Annoyed by the smugness in your tone and the way it was starting to get under his skin, Javier’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched you walk over to your closet, subtly swaying your hips to the music as you pulled out yet another dress to add to your rapidly growing list of options.

He could feel the envy prickling at each and every last single nerve ending in his entire body, his frustrations stewing at the mere thought of you going out with another man. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to shove the feeling down knowing damn well that he didn’t have the right to be jealous. Not when you two weren’t anything more than just friends.

If you’d just been a coworker, it would be different. 

Javier would gladly, happily, risk mixing business with pleasure as he had so often done in the past with several secretaries—and a translator or two—in his time. But no matter how hard he’d tried over and over again to place you into that box, into that category, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

You weren’t just his coworker, you were his friend.

His best friend.

For as much shit as he gave you, you mattered to him. You were important to him, way too important to ever risk fucking up your friendship by fucking you. 

Still. Javier would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. He thought about it all the damn time. When he discovered that fucking himself into the palm of his hand and moaning your name quietly over and over again under his breath didn’t quite do the job for him anymore, he would find himself standing outside of your bedroom prepared to say fuck it all and make his move on you. But then it happened every single fucking time without fail—as soon as he lifted his curled fist to knock on your door, he started to remember things. 

He’d remember the way you could so easily make him laugh with your clever and quick witted sense of humor. He remembered all those late nights you two would spend together lounging on his brown leather couch in your pajamas watching old, poorly made slasher films while indulging in the greasiest, unhealthiest takeout Bogotá had to offer. He remembered how you could read him just like a fucking magazine, how you always knew when something was wrong—and how you would always somehow know exactly what to say and do to comfort him whenever he needed it the most.

He would remember how you’d come to feel like his home away from home. 

And then he would drop his hand right back down to his side, whirl around on his heel, and march straight back into his bedroom where he had little choice but to go back to fantasizing about what could never be between you and him.

Snapping himself out of his own train of thought, Javier carefully stepped over the mountains of clothing and shoes on the floor and made his way over to another pile of dresses that were draped over the foot of your bed. He caught a glimpse of the lingerie set on top of them, brand new with the price tag still attached to the fabric; the set was black, made of delicate, see through lace that would leave very little to the imagination when you put it on. He picked up the thong, hooking the thin elastic of it around his index finger. “Something tells me that you’re not planning on coming back home tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Confused, you turned around and gasped, dropping the dresses in your hands. “Javier!”

“Are these even going to cover anything up?” he teased you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement as they darted between the thong and the lower half of your body. “Falta mucha tela, cariño.”

You rushed up to him and made a dive for the underwear. “Give me those!”

“How come you don’t ever wear anything like this around the apartment, hermosa?” Javi dangled them above your head and out of your reach. “All I ever get to see you in are those cotton panties, the ones with polka dots on them.” He glanced down, getting an eyeful of you and the aforementioned polka dot panties. “Kind of like the ones you’re wearing now—”

“Javier, cut it out!” You placed a hand on his shoulder as the other continued grabbing for the lingerie. “Come on, stop being such a fucking asshole!”

Although he could have easily enjoyed taunting you for hours and hours on end, Javier knew you wouldn’t hesitate to have your knee meet his balls. Not wanting to risk ending up on your floor curled up in pain, he eased up and handed them over to you. 

“Idiota!” You hissed at him, furiously snatching the underwear out of his hand. You stomped over to your dresser and shoved them into the middle drawer, slamming it closed so hard the old stereo nearly went crashing to the floor. “You can be a real fucking douchebag, Peña.”

Javier wasn’t bothered by the insults; he’d grown used to those—however any trace of playfulness vanished as the reality began to set in for him. The reality of you sleeping with another a man tonight. “Wait a minute, are you really planning to fuck the guy?” He didn’t even make the attempt to mask the disappointment that laced his tone. “I mean, you haven’t even met him yet. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, querida.”

“You sound awful judgmental for someone who brings home a different escort every other fucking week,” You snapped at him, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, and speaking of escorts, I had the pleasure of meeting Alessandra in the bathroom this morning. She asked if I had a tank top that she could borrow since apparently you got too eager and ripped her shirt off last night.” You tilted your head, squinting at him as he started shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If you happen to go back to her for a second round, tell her that I want it back. Washed.”

Javier grimaced, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I thought she would be gone by the time you woke up,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Lo siento, bonita. I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

He didn’t have anything to apologize for, not really.

He was a single man who could do as, and who, he pleased.

Yet he still felt like a pile of dog shit knowing you’d encountered Alessandra while he had still been asleep.

You would never admit it, but Javier knew that to some extent, it hurt you to run into the women he would bring home. As if having to hear him railing them on the other side of your bedroom wall for hours wasn’t bad enough, having to meet them the following morning and seeing them half naked with their smeared makeup and disheveled hair from the previous night’s activities only made it so much fucking worse. 

Having read his mind, you sighed and offered him some reassurance. “It’s fine, Javi. We both know that you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You said, prompting him to look back up at you. You pointed a finger at him. “I do want my shirt back, though. And then maybe I’ll be nice and give you back yours.” 

You expected Javi to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs in shame. It was what he usually did—he’d avoid you for about a few hours until the dust settled, and then everything would go back to normal. Instead of running off, he stood there and spoke again. 

“Are you really going to have sex with this guy?”

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

“I don’t know,” You confessed, quietly. “I want to have sex with him, but I don’t know if I’ll actually have the fucking balls to go through with it.”

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

Though Javier hadn’t been poking fun at you, you couldn’t help but feel irritated with him for asking you if you were nervous; because you actually were nervous, and him asking you only made you even more fucking nervous. “And so what if I am a little nervous?” You challenged him, lightly. “Sorry that we’re not all just confidently fucking our way through this city like you are, Peña.”

“When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s when,” You quipped.

“That’s not fair.” Javi pouted at you. “You know when the last time I had sex was.”

“Not by choice,” You retorted. “You’re right on the other side of my paper thin wall and I left my Walkman in the office.”

Javi waited expectantly for an answer. He wasn’t going to drop the subject, and you knew that.

“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” You muttered. Feeling a burning heat flood to your face, you decided to give him just about the most generic answer there was in order to get him off your back. “It was a long, long time ago.”

“Okay, but how long ago?” He pressed, curiously. “Are we talking weeks? Months?”

Your stomach began to churn violently, the hidden secret you’d kept to yourself for your entire adult life now at risk of being exposed. 

“I-I really don’t remember,” You stammered out in response, averting your gaze away from his. “Can we not talk about my sex life, please? Besides, it’s getting late and I still need to take a shower and get ready for my date tonight. So if you would just kindly fuck all the way off, that would be great.”

Javier took a step back and there was a very brief moment where you had been certain you’d just narrowly avoided what could have been a painful, humiliating conversation. However, just as he was about to turn to leave, Javi’s eyes widened as it slowly clicked into place for him. 

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

You groaned. “Javier, please don’t. For the sake of what’s left of my sanity, please don’t,” You nearly pleaded him, wishing that a large, Twilight Zone style swirling vortex would open up in the middle of your floor and swallow you whole. 

“You’ve never had sex before,” he realized. “Have you?”

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

Not knowing what to say or even do, you clasped your hands together and wrung them anxiously in front of you. 

Of all the people to find out your secret, it just had to be Peña.

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him. 

Javi wasn’t teasing you or being a dick about it.

He seemed genuinely perplexed by the fact that you’d never had sex before. Not that it made it any less mortifying.

“Yes,” You admitted, exhaling the breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. “I’m a virgin, alright? There, are you satisfied?”

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but you don’t always have to fuck your informants to get what you need out of them, Peña. It’s not a requirement. I use my brains, not my body.” 

“You’re shaming me for using my body?” he joked lightly, hoping it would further ease the awkward nature of the conversation—for your sake, not his.

“Just a little bit.” You offered him a small, crooked smile and felt your tense shoulders finally begin to relax. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid or maybe even crazy, but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to wait and give it to the right man. Maybe even to a man that I’m in love with. But with the way my romantic life has been going, it just seems like that’s never going to happen for me.” You shrugged. “I just want to lose it already, Javi. I’m almost in my fucking thirties—either I lose it now, or I may as well throw in the damn towel and join a convent.”

“You would look kind of cute in a nun’s habit,” Javi mused, thoughtfully.

You shot him a glare, but felt the corners of your mouth threatening to turn up into another smile. 

After a long minute, Javier broke the silence that had fallen over the both of you. “So then, Valeria’s older brother is the man you’re going to lose your virginity to? Tonight?”

“That’s the plan. He’s only here until the end of the week. It’d be no strings attached, so it works out perfectly.” You anxiously chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But only if I can find the courage to actually go through with it.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

Javier quirked an eyebrow.  “It’s not exactly rocket science, querida.”

You resisted the sudden urge to go up to him and backhand the stupid smirk right off of his face.

“Could you please just take me seriously for one second, Peña?” You huffed out in frustration. “I’m just really fucking nervous about it, alright? What if I can’t—what if I’m not good at it?”

Javi’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth and he stifled his laughter. “Preciosa, you’re being kind of…” He trailed off, trying to choose his next word carefully.

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

“Ridiculous. And before you come over here and start pummeling me to death with those little fists of yours...” He stopped and held up his hands in defense. He took a second or two to let eyes glaze over you from head to toe. “I’m only saying that because you’re fucking gorgeous, muñequita. Any man would be lucky to have a night with you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s not about how I look, Javier. It’s about how I perform.” You felt your face grow hot for what had to be the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Never did you think this would be a conversation you’d be having with him of all fucking people. “I listen to the way those women you bring home—I hear what they do to you. And I hear how much you like it.”

His lips parted slightly. “And you want to do that to him?”

“I want to make him feel good.”

Javier’s jealously simmered in his veins. But what could he do?

Nothing, that’s what. Just like him, you could do as, and who, you pleased. But if he could just get his hands on you first, at least to some extent, it would help ease the blow. He saw nothing wrong with blurring the lines, so long as he didn’t cross them.

Javi hummed. “If you really want to know how to make a man feel good, I can help you.”

“You can help me?” You repeated. “How?”

“By showing you a thing or two.”

You let out something mixed between a scoff and a laugh.

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

He tossed you an innocent look. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all.” He crossed the bedroom and walked over to you, reaching for your hands. He took them in his own and then started pulling you towards your bed. “If you’re really that worried about not knowing what to do, I can give you a few pointers. And calmada, querida. Our clothes stay on,” he reassured you before you could open your mouth to protest. “Just think of it as a friend helping out a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Javi.”

Javier’s thumbs softly smoothed across the back of your hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Right now, I’m not so sure that I do.” You paused long enough for him to throw you an exasperated, almost offended look. You rolled your eyes at him and nodded your head. “Yes, of course I trust you, Peña. I trust you with my fucking life. Literally, I put my life in your hands at least once or twice a week.”

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

You inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled it softly. “Fine. But remember, our clothes stay on—” You were cut off, all the air leaving your lungs as Javi yanked you forward, slamming you against his chest. You looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of your mind for knocking the wind out of you, but as his eyes met yours, words failed you and all you could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

He snaked an arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his. Feeling how tense you had become, stiff as a fucking board, Javi gave you a light shake in an effort to get you to loosen up a bit. “First thing is first, you need to relax. There’s no need to overthink this, cariño. Especially not with me.” He reached up with his opposite hand, letting his index finger feather along your jawline. He then slipped it underneath your chin, lifting it ever so slightly and forcing you to look right into his rich pools of espresso. “I mean it. It really wouldn’t take much for a beautiful girl like you to drive me—I mean, drive him wild.”

You tried your hardest to keep your voice from trembling, but between his touch and being in such close proximity, you were finding it a hell of a lot more difficult than you’d imagined. “Show me, Peña. What drives you—I mean, what’s going to drive him wild?”

“Well, it always starts with the right kiss.”

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You echoed your thoughts

“Just a friend helping out a friend,” Javi reminded you in a murmur. “Remember?”

You should have said no. You should have decked him for even suggesting such a thing.

Instead, you gave him a small nod. You rested your hands delicately on his hard, lean chest and tilted your head upwards, lightly pressing your lips to his for a split second before quickly pulling away.

“There.”

“That was fucking pathetic,” Javier laughed softly, his warm breath fanning over the tip of your nose. “You’re not kissing your abuela, you know.”

You smacked his chest. “Javi! Leave my grandma out of this.”

“You have to kiss a man like you actually want him, querida. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Your throat went dry as his grip around your waist tightened. He moved his other hand away from your chin and it went to the back of your neck, gingerly tilting your head up towards his. Your heart hammered almost painfully against your ribcage, beating way too hard and way too fast for him not to feel it against his own chest. You had to silently remind yourself to breathe as Javi inched his face closer to yours, slowly. You knew that he was doing it on purpose, moving an agonizingly glacial pace to allow your anticipation to build; all the while his dark eyes were staring deeply into the depths of your very fucking soul, causing a fire to set ablaze deep in your lower belly.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily as the tip of his nose skimmed a spot near the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing the underside of your jawline.

God, he was fucking good. 

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

You needed to stop this. Javier was your friend—friends didn’t do shit like this.

Javi sensed your reluctance. “It’s alright, mi vida,” he whispered, uttering an affectionate pet name that he’d never used before. He gave you a small grin as he moved in to finally close the small gap of space between your faces. His lips met yours and every ridiculous cliché of sparks flying and fireworks exploding occurred the moment they did. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, gently coaxing its way into your mouth to begin a slow, sensual dance with yours. Cupping the back of your neck, he tilted your head up a bit further, granting himself better access to your mouth so that he could fully explore it inch by inch. 

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier. 

Whimpering, your body melted against his as he swelled your lips with a kiss that was slow and sensual, yet somehow still hungry and possessive at the same time. Javier’s hands travelled down to your hips, his fingers skimming the hem of his shirt that you wore. He took the opportunity to sneak them underneath the garment, allowing them to meet the warmth of your skin. 

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him. 

“Javier!” You squeaked out his name breathlessly, furiously swatting his hands away from your sides. You glared at him. “I thought we agreed, our clothes fucking stay on!”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was taking any of your clothes off.” Javier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He then took a step backwards and gestured towards your bed. “Lay down.”

Your mouth fell open at his request.

“W-what?” You sputtered out, your eyes wide. 

“You heard me. Get on the bed and lay down.”

Javi reached down, sweeping your pile of dresses off of the bed and onto the floor. 

“Why? What are you going to do?” You questioned him, shuffling anxiously from one bare foot to the other.

Javier rolled his eyes and let out a small, impatient sigh. “Just do it, hermosa. You can trust me.”

Swallowing harshly, you obeyed him and walked around to the side of your bed, taking a seat. You inhaled another deep breath before bringing your legs up and laying back, your head resting against your decorative pillows. You nervously tugged and pulled at the hem of his stolen pink shirt, trying to cover yourself up as best as you could as you laid there, sprawled out before him; however Javier had other plans. He climbed onto the bed after you, positioning his body so it hovered over yours. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself right in between your thighs. He grabbed one of your legs and hiked it up around his waist, putting the two of you in a very, very dangerous position. His fingers remained wrapped around your thigh, his touch burning right into your soft flesh as he held your leg in place around him. 

“Don’t be shy, muñequita.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed his hand further up your thigh.

He grinned, feeling satisfied with himself when he felt the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Shut up, I’m not shy,” You fibbed, prompting him to chuckle.

“Mentirosa.” Javi’s hand abandoned your leg and he brought his hand up to the side of your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip. 

“Kiss me,” he commanded, gently. “And this time, kiss me like you mean it.”

You reached up for him with trembling hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his pewter blue, button up shirt. You pulled him down towards you and lifted yourself up slightly off your pillows, crashing your mouth against his. You allowed yourself to finally release any fears that you might have had before and kissed him greedily and with fervor, as if it would be the very last time you’d ever get to kiss Javier Peña—because it very well could be the last time you would ever get to kiss Javier Peña.

You kissed him deeply, going on until your lungs began to burn—you only broke away from him once they started screaming, demanding oxygen. 

Tearing yourself apart from him, you released his shirt and dropped back down onto your pillows, breathlessly asking, “Better?”

“Oh, so much better. Good girl, mi muñequita linda,” he praised, grinning again as he caressed the silkiness of your cheek. He lowered his head and lips ghosted over yours for a moment before he moved them down your neck, feathering kisses to any exposed skin peeking out from underneath his shirt. His hand found your breast and he groaned realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath it. He kneaded the perfect, soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. He bucked his hips into yours, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips the second you felt his hardened cock through his tight, light blue jeans. He caught sight of the way you blushed at the sound that he’d elicited from you and his grin widened. “Noises like that? The louder the better. So don’t hold back, preciosa.”

“What else can I do to make you—to make him feel good?”

Javier dipped his face right into the hollow of your neck, thinking it over for a moment. “A woman who takes control can be very sexy. I like it—I bet he’ll like it if you get on top.”

“I think I can do that.” Biting your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, sliding yourself out from underneath him. You guided him to lay back onto your pillows and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. 

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

Maybe he’d been in over his head with this idea.

He knew at some point he’d have to stop it from going too far—but would he be able to?

“How do you like it?” You asked him, shyly. This time, you hadn’t bothered to correct yourself. 

You didn’t want to know how to please another man.

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

Even if you’d never get the chance to do it.

“Depends on the mood,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders in the most nonchalant manner that he could muster under the circumstances—as if his cock wasn’t rock hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans and begging to be inside you.

“Te gusta despacito?” You start to rock your hips back and forth against his, slowly. “Do you like it slow?”

Javier’s breath hitched in the back his throat. At this point, there was no doubt about it—you could feel him underneath you, throbbing. “Sometimes,” he managed to choke out in reply. “Like I said. Just depends on the mood.”

“Or what about like this?” You grinned down at him, gaining a sense of confidence as you started to move faster on top of him, finding your perfect rhythm. You could see and clearly feel what you were doing to him. Knowing that you were having this kind of effect on Peña was nothing short of a fucking dream come true. 

His hands went to your hips, holding on as you picked up the pace, grinding your clothed core down against his bulge. 

You could feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking your panties; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d leave behind a wet spot on his jeans. “How am I doing?”

“Fucking amazing, muñeca,” he answered, earnestly. His long, thick fingers dug into your sides as he suggested, “It helps if you put on a little show while you’re up there, too.” He then pictured you in that sexy black lingerie set you’d bought; he imagined what it would be like to slip that tiny little thong to the side so you could freely ride his cock. The mere thought had him seeing stars.

“A show, huh?” You smirked and popped the top two buttons of your shirt—his shirt—exposing the smooth valley between your breasts to him. “I think I can do that too,” You giggled, pulling the fabric to the side, just enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of the soft curves of your chest but not enough to expose yourself completely. 

“Hermosa,” he couldn’t help but groan out. It took every ounce of strength he had inside him not to reach up and tear his shirt right off of you so he could see all of you. 

You grabbed his hands from your hips and slowly began guiding them all around your body. You started by placing them on your breasts, giving him permission to cop another feel before moving them slowly down the lengths of your sides and placing them on your bare thighs. From there, you picked up Javi’s hands once more and placed them behind you, allowing him to take two generous handfuls of your ass. Your hands then abandoned his and you placed them on his chest, supporting yourself as you continued to roll your hips against his, riding him through his jeans. You tossed your head back and closed your eyes; the friction of your clit against his pelvis even through all the clothes felt like absolute heaven, and you let out a lustful moan that bounced off of your bedroom walls as you continued to drive your hips harder against his own.

Realizing that this was no longer a lesson and you were actually pleasuring yourself, Javier groaned again. He moved his hands back to your hips and found himself bucking his own hips upwards to meet you halfway—he abandoned any and all worries about taking it too far. He wanted you to come. 

He needed to see you come.

“Javi,” You gasped his name, moaning again.

“That’s it, muñeca,” he rasped out. “Just like that, baby. Keep going. What a good girl, what a good fucking girl.”

Any and all common sense had been washed away by pleasure and by your need to reach that sweet, sweet release. 

It was so close. You felt him right there, right between your clothed folds, and all you could do was imagine what it would be like to have his cock fill you up and stretch you completely. 

His name began to slip from your lips, rolling off of your tongue over and over again with such ease.

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

No doubt about it, Javier was trying to get you off.

Somehow, you find a voice that speaks in between all your pitiful little pants. 

 “J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

Javier quickly sat up and wrapped one of his arms around your waist. He slammed your mouths together, silencing you mid sentence. He thrusted upwards, and you whined into his kiss, rubbing your clit against his bulge even harder. 

The beginning of your orgasm coiled up tightly in your belly, and you knew it would spring forward any second now.

“Javi, I’m so close—” 

“It’s okay, hermosa. Come for me,” he mumbled into your mouth.  “I’ve got you.”

Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you buried your face into his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, your loud cries came out muffled against his collarbone as you unraveled, coming undone with one last cry of his name.

You slumped forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought to catch your breath, the pleasure still pulsing between your thighs.

Javier’s other arm curled around you and he said nothing as he held you. 

Once you’d finally started coming down from your high, your eyes flew open and a chill went up the length of your spine.

What had you two just done?

Still straddling his lap, you pulled back. “Javi—”

Without warning, Javier flipped you over so you were on your back underneath him once again. He hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he dipped his head and captured your lips with his one final, deep and sensual kiss. 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight,” he murmured once he had pulled away. “You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”

He touched the tip of his nose to yours before climbing off of you.

“I fucking hope this guy realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is,” Javier said quietly before turning on the heel of his boot and walking out of your bedroom, leaving you laying there with your mouth parted open in complete shock.

Translations

Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. - It’s just a little joke, doll. No need to get offended.

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

Te lo juro, Javi. - I swear to you, Javi.

Chismosas - Gossipers

Falta mucha tela, cariño. - There is a lot of fabric missing, darling.

Mentirosa. - Liar.

Te gusta despacito? - Do you like it a little slow? 

Part 2 Sneak Peek

“Muñeca,” Javier breathed out in relief the second that he saw you standing there in the aisle with an array of packaged Marinela pastries in your hands. He rushed up to you and took your face gingerly in between his large palms, taking a look at you. Javi managed to keep a calm and collected composure for the sake of not making things any worse, but it would be short lived and he knew that—he felt the anger boiling underneath his skin, bubbling hot in his veins when he realized just how poor of a state you were in; the strap of your dress had been torn, your high heels were missing, and your eyes were bright red and brimming with tears that he could see you were trying your hardest to hold back. He let his hands fall from your face and shrugged out of his tan colored jacket, quickly draping it around your shoulders as he asked, “Estas lastimada?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m not hurt.”

Javier stepped back. “Tell me where he’s staying,” he demanded. “Which hotel is this fucker at?”

“That’s not necessary. I handled him myself.”

“Tell me which fucking hotel so I can kill him—”

Finally, a tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Javi, please,” You pleaded in a whisper. “Please. It isn’t even worth it, alright? I just want to buy these cakes and I want you to take me home so I can take a shower, put on my pajamas, and eat them.”

[toktopus-art]

posting this here too

[fairyysoup]

Hello! Could you pls do a request of Steve Harrington and reader having some banter abt their new dates so they end up going on a double date but the entire time it’s them just trying to prove to the other they don’t have a crush on each other but it’s so obvious so then maybe something happens which is the last straw for their dates and they walk out on Steve and reader and they end up confessing?

apologies for the wait bestie but i loved this so much i wanted to do it right <3

Perfect For Each Other

warnings: fluff, mild angst, steve being jealous and also kind of a dick, both steve and reader sidelining their dates, love confessions, best friends to lovers

words: 1.9k

You and Steve have never been good at double-dating. It’s not something you do often, of course- Steve has a particular way of getting under your skin too quickly to make it enjoyable, so on the whole you both tend to avoid the idea of it. There was one time you went double for disco night at the Hideout, and that ended with your date accusing you of feeling Steve up on the dance floor. Which was, of course, absurd… it’s not your fault Steve whipped out his Elvis the Pelvis impression when the DJ started playing Hot Stuff.

Or, there was the time that Steve got a drink thrown on him for grabbing your hand before crossing the street on a different double-date, because it was night and your party was leaving the county fair and the car was in a dark parking lot. Steve always grabs your hand before crossing the street, it’s not unusual. But, apparently, Lena McAvoy didn’t think so. She never spoke to Steve again after that.

You’re just too close of friends to be able to successfully go on dates, together, with different people. Too bad Steve doesn’t think so; when you told him you were going to mini-golf with Todd Perkins, Steve decided that was the exact same time that he was gonna go with Pattie Davis.

And, well.

“That was absolute bullshit and you know it.” 

You look over your shoulder at Steve, a second away from sticking your tongue out at him. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to use a fucking golf club, Harrington.” 

“You totally just shoved mine out of the way!” He gestures angrily at the glowing red windmill behind you, where you had used your bright blue golf ball to bop his out of the way and open up the tunnel for your own shot. 

Steve has always been shit at mini-golf. He’s not usually a sore loser, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t trying to rile him up on purpose. You’d kind of been looking forward to having your date with Todd; he’s a little shy in crowds, and he’s been slowly fading into the background as your small group advances through the holes. And Pattie has been patiently standing beside him, but it’s obvious she’s not interested in the game at all. You figure she would rather have gone to see Dirty Dancing with Steve at the drive-in.

“You better step it up, then.” 

Steve grumbles under his breath, dramatically positioning himself over his golf ball and lining up his shot. He overcompensates, and the ball whizzes past the tunnel opening and hits one of the spinning windmill paddles, bouncing four feet backwards. “Come on!”

Todd takes his shot without saying anything, and Pattie follows suit, getting hers through the tunnel in one go. There’s a polite exchange of words between the two of them- something along the words of, “Nice shot,” but neither you or Steve are listening. 

“You better not get it through,” Steve growls at you competitively. “I swear to god, I’ll make your life a living hell.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You lower your club, eyeing your shot. “Maybe you ought to come over and take the shot for me, since you’re so damn terrible at it.”

“You know what-” Steve drops his own club on the grass outside the astroturf lined putting green, and steps behind you. “You wanna play dirty, sweetheart? I can play dirty.” 

Steve wraps his arms around you, placing his hands directly over yours on the handle of the club. You’re too distracted by the warmth of his hands to think to pull away, or take your own swing. Your arms are limp as he guides your hands, swinging the club and shooting your ball across the green.

He makes it into the tunnel. You watch your ball rattle around the hole for a second before plopping down and out of sight, presumably gliding out on the other side of the windmill. 

Steve freezes. His hands are still on yours, his arms wrapped around you, chest pressed to your back. You can hear him breathing in your ear, his face way too close to the side of yours when he whispers, “What the fuck.”

“Well, look at that.” You turn your head a bit to look into his eyes, finding them so close that you can see the ring of gold around his irises. “Your first successful shot of the night, and it was for me. I wonder what that means.”

“It means you guys should finish this date on your own.”

You both startle, looking over at Pattie. She looks furious, her arms folded over the front of her dress, rumpling the pristinely pressed fabric. Beside her, Todd doesn’t look nearly as mad as much as he looks disappointed. Steve jerkily pulls back, dropping his arms but not moving out from behind you.

“I’m sorry?” You say it more as a courtesy than as a genuine question. You know what the problem is; you’ve done it again. You and Steve can’t double-date without pissing off one or the other’s dates.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Pattie snaps, glancing over at Todd for sympathy. “I’m not crazy, right? They’ve been acting like they’re the ones on a date together this whole time.” Todd nods sheepishly, making your heart twinge with guilt as Pattie returns her angry glare to you. “You know, instead of dragging people along when you’re obviously not interested, you guys should just go on a fucking date together next time. It’ll save everyone a lot of trouble.” Pattie drops her golf club on the ground, turning back to Todd. “You wanna go get a coffee or something?”

“Coffee sounds great,” Todd says, relieved when Pattie grabs his hand and drags him off. 

You don’t really know what to say. You stand still, leaning on your club like it’s a walking stick, stuck in limbo while you look for a way to clear the uncomfortable air.

Eventually, Steve sighs. “And another one bites the dust.” He steps around you and picks up his club, raising it to rest against his shoulder. “That’s too bad… I really thought Todd was nice for you. Like, he didn’t say much, and he was kind of boring, but he was nice.”

“Are you fucking serious?” 

Steve looks up at you, wide-eyed, but hardly innocent. There’s a glint in his eye that you know too well. You tilt your head at him, your mind reeling as he gives you a flat, “What do you mean?”

“Did you do that on fucking purpose?” You smack the end of your golf club on the ground, watching as he tries to put on an act of surprise, like he’s insulted that you would even ask such a thing. He rocks back on his heels, tilts his head back to look at the sky, flexes his jaw as he places a hand on his hip. It’s so Steve that you feel like throwing a temper tantrum. “I didn’t invite you here, you just decided to come along with Pattie and crash my date, and now neither of us have one. You just… you just had to ruin it, didn’t you? What is your fucking problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Steve scoffs, moving to pick up Pattie’s discarded golf club. “You can go on dates with whatever boring guy you find this week, it’s fine. And I can go on dates with girls who don’t like it when you and I are in the same place at the same time. I don’t see how that’s me ruining anything.”

“Oh, my god.” You toss your club to the ground at his feet and stomp away. By the time you leave the mini-golf course and approach your car, you can’t even figure out why you’re so upset. It’s not like you were really dead-set on dating Todd; Steve’s right, he was pretty boring, all things considered. Maybe you feel a little bad for sidelining him, and for Steve sidelining Pattie.

You feel bad for thinking that, even though she didn’t deserve being pushed aside like that, she was kind of lame for him. She and Todd will probably make the best of their night, you suppose.

You just can’t stop thinking about what she said. You guys should just go on a fucking date together next time. Why do you like the sound of that? Why do you sort of agree with her? Your fingers are shaking as you try to dig your keys out of your purse. 

When you hear Steve calling your name behind you, you tilt your head back and sigh. You shake your head, because you know you’re going to turn around and let him bat his pretty eyes at you, and you know you’re going to forgive him. Still, you have to try. “Fuck off, Steve. Seriously.”

“No, look, listen.” Steve reaches you and slams his hand on your car door, and even though a swift yank would shove him aside and let you get in the car anyways, you stop. You kind of want to know his reason for ruining your date, if he has one. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I fucked up and I was a dick and I should also apologize to Pattie and Todd, I know.” 

“Maybe you can still catch them, if you’re quick enough.” You give the handle of the door a dramatic tug, and Steve throws himself between you and the door, knocking it shut again with his hip. 

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, placing his hands on your shoulders. “It was stupid, I know. I just didn’t want- you told me you were going on a date with Todd and I was like, really? Todd Perkins? And I couldn’t figure out why it bothered me so much and I thought maybe having Pattie here would make it easier but then I saw you here with him and I just- I was just-”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, and you blink up at him, already knowing where this is going but too scared to stop him now.

“And I didn’t like that you looked sort of happy with him because I want you to be happy with me. You know, going out. With me. And… and I didn’t realize it was so obvious but then Pattie said that and I think she was right. I think we should go on a date next time because it kills me to see you with anyone else and I love you.”

You both stare at each other for a second in stunned silence. His hands tighten on your shoulders, and you open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a chance. 

Steve kisses you. And one big hand leaves your shoulder to hold the side of your face, and even if you were still angry at him, it wouldn’t matter much because you didn’t realize how much you wanted this. You practically fall into him as you kiss him back, and you think it makes a whole lot of sense why you were so upset. 

“I love you,” you tell him when you finally let him go, “but you know we’re both gonna have to apologize to Todd and Pattie. We were both pretty shitty tonight.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, nudging his nose against yours. “I guess we must really be perfect for each other, huh?”

[love-toxin]

Okay but miscommunication trope is only super yummy when there’s a happy ending. Liiiike reader thinking they’re getting kicked out of their relationship in the fruity four, they’re not wanted anymore, maybe even bring replaced (ie with someone like Chrissy), and so every little sarcastic quip or ignoring is seen by them as the others not loving them anymore 🥺. Until one day it all comes crumbling down and I can’t decide with is more angsty, you breaking down telling the others they don’t love you anymore, or you trying to be brave by announcing you’re leaving and the fours hearts just dropping as they try to scramble to convince you to stay and why?! Why are you leaving!?!?! Please! But of course, happy ending when everything’s properly explained and angel is reassured they could never all fall out of love with them ❤️

oh.......miscommunication trope, you say? >:)

(cws: fruity four, gn!angelface, jealousy, post-s4, PTSD, huge miscommunication trope, domestic arguing, you have a tattoo + kinda shitty parents + bad home life, chrissy's a jealousy target, breakups, jopper appearance, you're childhood friends with jonathan, mentions of grief, an almost car crash, very mild head trauma, crying, angst with a happy ending--stick with me angels!)

Sometimes you wish Chrissy would just disappear. Just--poof--and she'd be gone.

It's awful of you to think, but you can't help it. She's just always around, ever since her breakup with Jason she's been by the house much more frequently. You were happy for her at first, because you liked her up until then, and she's always been nice to you. Plus, your partners saved her life back when all that crazy stuff with the Upside Down happened, an event you weren't privy to until after the fact, when you started dating them.

But she's always on Eddie, always chatting him up, always giggling at his attempts to cheer her up, and now she's attracted the attention of your other partners too. They're good friends, and that's good, but....why can you not shake this feeling that there's something more going on? That the arm touches over his jacket and the inside jokes aren't as friendly and harmless as they want you to think?

It's worse than that, though. The honeymoon phase is clearly over--cause all four of them just brush off your concerns, insisting that you're overreacting or just not addressing them at all. So you haven't been piping up when a joke hurts your feelings, and you've bitten your tongue when one of them has to reschedule something you've planned, and it's gotten to the point that they've wondered why you're so quiet all of a sudden. Why would they care? You think with a sour feeling in the back of your throat, rubbing the tattoo on your arm that Eddie gave you and wondering if that was just practice for someone else. You're not oblivious to the way Chrissy is slowly being invited into gatherings and dinners with everyone.....just like you were in the beginning. And after an especially heated fight with both Eddie and Robin, the worst one you've ever gotten into in your entire relationship, he got so pissed off that he just told you not to come to the dinner they had planned, and they'd take someone who actually wanted to go.

That was a couple days ago, and the air in the house has been strained for nobody else but you. You're equally as hurt by Eddie yelling at you as Robin silently going along with it, even though you slammed your bedroom door in her face when she tried to follow you, and waited until Eddie tugged her along to leave before you allowed yourself to cry. You're sick of the feeling that none of them really care for you, that you've been demoted to a piece of furniture in the house, because they've clearly lost interest. And they don't care when your things start disappearing from the house, when the clothes in your closet start dwindling, leaving behind nothing but the ones they've bought for you--no, they'd rather moon over Chrissy fucking Cunningham, and you've just taken all you think your heart can handle.

"I'm going out!" You call into the house from the front door, without any of their four voices responding. When you sigh, turn, and step out to turn the corner of the house, though, you bump right into one of them.

"Oh! Hey, baby." Steve steps back and readjusts the paper bag full of groceries he's got his arm around, keys halfway tucked into his pocket. "Where you off to?"

"Um....just, uh, gonna go visit my parents." You weren't really expecting him to pry, with how in your head you've been lately. But you're not gonna relent just cause one of the people who promised he'd love you forever, yet somehow can't be fucked enough to find the time to even watch a movie with you, asked you a question that remotely shows an ounce of concern.

"Your parents?" He blinks, shifting again to rest the bag on his hip. "You sure?"

That tone is so irritating. You used to love that almost parental sense of duty, the desire of his to know every detail of every problem so he can solve it. But now, you just feel suffocated, even though you're more distant from all of them now than you've ever been. "What, I'm not allowed to see my family?"

"Hey, that's not what I said! hold on," He moves to put the groceries inside, but you wave him off and start walking past him, your tone clearly frustrated as you encourage him to just forget it. But, in a tizzy, Steve hurriedly sets the bag down on the ground and runs to catch up with you, his hand descending on your arm only to be swatted away--but not for long, when he grabs it again and grips it tighter as he turns you to face him. "Jesus, wait! What's the big fuss? Did I do something?"

"Let me go, Steve." You refuse to look him in the eyes, but you can't break his grip. Why can't he just let it go, so it's less painful? "I don't wanna drag this out."

"Drag what out?" Finally, it dawns on him as his eyes dart from the keys clenched in your hand to the windows of your car parked in the driveway, boxes clearly piled up in the trunk and in the backseat that none of them seemed to notice you moving.

".....So that's it? You're breaking up with us?" Steve says it with disbelief, like he's expecting you to say something or anything different. It's almost a little satisfying when you respond in the way he never could have expected, even though he should've by now. Even though it feels bitter on your tongue as soon as it comes up.

"You know what? Yes. That's exactly it." You finally wrench your arm out of his grip, and each of those words sting as they come out, but you won't cry, you refuse to cry in front of Steve today. "I'm leaving tonight, and I'm never coming back to Hawkins again."

"Why?"

"Ask your new girlfriend."

"Who? Wait--Chrissy?" He shakes his head, and what comes out next is more cruel than you wanted to be--but he just won't get it, it won't happen unless you make them realize why they don't want you anymore.

"Wow, the jock has a brain! Well done, Stevie." He grimaces at once, and god, you wish it would all stuff itself back into your throat.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being such a-"

"I know you're in love with her, Steve! For fuck's sakes, I'm not as stupid as you think I am!" You shout into the broken silence of the front lawn, wishing from the deepest reaches of your heart that this could all just be a horrible nightmare. Not reality. You don't want to be facing those big, soft eyes of Steve staring back at you in shock and pain, so you just turn your head and hope he doesn't see how much you're shaking.

"I get it, okay?! She's prettier than me, and nicer, and she doesn't have my fucking issues--and you guys clearly like her. It's like I don't even exist when she's around." You move aside to gesture towards your car, keys clutched in your hand so they won't fall or get taken from you, because you know Steve is reckless when he's upset. "None of you even noticed I was packing. Nancy fucking helped me put a box in yesterday."

Just then, both your heads turn at the sound of a car approaching--and just in time, you realize it's Eddie, his van's tires crunching the gravel of the long driveway as he pulls up to a stop beside your car. And lo and behold, sitting in the front seat with a smile on her face is her. Chrissy waves to you through the window, and as if your heart isn't in the process of shattering into shards that dig into your lungs, you raise your hand to acknowledge her back. You turn back to look at Steve one last time. Memorizing his face, because you know you won't ever see him again, as you take a few steps backward and hand him your parting words.

"Don't break her heart, Steve. It sucks."

With that, and with nothing but confliction reflecting back at you on his face, you turn on your heels and make your way around your car, bidding Eddie and Chrissy a stiff goodbye as they get out of the van and you get into your car. You reverse, roll back out of the driveway, and shift gears to start puttering down the road. And as soon as the house is out of your rearview mirror, that's when you feel those tears spilling out that won't stop until well after you pass the Leaving Hawkins sign on the side of the road.

A week into your new start in the city, you haven't gotten any more closure than when you left.

Living with your aunt isn't great, but it's something. The apartment is small, and you still haven't found a new job--you did call the Palace to inform them that you were quitting, though, to which you were greeted with nothing but indifference as you left a message on the answering machine. Figures that nobody in that town would miss me, you think, but you can't dwell on it for too long, because then you'll start thinking of them and it'll have you sobbing into your pillow again. Even worse is that you can't even fully express your pain to your family, your aunt, anybody--because they'll all think you're a freak, and it won't be surprising that your "relationship" ended so badly. You don't even really speak to your parents or your family in the first place, so you can't expect them to show you any sympathy. In fact, if they said anything to you, it would probably be that you should be glad it's over so you can live a normal life.

You don't want normal. You want your Robin talking your ear off about something gross for hours, you want Eddie burping into your ear and laughing, you want Nancy falling asleep on top of you and drooling on your chest, and Steve--you want Steve to come over while you're both on your breaks, talking with his mouth full and stealing bits of your lunch while kissing you in between each bite. You want that love back, you want it so badly it hurts, it hurts your heart every time something reminds you of them.

Maybe that's the worst part. That they don't want that anymore, they want someone that can share those memories with of that terrible tragedy, who knows how they feel and relates to those nightmares that wake them up in a cold sweat, who they can compare scars with and laugh with now that it's all over. They want someone scarred but beautiful, someone perfect, and you can never be that way no matter how hard you try. It explains why you haven't gotten a single phone call, or a letter, or anything since you left, and that treatment extends into your second week in Indy and right into the third. But it doesn't get any less painful, even when you get a job at a convenience store around the corner to busy yourself and help with the rent. Nor when you try going on a date or two, just to spend the whole dinner staring off into space as they talk and wondering what the people you loved are doing right now.

While you're behind the counter at work, your thoughts often drift back to that house by Maple Drive. The path around the back that leads into the woods, where Eddie would take you out for a smoke and to watch the stars for awhile--always with a walkie on hand, just in case, as Steve used to say. The pool that often sits empty, and sometimes you'd look out the window to see Nancy lifting up the cover on it to peek underneath, before breathing a visible sigh of relief and briskly walking away. Sometimes even in the middle of the night, creeping out the sliding glass door in her pajamas. And you remember that bed you often shared with Robin, who gets so clingy when she sleeps....and you wonder if she's sharing it with Chrissy now, if the cheerleader you always thought was such a nice girl is occupying the spot you thought would be yours forever.

Your brow furrows as you stock Camels on the shelf behind the counter, sliding each one into the perfect spot but feeling an itch of irritation when they don't line up. Is Eddie holding her right now? Is he coming up behind her every morning, and nuzzling his nose into her cheek as she stirs milk into her coffee? Is Nancy cuddling her and chatting her up about whatever project she has going on right now? Is Steve picking up her bag, and insisting she let her boyfriend hold the heavy stuff while she sits and looks pretty? They probably are. And they're probably much happier doing it with her, than they ever were with you.

Something thuds on the counter behind you, and you sigh without a sound as the gruff voice at your back asks for a pack while you're at it. Your fist squeezes around the box you've got in hand, and when you turn on your heels to toss it on to the tabletop and reach for the scanner, your eyes widen, and so do the ones on the moustached man that's towering in front of you with a petite woman at his side.

"Hop?"

You breathe out the name, trying to regain yourself as quick as you can--you're pretty used to keeping your tears back now, adjusted to having a straight face so nobody will pry or prod for your feelings. The former sheriff of your hometown that you used to duck out of sight from, laughing and hiding your goods with Eddie right behind you, is standing at your counter with a shocked expression, along with Joyce Byers who seems just as surprised to see you here. And with little else you can think of, you clear your throat and try to crack that tense silence.

"Uh...so, you two on vacation, or someth-"

"Are you fucking with me?"

Hopper cuts you off, hands bracing the edge of the counter as he looks you up and down, the two glass bottles of Coke getting shoved aside by him to fall over and roll across the counter as he reaches across the barrier to grab your arm. Without much struggle, because you have no clue what's going on, you allow the older man to yank your wrist up and turn it over, Joyce hurriedly pushing up your sleeve with her gaze pinned to your skin, like she's desperately searching for something that has nothing to do with your confused questions spilling out on top of each other.

When they've finally uncovered that patch of skin they were looking for, the two of them share a look between themselves, before finally looking back up to acknowledge how baffled and worried you are. It isn't until you scan down to see what they found that the pieces start coming together, the black ink of the tattoo Eddie gave you when you first started dating peeking out at you. It's just a thin, mid-sized black circle on your inner forearm, with five points reaching outward like a sun. But the detail of it has always enchanted you, Eddie's diligent stare as he inked it into your skin burned into your mind. You've considered getting it covered since then, but....you can't bring yourself to do it yet.

"I'll call it in," Hopper says cryptically, stepping back and turning away to bring out the walkie from his belt and start mumbling into it. In the meanwhile, you're left with his partner, and the lady you've practically grown up with since she babysat you a long time ago. You often forget that time, when you and Jonathan would run around her backyard with sticks and rocks to try and build your own castle, while his baby brother watched from the stairs and giggled at your antics. You were so young, and so carefree, it seemed....but it was a happy time, one of few before you met those four.

"Honey, you're alright?" Joyce's voice quivers, anxious for the answer, but you nod as soon as her question registers because you hate to see her like this.

"Ye...Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" She circles round the counter, coming right in for a hug that you return without question. The squeeze is tight, like a mother's embrace upon returning home from a long time away, and you instantly feel a pinch of guilt for neglecting to include her in your plan to leave Hawkins. Now that you think about it, you really didn't tell anyone, except....

"-Kid, relax, we're coming there. No, do not get in your car, sit your ass down so you're there when we get back! Jesus," Hop gets more animated as he talks over the channel, and your hug splits as your head swivels towards the sound of a familiar voice through the static. Steve.

"Are they there? Let me talk to them! Please, Hopper, let me hear their voice-"

It's so frantic, desperate. The first time you've heard one of their voices in what feels like your whole life, and you have to struggle not to cave, bringing a shaky hand up over your mouth as you whisper a "What's going on?" to Joyce. And with your ears perked up, you can distinguish the background noise in the transmission--there are three other distinct voices, talking just as fearfully amongst themselves as they also try to get through to Hop. Nancy, Eddie, and Robin, each with as much indignation as Steve, who must be holding the other walkie.

"We're coming down right now, kid. Just try to calm down in the meantime." With that, Hopper shuts the antenna and gestures for you to follow him, the sweet woman at your side holding your arm as you obey him, like she's afraid you'll vanish if she lets go. You're led out of the light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead to Hop's truck parked by the curb--you at least have the sense to fumble with your keys and lock the front door before you leave--you let him open the door and sit yourself in the backseat, and shakily buckle yourself in as they get in front with promises to explain everything. Still struck dumb with shock to the point that it hasn't really registered that you just left work in the middle of your shift.

But you get an idea of what's happening when you turn your head, and catch a glimpse of a scattered stack of papers on the seat beside you out of your peripheral. Tentatively, as Hop starts up the ignition, your fingers brush over one of the nearest pages--and when you lift it up to survey it closer, the two of them notice you and share another sobering look between them. What's staring back at you is undeniably, unmistakably, a missing person's ad. And the picture is one you recognize immediately, because it's yours. Your photo, details of your last sighting, a description of your tattoo, a list of things for people to look out for....

"You really worried everyone back home, kid."

Suddenly, a bitterness rises up inside you, and the paper crumples slightly as you realize what's really happening. "I'm fine. I just...decided to get out of Hawkins."

"Yeah, well, maybe tell your roommates that, first."

"Hop-"

"They didn't care! I told Steve anyways, so what's the big fucking deal?" Even though Joyce flinches at you raising your voice, you can't be quiet right now. Anger is something you've been almost too numb to endure these last few weeks, but now you could just put your fist straight through Hopper's window--they put up such a fuss for what? To drag you back to that shitty inbred town in the sticks, just to make sure they didn't want you in the first place? It's bullshit.

"They sure as shit care!" Hop shouts right back, casting his signature scowl over his shoulder as he drives through semi-empty streets. It's so late, and so dark, it's unlikely there'll even be many pedestrians. "Do you realize how many times Nancy Wheeler has shown up on my doorstep, begging me to go on another search and rescue for you?! They're worried sick!"

"Why?"

There's silence for awhile, very tense silence, before you repeat your question that says much more than just that one word.

"....Because they thought you were gone. They thought you were there."

There. That's what he means--the other world, the Upside Down. The place you've never seen, only heard horror stories about and snatches of descriptions of when you comforted one of them during a night terror. The missing people, the murders, the experiments....they're all so hard to believe, but then again, you can't deny Will's remarkable return from the dead or Barbara Holland's coverup death, both of which you've been close enough to to know that there's no way they're just elaborate lies.

So they were worried you had died. That your disappearance wasn't of your own volition. They're going to be in for an unfortunate surprise, but by the tightly shut locks on Hopper's truck doors, you know there's no getting out of this until he brings you right back to drop you in their laps.

"We came here to look for you. Your mom finally told us you had an aunt in the city." Joyce offers you another piece to the puzzle, but your mind is still stuck on the fact that your ex-partners seemed so desperate over the walkie. They....they wouldn't want you to die, but that doesn't mean they want you. Figures that your parents would make it more difficult for two of the only people that even remotely have any concern for you too, they're probably profiting off all that glorious attention of having a missing child.

"I have a life here, now. I don't want to go back." Lies. You know it's all lies.

"Listen, kid, whatever happened with your friends, I promise it's not worth throwing in the towel. You've gotta see things through." Clearly it's not worth an argument, you'd rather save your energy at this point. You're gonna need plenty to face that hard conversation you know is coming, when you're gonna have to confirm to them directly that you're moving on. No more running away, or hiding from the problem. You have to face it.

"You don't know anything about me, or them."

The already long drive drags on even longer in the silence that follows, and you make a mental note to call your aunt when they get you back to Hawkins, so she doesn't freak out when she comes home to an empty apartment. You can imagine your manager's gonna call and cuss you out before firing you for leaving the store unattended, too, and you groan and let your head hit the seat behind you. Now you're gonna have to find another job, gonna have to explain to your aunt what you did....or maybe she won't even notice your absence, not until someone makes a fuss about it.

Your mind is left racing with so many thoughts and worries that the scenery passes by without note, the moon barely shining any light on the landscape, like it's all one huge plain with little dots for buildings and trees. Like one big hellscape, but it's numb and frozen over with nothing left but a mocking echo of the world that's no longer here. You don't even really recognize your surroundings until a couple hours have passed, and the Welcome To Hawkins sign zips by and has you sitting up in your seat. Just as you pass it, though, you think you see the glimmer of another set of headlights, a rarity on these quiet streets--and then your whole world shifts violently.

"Shit!" Hop curses as he swerves suddenly, and Joyce shrieks as you all nearly careen off the road and into the ditch, your head cracking against the window and bouncing off for you to clutch at it in pain. A groan is all you can get out when he calls back to you, the dizzy feeling making you a little sick, but as you lift your head and the truck rolls to a stop, you spot the culprit of that downright suicidal speed driving that nearly caused a head-on collision.

Your heart is pierced with a deep chill immediately. You'd recognize that van anywhere, and that curly mane of hair as the driver stumbles out his door even moreso. He's not hurt, just dazed--and for the moment, your brain doesn't immediately go to the question of why you should even care. As he stands there in the road, in the dark, Eddie's form is lit up by the headlights still shining without a flicker, but he doesn't flinch even when it must be glaring directly into his eyes, just holds a hand up to block it out. And when they meet yours as you lean over the console to see him, he doesn't wait a second, hurrying around the passenger's side of the truck to fumble for the handle of your door. With a click, and the light above you switching on as a beeping starts to emit from the vehicle, Eddie's suddenly cramming himself into the backseat with you--and there's tears already wetting his cheeks as he grabs you in a hug, gasping in a shaky lungful of breath like he's shocked he's really touching you. Crying and mumbling into your hair, Eddie buckles when you squeeze him back, falling victim to that desire in the deepest part of your soul that just wanted to hold him again.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it baby, I didn't--everything I said, I swear, I was being such a fucking moron-" He starts babbling from nowhere, and his voice itself is a comfort, having not heard it next to your ear for so long that it aches now.

"Eddie-"

"You're mine, okay?! You're my everything!" He cries, burying his face even deeper into your neck and inhaling whatever scent he can get. You're stunned into staying limp, letting his hands grab and squeeze at you wherever they land--his curly hair tickles your cheek and sticks to it, and that sensation alone drags tears up to the surface, only allowing them to spill when you hear him whispering those croaked pleas of "I love you, I love you, I love you" until you're crying right along with him. It's been so long since you heard it, you'd started believing it was never really true.

It takes minutes that feel like hours for you to both calm down enough to look at each other, your face cradled in Eddie's rough hands as he sniffles and murmurs a "You're so beautiful" so innocently sincere, that it instantly makes you wish you had never left. He smiles, and the world that seems so dark grows a little brighter around you. You're not even privy to the looks Joyce and Hopper are giving each other in the front seat, clearly a little surprised at the passion you two share that nobody else has ever seen. But they know. And when Eddie starts pulling you out of your seat with the promise to take you back, Hop only reminds him to drive safely before he allows you two to shut the truck's door and circle round the vehicle with Eddie's arm clinging to your waist. The air hits you, cool and dry, just like it always is in Hawkins. And when he opens your door for you and waits for you to clamber in, before getting in on the other side and fumbling contently with his keys, you're not sure you really know what to expect. He briefly elaborates that he'd gotten worried, and that he's just glad he spotted Hop's truck before he'd sped all the way out of Hawkins and missed you--but it doesn't last, because soon he's grabbing your thigh and sighing out a breath of relief.

"We'll talk about everything when we get home. For now, I just want to hold you." Eddie offers his hand to you, giving it a grateful squeeze when you slip yours into it and interlace your fingers together.

They'll all hate me for real, this time.

That's exactly how the drive goes, Eddie's shoulders relaxed even as he steers with one hand, and navigates while stealing glances over at you with relief written all over his face, and brings your hands up to kiss your knuckles every so often. But he's just one. The other three....your heart sinks as you run over that last conversation you had with Steve, the way you'd ignored Robin completely, and how you pretended everything was absolutely fine with Nancy up until the moment you left. And it somehow dawns on you only then--they thought you were gone, that you had been taken to the Upside Down, and your heart sinks as you watch the trees pass by in clusters while that dread creeps closer down the road that's so familiar.

Not even the comforting warmth of Eddie's hand could drive that thought out of your mind, even less so when he turns and you hit that patch of gravel that leads up the driveway. He'll stop soon, and you'll be facing the music....and when Eddie shifts into park, you sort of float from your seat to the walkway where you threw your feelings back into Steve's face, and up towards the front door that Eddie opens for you before you cross the threshold into the house. It does feel like home, and you don't want to lose it right on the welcome mat, so you blink away any tears that threaten to spill before you quietly follow him into the living room.

Three heads turn to look your way, too inundated in conversation around the coffee table to hear the door opening, but that stops the second their eyes land on you. Steve and Robin are the ones sitting closest to where you stand, but Nancy's the one that makes her way to you first, her lower lip already quivering enough to break into a sob as she crosses the patch of carpet to throw her arms around you. She's strong enough to grip you tight enough to hurt, but too weak to keep herself on her feet, and you end up sinking to the floor with her as your name floods out of her lungs on repeat, getting louder and louder and louder until she's wailing. You could swear the walls rattle with the volume she cries at, completely coming apart in your arms like you've never seen her do before.

"Don't you ever do that to me again!" She shouts, yet her voice is like a child's, wobbling and whiny and so miserably pitiful that it pains you even to listen to it, especially when she's clutching you so close to her body--so afraid that you won't be there when she pulls away, so she refuses to. You don't have any right to cry when she's so distraught, but with your head over her shoulder, the other two watch your lips curve downwards and your eyes screw shut into a flood of tears that won't stop easily.

"I'm sorry, Nancy. I'm okay." You whimper, burying your face into her curls until your lips brush her jawline, and she shudders into each gentle, praiseworthy kiss that you press there. Up until her sobs subside, and she breaths a sigh of relief that you can feel from her chest against yours, each one sinking and rising into each other as you breathe along with her. "I thought you didn't want me anymore."

She shakes her head, and finally pulls herself back to look at you, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her cheeks when she gets a good look at you. Nancy touches your face, thumbs away your own tears--and you know she's not just looking at you, but the girl she lost so long ago, whose smile she sees in yours on those days she misses her the most dearly. "I never wanted you more when I thought you weren't coming back," She whispers back. "How could I not want you? I love you."

The kiss she lays upon your lips is breathtaking, shaking and sweet and just....everything. Everything you missed and craved like air and water and life.

You're already halfway into her embrace when she laughs out that half-hearted joke, walking back with you a couple steps when you throw yourself into it. And she squeezes you so tight, so hard, the kisses a flurry of needy, fluttering touches all over your face until she somehow finds your lips--and when she does, she makes that last one a kiss you won't shake off for days, the feeling tingling your lips even when she pulls away. Still rubbing that spot on your back that she knows is sensitive, Robin grips you in an even harder hug that nearly cracks your spine, and whispers into your ear: "I'm so happy you're here with me." before she kisses you one last time, last one, she swears, fingers crossed behind your back. But then, she takes notice to the man standing just a foot away--and she lets you go to turn you around, her fingertips grazing your arms as you finally face him.

"Yeah, she, uh....she cried, like, every night," Even as Robin says it and breaks the quiet, she herself is rubbing tears from her cheeks, trying to keep that smile going as you stand and Nancy loosens her hold. She moves aside for Eddie to lay his hands on her shoulders from behind, and keep her steady on her feet. "So did Steve. I told you he cries when we watch Princess Bride!"

"I-I....I didn't mean it, Steve. I never...I've never thought you were dumb." Your voice comes out as a whimper, fingers fiddling with each other as you endure that big, brown, wide-eyed stare.

"I know." He breathes, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wants to move, he's antsy, but he won't take another step. "I know, baby."

"Can I hug you?" Steve just nods, but his lip quivers and his features gain that pathetic, sad puppy look, because he was hoping and praying you would say those very words. Your heart soars as he meets your step forward and flings his strong arms tight around your body, crushing you with his huge stature but never loosening up. He instantly brings his hand up to cradle your head against his chest, kissing the crown of it with so much firmness that you know he's reaffirming you're really standing in front of him again.

"I shouldn't have let you leave. I should've slashed your damn tires." He chuckles along with you at the lighthearted crack at breaking the tension, until he chokes up again into a sob. "Nobody could ever replace you. And I swear, I'll never break your heart again."

Steve holds you for a long time, squeezing you and kissing you and brushing strands of hair from your eyes to just look at you, surveying the face of the love he feared he'd never get to cherish again. It's a long time coming, and when he's done, there are three other warm bodies in the room that need attention from the sweet thing they've been killing themselves over these last few weeks.

From there, they catch you up with what had happened in your absence. Steve had walked off to clear his head after you left, and hadn't returned until late in the day--burst through the front door during an unusually quiet dinner and sent them all into a panic, when he realized you really had left and you weren't coming back. The four of them had jumped into action to split up and look for you, Nancy contacted your parents and other family while Steve and Robin tried to find some hint of your whereabouts in the house, cracking open your drawers and notes and realizing how much of your stuff was missing. Meanwhile, Eddie had driven in circles round Hawkins and the outer city limits, trying to find any trace of your car in the dark with the help of passing streetlights.

When those attempts had failed after stretching out into the next day to mid-afternoon, and with your very unhelpful parents insisting they had no idea where you could've gone, that's when your partners had started printing out missing person's flyers and put in an official report with the sheriff's office. And, seemingly having forgotten that you were really the only one who ever checked the voicemail at work, your message tendering your resignation had been errantly erased by your manager--worrying them even further when they questioned him, because if you were really planning on moving away like you said, how could you not tell your employer? It wasn't like you. Their fears had only gotten stronger from there.

The worst had yet to come, though. Because when your car had been found on the side of the road way out in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles away from Hawkins and completely destroyed, the four of them had reached the point of no return. The plates had been torn off, but it was your exact make and model of car, and what were they supposed to believe? That it was just coincidence? That's what Hopper had tried to reassure them with, tried to insist that plenty of cars get found gutted out in the bush, but they couldn't be convinced that it was just some freak happenstance and delude themselves to think that you were fine and dandy somewhere else. The same thing had happened to Max's stepbrother, and they all knew how that had ended.

So started the search parties, the nights spent staying up and studying maps by lamplight, the microwave meals in place of home cooking and sleeping in shifts by the phone, waiting and hoping for some kind of clue to your whereabouts to appear. Finding you had become more important than eating, proper sleep, showering, or attention paid to anything aside from looking towards the horizon to see if you would magically walk back into their lives.

And all that time, you had believed nothing but that they couldn't care less where you were, or what you were doing. When in reality, they could think of nothing but you. That was what had led Eddie to nearly crash into you as you re-entered Hawkins, having been pacing the living room for those long hours after Hop's call until he just couldn't take it anymore--despite the other three trying to stop him, he had dashed out to his van and peeled out of the driveway like a lunatic, just for the slightest chance that he might be there when you needed help. It was so stupid, so reckless, and you'll remember that moment he came rushing around the side of the truck to get to you forever.

Despite them reassuring you about Chrissy, too, when the tears have dried--promising you she's nothing but a friend, and they would have no problems limiting her interaction with all of you from now on--you wave it away, smiling off your stupidity and letting them know that it's fine. You were just being dumb, acting crazy, but you're fine now. And Eddie's eyes narrow at that.

"You're not crazy." He murmurs absentmindedly, and says nothing more until he can slip away from your reunion, and reach the phone in the kitchen. While you're busy dealing with your other partner's crippling absence of affection, he taps his blunt nails into each button, numbly dialing the number he's memorized until the ringing starts and stops.

"Hey, Chris. Angel's back home."

"Oh, that's great! Oh...Eddie, I'm so happy for you. You must be relieved-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Listen, no hard feelings, but....you're my friend, so I'm just gonna be straight. Don't come by the house anymore."

"I--what? Really? I....Eddie, I'm sorry, if I did something to upset you-"

"No, no, nothing you did. Well, not really. But I know how you feel, Chris, and I can't really ignore it anymore." He swallows deeply, and sucks on his teeth as he tries to think of some better way to say it. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I don't feel the same. I never have, and I'm sorry if I made you feel like that might change."

"......So that's it?"

"That's it. We can still be friends, but we need space for awhile first, and I'm not gonna ignore you flirting with me anymore. I'm in love and it's not gonna change. Sorry."

"Can we at least talk about it, Eddie? Please? I'd rather talk this out in person."

"No. Bye, Chrissy."

He thuds the phone back on the receiver just a little too hard, and brings his hand up to rub at his neck and try and get the ache out. That didn't feel good, having to confront one of his very few friends with a truth he just wanted to ignore--but the sick feeling he has now can't even compare to how he felt when you were away, and it's an easy decision to make in that regard. He'd take you over her any day. It's a bit of a guilty feeling, but he knows it's the truth even if it hurts Chrissy's feelings, and he's happy even so.

"....Yeah, I missed you real bad, sweetheart. Don't you ever think I wouldn't....or else you are crazy."

"Eddie?" You call out from the living room, and following that sweet voice to its source, he feels himself light up at the sight of you settled back into the couch. Legs tucked up in Robin's lap, halfway into Steve and Nancy's, looking so comfortable and cute as you look up at him. You're where you belong. He's so distracted by the glee and relief of having you home, he didn't even realize how quiet it had been between you all until he came right back from his task. You say nothing more, just hold your arms out to him--and when he gets close enough, you capture him with those pretty eyes of yours, and melt away any ill feeling as you pull him into your chest.

[wroteclassicaly]

Walk Until You Belong

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader, Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: Amongst confusing and mixed up words, you think you realize where you really stand, with those who matter the most to you, particularly Eddie Munson.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader, teases Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, anxiety, panic attack, extreme self-esteem issues, HEAVY on the angst, no happy ending (this one hurts, folks), Eddie is mean with his words, depression, & extremely (be warned) sad thoughts.

A/N: This thought randomly came to me in the car today, then proceeded to poke and prod at me until I wrote it down/out. This is what came of it, and it’s a product of mind mindset, as of lately. Please read the warnings and air with caution, because it’s meant to work out my own feelings, and as of now, there’s no second part planned and there isn’t a happy ending here. I leave it open-ended. Just know, this piece is really vulnerable to me, and I’m not gonna and say I didn’t cry a little while writing this, so I feel like it’s a personal breakthrough, and I wanna share it with you all ❤️♥️

Sidenote: Using the nickname of Princess in this fic, instead of Y/N. Also, Eddie isn’t nice in this. He’s not exactly awfully, openly mean, but his words are pretty cruel. So… be warned! Nancy makes an appearance as well!

You didn’t really peg Eddie Munson for a mean person. Intimidating, sure, tough because he needed to be - yeah. But outright cold and as nasty as his former bullies? You stand frozen, back against the cool wall of the hospital corridor. They’re still talking, bonding, two completely different people that never knew one another three months ago, yet they’re making it work. You’ve known the entirety of the party since this whole underworld shit began, roped in by being Dustin’s neighbor and giving him rides home from Hellfire for his mom.

No one ever called you outside of the world ending, outside of you taking a kid some place, bringing your random gifts, lending an ear on the phone when the trauma got too much. You weren’t invited to their gatherings, you weren’t in on their inside jokes, but you figured if you made yourself more approachable, more social. And seeing how they welcomed Eddie, someone you had admired since your freshman year - you were sure it was gonna work, that you were slowly being accepted. You helped defeat monsters and evil men, dark creatures, and underworlds. It was you who helped Steve Harrington drag Eddie’s bleeding and mauled body back into your world.

Since that night three months ago, you have done everything to help him. Brought his school work so he could graduate, promised to hand deliver his diploma if he wasn’t strong enough by mid June to walk across that stage, even saying you’d flip Higgins the double bird for him. You tried to help him plan campaigns, you bought him several tapes, and most recently - you’d taken up a magazine subscription of his favorite metal scene, just so he would have all copies. He was always so boisterous, making you melt and smile, and you wanted to help put some light back into his eyes after he’d lost a lot of that sparkle. The issue you got in the mail today, it looked promising, making you eager to take it to him on your lunch break from the video store.

Recently able to fight off your anxieties and getting into the workplace to cover shifts for Steve as he healed, you had extra money to spare and a pep in your step. But when you had reached Eddie’s room door in the hospital, Steve’s voice had halted you. You’d pressed your back aside and out of view, a smile on your lips as they mentioned you. They were gonna be your friends, maybe Eddie would even show you what certain things meant in the magazine, what he liked about their scene, his scene. You wanted to know so much about him, but could never muster the courage to ask.

“I thought the Princess was coming by today?” Your nickname. Not one in malice, but one gifted by your peers for your love of literature. It extended to everyone, apparently.

Your heart leapt, pulse in your throat, eyes casting down at the glossy cover in excitement. And then Eddie had sighed deeply, as if he was in pain. You were prepared to go and get a nurse, when he speaks out, “Seriously, dude?”

Your brows had knit in confusion, a gnawing starting in your stomach, a coolness chilling in your muscles, scraping apart your veins and brimming them full of ice. Steve confirmed, causing you to step back further out of sight. You should’ve left immediately, because you knew you were not going to be able to handle what Eddie’s reply would be, what you fooled yourself into thinking wouldn’t happen.

“What if I pretend to be asleep? Think she’ll leave and go bother someone else?”

A sharp ache pries apart your ribcage and fills it with hot ash, wafting smoke from the destruction suffocating your throat. The first wave of tears prickles your sclera, clouding your vision as your head bows.

“Munson…” Steve sighs.

“Listen, Harrington, I know I’m a freak, man, but she’s just weird. She doesn’t even know me and she subscribed to a magazine I have, just to bring me the issues. She tries to get involved in my campaigns. I know she drives Henderson around and that she’s fought all that nasty shit with you guys, but like… She’s not even in your ensemble of friends, is she?”

Your entire lifetime of actions involving them all flash in the forefront of your mind, and everything you went through by their sides.Have you done anything so out of the ordinary that none of them haven’t? You’re not loud, not like Eddie is, you’re not extremely quirky. You were sure you weren’t bothering anyone when you started being more vocal. Salt. You taste its first humiliating tang hit your lips, your tears free flowing.

“Not really.” Is what Steve responds with, prying back your subconscious with a crowbar and letting reality crack your skull open to let your insecurities flood you until you begin to feel the beginning stages of dissociating panic.

More than two years and you’re still considered a nobody to people you fought beside and nearly died for. People you convinced yourself that they just needed to know you, to see, and they would care about you just as much as you care about them. You realize, however, with a sickening irony, that Vecna must have been fooled by your sated mindset, thinking you weren’t alone and that you were happy, or he would’ve targeted you instead of someone else. And that part, the deep part that’s engraved into your DNA, rooted to every cell and particle, it bites back thoughts you try not to pin on yourself. Maybe he should’ve.

“Hey, Princess, what’s going on?” Her sweet perfume and her soft demeanor make your body feel like it’s weighted down, caught and unable to escape. You don’t look at her yet, turning your head to attempt (pathetically) to wipe your tears and clear your vision.

Steve and Eddie hear and the conversation is halted, their smiles happy and comfortable. But even as you bypass Nancy’s concerned looks, her question at your obviously panicked expression, forcing yourself to walk into the room with her to save face — you aren’t buying either boy’s look. It’s not you they’re happy to see. You shift, a discomfort squeezing your sternum and extending into your guts, anxiety using your esophagus as a trampoline and tempting your food to expel. You feel as if you’re not even here, that this isn’t real, that it’s a nightmare bigger than anything you’ve ever faced.

Dealing with demons and evil creatures that only existed in storybooks is one thing, but doing it alone, knowing that that’s all you’ve ever truly been… it’s worse than when you automatically followed Nancy into that rift to save Steve. No one called you after Vecna, sans one simple call from Steve to ask if you needed anything. But that was it. Your brain snaps back, still able to get you as you’re not all here. King Steve hated you, and not even this kind version cares for you.

You’ve kept the magazine at your side so far, and you let it fold in your tight grip, crushing and crumbling the pages, voice becoming weak and breathless as Steve asks why you’re here, a grin on his face, knowing already. Fuck this. You’re drowning and you need to get the fuck out of here.

“I have to go. I’m… I gotta go, I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, shatters your facade, and you don’t look at anyone.

Nancy leans out as you move quicker down the hallway, faster than anticipated. She watches your arm elongate and toss something into one of the janitorial cart’s trash cans.

“What the hell was that about?” Steve is confused, Eddie bewildered.

“I was gonna ask you guys. She looked upset before we even came in here,” Nancy responds.

“Didn’t you two walk in together? Maybe somebody bothered her, or she saw something?” Steve questions once more.

“We all agreed to give her space, just like we always do. So no, I didn’t want to crowd her. She was already here anyway, just standing outside the door and looking… I don’t know, lost? I’ve never seen the expression that was on her face before.”

Eddie feels as if something else entirely has re-stripped his recently healed skin. Steve swallows harshly and fixes Eddie with an immediate glare, both sharing realization and regret.

“She just trashed some magazine, maybe it was because of that —“

“Shit. Fuck, man.” Eddie finally speaks, starting to lift his upper body, his underused limbs protesting, stitched skin screaming.

“Stop, I’ll go, okay?” Steve interjects, resting bitch face activated and his jaw clenching, upset he let himself say what he did, and is already out the door, leaving Eddie to explain to the ever inquisitive Nancy Wheeler and her journalistic heart and soul.

By the time Steve catches up to you, jogging and slightly out of breath, he isn’t prepared to share his ex’s sentiment on your tormented expression. You look… demolished, haunted. Steve has felt it, a fragment of what bullshit you must be feeling, given what you’ve just heard. He’s done a lot of things, but he’s never felt more like an asshole than he does now, staring at your trembling hands that drop your car keys twice, your eyes so full of tears he wonders how you were even able to see to get out of the building and into the parking lot. He has the sudden overwhelming urge to wrap you into his arms and hold you. So he lets his instincts go and attempts to reach out.

You sound strangely reserved, settled. You smile sadly, wiping at your eyes, the skin raw and overheated. “No. I understand, okay. I got it. I really do. I’m fine.”

“Princess, you don’t have to —“

A beeping sounds off between the two of you, your fingers reaching into your belt loop and unclipping the beeper after a quick glance. You still don’t look at Steve. He can feel his own irises becoming shrouded with tears, his chest being clawed apart and dug into. It hurt more than any hive mind bats or Russian torture. You sidestep away from him, mumbling. “It’s Keith. I have to go.”

“It’s my shift, Princess,” Steve grasps your wrist in his big palm and squeezes, trying to pull you back to him, to convey, to express. He cares. He didn’t mean it in the way that you thought, “Please?”

You jerk yourself away from him. You look angry now, and wipe your nose at the same time Steve does - water finding his lash line.

“I took the shift. It’s fine. Goodnight.”

You’re falling apart as you turn around again, not permitting yourself to watch Steve and his attempts to amuse your anguish with pity - standing in the parking lot, wiping at his nose continuously, in your rear view.

Steve grits his teeth as the tears drip onto his cheeks, his hands running up into and through his hair. They beyond fucked up…

// Eat me paragraph //

[k4g3hika]

LOVE, Y/N :) ━ imagine!

eddie munson x fem! reader

summary: being girlfriend is great. he loves you, and you love him by cooking and baking him all kinds of food. however, when he starts to un-appreciate the lunch you spend time making in the day, you go to teach him what happens when you make your s/o mad.

genre: crack/fluff

wc: 1098

note: this can be a part 2 to ‘who the hell’ since there are some references made or it:) thank you guys for everything and i hope you enjoy!

As you were wiping the kitchen counter, you accidentally push a container to the side with the force of your hand. 

“Oh god!” Using your quick reflexes, you manage to catch it before it lands on the floor, a bit confused as to what it was. You already put away all the other clean containers back to their respective places so what…”This bitch.”

After opening up the tray, you realize that it wasn’t empty or freshly washed, it was Eddie’s lunch. That you woke up early for. To cook and pack. You sigh heavily. 

Every morning you pack Eddie lunch for him to bring to school. It was because you, of course, went to Hawkins High School once in your life, and the lunch that was served over there? Was disastrous. You didn’t even know how it passed health regulations. 

So of course, you go out of your way to pack your beloved Eddie, a nutritious and balanced, yet you knew he would like lunch. And the chances of him actually bringing it are 5, to 95 per cent. It pissed you off. 

But you calmed down. Eddie was in a rush every morning! It may be just slipped his mind. Like the other twenty times, he did it. 

To make yourself feel better, you grab some brownies that you baked earlier, trying to come up with an idea as to how you were going to give Eddie his lunch. Knowing him, he most likely only had a snack today. It made you so mad that he wasn’t taking care of himself like he’s supposed to. Maybe he should learn to appreciate you since as of lately, he hasn’t really been showing care for your cooking, cleaning-

‘Wait. I have a perfect idea.’

–

“Try to roll anything higher than a five! Please!” Gareth groans behind Dustin as Eddie laughs at their suffering. Afternoons with the Hellfire Club are what lightened him after a shitty day at school. However, going home to you was ten times better. 

Eddie’s stomach growls. He rubs it a bit. 

He wishes that he brought your lunch. Eddie didn’t realize he forgot it until he was already halfway through the journey to school and figured that he wasn’t going to need it. But, when lunch hit, and everyone was eating their disgusting school lunch, he wanted nothing more than your delicious cooked food. 

Eddie thoroughly believes that nothing’s better than your cooking. Even the diner he frequented before you, was nothing compared to what you make. There was just something different about what you cooked, and Eddie loves it. 

“Eddie! What do you think we should do?!?” Mike screams, squeezing his hair with anticipation. Everyone around the table, except Eddie, was about to shout over each other about what they should do about the monster about to kill them all…until there was a knock on the door. 

The room went quiet. 

Everyone meets each other’s confused stares, recognizing that everyone was present tonight. Who else could be trying to join their meeting? 

Dustin takes it upon himself to open the door. If anything, he’s willing to sacrifice himself for the club. If it is the last thing he does. He also kinda wants to show the club that he’s brave. 

Opening the door, Eddie only sees a shadow of their visitor. About to criticise them for why they entered upon this holy hour of Dungeons and Dragons, his voice hitches in his throat at the sight of…you?

You stand there smiling, looking at all of the members of Hellfire with two things in your hands. One big tray with what looked like brownies inside, and was that, was that his elementary Superman tin lunch box?

“Everyone! This is Y/N! Eddie’s, underappreciated,” Eddie heard that, “girlfriend!” All the boys in the room gasp, expecting her to be a joint figment of Eddie’s and Dustin’s. She puts down the tray, holding onto the lunch box. 

“Hi guys! Nice to finally meet you all, Eddie doesn’t like me coming to Hellfire, but I just wanted to come and ask if you guys wanted some brownies?” Pulling off the lid, the aroma of chocolate and brownies filled the room, prompting everybody to start drooling. “Eddie says he doesn’t want to share any of this with you guys, but he’s just being a mean wart, aren’t you baby?”

Everyone silently laughs at Eddie. His face begins to turn a warm shade of red out of embarrassment. This was the club that was supposed to respect him, and you were here treating him like how you treat him at home! This wasn’t the scene. 

“Well, Y/N, I would love to have some of those brownies.” 

“Sure, Dustin!” 

“Me too!”

“Can I get some?”

“I want!”

Choruses of agreements circulated around the dark room as you pass around the container. Jealousy bubbles up in Eddie at everyone's enjoyment of what was supposed to be his brownies. 

‘Well, whatever, at least I can have-’ But when the tray gets passed over to him, it’s completely empty. 

“Hey! What the fuck! You fatasses! Did you just-” Your finger lands on his lips. His eyes move over to you beside him. After removing your finger you give him

“No Eddie, I just didn’t bring any for you.” A condescending smile grows on your face, and he gets shy at your dominance. Fuck, why in front of everyone? “Do you know why my love?”

“Why?” His ‘why’ comes out pathetically. Eddie just wants to punch himself in the face. 

“Because, someone didn’t bring their lunch, which I packed especially for them today. And you know what they say Eds, you’re supposed to eat before you have your dessert.” Laying down his lunch box right in front of him, you plant a kiss on his cheek and stand up. 

“Wait, Y/N-”

“See you at home Eds. Bye, everyone!” Skipping out of the room, everyone is pushed into silence. It wasn’t like your visit was weird…it’s just that your presence was the last thing everyone expected to see. Mike eats his brownie silently, taking a look at Eddie who was still staring down at the table. 

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” Dustin asks because Eddie looked like he was going to burst into tears. But keeping his composure, he opens the bag of pretzels and eats them solemnly. 

He sticks the note to the lid of the box, looking at it sadly. 

‘Here are your pretzels, since this is all you like to eat. Love, Y/N :)’

Yeah, Eddie’s definitely never forgetting his lunch again.

[k4g3hika]

WHO THE HELL?! ━ imagine!

eddie munson x fem! reader

summary: when eddie munson doesn't find the need to tell the dungeons and dragons club members about his new girlfriend. so imagine dustin's surprise when he visits eddie's trailer and sees it looking impeccably clean.

wc: 956

hi guys! forgot to mention i kind of wrote a part 2 to this so: “love, y/n:)”

“Okay, Eddie! I hear you! So it’s just in your living room? On the table beside the sofa? Okay!” Dustin stops his bike beside the Munson trailer, dropping it down onto the dirt as he rushes to the door. “Wait- how the hell am I supposed to get inside?!”

“Did I not give you my keys?”

“No!”

“Damn!”

“Wait! I see someone inside! I’m just gonna knock on the door till they answer. Talk to you later, over and out!” Amidst Eddie’s protests, Dustin turns off the walkie-talkie and strides over to the door. He secretly hopes to himself that it’s not Eddie’s uncle. But shit, who else is going to be in the Munson residence if it wasn’t Eddie or his scary-looking uncle?

He breathes in and out, raising his fist to knock on the door. However, right after his fists land on the door, it falls open as if it wasn’t locked in the first place. 

‘Red flag. Red flag.’ Dustin knew better than to go into a complete stranger’s house. But, this was Eddie’s trailer. The worst thing that can happen is that he can stumble on some disgusting shit, or God bless him, his uncle holding a knife to his chest ready to pop off and kill him. ‘God, please guide me.’

As he walked inside, it seemed empty. There was absolutely no sign of life, but something did scare the living shit out of Dustin. 

The Munson trailer was clean. Clean as fuck. 

Dustin only knew Eddie from the beginning of the school year. But, regardless of the short time, Dustin knew that Eddie hardly took care of himself and would rather focus on anything else other than cleanliness. Shit, he remembers that one time he went inside Eddie’s room and it was laundry day. The stains on that mattress were traumatizing. 

After going through a state of shock, Dustin remembered the reason why he was even in Eddie’s trailer. He began his search for the paper his leader needed, but it was far more difficult to find compared to the simplicity Eddie emphasized. Dustin cursed him under his breath, opening up every drawer on every table by the one sofa in the entire living room. 

However, Dustin was so focused on his search, that he completely went deaf to the sounds of movement behind him. 

“Hey! Who the fuck are you?!” Dustin almost fell back at the sheer terror he just felt surge through his heart. His breaths began to get erratic. Seeing a really, really pretty woman standing with only a shirt and…shorts? Or were they panties? He didn’t know. But it was fucking scary. Or hot? He didn’t know. “Hello?!? You better say who you are before I call the cops!”

“Wait! Wait! Eddie sent me here! He sent me to get something for the campaign! My name is Dustin! Dustin Henderson!” Dustin raised his hands up in defence, not seeing the woman’s shoulders deflate in relief. She chuckles, prompting Dustin to lower his hands. “W-Wha-”

“God, I’m sorry. Did I forget to lock the door again? Shit. I’m gonna get myself killed one day. Anyway, the paper he forgot is actually on the kitchen counter. I put it there figuring out he was gonna come back.” She walks past him. 

‘Oh jeeze.’ Dustin tries not to look at them, only looking forward to where the paper was. 

“Here you go, sorry about earlier. I just got scared is all. Did he drive you here?”

“No…I biked here.” He blinks twice at you, becoming nervous at your gaze staring him down. 

“Oh my god! Really? Do you want some water? What about a cookie? Oh wait! I baked some cookies earlier, I was really bored. Can you bring some to the DnD club, please? Eds loves them…” As you ramble on about cookies and water, Dustin can’t help but gaze at your beautiful features. Your voice was also soothing, and shit, you look like you give the best hugs. “Shit, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Y/N, Eddie’s girlfriend. Nice to finally meet you, Dustin!”

‘Now I know why Eddie hides you.’

–

“Fuck! Look who finally decides to turn up! Henderson, what took you so long?” Eddie walks up to Dustin, eyebrows furrowing in search of the paper he asked him to get. “Did you get the paper-”

“You son of a bitch!”

“Excuse me?”

“I should be saying ‘excuse me’! I get sent, for a paper, and y’know what I find? Hm?” Dustin looks around the room past Eddie, trying to show them validation for his anger. “The most beautiful and shit, best baker, I have ever met in my life!” After his last statement, Dustin shoves the container of cookies at his (now ex) idol’s chest. 

Eddie, though initially confused at Dustin’s anger, finally understands why when he sees your signature chocolate chip cookies. You always add M&Ms, saying that they ‘add a pop of colour’ to them. Not that he minded. He loved it. 

“I don’t get why you’re angry-”

“Bitch?! You have to show them off! Sell these cookies for God’s sakes! Bring her to meetings! Shit! Do I have to teach you how to be a good boyfriend?!?” Dustin drops his bag, groaning at Eddie’s ‘stupidity’. “Let’s get on with the game!”

Eddie looks at Dustin, then at the container in his hands. 

It wasn’t like he was hiding you. Eddie smiles to himself, propping open the lid and eating one cookie. 

Eddie just thinks that you’re his little secret. Only he gets to eat your cookies. Dustin just happened to stumble upon them. Never again though.

“Hey, Eddie, can we try some of those cookies-”

“Fuck off Gareth.”

[writteninerised]

2 minutes

Paring | Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary | It takes two minutes for popcorn to pop and as the seconds pass on the microwave it is a reminder that Eddie needs to make a move.

Warnings/Tags | Major fluff and angst that may or may not end with some good old fashioned making out.

Word count | 942

•

Two minutes. That’s all it took and maybe that’s all he needed. As his finger pressed down on the button, it felt like he started a countdown that pulsed inside his chest. Only the hum of the microwave filled the silence between you two.

Time was already slipping away. The moment is soon to pass.

1:43

1:42

1:41

This started as a typical Saturday night with you. A movie set to pause, light smoke in the air from his lips, popcorn in the microwave, and your laughter filling the kitchen walls. Except it’s not a typical night because your gaze lingers on him in the silence and his voice betrays him as he whispers, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

1:19

1:18

1:17

It comes out lazily as if the words fell off his lips after hanging there for so long. It’s almost a whisper and for a moment he thinks he might get away with you not noticing, but then you surprise him by stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his body. His lower back gently hits the kitchen countertop as he stumbles back. He can’t help but freeze in time. Did you need to hear that as much as he needed your hug?

1:00

59

58

Is he breathing? He doesn’t know. Eddie can’t remember the last time someone hugged him. He doesn’t need to close his eyes to pinpoint every part of him that you touch. He can map it out in his mind perfectly. His head drops to the side, resting on yours, as his arms wrap tightly around you. Scared you will let go before he can get the chance to enjoy this. He can’t help but inhale softly, taking in your scent. There is nothing more that he wants than for you to invade all five of his senses. Touch him, hear him, smell him, see him, and taste him.

You both stand here as time slips away. Because once that microwave goes off it’s going to snap you both back to reality. He’s not ready for that. He wants to sit in-between space and time with you forever. Without truly thinking he brings his hand to the nape of your neck and gently brushes his fingers down your spine. He wants to trace your body for memory, tucking it away in his mind for later when he’s daydreaming and he makes out your shape in the patterns of his ceiling. The fabric of your shirt bunches up as his movement continues and as his hand moves down your back again his fingertips brush the skin of your lower back. They linger there, unable to move.

37

36

35

Eddie’s hand expands over the small of your back as if his fingers weren’t enough on your skin. He notices the hitch in your breath and he can’t help but smile. Are you smiling? He wants to pull away and look at you, but he is too scared to let you go. Too scared to feel the absence of your embrace. With that thought he presses on your back gently, moving you closer to him. He can feel your chest moving up and down quickly and he makes small circles on your skin in hopes to calm you.

29

28

27

“Eddie,”

His name rolls off your lips and it sounds like someone calling him from inside a dream state. Your bodies stay pressed together even when he pulls his head back slightly to look at you. His eyes meet yours and he can tell words are failing you. Your cheeks turn red and your head drops. He lifts your chin with a gentle touch and says in a low soft voice “Don’t,”

20

19

18

Eddie’s eyes drop to your lips and then back at your gaze. His heart is beating faster and he wonders if you notice. The sound of the popcorn popping almost feels like it’s in his chest. His name slips from your lips once more and it sounds like a plea. There is no hesitation as Eddie answers your request by kissing you.

11

10

9

It’s soft at first, gentle. But he is holding back. He can feel the countdown coming to an end. Your grip around his body tightens and his hand on your lower back moves up underneath your shirt. His tongue brushes over your lower lip, asking for entrance and you allow it.

6

5

4

You’re both clinging onto this moment and each other. Breathing is heavy and touches are rough, grasping on for all that you have left. Your hands are in his curls and his hand drops down your thigh to the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up around him. A moan escapes from you as he flips you around to where your back is against the countertop and he’s pining you to it.

3

2

1

The loud beeping of the microwave has Eddie stumbling back and out of breath. His hand rubs the back of his neck as he stares at the small word that reads end. What a stupid word. Why didn’t the manufacturer use the word “ready” or “done”? Eddie shakes off the thoughts because he knows it’s just a distraction from what he’s desperately missing right now. He looks over at you and notices your slightly swollen lips and the way your chest rises and falls. He suddenly feels so cold being so far away from you.

Eddie opens the cabinet and pulls out another bag of popcorn from the box. He looks at you and smiles, “I think we need two bags. I’m not very good at sharing.”

And the countdown begins again.

Masterlist

[bookshelf-dust]

slumber party shenanigans

based on this ask from @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

word count: 470 (look i did it!!)

a/n: you’re such a little shit (lovingly). i hope you like this and i appreciate the challenge <33

————

🖋️ want another blanket?—i will write you a little ficlet (under 1000 words) for the character of your choice. i would appreciate if you’d specify whether you want comfort/fluff/angst/whatever and i will try and come up with something for you!

The door slams shut and you hear the thud of Eddie’s boots, the jingle of his keys, as you finish washing and putting away the dishes. He didn’t call to say he was coming over, but you know why he’s here.

He walks up behind you. “Why didn’t you come tonight?”

You rinse off a spoon, set it on a towel. “Didn’t realize I was obligated to attend all of your shows.” Your voice is sharp.

“You’re not. You’ve just never missed one without telling me.”

You scrub at a plate, squeeze out your sponge.

“Guess I didn’t want to stay and wait for you to finish making out with what’s-her-fuck backstage, just for you to come out and say ‘Oh, sorry, Jeff needed my help.’ Bullshit,” you mumble the last bit to yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Eddie’s face is burning. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. But if you’re not together, why do you care?

“Stop acting like a dumbass, Munson,” you snap.

Eddie reaches in front of you and shuts the water off. You spin, quickly drying your hands on a towel.

“So what you just showed up here to get in my way and play coy? Or do you have something to say?”

Eddie straightens his back out and crosses his arms. Sometimes you forget that he’s tall.

“Since when do you care who I make out with?”

“I don’t give a shit about what you do, Eddie. But I do care that you’ve been sticking your tongue down the throat of a girl who bullied the shit out of me in middle school.”

You’ve told Eddie about this. He just didn’t know that’s who it was. A shiver runs down his spine.

“Every night that I come see you play, she sits across from me and watches my reactions to you. She follows you backstage and when she’s done, she looks at me and she’s proud that she has you and I don’t.”

Your hands are shaking and you grip the counter behind you to steady yourself.

“You do have me,” Eddie says, voice breaking.

“Not in the way I want.”

What? There’s no way. Eddie’s only been making out with that chick because he’s trying to stop thinking about you in that way. Suddenly he’s very angry.

“Well then maybe you should’ve tried harder to get me.” The words are out before Eddie can stop them.

That hurt you, and Eddie can see it.

“Go.” You’re not looking at him.

Eddie doesn’t move. You pick up his keys and throw them at him. He catches them before they can hit the floor. “Y/N—”

“Get out, Eddie.” He can tell by the tone in your voice that you don’t want to say it again.

Eddie turns and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

No Happy Endings (Unless Fairy Tales Come True).⁺˚*･☾

Pairing | Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings | 18+ only, minors DNI. Porn with smatterings of a plot. Cheating (reader cheats with Eddie as do others), oral (female receiving), protected P in V sex, kinda sad Eddie but only for a bit, brief mention of uncomfortable sexual situations, readers first orgasm, little bit of Eddie with somebody else. Some generalisations about gender and sex for plot reasons.

Word Count | ~9,300

Request | Once upon a time I made an offhand comment in the tags of an ask saying it’s possible Eddie’s fucking lots of cheerleaders behind their boyfriend’s backs. Then an anon threw it right back at me and it’s haunted my thoughts ever since.

A/N | The initial comment was offhand. Reader is not a cheerleader, she’s just pals with cheerleaders. Also cheating is bad etc etc. I also don’t really think Eddie would do this, but I’m taking my Eddie just wants to be loved thing to its logical endpoint; Eddie is become slut, destroyer of pussy.

.⋆｡⋆✮˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆. 

Can we-,” she groans softly, biting her shiny lip as she looks at him over her shoulder. “Can we, uh uh, turn the music off?”

Eddie’s gaze shifts from watching himself disappear inside her to the flushed cheeks of her face, her long fluttering eyelashes. 

“No, we can’t.“

"But-” Eddie grasps her cheerleader ponytail, silky in his fist, and pushes her face forward into the mattress, whatever she was going to say now muffled by his sheets. 

She doesn’t seem to mind. That little squeak she makes when she’s close starts picking up when Eddie grinds a little rougher into her, liking what was supposed to be a silent punishment for her request 

Eddie has to hold back a scoff, has to stop himself from leaning over to turn the dial on his stereo as far right as it’ll go, instead. 

He likes her, as much as he can like the sexually frustrated popular girls he brings back here. She just ignores him in the halls, instead of overacting disdain for him in front of her jock boyfriend’s face. 

Keep reading

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝘃𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲 | tom (make up) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | you and tom have been two peas in a pod for your entire lives: tommy and birdie, partners in crime. you only fell in love with him a few years ago, though. maybe he'll notice sometime before you die of old age... but probably not.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 15.8k (oops)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only, dry humping, handjob, unprotected sex/loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving), alcohol consumption and tobacco use, best friends to lovers, angst, pining, fluff, tom and reader lacking braincells, extreme cornish, protectiveness/jealousy, There Was Only One Bed, I can't stress enough how fucking stupid these two are, truly no braincells detected in this entire fic

(title's after the song by the greeting committee <3 will always be the song that makes me think of tom the most)

YOU DON'T NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE TO READ THIS! plot of the film is totally discarded lmaooo

author's note part 2: there's a moment where the reader mentions that sometimes people think her and tom are siblings, she does not necessarily mean that they look alike! she means that they ACT like siblings and could be related through adoption or marriage-- her appearance isn't described and it's left open-ended for anyone to insert themselves ❤️

before we get started, I'm including a convenient cornish dictionary for you all to use if you're not already familiar with the dialect! other terms might pop up but they'll be explained in the text

teazy - acting grumpy or throwing a tantrum; something you might say to a kid having a fit or an adult who is being childishly negative

tuss - insult referencing male genitals; similar to 'knob' or 'dick' in UK and US english

my 'ansum - common, platonic greeting for men ("my handsome")

my bird - common, platonic greeting for women

rich - lovely, endearing, or beautiful

diddy? - a phrase used to mean 'is that true?' or 'really?'; diddah? and issuh? mean the same thing

wasson? - a greeting; short for "what's going on?"

jumping - very angry

hanging - terrible, gross

scat - (NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING lol) to push or fight someone

geek - a quick look; you can 'take a geek' at something

“Leave off, m'fine." Tom crinkled up his nose as he tried to brush your hands away, but you fought to keep dabbing the cuts on his face with the washcloth.

"Fine?  You look like you lost a fight," you frowned.

"Well, we won the match, so," he smiled, but winced when you went back to the cut just above his eyebrow.  “Fuck off, that hurts!”

“Couldn’t hurt as much as it did when you got it,” you insisted.  “C’mon, it’ll scar if you don’t let me clean it up right.”

“So?  I thought the lasses liked scars,” he grinned.  “Makes me look tough.”

“Makes you look like you got your arse handed to you.”

Tom really wasn’t built for rugby.  Though he certainly wasn’t in bad shape, he was the slimmest of all the guys he played with; he was fast, he had that going for him, but the poor kid got pummelled every time he played.

“Wish you wouldn’t go out there,” you mumbled, one of those rare times that you admitted how much you hated seeing him get hurt.

“Wish you wouldn’t worry about me when I can take care’a meself,” he replied.

And that was how it had always been— Tom was just reckless like that, and you had to try to reign him in as best you could.  You could remember so many nights spent this way, you trying to scold him enough that he might be a little more careful; but considering you’d been doing this since you were just little kids, you eventually gave up on trying to stop him and just decided to be there when he needed a little comfort.

You might’ve always been Tom’s greatest comfort.  So many things in life are uncertain, temporary, fleeting.  Not you; you’d always been there, as long as he could remember— even longer, really.  And not just because he had a shit memory from all those rugby concussions.  

“Aren’t you worried you’ll look beat up in all our holiday photos?” you asked him, speaking quietly since you were so close to his face to treat his injuries.

“Why’d that bother me?” he shrugged.  “You think I’m gonna be lookin’ at me own stupid mug in photos?”

“Don’t say that,” you shoved him on the shoulders as he laughed, leaning back into the couch.  “You’ve got a nice mug, if you didn’t get it all mucked up.”

“You think m’pretty then?” he cooed sarcastically, putting his hand under his chin and batting his eyelashes; you giggled and shoved him harder, this time knocking you both back until he was laying on the couch and you were on top of him.

“Yeah, pretty daft,” you replied, and he snorted.

“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around your back.

“Lemme go, need to get a bandage for your face,” you explained as you squirmed.

“Nuh uh,” he denied your request, “not letting you up— sorry, birdie.”

“Tommy!” you whined through a laugh, struggling harder against him, but he just held you tighter and grinned down at you.  Giving up, you made a pouty face and rested your chin on his chest.  He mimicked your expression, mocking you until you frowned for real and gave up, turning your face again to lay your cheek down on his shirt.

He gave you a kiss on top of your head, and you let your eyes fall shut.

“Maybe just a little rest,” you decided, your voice already slurring— you were more tired than you thought.

“Mhm,” he agreed, brushing his fingers over your hair.  “Just a little, huh?”

You nodded groggily.  

“Alright— sleep tight, birdie…”

You were only tired because you’d been up way too late, packing for your trip to St. Ives with your and Tom’s families.  Joint vacations were nothing new to the two of you— actually, his parents and yours had been taking trips together since before the two of you were born.  There were pictures of you and Tommy, chubby little babies in your mums’ arms, riding on the London Eye; you’d watched a home video a few times where you were playing in the sand together at a beach in Valencia.  You weren’t sure why they felt the need to fly all the way to Spain for beaches when there were plenty here in Cornwall… but, case in point, this trip was going to be a much more relaxed (and budget-conscious) one: a roadtrip across the county, a couple rooms at a beach-side inn, and some much needed time in the sun for the next week.  Tom promised to teach you how to surf, though you weren’t sure you’d be able to figure it out anyways— but you looked forward to trying.  Really, you looked forward to Tom’s hands on your waist as he tried to help you find your balance.

Truth be told, despite being secretly in love with him since you were fourteen, you never really expected anything to happen with Tommy.  You were like brother and sister— even his parents treated you like a daughter, and vice versa— and you’d always been so close.  There’s always that fear of confessing to someone you’re close with and ruining the friendship, but this was even worse than that.  If you lost Tom, you’d lose everything.

So, it wasn’t sad— there wasn’t a lot of pining anymore, not many nights spent gushing into your diary about it and then crying yourself to sleep because he got a new girlfriend or something.  It was peaceful now, the one-sidedness of it.  You loved him, he didn’t notice, everything went on as usual and that was it.  You kept dating other guys, though Tom never liked any of them, and he dated other girls that you pretended to get along with until they split after a couple weeks.

In fact, dating was the topic of the hour as you and Tom sat in the back of his dad’s suburban, trying to entertain yourselves on the long drive to the beach resort you’d be staying at.

“That girl Dani,” you remembered, focusing most of your attention on a sudoku from the book you’d brought for the trip.  “She was fit— why’d you break up again?”

“Too clingy,” Tommy shrugged, not looking back at you; he was toying with the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one you’d made for him at summer camp when you were eleven with blue and yellow and black chevrons.  Since you gave it to him, you’d never seen him without it, which is why the colours were all faded and dirty now, and why you were glad you made it adjustable all those years ago… he certainly outgrew the original size by now.

“I thought that was Claire,” you recalled.

“Oh, her too,” he nodded.

“This seems to be a problem for you,” you noticed, “clingy girls.  What does that even mean?”

“Means they get, like, possessive,” he clarified, holding his hands up almost like a motion of choking someone.  “Wanna know what you’re doing all the time, want a text every half hour— it’s too much.”

“That just means they like you, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes.  “You shouldn’t dump girls over that.”

“They usually dump me,” he corrected.

“What?!” you squeaked, before you cleared your throat when you noticed what your utter disbelief might imply.

“Guess they just get, I dunno, jealous?” he explained, crinkling his nose as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Jealous?” you repeated, looking away from the page in front of you for the first time.  The way he was looking at you— head tilted to the side, one eyebrow raised and mouth in a small frown— you realised what he meant.  “Of me?”

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, “I mean, we spend so much time together.”

“But we’re just friends,” you noticed.

“That’s what I try to tell them!” he insisted.  “I mean, I say that you’re my best mate and all but I don’t even think of you like that— c’mon, I’d never…”

You looked back at the half-solved sudoku, letting out a sigh that you hoped you could pull off as frustration with the number grid before you.

“Guess they don’t believe me,” he concluded, “or they don’t care.”

“They must think it’s bound to happen one day,” you posited.  “That we’ll get together, I mean.”

“Yeah— but don’t you think if it was gonna happen, it would’ve happened already?” he pointed out.

You bit your lip.  “Yeah,” you agreed curtly.

"Hey— whatever happened to that lad with the crooked teeth you liked so much?" Tommy asked.

"You'll have to be more specific," you huffed, keeping your eyes trained on your puzzle.

"He had specs and a freckle right on the end of his nose," Tommy continued.

"Oh yeah!  Frank," you reminded him of the boy's name.  "What, did you actually approve of him or something?"

"Course not," Tommy scoffed.  "Jus' wondering, 'cause you used to go on about him all the time— 'bout how he was so wonderful and all." Tommy rolled his eyes, just to make sure it was perfectly clear that he didn't approve.

"Erm, well," you stalled, "yeah, haven't talked to him in a while."

Tommy wouldn't buy an excuse like that from you, he knew you far too well.  Leaning in, he titled his head to try to get a view of your face.  "Did something happen with him?" he pressed, and you swallowed.

"Yeah, I mean— nothing really," you shrugged, "he just got upset that I didn't wanna take things too fast, I guess.  Called me a slag and threw my phone— didn't crack, though, got lucky there—"

"Diddy?" Tommy spat, his anger obvious on his face.  He sat back up when you nodded, taking in a deep breath through his nose.  "Shoulda told me, would've scat 'im down and beat his face in.  Can't be talking to my birdie like that."

Your heart skipped a beat.  His birdie.  

"And throwin' your phone, too?  Bleddy tuss," Tommy sneered, shaking his head as he looked out the window, like he was trying to calm himself down.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you get especially Cornish when you're angry?" you giggled.

"Only twice a day, birdie," Tom laughed.  

Did anyone ever tell you that it turns me on?

“We’re here!” your mum announced, and you looked up to see that the car was turning in to a roundabout driveway.  Tom excitedly leaned against his window, looking up at the hotel.  “Wow,” he breathed.  “Look!”

He guided you to lean in right up against him, pressing your cheek to the glass so you could see the tall building.  It wasn’t a skyscraper or anything— this wasn’t that kind of place— but it was at least ten stories, with white bricks on the outside and seafoam-green shutters on each window.

With the car parked, Tom and the dads were going through the boot while his mom ran to use the loo and you and your mom checked in.

You weren’t really paying attention, honestly, while your mom gave the woman at the front desk a credit card for incidentals and all that.  The interaction only piqued your interest when you heard her confirm— “three rooms, then?”

“Yep,” your mum agreed.

“Three?” you repeated, looking up at her.

“Yeah— your dad and I, Gary and Marie, and then another room for you and Tom.”

You cleared your room.  “Tom and I get our own room?”

“You think us old geezers wanna be kept up all night by your giggling?” she snorted.  “Figured you two could entertain yourselves just fine, give the grown-ups some space.”

Before you could decide how to react to that, the opening of the front doors got everyone’s attention.  Tom looked ridiculous trying to carry as many bags as he could— all of yours, plus his and his mom’s— and you snorted as you watched him waddle into the lobby with all of them.

“What floor are we on?” he asked, the strain in his voice apparent and hilarious.

“Ten,” you informed him, and he groaned.

“Kidding!  Three,” you chuckled, “and there’s a lift.”

“Aw, Jesus,” Tom grumbled as he walked past you, struggling under the weight of the bags.  “You’re tryin’ to kill me, birdie.”

“I didn’t tell you to carry all those,” you rolled your eyes, looking at the concierge again as Tom turned the corner to find the lift.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked, continuing before you could answer.  “You two are adorable.”

“O-oh, er— no, actually,” you stammered, “just a friend.”

“Oh!” she mumbled.  “I see, my apologies.”

You looked down at your phone for just a second, only to hear your mom make a strange noise— a little giggle, and you saw her and the woman at the desk looking at each other.  “What?” you asked your mum.

“Nothing, dear,” she dismissed.

“What?!” you hissed, groaning when she hid a cheeky smile but said nothing.  “You’re so weird sometimes, mum…”

“Anyhoo,” the concierge mumbled, “you’re all ready to go!  Three king bed rooms, third floor, ocean view—”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, “all the rooms have a king bed?”  She nodded.  “Just a king bed?”

“Well… there’s a couch,” she offered.

You deflated slightly.  “That might be a little strange.”

“Oh,” she hummed, “well, I could change your room if you’d like.  But they won’t be connected anymore…”

“That’s fine,” you shook your head.

“Okay, there’s a room with two twins across the hall,” she explained, reading from her computer screen.

Ugh, a twin was gonna be uncomfortable, but so would just one bed.  “That’s fine, thank you.”

She clicked around on her keyboard for a bit, and right as she looked up at you again, Tom appeared from around the corner again.  “All done,” she announced, “I’ve changed your room for you!”

“You what?” Tom choked.

“She’s just changed our room for us,” you explained to him.

“Ah god,” he panted, laying his head against the wall while he caught his breath.  “Birdie, I just put all the bags away…”

You sighed, and the woman piped up again.  “I could still change it back for you, if the bags are too much trouble.”

“Please,” Tom breathed, and she nodded and started up with the keyboard again.  Rolling your eyes, you brushed past Tom flippantly.

“I’m gonna change,” you announced.

“Goin’ up to the room?” he asked.

“No, I was going to strip in the hallway and hope nobody walked through,” you replied snarkily.

“I was just gonna give you the key, birdie,” he smirked, pulling the plastic card out of his pocket.  You chewed your lip, regretting being so rude.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking it from him and moving along to the lift.

~

You’d only brought one swimsuit, the new one you’d bought just for this.  Maybe you’d had this crazy idea somewhere in the back of your mind that if you wore a tight little bikini, you’d finally get Tom’s attention and he’d stop seeing you just as the little girl he’d grown up with.  If you’d been a little less emotional and a touch more logical, you would’ve checked the weather first.

Yes, it was a beach, but it was still an English beach… the sky was grey and cloudy, and without sunlight, the ocean breeze was less refreshing and more chilly.  Very chilly, in fact, when you had hardly anything on like this.  You were trying so hard to act natural, to lay there on that chair on the beach and look as gorgeous as possible for whenever Tom came out, but it was so cold… every few seconds you were tensing up your jaw to try to fight off a shiver.

He came down a couple minutes later, wearing his swim trunks, but since he was apparently smarter than you, he was also wearing a half-zip jumper and a t-shirt underneath.  You pretended not to see him coming and laid still, only reacting to his presence with a polite wave when he was too close to ignore.

“Not gonna get much of a tan in this weather,” he noticed with a laugh as he sat next to you.

“I’m not tanning, I’m… relaxing,” you explained.

“Want me jumper, birdie?” he offered.  “You look freezing.”

“I-I’m fine,” you insisted, but your teeth chattered.  Next thing you knew, he was peeling it off over his head anyways— his shirt stuck to it and started to lift, too, exposing his stomach.  He managed to get the jumper off, though, and pulled it down over your face as you laughed and resigned yourself to your fate.  “Tommy, stop it,” you whined, batting his arms away so you could put the garment on yourself— he’d been trying to force it on you and accidentally trapped your face in one of the sleeves.

When you finally navigated your limbs through the borrowed sweater, popping your face out and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck inside the cotton for a moment, you saw him looking at you… different.  Just a little different, but different nonetheless.  You wrinkled your eyebrows together at him, and he shook his head with a little laugh, and it was all back to normal again.  “Should keep you warm,” he mumbled, turning back to the view of the ocean and bringing his feet up onto the chair.

“Thanks,” you nodded, watching him lift his hands up behind his head and sigh.

For a while, you two laid there in silence, the sound of the ocean waves and seabirds like a quiet, slow song.  If you weren't thinking constantly about whether or not Tom was looking at you, you might've been able to relax enough to fall asleep.  Apparently Tom wasn't all in his head because he dozed off within a couple minutes, and after that, you decided to get up and explore the beach a bit.  There were little shops dotted here and there, a gelato stand, a cosy open-air pub playing music over their speakers.

You stopped to watch some boys playing volleyball on the beach, and one of them seemed to notice you staring— and he smiled at you, just before he served; you had to be careful not to make yourself look stupid by suddenly smiling down at the sand and toying with your hair, but you desperately wanted to.  He was cute, and tall and, you know, shirtless.  They all were, but he probably looked the best that way of any of them.

He ended the round with a spike right beside the net, and his side of the court cheered while the others groaned and complained to each other.  You clapped for them, and the boy looked at you again; he said something to his friends, and with the ball still under his arm, he jogged over toward you.

"Hey," he greeted with a sideways, pearly-white smile.

"Hi," you returned.  

"Did you like watching us play?" he asked, glancing back at the net for a second.

"Yeah, you're really good," you nodded.  "Are you a real team or somethin'?"

"No, god no," he laughed, "we just play for fun.  Not many sandy beaches to play at in London."

"Oh, you're visiting from London?  What part?"

"Southeast," he replied.

You nodded.  "Oh…"

There wasn't much you could say to that because you didn't know anything about London; he chuckled, apparently realising just that.  "I guess you're from around here?"

"Sort of— an hour down the way but, yes, I'm from Cornwall," you agreed.

“You’ve got an interesting accent,” he noticed with a smirk.  “It’s cute, actually.”

“Oh, y’think?” you smiled shyly.  “Always heard growing up that a Cornish accent made me sound like a dumb farmer or somethin’.”

“It works on you, though,” he decided.

"Oi!  Come back and serve!" one of the boys by the net called, and your new friend turned his head around.

"Go on without me," he told them, tossing the ball over.  "I'm talking to, er…"

He looked back at you, and you stammered out your name; he repeated it back to you with a smile.

"I'm Devon," he told you.

"Well, hi, Devon," you smiled.

Aaaaand, just in time, you heard Tom’s voice calling after you: “Birdie!” he shouted from down the beach, and you turned and sighed as you waved back.  

In a moment, Tom was beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.

"Where'd you run off to, my lover?" Tommy asked with a tilted smile, but he didn't give you a chance to answer before he looked over at the other young man and back at you.  "Who's the emmet?"

"My name's Devon, not Emmett," the Londoner corrected, and you hoped your polite laugh would break the tension.

"No, Devon, 'emmet' is Cornish," you explained.  "It's what we call tourists."

Except, ‘incomer’ is what you call tourists.  Emmet is what you call annoying tourists.  And you knew Tom was annoyed by him because he was hitting on you.

"This your girl, then?" Devon asked Tom… a little straightforward, but that's just how Londoners are, maybe?

"What's it to you?" Tom wondered.

"Er—" you interjected immediately, "no, actually, Tom's just a friend," you coughed, knowing that even though it was a way to greet a good friend around here, Tom surely intended for it to be misinterpreted.

"Bloody hell.  Can't tell what you people are saying," Devon grumbled, and you spoke up before Tom surely asked what 'you people' was supposed to mean.

"Anyways, point is— Tom and I are good friends, known each other since we were kids," you continued.

"Really?" Devon pressed.

“Yep," Tom replied with a beaming smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, "she’s been me best mate since we were wee babes,” he beamed.  

“A bird’s your best mate?” Devon scoffed.  “Sure you’re not bent?”

“I’m bent?  You’re the one spendin’ all your time with a bunch of blokes with no shirts on, mate,” Tom defended.

Devon stepped forward and you had to jut yourself in between them to keep it from getting too heated.  “Okay, lads, let’s settle down, then—”

“Be careful,” Tom warned Devon, and you jabbed him with your elbow as punishment.

“I said to stop it, alright?” you hissed at Tom.  “Doesn’t matter, Tommy.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Devon snickered, and you literally had to lean all your weight onto Tommy to keep him from trying to dive right over you to pummell the bellend.

"Let's go," you informed Tommy as you scoffed at Devon.  Wrapping a hand around Tom's waist, you guided him to walk with you back down the beach, away from the possibility of a fight.

Tommy could find a fight anywhere— even on the beach on holiday.  It was a real talent of his.

"You're horrible!" you whined as you punched Tom on his side.

"What did I do now?" he groaned.

"You scared that boy off, he was cute and he was flirting with me."

"Exactly!" Tommy emphasised, and you rolled your eyes.  "He turned out to be a wanker, anyhow, you heard him making fun of our accent, didn't you?"

"I think he was just making fun of your accent," you frowned.

"We've got the same one," Tom noticed.

"Well— just stop doing that!  You always do that."

"Sorry, birdie,” he shrugged, not seeming especially sorry.

You sighed and decided to let it go, because it wasn’t worth the argument.  “What’s next, then?  Think I’ve had enough of the beach.”

“Pub?” he suggested, and you laughed.

“Hardly late enough for that, don’t you think?” you snorted.

“Okay, dinner first, then pub,” he offered instead.

“That’s better.”

~

There were a few pubs along your walk back from dinner, but only one that had the rugby match on; so, of course, that was the one Tom picked.  It was almost entirely empty when you came inside, and since the match had gone to commercial break, Tom decided now was the best time to run to the loo.

“Order me something?” he requested.  “Whatever you’re getting.”

You nodded and he dashed off down a hallway.  Sitting at the bar, currently unattended with no other patrons but yourself, you looked up at the telly on the wall and caught a couple seconds of a car commercial.

“Can I get you anything?” 

The voice made you turn your head away from the telly, and you were surprised to find a boy your age on the other side of the bar.

“Oh, erm,” you choked, “just something on tap?  M’not picky.”

“There’s a stout we brew right here in the neighbourhood,” he suggested, “you might like it.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, “and one for my friend.”

“Great,” he smiled, bending down below the bar and reappearing with two pint glasses in hand.  You watched him as he tilted the glasses and filled them from the tape, admiring his tan skin and longer hair— he had that surfer look about him, in a Cornwall sort of way.

“Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?” you noticed.

He laughed, revealing some dimples in the process.  “And you’re one to talk?” he shot back.

“I’m old enough to be served, aren’t I?” you challenged.

“Well actually, I was gonna ask for your ID,” he admitted, “but, you’re cute, so I decided to let it slide.”

You looked down as he set your drink on the bar for you.  “Thanks,” you hummed.  You tried it, giving him a nod of approval when the taste hit your tongue— it was pretty mild, and sort of grapefruit-y somehow.

“In town for holiday?” he assumed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and he clicked his tongue.

“Too bad,” he shook his head.  “When are you going back home?”

“Thursday.”

“And where’s home?” he asked.  “You sound local.”

“Yeah, I am,” you agreed, “about an hour north.”

“Liskeard?” he guessed, and you shook your head.  “Launceston?”

“Closer,” you smiled.

“Bradworthy?”

“Oh, too far…”

“Holsworthy,” he grinned.

“Got it,” you nodded.

“Seems like it’d be easier to just drive up to Westward Ho! wouldn’t it?” he tilted his head.

“I try not to go anywhere that has an exclamation mark in the name,” you explained, and he chuckled a little.  

“I guess that’s fair,” he shrugged, “and it’s a good thing you came here anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I get to look at you,” he cooed.

You took a sip of the beer to hide your warming face.  When you brought the glass back down, he laughed at you softly.

“Got some foam on your nose, my bird,” he warned you, reaching forward to wipe it off with his thumb.

“Oh, th-thanks,” you stammered, watching him put his thumb to his mouth and suck that bit of foam off while he kept looking at you.  What a flirt!  Do it again.

Tom came back from the washroom and sat on the stool next to yours, thanking you for ordering his beer for him before he took a large drink of it.

"O-oh," the bartender choked, and you knew that look— the ‘shit, you've got a boyfriend’ look.  

You sighed.  "Hey, um— this is my friend, Tom," you explained.

"Wasson?" Tom greeted him, nodding his head quickly in acknowledgement.

"Not much, mate," he replied, "Cade.”

“Tom,” he answered back as if he didn’t already know that, not going so far as to shake hands since Tom was holding his glass and Cade was holding a rag to wipe down the bar.

“She was just telling me you're only here for a spell,” Cade recalled, “which is a proper shame.”  

You smiled shyly.  “Oh, yeah, well, I wish our holiday could be longer, too.”

“Always the prettiest maids just here on holiday,” Cade nodded, looking at Tom.  “You know how it is, don’t you?  You’re from a holiday town, too, I heard.”

Not quite as popular as your current location, but yes, vacationers would occasionally appear in town.  You’d never noticed this ‘girls visiting from up-country are prettier’ principle, but your eyes turned to Tom expectantly.  “Uh, yeah,” Tommy nodded.  “Yeah, I know how it is.  And half of them have boyfriends back home.”

It made your heart sink a bit— what you would give to have one of those.  Or to have Tommy say no, the prettiest bird’s right here with me now.  Or both.

“But that doesn’t stop all of them,” he added with a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re awful, Tommy,” you shoved him lightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his bottom lip.

Cade gestured at Tom’s rugby union shirt— “You play?” he asked.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Tom nodded, “you?”

“I just watch,” he shrugged, pointing at the telly in the corner.  “Cooped up in this pub all the time, anyway.”

“That’s no excuse,” Tom chided, “gotta get out there and get roughed up!”

“That’s what surfing’s for,” Cade smirked.

“Okay, now I’m definitely not going,” you shook your head.  “I don’t wanna get roughed up by the ocean!”

“I said I would teach her,” Tom informed Cade, “now look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry,” Cade laughed, “you’ll be fine, and you’ve come at just the right time of year for it.”

“That’s what I said!” Tom agreed.

Oh god, were they actually getting on alright?  Would Tom give his approval, finally?  

You sipped your stout and let them go on about rugby and football teams for a while, letting yourself get your hopes up that Tom would actually like a guy who liked you— and sure, he was a barkeep in your holiday spot, not exactly the foundation for a serious relationship, but it would be nice to have a little fling without worrying that Tom would end up beating him up.

Tom was the one who made fun of you sometimes for being a virgin, anyway.  He never meant it— actually, when he occasionally took the time to be serious, he assured you better than anyone else that it was perfectly normal and fine to still be one.  But still, you weren’t exactly trying to hang onto it much longer.  Tom told you to wait for the right person; but you’d been waiting for him for way too long.

Watching the match together, you and Tom put down a few pints and laughed at some stupid old inside jokes— Cade tended to stick around, chatting with you both, when there weren’t other customers to serve.  You caught him glancing at you a few times, and you liked how you felt when he looked at you like that— desirable, maybe even grown up.  You and Tom had been friends since you were little, after all, and since he treated you the exact same way he always had, sometimes you still felt little around him.  But you weren’t.  It was good to remember that.

The match ended— Cornwall won, thank god, or you’d be babying Tom all night after he drowned his sorrows in something stronger than the local stout.  He still drank a little too much to celebrate, but less too much.

Enough that he had to go to the loo again, though, at which point Cade was suddenly right by you again.  “Your friend’s funny,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “he’s not always that loud, but, yeah, he’s never been very subtle.”

“And he’s just a friend?” 

You rolled your eyes.  “Yes,” you insisted, and you focused your tone on your annoyance and not your disappointment.

“Just checking!” Cade returned defensively.  “How long have you known him?” 

“My whole life,” you sighed.  “Can’t remember a time without him.  He’s just… always been there.”

Cade nodded.  “That’s nice, wish I had a friend like that.  People come and go a lot in a place like this.”

“I bet,” you offered sympathetically.  “And your girlfriend?  Does she come and go, or stick around?”

“What?  I don’t have a girlfriend,” he frowned.

“Just checking,” you winked.

“Why, you think I should get one?” he raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged.  “If you can find one…”

His eyes dragged over you, his smile fading slightly; you pretended not to be totally overwhelmed by it all.

“Cade!” a voice shouted from the back, and an older woman poked her head out of the kitchen as Cade turned his head.  “Come back here an’ clean up!”

“I will, mum!” he called back, before returning his attention to you.  “Listen, I’d better get back to work— but you could come by tomorrow?  If you wanted.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think I’ll find the time.”

“Tom can come too, of course,” he added, leaning closer to you on the bar, “but… I’d rather have some time alone with you, if that’s alright.”

Reaching up to scratch your shoulder, you bit your lip to hide a smile.  “Okay, yeah—” you set your hands back down on the bar when you saw the way he was looking at you, “yeah, I’d like that, too.  I’m sure Tommy can find some way to entertain himself for an hour.”

Cade’s hand landed on yours suddenly, giving it a quick squeeze while he winked at you.  And then he threw the rag over his shoulder and disappeared into the back.  You pursed your lips and exhaled through them; it had been a while since you had butterflies like that.  

Tom came back around the corner, leaning beside you on the wooden bar, and you giggled when you saw how red his nose had gotten from the booze.  “Tommy, you look like you’ve stuck your face in blusher,” you noticed.

“Aw, really?” he scrunched up his nose, wiping it with his hand.

“You can’t wipe it off!” you laughed harder.  “Cade’s gone to the back to work— wanna go on a walk, take a geek at the rest of the neighbourhood?”

“Sure,” he agreed, letting you take his hand and pull him along with you out the door and around the pavement.  You walked in silence for a few moments, glancing at him once, before you just had to bring it up.

“So, Cade was nice…” you trailed off.  You looked at Tom expectantly, wearing a hopeful smile, but you hadn't even said anything yet before he expressed his dissent.

“No, no way,” he shook his head, ignoring your protests, “not good enough for you.”

“What?  Tommy, what’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tom repeated.  “Birdie, what’s right with him?”

“I thought you liked him!” you whined.  “He was so nice to you, and you talked rugby for ages!”

“Was looking at you funny,” he shuddered.

“Well, I’d hope so,” you rolled your eyes, “doesn’t that mean he’s interested?”

“That’s what you want, creepy guys drooling all over you?” Tom snorted.  “Come on, let’s go— I don’t want you seeing that sod again.”

You groaned, but let him drape his arm over your shoulders and guide you away.  “You shouldn’t be so protective, Tom… this is why everyone thinks you’re either my brother or my boyfriend.”

“If it keeps the boys away from you, I don’t care what they think,” he decided.  You rolled your eyes as he pulled your head down with his arm, enough that he could plant a kiss on top of your head.  “There, now they’ll think I’m your boyfriend, how about that?”

“You kiss me all the time,” you laughed.

“Eh?”

“On the head,” you clarified.  “You give me kisses on the head, doesn’t make you my boyfriend.”

“Guess not,” he agreed.  

Halfway along your walk, you passed a park which Tom decided would be the perfect place to share a cigarette— actually, he was just going to smoke it himself, but you made him share.

“Remember your sixth birthday party?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, after a drag.  “You tripped and sprained your ankle running in the backyard that day, but you stopped crying when we gave you your presents.”

You laughed at the memory.  “God, I barely remember— but yeah.”

He handed the cigarette to you and you rested it between your lips.  “Do you remember what I got you?” he continued.

“A Barbie,” you recalled, “wasn’t it?  She was some little princess or something, can’t remember now.”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “Well, I want you to know that before I gave her to you, I took her out of the box and took her clothes off.”

“What?!” you snorted, making a cloud of smoke 

“I had to know!” he laughed.  “I put them back on and put her back in the box and everything first before I gave her to you.”

“Yeah, I think I would remember getting a naked Barbie, Tom,” you scoffed, and he carefully plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took it back.

“Right, well—” he stopped to inhale, and then let it out as he continued— “she had plastic panties on anyway.  Wasn’t worth it,” he shook his head.

You dropped your forehead into your palm.  “The fuck are you talking about?” you giggled. 

“Just that time of night where you feel like confessing things, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” you pressed.  “Any other childhood toys of mine that you violated?”

“Took a geek up the skirt of a Cabbage Patch Kid or two,” he added, “but that’s about it.”

“Well, we all did that,” you rolled your eyes, and he grinned at you.

“Oh, I knew it,” he purred, “I think you were just as much of a pervert as I was.”

“Yeah?  But you’re still a pervert,” you accused.

“Maybe,” he relented, “but at least I’m not a prude.”

You looked away quickly.  “M’not a prude, Tommy…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, handing you the last quarter of the cigarette, “you’re just picky.  And you should be.”

He suddenly laid his head down on your lap, making you tense up a little bit and wonder where you were supposed to put your hands.

“Nobody deserves you anyway,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he adjusted himself to get comfortable on the bench.

“Well, that doesn’t really solve my problem, does it?” you said, speaking a little quieter.

“What’s the problem?” he wondered sleepily.

You sighed, holding the cigarette in your mouth as you reached down and carded your fingers through his hair.  He hummed and smiled a little.  “Nothing,” you dismissed, and he started to breathe slower and slower.  

You finished the cigarette over the course of the next however-long-it-had-been, absent-mindedly touching his head and playing with his hair, and only noticed that Tom had dozed off when you felt a wet patch under his mouth on your legs.

“Eww, Tommy!” you whined, shoving him off of you as he tried to wake up.  “When I said I wanted guys to drool over me, this is not what I meant.”

“Sorry, love,” he laughed, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Think that’s our cue to go back to the room and go to bed, eh?”

~

He didn’t say anything before he got in the shower, so you didn’t know what to expect when he got out: was he going to suddenly realise there was only one bed?  Had he already and just didn’t care?  Were you supposed to protest, or act like it was no big deal, or what?

When he emerged from the steamy bathroom in his pyjamas— aka, just his fuzzy plaid trousers, the ever-present friendship bracelet, and the chain on his neck— he found you standing in the middle of the room, staring at the singular bed, and gave you a confused look.

“I guess you saw when you brought our bags up,” you mumbled nervously.  

“Eh?”

“The bed.”  You motioned towards it, and he wrinkled his eyebrows together.

“What about it?” he shrugged.

“There’s only one of it!”

“Oh,” he nodded, “yeah, guess so.”

“So, we’ll have to share,” you helped him reach the obvious conclusion.

“Oh,” he said again, “you think it’ll be weird?”

“I mean, I figure,” you shrugged.

“I’ll take the couch,” he insisted.

“No, Tommy, let me,” you pleaded.

“You jokin’?  I’m supposed to let a maid sleep on the couch?”

“Didn’t realise you were such a gentleman,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

“Aren’t I?” he smirked.

You felt bad about it, but he was already putting a spare sheet down on the sofa while you were getting through your nighttime routine.  Leaning out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, you caught a glimpse of him laying there on the couch with one arm up behind his head and the other holding the book he’d been reading as of late— one of those fantasy novels that were much too violent for you.  He looked past the top of it to smile at you, and you popped back in to wrap up.

You were just wearing a baggy old t-shirt that was just long enough on you to cover your red panties, which you felt mostly not-weird about wearing around Tom, though walking past him to get to bed made you shiver a little bit.

“G’night,” he offered.

“You too,” you replied quietly, and he reached up above his head to switch off the lamp.

Sure, it was you who had worried about the whole bed-sharing thing in the first place, but that was only because you were pre-emptively worrying that he would worry about it.  It was sort of a lose-lose: if he was against it, then you’d feel dejected, but if he was fine with it, it was another way for him to rub it in that you could hold him but never have him.

Still, now that you were alone in this big old bed, you couldn’t help but think that at least it was nice you could hold him… but he was all the way over there.

You chewed your lip, trying to stay quiet.  You made it about thirty seconds.  “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Think you’ll fall asleep alright on that?” you wondered.

“Should be asleep in a couple minutes, once you’re quiet,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.  You made it a whole minute before you spoke again.  “Tommyyyyy,” you whined.

“What!” he snapped.

“I can’t sleep, I feel too bad!” you pouted.  “Just get in the bed?  We fall asleep together all the time!  What’s the difference?”

“Difference is it’s all night,” he explained, “haven’t done that since we were eight— and you kicked me in your sleep!”

“Are you seriously going to sleep on that musty old sofa, and leave me alone here in the king bed, just because you’re still mad at me for kicking you?”

“Not just that,” he mumbled, “you snore, too.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, “just come over, won’t you?  I’m cold anyways…”

He paused as he considered it.  “There’s room for me?”

“Tons,” you promised.

You heard him throw the blanket off of himself, and you smiled instantly.  In a moment, he was diving into the bed, and you laughed as the mattress creaked; he laid next to you on his back, and you reached an arm around his torso while setting your head on his shoulder.

He smelled so good after his shower, clean and woodsy from his deodorant, and his curls held their shape despite being wet still.

“Should’ve known you’d be like a barnacle soon as I got in here,” he chuckled.

“I said I was cold,” you reminded him, hugging his waist tighter.

“Night, birdie,” he whispered after he kissed the top of your head.  With him holding you, you were asleep in an instant.

It was one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly, like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes.  You would’ve thought it was still the middle of the night when you woke up, if it weren’t for the sun coming in through the open window.

Specifically, you woke up because of a long sigh right by your ear, making you blink your eyes open quickly and start to stretch your legs out under the sheet and blanket.  You were on your side, and Tommy was pressed right up on your back, his arm draped around your torso.

He sighed again, and you felt him shift around against you.  Most importantly, you felt something hard and hot on your lower back.   Eyes going wide, you jolted as you felt him rock his hips against you again.

"Tommy," you whispered, hoping to wake him up.

"Mm," he hummed, smiling against your neck, and you shuddered.

"Tommy!" you hissed, and he snorted as he woke up suddenly.

He pulled back and all but jumped away from you.  “Shit, I—” he mumbled, sitting up as the bed creaked; god, his face was so red, he looked adorably flustered and a bit terrified.  “I’m sorry, birdie, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” you insisted, sitting up with him, “it’s not a big deal.”

“What’d you say?  It’s not big?” he choked.

“No!  Tommy, it’s—” you stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say then.  “I know that happens to guys in the mornings…”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously, “happens when we’re in bed with pretty girls, too…”

Before you could wonder if there was something to read into there, he spoke again.

“I’m fucked,” he groaned, running his hand down over his face, “what’s the time?”

“Ten ‘til 9,” you informed him following a glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“We’ve got that breakfast soon, we’re supposed to meet downstairs in five minutes,” he recalled.  “And I can’t get dressed ‘til he’s gone away.”

“How do you normally get rid of it?” you wondered, watching him look at you for a second before looking away again.

“Well…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.

“Well?” you pressed.

“Y-y’know,” he stammered, “it’s— er— fuckin’ hell, birdie, can’t say it with you lookin’ at me like that…”

“C’mon, Tommy, I know you wank off,” you rolled your eyes, “you and every other bloke on the planet.”

“But I can’t do it with you here!” he yelped, and a pang of self-consciousness hit your chest.  Were you that horrible of a sight that he wouldn’t be able to finish with you nearby?

“I-I’ll leave then, give you some space,” you offered.

“Birdie, I’ll know you’re just outside the door, that’s not gonna help,” he frowned.

“Well shit, Tommy, where’dya want me to go?  Fuckin’ Launceston?”

“No, shit, that’s not what I meant,” he groaned, reaching up and covering his face as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.  “You’ve just got me all messed up— s’not your fault, I mean!  I just don’t know what m’gonna do now…”

You bit your lip, glancing over at the flowery wallpaper on the opposite side of the room, then to the window and its view out over the beach.  “I mean, maybe… maybe if it would help, I could…”

“Jesus, birdie, don’t say you’re gonna wank me off or somethin’,” he pleaded with a concerned tilt of his head, and you stammered as you tried to remember what you were going to say.

“No, I— I was gonna say you could…” you began again, “er— I mean, before, while you were asleep, you were… it was…”

“What?” he pressed, leaning a little closer to you, and you chickened out.

“Nevermind, sorry,” you shook your head, “you should just get dressed— nobody’ll notice it.”

That was a lie: if it looked as big as it felt, a family of four could go camping under the tent in his shorts at this point.  “No, c’mon,” he pleaded, scooting a little closer to you, “won’t make fun of you or nothin’, just wanna know what you were gonna say.  You know I can’t run down to breakfast with my willy tryin’ to jump out, yeah?  Like, ‘hey mum an’ dads, pass me the eggs, then— don’t mind my fuckin’ blood sausage under the table—’”

You laughed, pushing him on the chest— but he just moved closer, again, looking right at your face.  You felt oddly exposed to him, even though he should’ve been the one feeling like that considering the circumstances.  “Fine,” you relented, “I was just… thought maybe you could— well, it could help you if you, um… just… pressed up against me, again?  Like you were before?  And you could, er…”

Dropping your voice to a mumble just above a whisper, you watched your hands clutch the spotted quilt in lieu of meeting his invasive stare.

“You could… grind on me, a bit,” you finally completed, so quiet that you barely heard yourself.  But he was a few inches away— he must’ve heard you.  Literally, he must have, because you couldn’t say it again.

“Eh?” he grunted, and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, Tommy, you’re not deaf, are you?”

“No, m’just… you wan’ me to rub me stiffy on you?” he realised, tilting his chin down and raising an eyebrow.  Leave it to Tommy to throw all the subtlety to the wind and just say it outright like that, ignorant to the way it made your cheeks burn and your throat catch.

“I-I mean, I don’t want you to,” you denied quickly, “I just thought it might go away if you did.  Means to an end, right?”

“Yeah, means to an end,” he agreed, clearing his throat.  “Just feel a little weird about it, birdie, I mean… it’s you.  You know I love ya— don’t wanna be rude to you or, er, disrespectful—”

“It’s not,” you promised, “I’m offering— and it’ll be quick, right?”

“Er, yeah,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, “should be…”

“Okay, then, should we?” you asked, sheepishly raising your eyebrows as you looked at him.

“I mean, fuck, birdie,” he laughed nervously, “I think you know we shouldn’t.”

But you both already knew that you were going to, and the thrill of something so forbidden titillated you further.

“Lay down then, yeah?” he instructed you softly, and you turned back onto your side as you felt him press up to your back.  His arm slipped around your front, the one with your bracelet on his wrist, and you could feel him breathing by the back of your neck as he brushed your hair out of the way.  “This alright?” 

You nodded, and he held you a little tighter; you felt it then, brushing up against your lower back.  You were getting sweaty from how warm it was with him pressed up on you under the thick covers, yet you still shivered.

He hummed quietly, his hand moving down your hips so he could hold you steady.  And he rocked into you again, more confidently, a shaky breath falling from his lips.  

When his forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, you felt your back arch slightly; and then you could feel the ridge under the head of his cock, you could feel it when he moved in one, long stroke and you bit your lip, arching your back deeper.

“Shit,” he grunted quietly, and he started to move a little faster right after he said that.

After just a minute or less of that, you were beyond desperate to have him inside you, you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like— about how he would stretch you open, how he would moan for you as he filled you to the brim.  If he wanted to, right now, he could just lift up your shirt a bit and pull your panties down without saying anything, slip inside you in one go; you were soaking wet, he’d slide in so easily…

“Fuck, birdie,” he breathed, “roll over.”

His verbal command was a bit moot, since his hand was already on your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your back.  He hovered above you for a moment, and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered; you’d only been waiting years for him to say that to you.  You did it unquestioningly, and he slotted himself between them with a low groan.  When he pressed his cock up against your aching cunt— through so many frustrating layers of pyjamas— he shut his eyes and tossed his head back for a second.  It was so perfect, his face in bliss like that, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains and making his curls shine golden-blonde.  He looked fucking beautiful.

A little gasp jumped in your mouth as he started to thrust against you again, each stroke of his hips rubbing right over your clit and making his chain dangle over your face.  You almost felt guilty, for a second, with the little engraving of Saint Thomas right there, like he was watching you do this.  “Sh-shit, Tommy…” you hissed, catching yourself before you moaned aloud when he rocked his hip harder against you and your whole pussy clenched.  If only he could feel that now— if only he could feel around his cock how desperately you needed him.

He descended down upon you, burying his face in your neck.  His hair tickled your cheek, and you fisted at the sheets to stop yourself from reaching up and holding onto him— that would be too much, too needy, right?  It was just supposed to be a means to an end, after all.  “Can I kiss you here?” he asked under his breath.

“Er, why would you do that?” you wondered.

“Just— thought it might make it go faster,” he justified.

“Y-yeah, Tommy, s’fine,” you nodded.  Do whatever you want to me.

He latched on right away, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth all over your neck; everything in you fought to keep your moans down, because you didn’t want him to know how much you loved this, how close you were to coming without even doing anything… without even taking your clothes off!

“Are you close?” you asked him softly, feeling him nod.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and his heavy breathing cooled your skin where it was still wet with his spit.  “Just a little longer?”

“You’re not gonna give me a hickey, are you?” you whispered.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied.  

“Just— make it quick, Tommy, we’ve gotta be downstairs soon,” you reminded him.

“Right, yeah, m’gonna come,” he promised, sending another chill over your body.  One of his hands moved down, holding your thigh as he thrusted faster and faster— fuck, the headboard was about to hit the wall.  Just as you looked up to see it slam once, you saw his free hand reach up and grab onto it tightly, blocking the impact with his knuckles.

“Tommy,” you breathed, an involuntary reaction to how deliberately sexy that was.

“Say it again,” he requested quietly.

“Tommy,” you repeated, and he grunted right against your ear— he didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed down quite a bit as he rutted on you.  

“Fuck,” he sighed, panting.  You swallowed, feeling wonderfully strange knowing that must be it, that he just came— because of you.  His weight sank down onto you, making you let out a little squeal from the air rushing out of your lungs, and he laughed quietly.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up and hovering above you again, “didn’t mean to crush you…”

“S’all fine, Tom,” you promised, closing your legs as soon as you had the chance— before he could see that you’d soaked through your panties.

“Oh, ‘Tom’, eh?  Gettin’ formal, are we?” he grinned.  “Now that you’ve got me to bust in me trousers, we’re not so friendly anymore?”

“Shut up,” you laughed as you pushed him aside, swinging your legs off the bed so you could get up.  “Gonna use the loo and then I’ll get dressed.”

“What?!” he croaked.  “You kidding?  Of course I get to use the loo first!”

“Not if I get there before you,” you challenged, jumping up and trying to race him across the hotel room.  He beat you, but only by playing dirty— he ran up behind you and grabbed you, spinning you around as you kicked and laughed and squirmed in his grasp.

two weeks later

Moonshine on the bay had become a tradition on nights like this, when the warmth of summer was creeping around the corner, ever since you were both fifteen and in desperate need of some rebellion.  Now, without the illegality and all, it had lost some of that titillating appeal, but you still loved going out so late and meeting him at your secret spot.  It had the perfect view of the water at night, not that it was a particularly scenic section of the sea since it was mostly cargo ships and docks and all that, but under the flickering old street lamp and the tall field elms, it was almost romantic.

Tommy was currently still standing while you leaned back on your hands, brandishing the liquor he’d secured for the evening.  “For you,” he offered you the opened bottle with a smile, and you took it, but waited for him to take a sip of his first.  He did, and you saw his lips curling as he drank.

“How is it?” you asked, and he stopped drinking to cough a bit.

“It’s hangin’!” he grimaced.  “But it’ll do the job.”

You took a sip while he sat down next to you, and made a face of your own.  “Ah fuck!  That’s terrible!  Where the fuck’d you get this?”

But you knew what he meant when he said it would do the job— one sip was already warming your chest, and the next, though just as disgusting as the last, made you feel tingly at the tips of your fingers.

With your bottles halfway finished, you two sat up in the grass and watched the lights of ships go by slowly in the night.  “Had a date last night,” you blurted out suddenly, just to make conversation.

“Really?  With who?”

“You remember Jack Meyer?”

“God, I wish I didn’t,” he sneered, “what a knob.”

“Could you stop insulting all the guys I go out with?” you frowned.

“Stop going out with knobs and I will,” he bargained.

“Anyways, he was nice,” you announced firmly.  “Took me to the cinema and bought me a popcorn.”

“What size?” he asked.

“Medium.”

“Cheap bastard,” Tom grumbled.

“Shut up!  I’m trying to tell you that it was a nice date!” you yelped, pushing him on the shoulder.  “We actually, um… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“What?” he wondered.

“I mean, I tell you everything— you tell me everything.  You told me when Sharon Caldwell let you feel her tits in eighth grade, and you told me when you lost it to Annie— what was her name again?”

“Annie Shaw,” he finished for you.

“Right… so, point is, I figured I should tell you what happened with me and Jack, right?” you wondered.  When you found the courage to look over at Tommy, his expression was… intense.  Almost angry, a little terrified.

“Don’t tell me you gave it up to him,” he pleaded, leaning in a little closer.

“God no!  I just wanked him a bit.”

"You did what to 'im?!" Tommy yelped.

"W-well, I dunno!" you backpedalled quickly. 

“Aw, birdie, you can do so much better than him,” he groaned.

“Okay, maybe so, but he’s the one I wanted to go out with.  And he was nice and he made me feel— I dunno, pretty?” you mumbled, afraid to sound too girlish.

“Come on, you can’t go rubbing off any guy who calls you pretty,” Tom scolded.

“This isn’t just any guy!”

“Yeah, it’s Jack Meyer.  In fourth year he swallowed a penny and it never came out!”

“Believe it or not, Tommy, it's not fourth year anymore,” you frowned.  “Things are different.  We’re older.  I’m not a little kid— and I’m tired of being treated like one!”

He sighed slowly, taking another swig of the booze.  “I guess that’s fair,” he relented.  “Still… can’t stand thinking about you doing that to some guy.”

"Why?"

He seemed confused by your question, and gave you a look.

"Why can't you stand thinking about it?" you interrogated.

"I… I don't know…"  He coughed a bit, clearly wanting to change the subject, but you kept staring at him as you waited for an answer.  “I guess it’s just that,” he began again, “I worry because it’s Jack, you know?  He’s a little aggressive with girls— or, he was back when I knew him.  He didn’t… pressure you into it, right?”

You thought back to the night before, and how it all happened.  “Erm, no,” you decided, “not really.”

“Not really?  What’s that mean?”

“Well, he didn’t make me do it,” you explained, “but he was… showing me how, ‘cause I didn’t know.”

“Sh-showing you?” Tom repeated.

“He, erm, he took my hand,” you remembered, feeling your heart start to race as you looked at Tom closely.  “And he put it… he put it right here.”

It was the liquor that made you do it; you pressed your hand up to the front of his trousers, feeling him getting firmer under your touch already.  He jumped a little but didn’t stop you.

"He told me to take it out for him…" you continued, voice wavering as your whole body was suddenly shivering from nervousness, and started to open his trousers yourself.

“Birdie,” Tom gasped, and you looked up to his face again.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked him point blank.  He didn’t say anything.  “Can I keep going?”

His mouth was open slightly, and he was breathing heavily through it; he nodded.  You unzipped his fly and reached in, navigating the opening of his boxers to get his cock out.  

Of course, you’d felt it before, but you’d never seen it.  It was as beautiful as a cock could be, you thought: tanner than the rest of him for some reason, flushed at the tip, still just starting to poke out from his foreskin with a teal vein running up under your palm.  Biting your lip, you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around it.  “H-he told me to stroke it, like this,” you stammered, moving your hand gently and slowly from the base to the tip and back— then again, and again.

Daring to glance up at Tom’s face again, you saw him watching your hand with a dumbstruck expression.  You twisted your hand slightly as you reached the tip and he groaned.  "Birdie…" he sighed— his voice wore some impossible mixture of arousal, confusion, scolding, disappointment, and desperation.  It made your knees weak.  Good thing you were still kneeling on the ground, so it didn’t make much difference.  You were so sloshed that standing up would’ve been a bit of an effort, anyway.

“When I was doing it right,” you continued, “he’d tell me I was bein’ good for him… it made me feel weird when he said that, but good.  You know?”

“Y-yeah…” he choked, hissing through his teeth.  

It went on that way for a little while, just his panting and the crickets chirping; though there was clear fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, you thought it might not be enough, so you pursed your lips and let your spit dribble down onto him so you could spread it out with your hand.

“Christ,” he groaned, “Jack taught you that, too?”

You nodded, and he growled a little— the sound made your chest tighten up (as well as a few other places).  His cock was starting to bob against your grip, and his breathing was faster and heavier with each stroke.  "You're close?" you noticed, and he nodded, chest heaving as he stared down at what you were doing to him.  "You can come, Tom.  I want you to."

"Shit," he hissed.  "Shit, jus' don't stop then."

And you didn't, in fact you moved your hand even faster, until it was just a blur and he was bucking up into your palm desperately.

"Ah, fuck!" he gasped, and come started to spurt from his pulsing cock, landing on his shirt and your hand.  "Fuck…"

You watched his face as it tilted back, his eyebrows knitted together, his mouth parted in a little moan.  Your hand was still moving, and his jumped up to grab your wrist and stop you.  Then it was still, and silent, except for him breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

After a moment, he tilted his head down again and came back to reality; he instantly looked mortified.  "God, birdie," he choked, "I made a mess on you— m'so sorry, let me get it…"

He tried to wipe the come away with his shirt, frantically cleaning your hand up as best he could.  "It's fine, Tommy," you giggled.

"No it isn't, I've got your pretty hand all dirty now…"

Examining his focused expression as he wiped up the smears of come, you bit your lip slightly.  You did feel guilty for making up that whole story about a date with Jack Meyer that never did— and never would— happen, but it worked.  You’d never lied to Tommy like that before, but you decided to blame it on the liquor and not your desperation.  

In the two weeks since your holiday, nothing untoward whatsoever had happened between you and it was driving you crazy.  You didn’t even talk about it!  You, of course, thought about it every day— well, really every night, when you touched yourself and tried to remember exactly how his voice sounded in your ear.  That was what drove you to this, to getting drunk and making shit up for a chance to touch him.

"Kiss me," you said suddenly.  He looked up at your face, and you just stared at each other for a second.  

His hand dropped yours— it was clean now, or clean enough at least— and moved up to hold your face.  You sighed slightly; his thumb stroked your cheek and he smiled at you.

He gently tilted your head down and met you halfway, pressing his lips to your forehead.  Your chest deflated and your eyes fell shut.  So this is what heartbreak feels like.  It's not as bad as I thought.

"That better?" he asked as he pulled back, moving his own face down so he could look up at you with a tender smile.  You nodded, willing yourself not to cry in front of him now.  

You were throwing yourself at him and he was throwing you away.  "We'll always be friends, won't we?" you asked quietly.

"Aw, birdie— of course," he cooed, pulling you into a hug.  You clutched at his shoulders, digging your nails into handfuls of his ratty old Nirvana t-shirt.

He rolled back onto the grass and pulled you down with him, making you laugh and try to get away— but he wouldn't let you go.

"We'll always be friends," he promised again, "'cause otherwise who'd keep all those awful boys away from you?"

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes.

"I will," he sighed, relaxing his grip on you slightly.  "I'm gonna ease up on you, I think.  Let you date somebody if you want— even if he's a tosser.  'Cause you're right, you're not a little kid anymore.  And it's not fair to you."

You swallowed, laying your head on his chest.  You'd never actually wanted him to let you date someone else… you just wanted him to finally love you back.  But maybe this was the best you were going to get.

~

“Go, Tommy!” you cheered from the side of the pitch, though he surely couldn’t hear you through all that.. rugby-ing.  Rugbing?

Whatever— point is, you clapped and hollered anyways as you watched him run all over the place, narrowly dodging being tackled a few times.  You winced when he got taken down from the side by one of the biggest guys out there.  Tommy had a high pain tolerance, but you’d rather not see him lose a tooth or something.  What a waste of a perfect smile that would be.

For all their efforts, Tommy’s team lost by just a few points; it was just a scrimmage, hence why there was basically no one else here but you and the actual team members, so you hoped he wouldn’t be pouty the rest of the day after losing.  He didn’t seem to be, from what you could tell this far away— he was shaking hands and bumping fists, sweaty and streaked with dirt and grass as he chugged from his water bottle.  It really should not have been as attractive as it was…

Before you got caught ogling, someone caught your attention: “Hey,” one of the players jogged up to you, and you blinked up at him blankly, not sure who he was.  You’d definitely seen him before, you remembered his dreads and… overall massiveness.  But you weren’t sure what he was talking to you for.  “You’re here with Tom, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you smiled.

“He said you’re an old mate of his,” the player went on.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Sweet of you to come cheer him on,” he laughed, “even though it didn’t seem to do him much good today.”

You shrugged.  “He loses a lot, but he always gets back up.”

“I’m Rhys, by the way,” he offered.  “I’d shake your hand or somethin’, but I’m pretty filthy at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed.  “Surprised you haven’t gone to the showers already, that’d be the first thing I’d be doing after getting that sweaty.”

“Well, I was gonna,” he explained, “but, well, I was afraid you’d be gone before I got back.”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, and he continued on.

“Listen, I asked Tom, but I figured I should ask you… er…” he stalled as he smiled nervously.  “Have you got a boyfriend or anythin’?”

“Er, no,” you answered.

“Issuh?” he laughed.

“Yes!” you insisted.  “You think I’m lying or something?”

“I think it’s a little too good to be true, that’s all,” he explained.  “Girl like you shouldn’t stay single too long.”

You kept waiting for Tommy to come ruin it— to come rescue you.  You glanced over, and you saw him look back at you, but he just smiled and kept working on the laces of his cleats.

“So, I guess I should ask for your number before it’s too late, yeah?” Rhys continued.  You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up at him and dropping your mouth open as you hoped for some words to come out.

“Oh!  Erm,” you began, “well—”

“It’s okay if not,” he promised, “but, you know… I’d like it.  So I can call you sometime or something— maybe I’ll have worked up the nerve to ask you out by then.”

Your cheeks were warm, but so were the backs of your eyes.  You never thought you would miss it, Tom running up and putting his arm around you, shooting whatever guy you were talking to a glare that made everyone feel uncomfortable; you glanced over at him again, watching him chat and laugh with some of the other guys.  He was just going to let this happen, wasn’t he?  And so were you.  “Yeah,” you finally blurted out, “sure— got your phone now?  I’ll put it in for you.”

“Great,” he smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.  “Wow, that went surprisingly well.”

“Are you that surprised?” you laughed as you added yourself as a contact.

“These things don’t normally go right for me,” he explained.

“For you?” you glanced up at him incredulously.

“Now, don’t give me an ego,” he chuckled, and you laughed with him.

You quickly held his phone up to take a selfie with your tongue sticking out, adding it as your contact photo.  “There you go,” you handed it back to him, and he looked at it with a wide smile on his face.

“Aw, that’s rich,” he said, and you bit your lip.  “I really should hit the showers now, but, I’ll call you?”

“Okay,” you smiled, “I’ll answer.  Probably.”

He waved at you as he left, looking down at your contact in his phone one more time with a shake of his head, before disappearing into the little tunnel through the stands.

You told Tom you would wait for him until he was all done, but god, he was taking forever getting cleaned up.  In fact, everyone else had left when he finally came out in his change of clothes and found you leaning against the cement wall outside the practice facility.  “Fuck took you so long?” you groaned as he appeared.

“You know how long it takes to wash off after a match like that?” he laughed.  “You wouldn’t have walked home with me in the state I was in.”

“Okay, fair enough,” you sighed, “can we go now?” 

“Well, um— actually, I have to get my bag from the locker room…”

“Oh my god,” you whined.

“Don’t get teazy, I just have to pack up all my gear,” he scolded.

“I’m coming with you,” you insisted, “and helping you carry it so we can get fuckin’ home already.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, starting back as you followed along with him.  “Lucky for you, it’s empty.”

“Aw,” you faked a pout, “no sexy rugby boys to look at?”

“Just me,” he smiled— and fuck, he was joking, but it scared you for a second.

There was a little awkward pause while he guided you around the bend into the locker area, left surprisingly clean after the boys were finished; it was only Tom’s locker open, with his things all strewn about, and you sighed.  “Look at the mess you made…” you breathed, starting to help him clean it up and get his things together.

“Rhys finally asked you out, then?” Tommy grinned, elbowing you lightly.

“O-oh, yeah,” you breathed, “erm, well— he just got my number, no date yet or anything.”

“Well, it’s a start.  I didn’t want to give him your number for you, but he asked me for it— actually, he’s asked about you a couple times now.”

“You think he’s good enough for me?” you asked.

“I mean, I dunno,” Tommy shrugged, “I don’t know him that well.  But he seems nice enough— figure you can decide the rest.”

You sighed, nodding a little.

“If he tries anything, though, you let me know and I’ll set him straight, alright?” he added, and you laughed.

“Alright, I will,” you agreed, kneeling down to get some of his clothes from off the floor and stuff them into the duffel.  “Not sure how you’re gonna do that when he’s got a metre on you and maybe twenty pounds of muscle—”

“Shut up,” Tom scoffed.  “You know I can take any guy down if it’s got to do with you.”

Your throat caught, and you stood up again.  "Tommy, listen, I actually— I wanted to… talk to you."

He cleared his throat, looking nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yeah?  You're all good, right?  Everythin's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nodded, leaning back against the lockers, "I just… I was thinking about you."

He stepped up closer to you, close enough that your heart started to race.  "Oh… what about me?"

"Well, about us," you clarified, "you and me— I want… erm…"

"Hm?"

"I just— you know how we sometimes…?"

He leaned his head in a little closer, waiting with raised eyebrows for you to get to your point.

"That thing we do, sometimes?" you started again.  "I wanna… do it again."

He nodded, like he understood, but then paused and moved his mouth over to the side.  "You wanna go to the cinema?"

You laughed, more out of frustration than amusement, and tilted your head forward to rest on his chest.  "God, Tommy…"

"What?" he laughed.

"I— I want—"  

You couldn't look up at him as you said it.  You took a deep breath and tried to compose your bravery.

"I want us to touch each other again," you finally rushed out.  You waited for him to say something, or do something, but he didn't.  “Like when we were on holiday,” you recalled, toying with the hem of his shirt.  “And that night on the bay…”

“God, birdie, I— I dunno if I can do that again,” he breathed, and you felt your eyes start to burn a bit.

“Really, Tommy?” you sighed.  “I’m that… repulsive?  Or is it Rhys?  ‘Cause all he’s done is get my number—”

“N-no,” he groaned, “shit, m’not makin’ any sense.  I can’t do that again with you because it’s too hard, okay?”

You looked up at him, knitting your eyebrows together.  “What’s too hard?”

“Touchin’ you like that,” he whispered— even now, the way he said made your spine tingle— glancing down from your eyes to your lips and back, “and havin’ to act normal again.  Not bein’ your boyfriend.”

Of everything you thought he might say then, you never expected that.  You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, even when you bit your bottom lip.  A laugh broke out through your grin, and you had to cover your mouth to try to hide it.

“Jesus, you’re laughin’ at me now!” he lamented.  “I finally tell you and you laugh at me!  You’re heartless, you know that?”

“No, Tommy, v’got a heart— and it’s all yours,” you promised, standing up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.  He gave you a confused look, and you laughed again.  “You don’t get it do you, still?  I’ve fancied you for ages— proper in love with you, really.  Kept askin’ you to do all that stuff ‘cause, well, you’re all I think about anyways.  Thought you were just doing me favours.”

After a pause, he finally laughed with you.  “Am I a fuckin’ idiot, then?  You’ve had it goin’ for me all this time and I didn’t notice?”

“You’re a little stupid,” you mitigated.  “I think I was being pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, and what about me?” he noticed.  “I’ve been all over you forever— kissin’ and huggin’ you, cuddling all the time— you didn’t notice that I think you’re fit?”

You shrugged.  "You've always been like that."

"Yeah!" he emphasised.

"Ohhhh," you nodded, "hm.  Okay, we're both a little stupid."

“Birdie,” he smiled, and your heart melted, because he’d never said it quite like that before.  He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“You can really kiss me, you know,” you told him, and he pulled away just enough to look at you with an impossible-to-read expression.  “I-if you want,” you mitigated suddenly, and he smiled at you, then laughed.

“Aw, fuck, Tommy,” you turned your head to the side, “you’re awful…”

He put his hand on the side of your face, gently turning you to look at him.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  And then he moved in closer and kissed you— properly, finally.  You shut your eyes, your chest emptying with a sigh; his other hand held your face then, too, and you reached up to hold his wrists.  Your right hand felt the worn-out old bracelet that he still wore, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit against him.  He smiled, too.

“Tommy,” you sighed, reaching out and grabbing him by his belt to pull him closer.  He pressed his forehead on yours, looking down at your hands working on the buckle shakily. 

“Birdie, c’mon,” he gasped, “not here—”

You pouted a little, and he laughed.

“We waited all this time and you can’t wait until we get home?”

“Yes!” you whined.  “I need you…”

“Shit,” he groaned, kissing you again— but just for a few very passionate seconds before he pulled back once more.  “We’ll go home and I’ll do this right, I swear.”

“Why can’t we just do it here?” you wondered.

“Because if you told me some guy had taken your virginity in a rugby practice field locker room, I would kill him,” Tom frowned.  

You laughed.  “Fine, fine… let’s go home.”

~ 

Thank god his parents weren’t home.  You didn’t want to try to be quiet.

He had you in his bed the second the door was shut, kissing you voraciously as he helped you undress and tore his own shirt and trousers off.  For a guy who was just preaching patience, he was pretty hasty all of a sudden.

When all you had on were your panties, he set his arms straight to hover over you and stare down at you, looking a little dumbstruck.  You almost felt self-conscious enough to try to cover your chest, but he smiled at you and you felt a little better.  “You’re so… fuck, birdie, you’re pretty.”

It was a simple compliment, but it felt incredibly powerful when he said it like that.  He was in his boxers, and it wasn’t too much more skin than you’d already seen while swimming with him and such, but it was different with his massive hard-on making a visible imprint in the patterned cotton.  

Gently, he spread your legs, and tightened his jaw at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear.  “Oh, fuck,” he sighed.

“I always get like that,” you admitted quietly.  “Should be easy for you to fuck me, right?”

“Yes, yeah,” he agreed, “but m’not gonna fuck you yet.”

You frowned a little, and he laughed as he kissed you again.

“I told you I’m doing this the right way,” he insisted, “it’s your first time.  It’ll hurt if I just go for it.”

He leaned back and sat up, bringing his hands down to the waistband of your panties and gently dragging them down your legs; you felt gooseflesh spread all over your body.

“Oh, darling,” he whispered as he opened your legs again, looking right at you now.  You squirmed a little, but his grip on your thighs was tight.  “I need you to tell me now if you’ve changed your mind about this… ‘cause I can already tell I’m gonna have a hard time stopping once I start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you were sure, you were so sure.  “I haven’t changed my mind,” you promised.

“I won’t get mad at you or anything,” he assured.

“I know— I’m sure,” you breathed.  Wondering if you should return the sentiment, you asked, "You're sure you wanna do this?  With me?"

"Birdie, I've wanted to do this with you since I knew what this was," he smiled.

"And you don't mind that I've never…"

"No, birdie, I don't mind," he laughed.  "Think it's perfect actually.  Couldn't let any other lad be your first.  Couldn't let any other lad touch you like this."

You bit your lip.  “You were gonna let me go out with Rhys,” you reminded him.

“I let you give him your number.  We hadn’t even gotten to you going out with him,” Tom corrected.  “And I was acting fine as best I could but I was really jumpin’, birdie, thinking about if something might happen with you two— something like this…”

You whined as you tugged on his shirt, hoping to hide your face in his neck, but he pulled his face back so he could look down at you with a smile.  "Tommy, please," you whimpered.  

"Please, what?" he encouraged.

"Jus' need you…"

He kissed your neck again, making your back arch and your hands grab onto his shoulders, and pressed his hips down against you.  You whined at the feeling of his erection through clothes, but opened your eyes in confusion when he pulled back again just a moment later, hovering over you.  "Say my name when I make you come, yeah?" he instructed, and you nodded.  "Try it on for size just once, why don'tya," he encouraged with a smile.

"Tommy," you smiled back, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

"That's m'girl," he praised, before crawling back down, kissing a trail over your stomach, moving his hand up your thigh.

He just kept his face right up close to you, watching his finger swipe through your folds, then watching it gently circle your clit.  You whimpered, and felt your insides flex on nothing.  Apparently, that made him want to give you something to clench on— he gently slipped his pointer finger past your opening, and you let out a long sigh.

“So warm inside,” he observed.  He pulled the finger back out a second later, putting it in his mouth and humming happily.  He put his mouth on you at the same time that he put the finger back in, along with a second; that was a lot to take in, and your back arched up off the bed instantly.  He mouthed at your clit, swirling his tongue around while his lips created this wonderful pressure; you had to grab onto his hair, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually, he did have to break away for a second.  "Wondered how you'd taste," he admitted with a sigh.  

"Well?" you prompted.

"Taste like 'eaven, birdie," he purred.  "Sweet little pussy— an' it's all for me?"

"All yours," you nodded, and he growled a little as he dove back in.

The tip of his tongue slid right up from your opening to where your clit was swollen and throbbing— he pushed his tongue flat against it and you whimpered loudly.  He started to really fuck you with his fingers then, rather than just letting the natural movement of your hips force you to ride them; they curled inside you, hitting a spot that made your own fingers curl into fists in his hair.  You didn’t want to hurt him, but he didn’t mind getting his hair pulled, apparently, and just moaned lowly against you.

The pressure started weighing on your gut after a while, your pussy tensing up on him faster and faster until it was just bearing down on him unendingly.  “Fuck, Tommy,” you gasped.

“C’mon, birdie,” he mumbled against you, “wan’ you to come.  Go ahead and come for me, yeah?”

You called out his name one more time, and it all spilled over at once; he shut his eyes tight, letting you pull his face right up against you by his curls as your hips bucked and grinded on him.  You sobbed weakly, and when it was suddenly too much, he broke away and pinned you down for a messy kiss.

It left you even more breathless than you already were.  When he pulled back, his eyes were a little glazed over and his lips and chin were a lot glazed over; he gave you a crooked smile.  “Taste how sweet you are?” he purred.  You wouldn’t call it sweet, really, but it still turned you on like crazy to hear him say it.

“Please, Tom,” you gasped, grabbing his shoulders, “you’ll fuck me now, right?”

He nodded, and you let out a sigh of relief.  “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, laughing when you groaned and punched him on the arm.

“Course I’m fuckin’ ready!” you snapped.  “God, Tommy, you always give ‘em all this rigamarole first?”

He shook his head.  “Just you, birdie… it was always just you.”

Kissing you again, his breath changed as he reached down to push his boxers out of the way and kick them off to the floor.  The way it felt to have his bare skin against yours as he lowered himself down was… euphoric.  Warm and soft and smooth, and when he wrapped you in his arms, it felt like he could just absorb you entirely.  You wouldn’t mind it if he did.

He'd prepared you so well that there was only one quick sting of pain when he pushed inside you— though just that was still enough to make one tiny tear roll down your temple, which he kissed away softly.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.  You nodded.  "I need you to tell me, birdie."

"I'm okay," you promised through a sigh.  "It hurts a little, b-but please don't stop."

"You're sure?"

"Please!"

He pushed his hips flush with yours and you gritted your teeth, though everything in you relaxed just a moment later; and all that was left was the fullness, the warmth of him, the way his eyes sparkled as he looked down at you.  "You're so beautiful," he whispered to you, and you bit your lip.

"I love you, Tommy," you mumbled weakly, and he planted one soft kiss on your mouth.

"I love you too, darling."

He carefully began to move, needing to reach down with one hand to keep your hips steady.  Your moans were shaky at first, but got louder and more even with each movement.  

"You're… so deep," you breathed.  "Tommy, I— I didn't know anything could be so deep in me."

"Well, I am," he grinned.  "I'm right… here."

He pressed down on your stomach, right on the spot where the tip of his cock reached— and your eyes rolled back.  "Ohh, god," you whined.

"You feel it, love?" he cooed.

"Yes, yes," you groaned.  "Fuck, Tommy, why didn't you tell me you had a perfect cock?"

He laughed a little, leaning down to kiss you on the jaw.  "Guess it never came up."

"Does it always… is it always like this?" you wondered.  "It's so good, does it always feel this good?"

He shook his head, kissing your forehead and then trailing down your nose and cheek.  "No, it's not always like this," he answered quietly.  "Not for me, anyway.  It's never been like this."

His lips met yours again, and you reached up to weave your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.  He groaned a little, moving his hips faster, and you smiled.  "Do you wanna fuck me harder?" you asked.

"Fuck," he mumbled, "I— I could.  Do you want me to?"

"I can take it," you promised.

Picking up the pace slightly, he held you tighter; and you felt each impact a little harder, the sound of his skin on yours echoing around the room.  “Like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered— you meant it more neutral than it came out, it sounded proper pornographic the way you said it, and he smiled.  “More, Tommy, please?  Jus’ want more…”

He hissed but did as he was told, latching onto your neck with his lips as he let something a little more animalistic take over, making you cry out and hold onto him tighter.  “Beautiful,” he grunted, “you’re so beautiful, birdie— you sound beautiful.”

“It’s just ‘cause you’re making me sound like this,” you sighed, clutching at his back, too overwhelmed by pleasure to worry about scratching him up.

“I’m giving you a hickey this time,” he informed you.  “You want my mark on you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “always, Tommy— fuck, always wanted it.”

“‘Cause you’re mine, yeah?”

“Always,” you whimpered.

“A-ah, shit— when it’s time, I'll pull out, okay?" he offered.

"No," you whined, wrapping your legs around his hips.  "Tommy, please, want it inside…"

"Birdie," he breathed roughly, "if you say things like that, I-I'll come too fast."

“Don’t care,” you whimpered.  “Promise you’re gonna come inside me.”

“F-fuck,” he groaned, “erm— yeah, m’gonna come in ya, okay?”

You choked out the shortest sob of joy.  “Please, please— fuck, I’ll come again…”

“Yeah, fuck, c’mon then,” he praised, “just say my name, birdie— I wanna hear my name.”

“Tommy,” you cried, feeling him gasp against your neck as another wave of heat spread over your body; feeling him flex inside you right as you hit your own peak was so perfect.  You could’ve never described your emotions in that moment with words, but they found their way out anyways: you started crying, instantly.

“Don’t cry, birdie, shh,” he soothed quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.  “C’mon, darling, don’t cry—”

“N-no, Tommy,” you sniffled, “I’m just happy— I’m so happy, I swear…”

So he let you cry, and held you close to him; he didn’t leave until you fell asleep, even though he said he was just going to get you a washcloth and a cup of water and come right back.  He played with your hair and kissed your face, and just talked about all the normal things you usually talked about— as in, everything.  But this time, it was actually everything, no more hidden feelings.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but after one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly— like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes— you woke up tangled with him and his sheets.  Turning on your side as best you could, you looked at his sleeping face and smiled to yourself.  He woke up just a bit later, cutting your staring short, and smiled back at you.

“Top of the morning, my ‘ansum,” you greeted as you pinched his cheek.  He laughed and batted your hand away, hiding his face from the sun under his arm.  

“You kicked me in your sleep,” he grumbled.

“So it’s all over, then?  Final straw, you’re finally getting rid of me?” you joked.

“Mm, I thought about it,” he snorted, making you laugh.  He popped his face up again and started to kiss your face all over.

“Tommy, stop,” you whined.

“You can’t make me stop now,” he pointed out, “it’s one thing to get your best friend to stop kissing you, but your boyfriend?  Nah, m’not stopping.”

You laughed, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him only making you feel more ticklish and squirm more.  You only stilled when he grabbed your face and gave you a real kiss, and everything seemed to slow down quite a bit.  You kissed him back, properly, reaching up to weave your fingers in his hair.  “So, you’re my boyfriend, then?” you noticed when you broke away.

“No, I think we’re still just friends,” he nodded, and you laughed and shoved him on the chest.  

“Might as well be, everything we did before sayin’ we were only friends,” you admitted.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, birdie,” he promised.

[weirdonumber33]

He’s just so boyfriend

[rogue-alien]

be gay and trans and full of rage

[fogsblog]

Eddie Munson smoking (cosplay)

Guess I'll just make gifs of video clips I haven't posted for now

[cholvoq]

IM BACK AND BACK ON THE STEDDIE GRIND 💪💪 Drawing these two after SO so long is legitimately so therapeutic—

I wanted to draw them in outfits based on this “create an outfit” trend going around Twitter! I had so much fun dressing them up LMAO