"I said no, go away," he huffed, leaning up against the wall of the empty room in headquarters you dragged him into. If he didn't love you so much he would have knocked your lights out. In fact, he would not have let you drag him in the first place.
"Hobebe, please," you clasped your hands together and brought them under your chin, begging him and hoping that the use of the nickname would make him cave. But of course it didn't.
This exchange had been going on for ten minutes straight.
A crazy thought had popped itself into your head, and you decided to seek out your boyfriend to make that thought a reality. But he didn't exactly match your enthusiasm.
"Hobie, come on. It's just gonna be a second," you continued to beg, tugging at his sleeve and standing on your toes just so you can be slightly eye level with him.
"Just hang upside down real quick and I'll give you a quick kiss. That's it, please."
All he did was roll his eyes at your begging, he thought this was absolutely ridiculous.
"Why can't you just kiss me now love?" he moved away from the wall to lean down close to your face. Not only to stop you from almost jumping to meet his gaze, but because he knew how flustered you would get when he did.
"I kiss you like this all the time," you almost pouted, turning your gaze slightly away from him, not expecting his sudden movements towards you. This made his expression turn amused.
"I just want to try something new."
His smirk grew wider at your choice of words, and your chest began to feel a bit hot. You almost feared to ask...
"What?"
"Nothing," he simply hummed, raising his hand to run his knuckles against your cheek, and you felt the heat in your chest trail up to your neck.
"It's just that, this isn't the first time you said that."
And that was it, your face practically went up in flames at the reminder, making you turn away completely and hide your face in your hands.
"Hobie, stop," your whines came, slightly muffled now making him throw his head back in laughter.
The sound that came from him was deep and smooth, familiar even. That did not help your current state as you felt you were becoming more akin to a bonfire.
"Hey now," he softly whispered despite your current torment. He moved towards you once more, chuckling as he tried to pull your hands away from your face.
And you let him, absolutely melting in his touch despite your own temperature.
"Don't go hiding that pretty face of yours," he grinned as your eyes finally met him again. He gently took your chin between his fingers. He didn't want you turning away again, especially now when he had a little proposition for you.
"Tell you what," he said.
"If you can look at me for a minute straight while I do whatever I want, I'll hang upside down and you can kiss me all you want." He proposed, and it intrigued you. But the look on his face made you hesitate.
"You're not gonna do anything funny are you?" You quirked a brow, finding the courage to pull your chin from his hand as you finally began to compose yourself.
You look at him unimpressed.
"That type of funny, nah," he shook his head.
"Unless you want it to be of course, I'm a gentleman above all else."
"Hobart."
"Damn, so pissy," he tsked.
"But yes, nothing funny unless specifically asked for," he tilted his head towards you with a more genuine smile.
Fuck, he was cute.
"Fine," you agreed.
"Get ready to hang upside down, pretty boy."
"We'll see about that," he quirked an amused brow before taking your shoulders in his hands, completely taking you by surprise once more.
"One minute starts now."
Your breath hitched in your throat as you feel him backing you up against the wall. He did it gently, but it didn't stop you from tensing up in an effort to stand your ground.
Was this not funny business? You screamed in your head despite your thoughts beginning to get muddled as he leaned down towards you like earlier. Your heart was practically doing a number on your
"Why do you look so mad?" He cooed, hands trailing up to the sides of your face.
Now this was getting really funny. But you didn't say anything. Knowing that talking would only make things worse. You focused on looking him in the eyes with the best deadpan expression you could muster.
You were gonna do the upside down kiss with him, even if it killed you.
"Not answering me I see," he hummed, thumbs now rubbing small circles on your cheeks.
"You know, I don't understand why you want me to go upside down just for a kiss," he said simply, almost too simply for your liking.
Still, he went on. He moved his head a bit to the side, lips going near your ear till you could hear and feel his warm breath on you.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Quite unimaginative don't you think?" He whispered, voice seemingly going down an octave.
"I could think of a lot more fun things we could do upside down."
And that was it, the emotions you were hiding came out in a burst, and you practically yanked yourself from his hold to look away from him. You hid your head in your hands again, this time not only in embarrassment, but in defeat.
"You promised no funny business," you peaked your eyes out of your hands just to glare at him.
He was looking at you so smug with his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, but you didn't specify what funny business," he shrugged.
"All I did was talk to you like I normally do, not my fault you could handle it."
You huffed at his nonchalant attitude, bringing your hands down to clench them at your sides.
"This isn't over."
He laughed at the determined look on your face, thinking how fucking cute you were. So cute in fact that he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek.
Summary: Eddie's new campaign is brutal. But what happens when you get sucked into the game of D&D, Jumanji style, and encounter Eddie under the mind-control of a vicious beast?
This also won't make a whole lotta sense D&D wise, but I tried lol. I don't know what else to say about this one y'all.
4.2K words
beta read by @mypoisonedvine
Eddie's latest campaign was taking over your life. He had been preparing it for weeks beforehand, ensuring it would be the longest and most gruelling campaign to date. The research had been brutal. Eddie wanted your help but didn't want to let you in on too many details.
When the time finally came to play, it was nearing the end of summer. Mr Clarke had indulged and given one (1) universal key to the school to the Hellfire Club. How he'd trusted the bunch of you with it was beyond your comprehension. Damn Henderson and his inability to be disliked.
So here you were, in the theatre room, blocking the windows with trash bags and tape to obstruct any light. The new campaign had something to do with an amphibian creature, which was already more info than Eddie had been willing to divulge.
The rest of Hellfire would arrive shortly, so you and Eddie rushed to finish the last details. You noticed a couple of books stacked by Eddie's chair, mainly ones to help him with the campaign. Scribbled on the top of his notes was the name of the campaign.
"The Search for the Aboleth"
That was all the club had been allowed to know about the campaign. They knew of Aboleths, but with Eddie as Dungeon Master, you could never be sure how the creature would be implemented. Whether the search would be one for a friend or a foe. You'd have to play his game and hope you survive.
When the others finally arrived, they crowded around the table, observing what they could of what they would be up against. Eddie sat on his throne, a proud smirk dancing on his lips as he watched the club members.
The excited chatter died down as Eddie's demeanour changed. It was game time. Silence overtook the room as everybody took their place around the table, glancing at Eddie in suspense.
He started telling the tale of the Aboleth, a wicked creature of the sea with the ability to breathe on land and covered in thick, grey mucus. Similar to Mind Flayers in ability but older, more fearsome and highly intelligent. With their racial memory, they inherited the memories of all their ancestors.
Long story short, this was not a friend you were to search for. It was a vile enemy, one with psionic abilities and capable of some critical damage.
The Aboleth you were looking for had enslaved a party member, making him their loyal servant. Your objective was to find the Aboleth, slay it and free your party member.
Hours were spent that evening debating, rolling dice and screaming in despair when member after member perished from their injuries. Your gaze fell upon Lucas, the only remaining member besides Gareth, still fighting by your side. His look was one of sorrow. There was no coming back from this.
Eddie cut the campaign short, then. It was getting late, and Hawkins was under a permanent curfew. Time to go home and sleep off the post-d&d jitters before letting them fall back into place the following afternoon.
The boys tailed out of the classroom, leaving you with Eddie to clean up and rearrange the table. Everything to be able to continue where you'd left off. You heard Eddie shuffle after you'd cleaned up the figurines and dice, catching his gaze as he blew out the last candle, leaving you in total darkness.
You heard a dark chuckle from the abyss. It sounded like Eddie. It had to be him, right? Who else could be here? A deep chill settled in your bones as you walked backwards, stepping away from the table.
You tripped over seemingly nothing, perhaps your own feet, sending you toppling. You expected to hit the floor, but the direction of gravity appeared to change. Suddenly, you were falling forward. Your hands shot out to catch yourself, but you were surprised when your back eventually hit the floor, knocking all air out of your lungs.
Head spinning with disorientation, Eddie seemed to finally have turned on the lights in the classroom. Your chest rose rapidly, trying to catch your breath as your eyes adjusted to the brightness. Your brows furrowed, eyes narrowed as you took in your surroundings, still on the floor.
This wasn't a classroom.
Where you were, exactly, you couldn't say. It was too dark yet too bright at the same time. It was then you felt a pain shoot from your leg up to your thigh. Looking down, you noticed the surface you'd fallen on. A combination of rocks, dirt, sticks and other things you'd find in nature. The ground was moist. One particularly large, sharp rock had lodged its way into your calf, leaving a gnarly wound, oozing blood. That would explain the pain.
"Wanna roll on your luck, babe? Maybe it'll heal, maybe it won't." Your head whipped around. Eddie?
He was holding a vial containing red, glistening liquid. A Potion of Healing? When had he managed to make such a convincing prop? He tossed you a D20, eyebrows raised in expectation. Was he seriously expecting you to roll for your possibility of taking the potion when you were bleeding?
You grabbed it and glanced at Eddie before rolling it into the dirt. Eddie gazed at the number facing up, tutting at the outcome. "Seems like it's just out of reach. How unfortunate."
You knew he must've been joking. The potion was probably cherry-flavoured Kool-Aid. So why were you filled with feelings of anguish at your inadequate roll? Why was he still not helping you stop the bleeding, stop the pain?
Another dark chuckle, the same as you'd heard before. You observed Eddie, helpless as he laughed. He met your eyes, an unsettling feeling developing in your gut. His eyes were clouded, distant. You attempted to get a read of his feelings, maybe his thoughts. But nothing. He was a shell.
You tried to pull yourself from the ground, groaning as you felt the sting of the rock lodged in your skin. You pulled it out with a pained yelp and tossed it aside, scanning the wound. It wasn't too bad. The blood made it look worse than it really was. Though that was a comforting thought, the uneasy feeling in your stomach remained.
You pushed yourself onto your feet, holding onto Eddie's bicep as you steadied yourself. Another sharp pain shot up your spine, but you had no choice but to ignore it. You had to figure out where you were, how you got here and what the hell was going on with Eddie.
You took in your surroundings, baffled by the fact that it had been a theatre classroom a few minutes ago. No chairs, tables or even windows were in sight. You weren't even inside a building. You craned your neck to gander at the sky, the moon closer to Earth than you'd ever seen. If this even was Earth. The atmosphere looked like one of the drawings from Eddie's books.
Something was definitely very wrong.
Your hand was still resting on Eddie's arm, but he was cold to the touch. He must've been here for some time, longer than you, seeing as you were still warm. He inhaled deeply through his nose, closing his eyes before turning to you. "Wanna go for a swim?"
You looked confused at the question. Swim? At a time like this? He grabbed your shoulders and turned you to the giant lake behind you. A monstrous beast was writhing among the smaller fish. Its eel-like stature was an eerie sea-green colour. Three red eyes on the top of its head were watching your every move. You turned slowly to look at Eddie, not daring to make any sudden movement.
"The Aboleth... Isn't it beautiful?"
A red sheen covered Eddie's eyes— you knew he was gone. You ripped yourself free from his grip and ran as fast as your legs would carry you. Your bleeding calf was screaming at you to stop, but the sound didn't overpower Eddie's taunting laughs as he followed you unhurriedly.
It was clear now the party member enslaved by the Aboleth was him. You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get away from the creature, get away from Eddie. You hid behind what looked like a tree in an attempt to catch your breath. The mysterious noises emerging from your surroundings didn't take away from the suspense, adding a soundtrack of howling critters and winds to your despair.
Your mind wandered to the campaign. Was this some sick joke? An immersive experience Eddie had prepared? You wanted out. Your mind flashed back to when Eddie had introduced the creature.
"Aboleths are fish-like amphibians of immense size. They are both extremely cruel and highly intelligent. They have the ability to change creatures' consciousness to that of a mindless servant. This allows Aboleths to keep slaves, known as Aboleth Servitors, which they dominated and kept captive through their mind."
The heaving of your chest diminished along with the fast pace of your heartbeat. You listened for Eddie's footsteps, but it was in vain. You wouldn't have been able to hear them over the sound of the forest.
You examined your leg but were stumped to see the wound had slowly closed in on itself, only the remnants of blood left behind. It no longer hurt. Relief washed over you. Maybe you'd be able to do this. Perhaps, you'd be able to run.
An icy breeze blew through your hair, a quiet gasp escaping you. You slammed your hand over your mouth to cover the sound, but the hand running through your hair and down your neck told you enough. He'd found you.
He took a strand between his fingers and brought it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. Your eyes were squeezed shut, wishing for this nightmare to end. To wake up, whether it be in the classroom or your bed. For Eddie to be the sweet, caring person you knew he was. Not this... this carcass possessed by a monster.
"That healing ability of yours won't save you, sweetheart." He whispered in your ear. Goosebumps raised at his words, covering your body as a chill went down your spine. You took in his words and looked back down at your leg.
Your D&D character had healing abilities. The Aboleth was part of Eddie's campaign. Was this The Search for the Aboleth? Because if so, you'd found it, alright. You needed real Eddie's guidance on what to do. Give you your options. Let you roll to see the damage you'd do. Be your Dungeon Master. If this genuinely was Eddie's campaign, there had to be a chance to win.
"I can hear the cogs turning in your head, sweetheart. There's no use." It was Eddie's voice, but it wasn't his words. This wasn't Eddie. You had to remind yourself that it was the Aboleth.
You tried thinking through your options. Which other powers did your D&D character have? If your healing ability was somehow working, others must too, right?
You searched for eye contact with Eddie. Maybe if you could communicate with the part of him that was still in there, you'd be able to free him of the Aboleth's control. You shouted his name as loud as you could without the use of your vocal cords. His smile turned sinister, mocking. A voice echoed in your head.
'If a creature communicates telepathically with the Aboleth, the Aboleth learns the creature's greatest desires.' It was the memory of real Eddie describing the Aboleth's abilities. He had explained it earlier when Mike had tried the same thing on one of the other Aboleth servitors. You should've known not to try.
A searing, white pain shot through your head as Eddie placed his palms to your temples. He was digging through every crevice of your brain, using the Aboleth's abilities to explore everything you desired most in life. His eyebrows raised in surprise, a disbelieving scoff leaving his lips.
"It seems the thing you desire most... is me."
His hand covered your mouth before the pleading gasp wanting to escape could do so. His other hand found your waist, holding you as you clawed at his arm. You struggled to breathe as he pulled you to a clearing. He finally let up as he pushed you to the ground harshly.
"Eddie... Please..." You begged as he towered over you. He had to be in there somewhere. You weren't sure what his next move was, but every bone in your body knew it couldn't be anything good.
He bent down and grabbed your ankles, tugging you to him. The skin on your arms scraped as he dragged you over the stone ground. A metallic scent hit your nose. Undoubtedly, you were bleeding again.
"We're just giving you a taste of what you want. It can all be yours if you come willingly." Eddie mumbled as he got on your level, rubbing up your thigh. You tried to scoot back, away from his touch, but the grip on your ankle was relentless.
"Unwillingly, it seems. It's not like you have a choice." He grumbled as he ripped your bottoms in one go.
"Eddie, stop!" You shrieked and struggled and tugged to pull your ankle from his grasp. He ignored your pleas with a menacing laugh as he continued undressing you. You tried to cover yourself to the best of your ability, but it was useless. Whatever had taken over Eddie's body had given him the strength of a dozen men.
"You're all the same, you humans." Eddie moaned as he palmed himself through the fabric of his jeans. "Getting worked up over nothing, desiring nothing but other humans. This one is just like you. Desiring you. Wanting you most out of anything any world has to offer. Pathetic, breeding folk."
He grabbed your breast hungrily, bending down to take your nipple in his mouth. He took it between his teeth, tugging at it painfully. He slapped your thigh— hard. A warning to not make any more noise. You hadn't been aware you'd been pleading with him to stop continuously. That was going to leave a bruise. Or it wouldn't, depending on whether you'd dreamt up the healing abilities.
"Even this body. It can't resist. It really has a mind of its own when presented with an object of its desire. Ridiculous."
He took his time with your tits and nipples, sucking, pinching, kneading, anything that pleased him. It wasn't like you had the strength to stop him. Subdued cries repeatedly left your mouth, but your struggle diminished as your body betrayed you.
Eddie grabbed your ankles and pulled them apart, spreading you open for him to see you on display. A tear rolled over your temple. At this point, it wasn’t out of pain or desperation. It was out of embarrassment. Embarrassment at the heat in your abdomen, the glistening of your cunt. Eddie saw it. You knew he did.
He sought eye contact, the glint in his eyes knowing. It was almost like regular Eddie when he knew something you didn't. Almost.
"You're such a disgusting whore. Already fucking wet?" You felt defeated. You wanted to fight, but the powers granted to Eddie saw right through you. They saw what you liked. What would get you soaked in seconds— even when you least wanted it.
Both his hands ran up your thighs as he sat on his knees. His thumbs ran over your folds, spreading them so he could get a proper view of your pussy. You pleaded once more. He could still stop. He could still salvage this. He didn't let up, plunging the tip of his thumb inside, feeling the rim of your entrance, tugging at it and stretching it painfully.
A quiet sob left you when you knew this was really happening. You'd imagined sleeping with Eddie. Sucking him off, taking his fingers, bouncing on his cock. You'd imagined it all. But this? This had never been amongst the possibilities your mind had fabricated.
Eddie bent down, keeping his hands on your knees as he inhaled the scent of your arousal. "Haven't smelled anything that delicious in decades, maybe even centuries." He licked between your fold gingerly, groaning as he did so. You felt the vibrations of his voice reverberate against your clit. You clenched your lips shut along with your eyes, not wanting to give in to the sensation.
His mouth closed around your clit, sucking and tonguing at it, gauging your reaction. Your hand slapped over your mouth. You refused to enjoy this. This wasn't Eddie. It might look and sound like Eddie, but it wasn't him.
"Oh, but it is me. I've just been... enlightened."
Eddie's eyes closed in bliss as his tongue dipped inside. His thumb circled your clit rapidly. Whines built up inside your chest, but you didn't dare let them out. This shouldn't feel good. Your fist clenched as he watched you like a hawk, relentlessly pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
"Please, Eddie!" You yelled out as the hand covering your mouth slapped the floor, searching for any leverage. The worst part was that you weren't sure what you were pleading for. You wanted him to stop. But you didn't, couldn't have him stop now.
"Come for me. Come on my tongue like the desperate bitch you are." The pressure on your clit and in your abdomen increased. You tried to hold it. You couldn't give this monster the satisfaction. Eddie smirked as he noticed your struggle but knew you wouldn't be able to resist much longer.
When his mouth diverted its attention back to your clit, three fingers slipped inside roughly, curling them just right. You cried out as you clenched your teeth. You had to hold it. You had to.
But you couldn't.
The repeated come-hither motion combined with the attention to your clit sent you over the edge with a loud scream. You saw white as your chest heaved, but your breaths were short-lived when you were picked up by your shoulders and pushed down on your knees punitively. You heard Eddie unbuckle his belt, taking off his jeans but leaving his shirt.
His hand came up to your chin, pushing your cheeks with his fingers. Your mouth opened of its own volition, giving him exactly what he wanted. "If I feel any teeth, you're dead. Got it?" He snarled viciously. You nodded as a tear fell down your face. You hadn't even noticed you'd begun crying.
You felt vile as you sat with your knees in the dirt, proof of your orgasm dripping down your thighs. You heard Eddie gurgle before bringing your face close, spitting in your mouth. He took his cock in hand and brushed it over your lips, gathering the spit that hadn't made it inside before pushing past your lips.
He didn't give you room to breathe, holding the back of your head as he pushed until the tip hit your throat. His other hand found yours, bringing it up to cup his balls. "Leave it there, play with them." He grunted as he increased speed. He smirked when he felt you gag, pushing just that tiny bit harder to feel it again.
"You're even prettier when you cry for me. With those big, fat cry-baby tears rolling down those adorable cheeks?" He laughed as he wiped them away. Your eyes were almost as red as Eddie's were under the control of the Aboleth.
You felt more tears escape your eyes when you realized that despite all this, gagging and being unable to breathe around his dick, a low simmer of heat once again developed in your nethers. Your free hand itched to relieve the tension, but you placed it on his thigh instead, steadying yourself against his quick thrusts.
Eddie's hips stuttered before they stilled, releasing inside your mouth with a loud moan. He remained still for a second before pulling out, tapping your cheek with the palm of his hand. "C'mon, open up. Show me."
Your face was one of misery as you slowly opened your mouth, letting him observe the mess he'd made. "Good girl... See? Isn't this exactly where you're supposed to be? What you're supposed to do? On your knees, serving your master?" The smile on his face was filled with pride and insult.
He pushed your shoulder, sending you collapsing back to the floor. You cried as your head hit the cold stone. You felt dizzy as Eddie towered over you, pushing your legs open and positioning himself between them. "Please, Eddie. No more. Please."
Your begs went unanswered as Eddie placed his hands on your knees, lining himself up before brutally pushing inside. The stretch was painful, but you'd already come once. The slick from your previous orgasm was enough lubrication for him to slide in and out at a gruelling pace smoothly. Your pleas slowly diminished into small whines and moans, no longer being capable of holding them back.
Eddie bent down as he continued thrusting, licking a stripe up your neck before nibbling on your earlobe. "I know you're loving this. You don't want to, but you can't help it. I know you want me to destroy you. Whether it be this version or the one you're comparing me to. As long as I look like Eddie Munson, you're gonna come for me. Cream all over my cock when I pump you full of my cum."
His voice was a mere whisper, but you knew he was right. As long as it was Eddie, in any shape or form, you'd come undone. His hair tickled your neck as he hung above you. He changed the angle of his hips abruptly, along with his pace. You moaned loudly at the unexpected abuse of your most sensitive spot.
"See?" He groaned as he placed a kiss on your neck. Now that the dam of your moans had broken, you couldn't suppress them flowing out. The vulgar sound of his balls slapping against you combined with your broken moans echoed through the clearing.
His hand left your knee to stroke your clit with ruthless pressure and pace. Mixed with his cock hitting the right spot over and over and Eddie sucking on your neck, it was too much. Your senses were overwhelmed. Your head was still spinning from hitting the floor, but now it was also reeling with pleasure.
You didn't have time to feel disoriented as Eddie ravished your cunt. The sharp jabs of his hips pulled everything from you, moans, whines, pleas and cries. Your hands made their way to Eddie's back, scratching vigorously as a means to ground yourself as you neared your second orgasm. Your hips started meeting his pace, desperate for release, hopeless for this to be over.
You panicked as you felt him speed up, seeking his release. You were so close, but he couldn't come inside. You'd give everything to come, but not if it meant being filled up in return. Tears welled and spilt at the realization, hips unable to stop. Your mind fought your body as Eddie continued drilling into you.
He bit your shoulder when you felt he was close. You were right there with him. "Scream for me. Scream my name." Eddie groaned in your ear as he came, spilling inside you, filling you up. You felt so full. He continued thrusting, squelching sounds coming from your cunt as you squeezed around him.
Your whines became high-pitched as your eyes squeezed shut, coming on his cock as he laughed manically. A scream of his name escaped your mouth as everything went dark.
"Eddie!"
Silence overtook you as you suddenly felt heavy. You felt around you as you opened your eyes. You were surrounded by darkness. Your fingers touched the hardwood floor.
Lights flickered above you as Eddie looked at you questioningly from the other side of the classroom. You looked down on yourself. You were fully dressed, appearing to have tripped over a bag.
"You okay?" He questioned with a concerned expression. You nodded wildly, though cautious. Had you just hit your head? Had Eddie been here all along? How long had you been gone? Out?
Eddie noticed your perplexed face and offered his hand to help you up. You took it and rose to your feet. Eddie frowned as he grabbed your elbow to examine your arm. He took your other arm, both had been scraped up pretty badly.
"How'd this happen?" He asked. It couldn't have happened due to a simple fall on a hardwood floor, could it? You shrugged as your knees weakened. Was this still all in your head? Was this still possessed Eddie? He tutted as he released you from his grip. He turned to the table and grabbed the D20.
summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]
contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).
author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!
-
Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.
It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.
So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.
Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).
He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.
He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:
WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.
He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.
Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.
The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.
"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.
"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."
-
The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.
Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.
And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.
And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.
By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.
"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.
From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.
His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.
Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.
Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.
The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.
When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.
"Hello?"
He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.
"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"
"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.
"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."
"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.
"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"
"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"
"I'm twenty-three."
You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.
"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."
He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.
"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."
He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.
"Uh, thanks," you say.
Shit.
"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.
You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.
"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"
"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"
"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.
He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.
"Y'still there?"
"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.
"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."
You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.
After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"
"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"
He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.
"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."
You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.
You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.
"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."
"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."
Can't argue with that logic.
"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?
"How do you want to do this?"
"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"
"What?"
"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."
"Hah, okay. 1965."
"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"
"Shit, yeah, one sec."
His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.
"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.
"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.
"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."
"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.
"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"
"Eddie. Munson."
"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.
That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.
It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.
There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.
What if you're great?
He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.
He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.
He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.
One hour.
-
He's early.
It's ten to six, and he's early.
The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?
Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.
Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.
"Eddie?"
He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.
You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.
You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.
As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.
You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.
"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.
"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"
He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.
"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."
"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.
"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."
You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.
"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.
He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.
"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.
"What?"
"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"
With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.
"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."
"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."
"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.
"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."
Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.
"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"
"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."
"Oh."
You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.
You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.
Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.
He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.
You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.
"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.
"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."
"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"
"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."
He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"
You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.
"Okay."
"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."
"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"
"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."
"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."
"Okay," you sigh.
"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."
"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.
"So did you grow up here?"
Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.
"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."
"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.
"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."
"And you got the job?"
"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."
"How's that going?"
"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."
He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."
He looks up at you. "Do your worst."
"Did you grow up here?"
"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."
"Why'd you move here?"
"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.
"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."
"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"
"Kind of, but that's also complicated."
"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"
"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?
You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.
"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.
You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.
"Yeah, sorry."
"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"
"We haven't even-"
"Will you?" he presses.
"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.
"Can I ask you something?" he says.
"Mm-hmm."
"Why are you so far away right now?"
He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.
It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.
"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."
He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.
You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.
There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.
"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"
All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.
He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.
"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.
"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."
When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"
You look up at him and nod again.
"I need to hear it, sweets."
You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.
His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.
"Eddie?"
His hand stills and he looks at you.
"Yeah?"
When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.
"I've never been this close to anyone before."
He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.
"That's okay."
There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.
"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"
You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.
It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.
"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"
You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.
"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.
"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.
The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.
When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.
"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.
"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.
"Sure you're okay?" he asks.
"Yeah, yeah, I just-"
"Yeah, take a second."
"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."
You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.
"You alright?"
You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.
"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.
"What do you mean?"
You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"
He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.
"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.
"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.
"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."
"How so?"
He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch.
"I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."
"Okay."
"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"
For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.
"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.
"What does that mean?"
"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."
Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.
"What the fuck, dude?"
You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.
"I didn't-"
"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."
"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."
"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.
You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.
He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.
"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"
You scoff, turning away from him.
"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."
"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."
"Yeah, that. Not this."
"This is part of that."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.
"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"
His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.
He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.
"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."
"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.
"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."
"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."
He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.
"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.
"You're really pretty, you know."
You just look at him.
"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."
"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.
"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.
It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?
"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."
You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.
"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."
"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"
"Yes, but…"
Just like before, the words stall in your throat.
"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.
You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.
"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.
"Go on."
"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"
"That's the definition of a fantasy."
"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"
"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."
"Can I sit on your lap?"
"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.
"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."
"Go for it, baby."
He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.
It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.
"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"
"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.
"'Course you are, here-"
His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.
"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"
"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."
"Oh, for fu-"
He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.
It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.
You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.
You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.
"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.
"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.
"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.
His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"
His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.
"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"
You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."
He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."
The fucking nicknames.
"I know, I just… Can you just-"
You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.
"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."
You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.
"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"
"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."
"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."
"Okay."
You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.
"Shit," he hisses.
"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.
"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."
The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.
This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.
His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.
You trace them with gentle fingers.
"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.
"Okay."
You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.
You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.
As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."
You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."
There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.
He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.
"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"
You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.
And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.
"Good girl."
Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.
"Good?" he asks.
"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.
"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."
One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"
"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"
"'Course."
"And can I… Can I undo yours?"
"Shit, sure you can."
You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.
He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.
When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.
"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.
"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.
"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.
There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.
You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.
His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.
"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.
"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."
He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.
But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.
"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.
"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.
"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."
You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.
"Christ, yes, okay."
His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.
You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.
"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.
"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.
"Yes, yeah."
Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.
His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.
"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.
"Yes," you respond too quickly.
As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."
"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"
"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.
You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.
Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.
They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.
The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.
He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"
"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.
The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.
The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.
"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"
It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.
"No," you pant, "no, never."
"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."
"Okay," you agree.
He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.
"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"
"No," you bite defensively.
"It's okay."
You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.
"Do you ever…"
Another sigh.
"Do you ever touch yourself?"
There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.
"Yes."
"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"
"I, uh…"
"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."
Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.
It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.
"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.
With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.
You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.
You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.
"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.
You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.
"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.
"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"
His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.
All you can say is, "That was insane."
He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"
"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.
He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.
"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"
It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.
"Uh, yeah, okay."
He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."
"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."
"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."
Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.
"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.
"Yes, ma'am."
Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.
He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.
"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.
"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."
He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.
"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.
"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"
"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.
It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.
"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."
You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.
So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.
"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"
He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.
"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"
You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.
When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.
With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.
"You got condoms?"
"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."
"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."
His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.
He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.
It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.
He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"
He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"
You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."
"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"
"Yeah."
There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.
He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.
"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.
"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."
"I've got you."
He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.
The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.
"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.
When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.
"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.
"Yeah."
"Good girl."
He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.
"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."
"Okay."
The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.
As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.
"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"
"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"
Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.
"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."
His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.
"You close?" he asks.
"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.
All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.
There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."
When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"
You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.
The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.
Sighing, he says, "Shit."
You laugh, scrunching your face.
"Yeah," you agree, "shit."
He squeezes your hand.
"Did you like it?"
"Yeah. Really liked it."
"Okay for your first time?"
"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.
"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.
He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.
"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.
There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.
You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.
"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"
"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.
"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."
"Is it a date?"
"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."
"No one's ever asked me on a date before."
He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.
"Well, wanna come?"
"I'd love to."
He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.
He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.
"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.
"You should," he says, a little deflated.
You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.
"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"
"I can go now, if you want-"
"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"
Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.
"I'll stay, if you want me to."
"Yes, please."
He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.
"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.
"I'll be here."
-
"Munson! You made it!"
In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.
He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.
"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.
"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.
Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."
"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.
"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."
"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.
"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.
"Hi."
"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.
Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.
"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.
Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.
And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.
"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"
"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.
"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"
You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.
"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.
"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."
"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."
The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.
He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.
-
Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is the first installment of kinktober! i am extremely rusty with writing at the moment, it's been over two months since i've written anything more than like four sentences, so please be kind!
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, pussy spanking, teasing, unprotected sex, degrading kink, light praise?, unedited, very much not proofread (im so sorry)
Being a brat had its consequences.
Being a cocky brat had its consequences.
Being a back-talking, cocky, brat had its consequences.
You thought it was funny seeing Frank's nose flare and his jaw clench when you told him that your toy was bigger than him. It wasn't true- at all. Frank was nothing compared to your toys. He was thick and large, and no matter how many times he fucked you, you still needed time to adjust.
Frank knew you weren't being serious, but you were undermining him, pushing his buttons- and he couldn't have that.
"Is that right?" His jaw clenched and his eyes pierced through you.
His voice was low and calm- and you knew you had screwed up. A faint heartbeat formed at your core. Arousal soaking through your panties while your walls pulsed around nothing.
You knew not to break eye contact, but the longer you looked at him the heavier your chest felt.
"Answer the question." Frank rose to his feet, towering over your body.
You felt small- really small. There was nothing at this moment that would save you. You could either back down and admit defeat or make it worse for yourself and stand your ground.
When have you ever admitted defeat?
"Yes. My toy feels better." You smiled proudly (even though your bottom lip wanted to shake and your voice was light).
In an instant, Frank wrapped his hand around your arm and yanked you up like it was nothing. Yelping, your body followed him through the bedroom door. The roughness sent jolts of pleasure throughout your body. The faint heartbeat became a full-blown throb.
Frank shoves your body on the bed and you let a moan slip past your lips. His eyes grew dark and a wave of need washes over you.
He pulls his t-shirt over his body exposing his toned abdomen that was littered with scars and light bruises. Your pussy rapidly clenching around nothing, needing to be filled.
Within seconds, your shorts and panties joined his shirt on the floor beside the bed. Frank's calloused palms run up the side of your thighs and over your knee, spreading your legs wide open.
Frank chuckles at how fast you submit underneath him.
"You talked a big game- now look at you, just a little slut," He drags his middle finger between your folds.
Your body twitches and your bite back your moan. Frank spanks your clit, catching you off guard.
"Fuck!" You hiss, your lower half jerking up.
"What happened to my bratty girl?" He begins to tease your clit, circling around it- but never touching it.
Frank is looking up between your legs, watching your hips squirm and shift- trying to get more pleasure. Another harsh swat to your swollen clit and tears swell in your eyes. The tips of his fingers dip inside you, barely reaching where you needed him. Whining you buck your hips down, before another swat to your clit.
"I don't like impatient girls," Frank stands again, but this time removes his pants and briefs.
His cock is swollen and dripping with precum. You're drooling as he gets himself ready. Frank yanks your hips down to the edge of the bed. Your legs stay wide open, bracing yourself for this thick cock to enter you.
"Safeword?" He runs the tip of his cock along your folds, allowing the arousal to coat himself.
"Pineapple," You mumble, balling the sheets in your fists.
"Good." Without warning, Frank slams his cock inside you.
Your walls stretch around him and your eyes roll back while moans get caught in your throat. Thrusts are hard and fast, not allowing time for your pussy to adjust. Frank brings your legs together, tightening your pussy even more. Arousal drips down to your ass and your breasts bounce frantically.
Your hand reaches to find his hips, trying to slow him down. Frank notices and swats it away, but you are persistent.
"Move your hand." His voice is stern and filled with rasp. You're a whimpering mess underneath him, and soon your legs fall open again. Taking the opportunity, you reach again.
"I said move your fucking hand and take it." The dominance makes your brain fuzzy and you obey his command. Your body falls limp and the pleasure is overwhelming your senses.
"That's it- still think those fucking toys feel better?" You can't even process the question, you're completely lost in it.
"Say it." Frank growls, continuing to slam inside you. "Tell me how good I'm fucking this pussy?" You're gasping for breath as you loosely form a sentence.
"Y-You feel s'good- fuck! Nothing compares to you-"
Hiatus (if you couldn't tell by months of inactivity)
After months of relatively no posting, I figured I would officially announce a hiatus. I started my thesis last quarter, am now taking a full-time courseload this summer, working, and getting ready to go abroad next year. As much as I miss writing, I just don't have the time to dedicate to writing right now and I'm not sure when I will again. Because this did start as something I was doing as a stress relief and something fun, I may post something sporadically but nothing that would constitute being an "active" account.
My apologies but I just don't have the mental capacity now, nor have I in the last several months, to write anything. *Terminator voice* I'll be back... eventually. Love y'all!
fandom dc / masterlist coming soon / @dollsdc-library
featuring conner kent x dick’s girl!reader ( f! )
rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.
content warning this is a dark fic. sex pollen. choking/violence against reader. noncon. oral and fingering ( f!receiving ). size kink/belly bulge. degradation. friends to (forced) lovers.
summary you’re locked in a room with the strongest superhuman you know, and he was just dosed with something that made him murderous.
word count 6.5k / one shot
attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed. i officially hate writing fight choreography lol
“Re— co—?”
you frown; Dick’s voice was robotic and choppy in your ear. you tap the earpiece.
“Dick?”
Conner was walking behind you, watching your back. you appreciated that. not that you were necessarily scared in this moment, shining your flashlight over the damp, concrete walls of the tunnel as you trudged deeper beneath the city, but it was nice to know you had a brute at your six; anyone who tried to ambush would be met with your super guard dog. “The concrete must be screwing with the signal.” he observes.
“Yeah,” you hum, the beam from the flashlight dancing over the walls. “I don’t like it.” interrupted comms meant twice the risk, if something were to go wrong.
“Do you wanna go back?” Conner muses from behind you and you turn to face him for a moment, pondering his inquiry, his eyes coruscating in the dark. trying to see through the walls. you could tell by the way his dark brows furrowed that it was unsuccessful. he looks back at you with a tight jaw.
you point the light towards the ground, where your boots are planted. “Seeing anything?” but he shakes his head.
“Must be reinforced somehow.”
you hum, perplexed, looking at the worn concrete structure around you. bits were crumbling off, but not nearly enough to see what was planted behind it. “Which means there’s probably something down here worth taking extra care in hiding.”
“So, we keep going?” Conner was impatient, waiting for your answer, kicking at chips of rock by his sneaker. if he had been paired with anyone else on this mission, you were almost certain he wouldn’t have paused to get a second opinion. he had a tendency to do what he wanted, and blow off authority. with you, it was a bit different. not that you could ever truly leash him, but he seemed to respect your input. maybe that’s why Dick was so fond of saddling you with him; you were the only one that could make him see reason if he needed a dose.
in this moment, however, you were torn.
i don’t want you two down there with no backup. Dick’s voice was still ripe in your mind. you had been suiting up when he found you, and crossed his arms over his chest. you absolutely hated when he looked at you down the slant of his nose. so what if he had several inches on you, towering like a beacon of authority, you’d been in the game nearly as long as he. if i can’t reach you on comms, i want you to shut it down. you’d laughed at that, ‘So now leashing a super-charged Doberman to me isn’t enough for you? You’re gonna tell me how to do my job?’ it was lighthearted, but Dick wasn’t laughing, so you’d swept over to him and hooked your arms around his neck. ‘You said it yourself, as long as Conner’s there, we’re practically untouchable.’ he’d narrowed his eyes at that, but grabbed your waist. i’m serious. if you can’t radio in, i want you to pull back.
now that you were here, it didn’t seem fair. you’d made it all the way down here, and the two of you were almost certain there was something just a bit deeper. something the team couldn’t afford to ignore. how could he expect you, of all people, to turn around when you were so close? he sure as shit wouldn’t have.
but, he’d also given you an order.
you chew on the fleshy inside of your cheek, gripping the flashlight tighter. “Dick will kill us both.” you offer, but your lips are turning into an uncertain simper. his follow.
Conner puffs out his chest, indignant, and his large hand makes a fist that meets yours in the space between the two of you, with a muffled thud. side by side, his fist is at least twice the size of yours. it made you feel better, for some reason. “Let’s go.”
minutes felt like hours, punctuated by the steady pattering of your feet and his. dragging moments filled with darkness, the flashlight swinging back and forth or throwing dancing light over the walls to look for any opening. nothing but static in your ear.
“Re—on— tee— copy?”
you pause, a twinge of relief nipping at you. a full word. you picked up a full word.
“God—ammit, do you copy?!” Dick’s voice was strained through static.
“Dick!” you cry, holding your first two fingers on the earpiece. “Yes, we’re here!”
“What the hell happened?” you could hardly make it out, but the frustration in his tone came through crystal clear. you take a step forward, testing the connection. it goes out completely. then you take another step, and the static returns. “— out of there.” another step. “— gave you an order.”
Conner has shuffled up to stand at your side, leaning close to hear through the speaker, but his nose scrunches at the mere mention of orders.
“Dick—“ you frown, trying to talk over the static. it was clearer, but not enough, “we were just—“
“Ge— ack—- base—“
you sigh in defeat. “Fine.” but just as you were turning to stare down the dark tube you’ve been walking for what had to be miles, you feel Conner’s elbow dig into your ribs.
“Wait.”
you huff, shaking your head. “Dick’s right, we need to get back—“ but Conner has snatched the flashlight from your hand. “Conner!”
“It opens up ahead.” he replies, aiming the beam at what appeared to be an open doorway. “Looks like a room.”
you stare at the darkened archway, then look to Conner, who was a few steps ahead of you, his body angled towards it.
the static roars in your ear. “—ack to b—s.”
but your gaze drifts back to the doorway. it lingers. the beam from the lamp caught glinting metal, but you couldn’t make out exactly what it was from this distance.
“We already came this far,” Conner argued, “and what we’re looking for could be just up there. You don’t want to turn back.”
he was right. and you shook your head.
“Good, so let’s go see what they’re hiding.”
you followed him this time, and the static in your ear cleared into Dick barking your name. “We found something…” you mutter, more to Dick than Conner, who was waving the light around.
Dick pauses. “What?”
“Some kind of…” you look to your left, and then to your right. metal tools laid out atop a metal tray on wheels. “Abandoned lab.”
“No, not abandoned,” Conner chimes, picking up one of the tools, “no rust. Not even a cobweb. Everything is way too new to be abandoned.”
you purse your lips. “So… they heard us coming and ran?”
“Maybe…” he points the flashlight along the back wall, “but there’s only one way in and out. We would’ve seen them, right?”
Dick was listening over the line, before his voice comes in, eerily clear. “What all do you see? Look around and tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.” Conner was already walking towards you with the flashlight, but you had found a dinky string hanging from the ceiling, and fluorescent lighting floods the room with one, smooth tug.
the room around you seemed to be plucked from a mad scientist movie set, and fit awkwardly in the dilapidated tunnels you were just traipsing moments before. “An exam table,” you answer, walking over to it. you press the toe of your boot against the leg of the table and it doesn’t budge, “bolted to the ground.” your fingers jingle the chains wrapped around it. “Restraints. Tough ones.”
“Scalpel… drill… saw…” Conner was naming off each surgical instrument he picked up, and then sat back down, more to himself, but you knew Dick could hear, too.
you turn, allowing your gaze to follow the cables up the sides of the concrete walls. there’s a security camera angled in one corner, capturing the entire space. “CCTV.” you squint, watching a blinking red light. “Someone’s watching us.”
“There’s a vent over here.” Conner said, even as he was climbing to reach for it. you took one look and knew he couldn’t fit into the space, but you might be able to.
“That it?” Dick asked, but you’d stopped, eyes landing on two syringes, meticulously placed on an otherwise suspiciously empty tray. your name rings out in your ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Two needles.”
“Do you know what’s in them?”
“This one is strange,” you frown, staring at the string. the substance inside was vivid violet. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What’s in the other one?”
“Kryptonite.” Conner was silent, now, standing a few paces behind you, peeking around your frame, but he didn’t get too close. “A lot of it. Enough to…” you trail off, neither of them needed the final two words, and you’d come to a gut-wrenching realization. “It’s a trap. For him.” a mechanical whirring from behind the walls spurs your feet to move, and you whirl around to face Conner. “The doorway, now!”
meanwhile, Dick is shouting, “Get out of there!” in your ear.
Conner was much faster than you, moving in a blur, but not fast enough. a door comes slicing through the archway from the ceiling to seal the two of you inside, just as Conner’s right shoulder collides with the concrete. the room quivers upon impact, and you fall against it, too, with a frustrated grunt. “Shit!” you look up to the ceiling, and take a step back. “We’re locked in.”
“Conner,” Dick was well aware he could hear through your earpiece, even with you standing eight feet away, “Break through the wall.”
“The hell do you think I’m working on?” Conner snarls, hurling all of his weight into the door again. chips of concrete crumble over his shoulders and start to pile at his feet. another body slam, and a chunk falls out and clatters to the floor. “Dammit—“ he hisses through grit teeth, balling up his massive fist and banging on the wall. it quakes and cracks beneath the force, but on the other side, is shiny silver, not even dented. you can see your own reflection, and Conner’s, the more he rips through the concrete.
“He can’t.” you mumble, trying not to panic. but it was damn scary. there weren't too many materials that Conner couldn’t tear in half like a phonebook. “He can’t get through.” you were telling Dick over the endless grunting and heaving as Conner threw himself against the wall. there was a miniature mountain of rubble at his feet, but the silvery sheet wasn’t budging.
you heard Dick swear under his breath, and you looked towards the camera again. “They didn’t hear us coming and run,” you pieced together, “they were never here to begin with. They’ve been waiting for us to find this place.” but why? Superboy has resorted to pummeling the wall with both fists, and the sound of smashing concrete coupled with his cursing was driving you mad as you paced, your eyes flickering up towards the vent. he wouldn’t fit, there’s no way. Dick was spouting command after command in your ear, and your brain felt like it was drowning. “I could probably get through the vent,” you say after a few moments, “if I could… I could find a way to open it from the other side.”
“Good enough plan as any,” Dick sighs, and you know he’s pissed. he’s regretting sending you out with Conner, and you’d probably hear all about it by the time you got back to base. “Knock out the camera, first.” you nod, though you know he can’t see you, and grasp a sizable chunk of concrete from Conner’s wake, hurling it at the camera. it crackles, the lens shattering against the wall before it hangs in a heap of broken metal and cords.
“Conner, I need you to open the vent.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, but he was still glaring at the wall as he stepped away from it. it must’ve really gotten under his skin that he couldn’t break it down, because even as he hovers several feet in the air and pries the cover from the vent, he was still staring at the silver sheet. screws clatter on the floor before you approach, craning your neck to look up at him. he drops the cover and offers his hand, which you take, and he’s hauling you into the air in a matter of seconds without a single sign of exertion. “Ready?” he asks, and you nod.
“Yeah, when I’m inside, I’ll find a way— do you hear that?” you blink, confused. there’s a low hiss, like air being slowly pushed from a balloon. “What is that?”
Conner frowns, too, turning back to face the vent, where his brows knit together. “What… the hell…” a gust of azure fog engulfs him, and he chokes, releasing your hand. you tumble the few feet to the ground, hitting your hip against the solid ground with a low groan. your hand snaps up over your mouth and nose, staying low.
“What’s going on?” Dick demands over the radio, most likely spurred by Conner’s gagging, but you can’t answer him for several seconds. not until the smoke dissipates. “Talk to me!” he was pleading.
you wave your hand in front of your face, a vile aroma left in the air. it smelled like rotting milk. you could see Conner slowly lowering to the ground, and assumed he was okay. you pull yourself to your feet. “Some seriously foul fumes coming from the vent,” you answer Dick finally, glancing back up at the vent, suddenly unsure if you should chance it. “It was probably booby trapped.”
“Are you both okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine.” you turn back, to find Conner standing behind you, hands in tight fists at his sides, shoulders hunched. eyes ablaze. you frown, puzzled. “Conner?”
you have only a fraction of a second to respond when his fist cuts through the air, and you stumble back with a hapless yelp. his other fist is hurdling towards you now, and you dodge that one, too, but you hadn’t expected his shoe digging into your sternum as it makes contact, and sends you flying across the room. tumbling into one of the trays, you roll off of it, and metal tools rain down around you. “Okay,” you huff, your ribs hurting, “something’s wrong. Conner’s been…compromised.”
“Don’t say that.”
“And now I think he wants to kill me.”
“Please don’t say that.”
but Conner was stomping towards you, and you force yourself to your feet, gathering a handful of the sharpest tools you could find. you fling them, all at once, only to see him swat them away as flippantly as he might a bothersome mosquito. “Conner,” you start, firm, “don’t make me fight you.” it was mostly a plea. for, as skilled as you were, you knew you stood a very small, pathetic excuse for a chance against a Kryptonian Superclone. but he advances, still, and you grab the upturned, empty cart, and launch it at him. he doesn’t even flinch when it bounces off of him, but you’re already scrambling over the exam table, unraveling the chain. you wrap it once around your fist, tripping over rubble as you try to put as much distance between you and him as possible. crimson beams burn through the table and leave a hideous, black trail along the concrete as he decimates floor and wall alike, chasing you. the heat from the rays nearly burns your skin even as you roll out of the way.
“You can’t fight him!” Dick was exclaiming, frustrated.
you laugh, weak and bitter, “Geez, babe, thanks so much for the vote of confidence.” Conner was heaving a terminal over his head, chucking it in your direction, but you fall back in time to miss the monitor, and hear it shatter against the wall behind you. Conner is on you in a second, his fists like thousand pound hammers that you’re only able to narrowly avoid, the wind from them whipping your hair about your face. the final punch was unavoidable, but you grasp on to his wrist instead, trying to force it up and angle it away from you. he switches gears, his fist opening to clamp around your throat. “C— Conner—“ you croak, feet kicking as you’re suspended, his grip tightening. “It’s— me!” there’s a slight wavering of his snarl, and his grip loosens for a fraction of a second. long enough for you to press your feet into his abdomen and climb him, jamming the heel of your boot into his jaw and forcing him to release you. you fall to one knee, and grasp the singed exam table to pull yourself up.
“He’s not going to stop,” Dick muttered, “that’s why they set the trap. So he could kill one of us.”
“No,” your eyes were trained on the table top where the syringes lay. “The syringes. This is a game to them, and Conner’s their pawn.”
“The Kryptonite.” Dick’s voice was low. “How much—“
“Too much.” you snapped, cracking the chain like a whip to deflect an oncoming attack. “It would kill him, Dick. I know it.”
“And we have no idea what the other shit does.”
“But they want me to choose one or the other.”
you chance a glance at that peculiar purple syringe. if the Kryptonite would kill him, certainly the mystery substance wouldn’t. why would they even bother if that was the only goal? it didn’t make sense, and you were missing something. your attention is snapped back to your opponent when he grabs the end of the chain mid air. you should’ve dropped it, but you hadn’t the seconds needed to unwrap it from your fist before he was yanking you forward with it, pulling you in to meet his assault. instead, you thought you’d counter, and brought your knee up, ready to kick him square in the chest, but his other hand snagged your ankle. shit.
Conner launches you several feet in the air once more, and when you come crash landing to the floor, you collide into the table. it topples over on top of you, and the syringes hit the floor beside you. your head bounces once against the concrete floor like a deflated basketball, and the earpiece— the only thing connecting you to Dick and the others, clicks as it hits the floor. there’s a dull hum as Dick frantically calls for you over the radio. the breath knocked forcefully from your lungs, your back aching, you want to give up. Dick was absolutely right. you couldn’t fight Superboy and win. and if you kept this up, he would no doubt break every bone in your body. you needed to subdue him.
you look from the Kryptonite to the mystery substance, and back again. the prior was much too dangerous. and you weren’t keen on killing your friends. but the latter could be anything. whose to say it wouldn’t intensify his newfound murderous agenda?
you felt the chain around your wrist tighten; Conner had snatched it up again, and was pulling on it, reeling you to him like a fish on a hook. you don’t have time to consider much, just that killing Conner wasn’t an option, and you grasp the purple syringe tight in your other fist. being dragged across the floor, over bits of shattered glass and rubbled concrete was a most unpleasant experience, but you hadn’t the energy left to fight him off. you work to unravel the chain from your sore wrist when you finally stop, but two, powerful fists are quick to wrap around your throat again and heave you up into the air. your back slams into the wall with a deafening crack. your feet kicking in the air, toes just barely grazing his knees. “Conn— Conner—“ you croak, grasping on to his wrists again. you tried to stare into his ocean eyes, but found your vision blurring, tripling. he was squeezing so tight, your neck would break soon. you tried to suck in breath, but choked instead, “this— better not— kill you.”
for a moment, Conner looks confused. his head cocks to one side, and his brows arch, but you give him no time to react, jabbing the hollowed tip of the needle into the side of his neck. you half expected it to break against his skin, but it pierces through, and you push down with your thumb. the violet liquid disappears a little at a time as Conner wails. his grip loosens and you slip free, crumbling on the floor in an exhausted heap, breathing ragged. your lungs inflate, painfully, as if they are for the first time, reaching up with one hand to rub your throat. it was bruising already, you could tell. he’d almost killed you. your friend had almost killed you.
with your eyes watering, you peer up at him in time for him to pull the syringe free with a grunt and hurl it to the floor. his stoic features were still fixed in fury, and for a moment, you were convinced the dose had done nothing at all. your heart was sinking into the pit of your stomach, “C’mon big guy,” you pleaded through labored breathing, scrambling backwards. but he didn’t follow you at first. he just stood there, eyes fixed on your frame. “You don’t want to hurt me anymore, right? Starting to feel more like yourself again?” it was a hopeful question, but he still wasn’t looking at you like himself. his eyes were dragging over every inch of you, from boots to the torn fabric on your thighs, and up to your breasts heaving as your chest rose and fell. his fists were tight. so tight that his knuckles were turning alabaster. then, finally, his eyes met yours. your heart stuttered in your chest. you knew that look, but you’d never seen it on him. you never thought you would see it on him. your name leaves his mouth, thick and husky, and you swallowed hard around the lump in your throat.
“Fuck.”
you roll over on to your knees, clambering towards the earpiece. your body is on the brink of giving out, exhausted from the ferocity of the fight, but you had to try, no matter how awkward you moved. you weren’t exactly sure what you would tell Dick when you reached it. ‘Oops, I think I made it worse.’ was in the forefront of your mind, but could you explain to your boyfriend the way your teammate was looking you over, like he was a depraved animal? could you really fix your mouth to say the words? he looks like you do when you’re inside of me.
as luck (good or bad) would have it, you never got the chance. that humongous fist wraps around your ankle and pulls you back, before his knees hit the ground hard enough to sound like a drum behind you. “Don’t run from me.” he barks. trading his grip on your ankle for both on your hips, he jerks them up towards him, forcing your back to arch and your knees to dig into the concrete. you let out a protesting whine, but he’s already shredding your stealth suit as he forces it down your legs. “It’s a waste of time.” his words are masked in a deep breath. inhaling your scent once your sex is completely exposed, “And I’m sick of wasting precious moments I could be ruining this pussy.”
you grind your teeth, squirming. his words are like pure electricity, sparking and buzzing deep within you. you didn’t want to like it, but you were wet, anyways. “Conner,” you reach behind you, trying to push him away, “this isn’t like you—“
“You’re right,” he growls in response, leaning in to drag his countenance along your cunt. you realize you can’t push him off from this angle, so you reach both of your arms forward, trying to grip something, anything, to pull you away, but his grip on your hips kept them cemented in place, “but I can’t fucking think straight. I can hear your heart beating, I can smell every pheromone coming from you, my body is screaming for yours and I can’t fucking stand it.” your breath escapes your open mouth in a wheeze when he licks a fat stripe under your folds, teasing your opening. “I need this. I need you. If you’re not willing to help me, then I’ll take what I need.”
“I’m— I want to help you, Conner,” you were pleading, pushing your palms into the concrete to try and crawl away, “but this isn’t the way. Dick can help us fix you, we just have to get out of here!”
but Conner was way past listening. with a primal grunt, he buries his hand in your hair, pushing your head back down against the ground. “Stay. Down.” he hisses, panting hot air on your core. “I can’t wait for Dick Grayson. I don’t need his help, I’m helping myself.” his tongue encircles your clit, that throbs from the attention. he seals his lips around it and suckles furiously, until you’re covering your mouth with one hand to stifle a vulgar mewl. you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, think that you liked it, but you couldn’t keep your thighs from quivering. you couldn’t keep your eyelids from fluttering, especially when his other hand released your hip to push his middle finger into your spasming hole. ready to welcome him, your walls flutter about the intruder. he moans at the sensation, nuzzling into you as close as he could. the bridge of his nose grinds against your sensitive button and you can’t help but wriggle. “Fuck,” he slurs, mouth open and lapping at your wetness, knuckle deep and pumping quick, “you’re going to feel so good wrapped around my cock.”
you loathe yourself for getting even wetter hearing the desperation in his voice. you two were friends, and this was very, very wrong. still, his finger was hitting all the right spots, beckoning for you to cum on it with cheeky curling, and he wouldn’t let up on your clit: sucking, teasing with his teeth, slurping on you. you press your palm tighter against your mouth, but it wasn’t muffling your noises enough. “Feels good, right?” he asks, and you could tell he was smirking by the way his lips stretched, smashed against your flesh. his ring finger joins its sibling, and you whine in hapless submission. his fingers are so much thicker than Dick’s, just the two of them stuffed inside you and you already feel full. couple the stretching with his nearly mechanic rhythm, and the room around you is spinning. you don’t want to be as close to orgasm as you are, but you can feel it coming, and you can’t stop it. your toes curl in your boots, muscles going taut. you try to keep it in, fight back the pleasure, but he notices. “Don’t even think about holding out on me,” Conner snarls, tightening his vice on your roots, smearing your face into the ground, “I need to feel you cum. I need to taste it. If you want to play hard to get, I swear I will break you with my cock, and fuck you within an inch of your fragile life.”
you didn’t want to test the theory, nor did you think that you could even if you wanted to. your climax was a tidal wave, ready to crash and sweep you away, whether you were ready for it or not. a mild, “No…” that was directed to yourself falls from your lips. don’t enjoy this. you can’t. but, it felt so damn good.
Conner groans when you come unraveled, burying his face in your slick with his tongue working overtime, flicking your clitoris back and forth, swiping over it, everything he can do to intensify your climax until you’re shivering, panting, and spent, with both of his digits deep inside. “More.” Conner growls, “I want more.”
more? what more could you give? the statement seemed ridiculous— he’d dismantled you already, leaving your muscles too exhausted to move, your body his to do with what he wanted. “I can’t…” you mumble, but he’s already pulling what’s left of your tattered suit from your body. you’re tossed about for a moment as he strips you, but then you fall back on to your belly and stay there, while you watch him undress himself through bleary eyes.
“You don’t have to.” he snaps, his clothes in a puddle of fabric beside you. “I’m going to do the work for you.” his cock springs free, hard and throbbing and pointed towards his bellybutton, and you feel yourself clench on air. part of you wanted him inside of you, to tear right through you, but the other part— the reasonable one, was not only apprehensive at the sheer size of the titan’s manhood, but the fact that this was still so wrong. no amount of euphoria would mask the infidelity, the guilt of betraying Dick, even if you couldn’t stop this from happening. and the worst part was? you knew you would never tell him about it. Conner was only a passenger; the drug, whatever it may be, was in control of his body, and that wasn’t his fault.
when he reaches for you, you squirm, a feeble attempt at another crawl towards the receiver, but his fingers curl underneath your chin, taking you from behind by the throat and pulling you to your feet. you were limp, sagging forward, but he didn’t even mind. with one hand around your neck, he kept you steady enough, toes dragging the floor, to guide the tip of his cock to its destination. “Look at you,” he whispers in your ear, “so fucking weak, you can’t even stand up on your own. Don’t even try to fight, just take it.”
his other hand hooks underneath your thigh, lifting it as he draws you back into his thrust, and a helpless moan seeps from your lips. his fit is snug, almost too snug. you need time to adjust, but he’s not so keen on giving it to you. he’s much too… depraved to ease you into a soft, passionate fucking. instead, his hips snap forward as he drags you back and forth, using you the same way you could imagine he used his own fist when he was alone. “Take it,” he was grunting, over and over, until those two words were the only things on your mind. two syllables burned into your psyche. take it. take it. take it. even your own whimpering waned in comparison to his snorting in your ear.
the hand around your throat falls, instead, to catch your dangling leg at the thigh and lift it into the air, using the leverage to bounce your body, impaled and levitating. your head feels like a fishbowl full of jelly, and it lolls back against his chest, rising and falling with the heavy rhythm of his breathing. indescript sounds fall from your parted couplet, and your eyes are heavily lidded as you try to look up at him. you catch sight of the sharpness of his jaw, drawn right as he grits his teeth, his clear eyes shrouded in darkness, pupils dilated more than you ever thought possible. his face is red, sweat raining down on you. you feel so damn small, looking up at this giant, feeling every thick inch he’s forcing you to accommodate, suspended in the air.
Conner looks down at you, and his grimace twists into a tense smirk. he must’ve felt like a god right now.
“I always admired your strength,” he murmurs through jagged breath, but it was hard to focus on his words when he was jackhammering into you so hard that his balls were swinging to spank your clit, “now I feel fucking foolish, seeing how easily you submit. You’re not a warrior at all— you’re nothing but a fucking whore, made to be used just like this, and you fucking love it, don’t you?” you wanted to argue, tell him that was the drugs talking, but in this moment, he made a good point. would a real fighter still be resisting? could they? you couldn’t even form sentences, and you felt like his cock was going to tear you in half, and instead of trying to get away, you were just slumped back against the menace terrorizing your body. using it. you try to shake your head, but he laughs at you. it wasn’t Conner’s usual laugh. that’s what you kept repeating. he doesn’t laugh that wicked. it wasn’t him. he wasn’t in control. “You’re a damn liar,” he snarls, his massive hands squeezing the supple flesh of your thighs hard enough to elicit and whimper. they would be sore for a while. your whole body would. “If you didn’t love the feeling of my cock destroying your little body, you wouldn’t be so dickdrunk. You wouldn’t be clenching around me like you just found your life’s purpose, and it’s being impaled on my dick. Would you?” you can’t answer, and that coaxes another husky chuckle.
“Maybe you should take a look,” he grunts, allowing his arms to glide with ease up your torso. his elbows force your legs up and spread further, and his fingers lock behind your head, pushing it down. you’ve no choice but to stare at your belly as it distends, the shape of his cock bulging out from the inside when he bottoms out. your head spins, locked in his vice, you can see your own cum dripping from your cunt. you couldn’t help it, but it was still humiliating. “Watch me fuck that little pussy. See how good you take me? Fuck, what’s Grayson always say about you? ‘Tiny, but mighty’? I’ll fucking say so. You’re taking every fucking inch.” you babble, a mix of pleas and his name broken into pathetic syllables as he drives himself up into you. “Attagirl— I might just snap you in two if I pound any harder, huh?” his words are muffled, distorted, as he bites on his lip. you force yourself to nod. you doubted he would show you any mercy, but your body was at its limit.
“C—Conn— Conner!“ your eyes, even glazed, were focused on watching his shaft slide into you, form a thick lump in your belly, and then back out. if you had another orgasm, you’d had three more. the pleasure seemed to run in tandem with your exhaustion. you wanted to beg him to stop, or at least slow down, but his name is the only word you can form.
“Keep screaming my name just like that,” he moans, slobbering over your neck where he sucks and bites, “it’s gonna make me cum!”
you could’ve told him to pull out, but what was the point? he would do what he wanted, and you had absolutely no say. with his hot breath raising goosebumps on your skin, he howls, rutting deep, any rhythm he had before dissipated into fervent fucking, the primal need to be as deep as he could, before he erupts.
and just like that, he drops you.
hitting the floor had become a feeling you were, unfortunately, used to, so you only groan, rolling on to your back. you could feel his cum leaking out of your abused body, and you sucked in a few, heavy breaths.
Conner, on the other hand, has fallen to his knees, panting, growling, his fingers digging into the concrete with his eyes closed. “What… the hell…” he mumbles, “what… did I do?”
Conner was back. the real Conner.
good to know the dose was only temporary.
still, you didn’t know what to say, nothing that came to mind would do much to make him feel better. he finally convinces himself to look up, to look at you. you must’ve looked exactly how you felt, spent, bruised, naked and oozing him, because he let out a furious scoff at himself and pounds his massive fists against the ground, initiating a cloud of debris and dust to swirl around him. “They… weaponized me. Again. To hurt you.” his voice wasn’t steady. it was strained.
“Just…” you hold out your arm, the muscles practically made of gel, “help me up, Conner.” what were you supposed to say? how were you supposed to act? his brows furrow, but he does as instructed, before dressing himself then gathering your clothes. you didn’t miss the way he eyed the destruction he caused about the room, or the guilt painted over his face when he saw you leaning against the wall, wincing, holding your belly. you couldn’t help it. there was a painful, hollow feeling in you after such a rough romp. “Thanks.” you mutter, holding his broad shoulder for stability as he helps you step into your suit. it was horrendously torn, as if you’d been mauled by a werewolf, but nothing the fight couldn’t explain.
“The others are getting close,” he offered. super hearing, you assumed. “What are you going to tell Dick?” Conner asked, somewhat bashful. you noticed that he even looked away when he knelt in front of you, avoiding looking at your body. his cheeks were crimson. he wasn’t the sheepish type, that was all humiliation. and anger at himself, probably.
you look towards the door as it whirrs to life, raising to reveal the tunnels. your way out. what a sick joke.
you could faintly make out silhouettes; the team, and you sigh. “Nothing.” you answer, finally. the last thing you needed was Dick to learn what happened here— you knew him well, too well, to know better. but Conner opened his mouth to protest, and you shook your head. “That wasn’t you, and we never mention it again. Agreed? Not to Dick, not to each other. It. Never. Happened.” now, he nods, and seals his tiers. he wouldn’t say a word, and neither would you. but you knew, deep down, that you would think about this night. replay over and over it in your mind. and maybe he would do the same.
“ you left and— i thought you weren’t coming back. ”
“ i miss you. i know i’m not supposed to, but. i just had to see you. ”
“ please don’t scare me like that again. i can take a lot of things, but not losing you. ”
“ i can’t even take the very thought of you getting hurt. ”
“ you could’ve gotten yourself killed! you could’ve— fuck! you scared the shit outta me. ”
“ yes. i am telling you what to do. i’m telling you not to pull something like that again because— ‘cause fucking hell. i care about you. okay? ”
“ i found myself driving home and then. well i was on my way here. ‘cause i guess…you’re still my home. ”
“ please, tell me why you’re upset. tell me who did this? ”
“ you don’t have to come over here and take care of me you know. i can clean up my own messes. ”
“ don’t talk. just get the fuck over here and hold me. ”
“ loving you is like having my heart just out in the world. outside of my body walking around. every time i see you hurting, it kills me. ”
“ i made you cry. and i hate myself for that. i swore i wouldn’t be one of the people who left you hurting. ”
“ you really hurt me this time. but i want to let go of that. i really do want to forgive you i’m just scared you’ll hurt me again. ”
“ i know you’re mad at me right now, but i’m the one who’s here. let me be here. let me help. you can be angry later. ”
“ i’m here now. i know i wasn’t before. but i should’ve been. and i’m not going anywhere. i’m not gonna let that happen again. ”
“ it’s time to come home now. ”
“ that’s enough. you’ve got your revenge. let’s go. ”
“ i know you’re hurting. and i can’t fix that. but i can refuse to let you hurt alone. ”
“ i’m never letting go of you. i missed you so fucking much. ”
“ look at me, you’re safe. and you’re not alone. and i’ll never let you be alone again. you understand? ”
“ i broke my promise to you once. i’ll never do it again. ”
“ i don’t need you to go white knighting and fix all this. i just want you here. with me. that will make me feel better. ”
“ just stay still and let me hold you. ”
“ you don’t have to hide your tears. let it out. then we’ll move on, together. ”
“ i just. needed to talk to you ‘cause. somehow you always know what to say. ”
“ don’t bury your feelings. sadness. hurt. rage. feel it. acknowledge it so you can decide what you want to do with it. not what it will do to you. ”
“ i miss your smile. and not that sad one you try to fool everyone with. the real one. the one you used to show me. ”
“ come here. i’m taking care of you tonight. and you’re gonna let me. ”
1) our muses reunite after sender thought receiver was dead.
2) our muses reunite after receiver thought sender was dead.
3) sender shows up at receiver’s house drunk after they’ve broken up.
4) receiver shows up at sender’s house drunk after they’ve broken up.
5) our muses are on bad terms but reunite after one of them nearly dies.
6) sender finds receiver crying and approaches, clearing the tears with their hands while demanding to know what happened.
7) receiver finds sender crying and approaches, clearing the tears with their hands while demanding to know what happened.
8) our muses haven’t been speaking, but sender rushes to take care of receiver after they’ve been injured or fell ill.
9) our muses haven’t been speaking, but receiver rushes to take care of sender after they’ve been injured or fell ill.
10) sender hurt receiver in some way, which led to receiver doing something reckless and sender shows up to stop them/or deal with the aftermath.
11) receiver hurt sender in some way, which led to sender doing something reckless and receiver shows up to stop them/or deal with the aftermath.
12) our muses are in a fight, but cuddle anyway because they don’t like sleeping alone.
13) receiver wakes sender from a nightmare.
14) sender wakes receiver from a nightmare.
15) sender wakes up in the hospital and finds receiver at their side, who is in the same clothes as the day they were admitted because they’ve refused to leave their side.
16) receiver wakes up in the hospital and finds sender at their side, who is in the same clothes as the day they were admitted because they’ve refused to leave their side.
17) our muses are currently on the outs, but receiver goes through something traumatic and sender pushes past their friends to get to them.
18) our muses are currently on the outs, but sender goes through something traumatic and receiver pushes past their friends to get to them.
pedro pascal stans post a picture and be like “sugar daddy🥵 dilf 🥵dom😫 spit in my mouth🥺 punch me in the stomach 🥵yes sir im your whore🥵” and its a picture of a man who looks like he would make it to the quarter finals of the great british bakeoff and then lose.
Okay y'all I SWEAR I have a Frank Castle fic coming up but I just saw Motionless In White and Black Veil Brides the other day and lemme tell you the thots are thotting
Summary: As a teenager, you had a crush on your attractive neighbor Frank Castle. You were there on that horrible day and never thought you'd see Frank again - until he turned up right next door.
Warnings: Smut (Frank is actually a pretty gentle gentleman in this), Age Gap, Death, Mentions of pedophilia, Teen drinking
Word Count: 8.2k (I got a little carried away... there's probably a bit of unnecessary backstory here lol)
Frank noticed the stumbling young woman on the side of the road and his brows furrowed in concern. Even though he couldn’t see your face, only your back being illuminated by his headlights in the night as he drove up the dark street that eventually led to your homes (two miles away), you were familiar. His foot pressed the brake, drawing the car to a crawling pace beside you.
Panicked when you realized an unidentified vehicle was stopping beside you in the middle of the night, your eyes darted over there and you looked like deer in the headlights. That is, until a familiar gruff voice called out your name questioningly.
“Frank?” You hiccuped, taking steps closer to the open passenger window but tripping and stumbling over your own feet.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “yeah, it’s me kid. What’re you doing out here? Are you okay?”
It was clear that you weren’t okay. Mascara had smeared under your eyes from a wild night at a crazy party. Your hair was a messier version of what he assumed had looked nice a few hours ago. You also reeked of alcohol.
At first you nodded assuredly before shaking your head and then nodding again. Finally, you pointed down the road, “‘m just tryn- *hiccup* tryna make it back home.”
“Home’s a long ways down the road. Why don’t you hop in? I’ll give you a ride,” Frank offered, motioning for you to get in the car.
You shook your head and waved him off dramatically, almost falling backwards, “No, no, no. I got this.”
Frank couldn’t help the amused chuckle that fell from his lips. He remembered being in your position. Sixteen years old, drinking with friends, testing your limits. He had done the same stuff in high school at your age. He didn’t fault you one bit but he did want to make sure you were safe and considering he lived across the street, this was really no inconvenience to him.
“C’mon. Get in. Can’t have you walkin’ alone drunk at night.” Frank insisted, now getting out of the car and walking over to you. He opened the passenger door and held his hand out to help guide you inside. It didn’t take long for you to submit to his persistence, the idea of walking home not being very appealing anyways. What began as an attempt to slowly lower yourself into the seat resulted in your foot slipping off the edge of the curb and your butt hitting the soft seat with a thud.
“Oof!” You grunted dramatically before giggling uncontrollably, “Whoops!”
Frank ignored the fall and leaned over you, pulling your seat belt across your chest, “Geez, you smell like you drank the whole bar.”
You giggled, “I certainly tried.”
He shut the door and got back into the driver’s seat before peeling back onto the street. “Yeah, I remember those days. Just be careful. Don’t hurt yourself. And always make sure you’re safe. There are some terrible people in this world that would see a pretty drunk girl and see an opportunity,” he said sincerely, “What were you doin’ walkin’ alone at eleven o’clock at night anyways?”
At first you burned hot. Did Frank Castle just say you're pretty? Then you shrugged and cuddled back into the seat, the alcohol beginning to make your eyelids heavy. “Was at a party at some girl’s house,” you began before you found yourself having to swallow hard to keep the storm in your stomach at bay, “Me ‘n some friends all went but the cops busted the place. We all ran but we got separated. I don’t know where they went but their car was gone so I just walked home.” You didn’t sound upset by this - more like it was just a matter of fact.
“Some friends you got there,” Frank grumbled, “You know, friends don’t leave other friends to get arrested.”
You just sat silently, guilt beginning to settle in. Then realization hit you, “Shit! My parents are gonna kill me.”
Frank laughed, “Maybe you should have thought of that a few shots ago.”
“I was gonna stay the night at Becca’s house!” you whined in defense and although Frank had no clue who Becca was, he assumed it was one of the friends who left you for the cops.
He just shook his head as he drove down the dark road. “What were you doing out so late?” You tried to poke at his arm but it came off as a weak attempt.
“Lisa is sick. Just had to run down to the drug store and get some of that baby Tylenol. I’m glad I did though otherwise you would’ve had a long walk ahead of you.”
You just smiled and lolled your head to the side, looking at Frank with all the admiration in the world, “You know you’re perfect right?”
Frank looked over to you with brows furrowed and a chuckle of disbelief, “Oh please…”
“No really! You’re like perfect. I mean you just picked me up to make sure I got home safe because you’re like really nice,” you hiccuped, “And- and you’re getting Lisa those special baby medicines cause,” hiccup, “you’re a really good dad. And you’re tough and strong. I mean really strong. I really like your muscles a lot. And you’re really handsome.” You babbled endlessly, all of your deepest most secret thoughts spewing out of your mouth uncontrollably.
Your older neighbor had no clue how to handle your kind albeit inappropriate confession. Frank had never been good with words, “Uh look,”
“I think I’m in love with you,” you confessed suddenly. “I know I shouldn’t be cause you're old and I'm only sixteen but I see you every day being all perfect with your perfect house and your perfect baby and your perfect wife and I secretly wish it were me instead of her.”
Frank swallowed hard and exhaled heavily. He almost wanted to pull over so he could look you in the eye but even from the glances at you he took away from the road made the lovestruck sparkle in your eye glisten apparently. While flattered, Frank felt criminal just hearing it. “I-I appreciate that, kid. I really do. And you’re a really sweet kid but-”
“You keep calling me kid.”
“Cause you are a kid,” Frank said firmly, “Look, you’re growing into a fine young woman and one day, you’re gonna make some lucky boy a happy man.”
You sighed heavily, “So you don’t love me?” It was a ridiculous question and Frank could tell even you knew that. He knew it was just the alcohol talking, making you admit things he was never meant to hear. Frank felt guilty now knowing these things that he was sure you’d be embarrassed about him knowing.
“I’m married. I have a kid. And I’m a lot older than you,” Frank explained, turning onto your street.
“You’re old but you’re not that old. You’re like, what? Ten years older than me maybe? Fifteen max!” You tried to reason with him one last time before sighing in morose resignation, “It’s okay. Why would you like me back anyways?”
Frank pulled the car into his driveway and shook his head. He didn’t want to hurt you but he couldn’t enable these feelings either. He just hoped the alcohol would erase the memories of tonight so he could pretend like it never happened and could spare you the embarrassment. Without a word, he got out of the car and opened your door. He nodded towards the lawn, “C’mon. You’ve had a lot to drink. We should get you home.”
*
Years had passed. You’d graduated high school and spent a few years on your own. Despite struggles, life had been going relatively well as of late. You had moved to Hell's Kitchen which, while not ideal, held a promising career opportunity and a surprisingly affordable apartment compared to some other parts of New York.
Your abode was humble to say the least, just a studio with brick walls and a stove from the 1960s. It was yours though and it definitely was better than a lot of other options, all of which were thousands of dollars a month for an apartment more comparable to a shoe box than a living space. But that was the price of living in New York, you supposed. The city of dreams and rats.
It had been a long day at work. As you exited the elevator to your floor, a tired drag in your step, you stared down your front door like it was a target and you refused to miss. You needed a drink. Or two. Alone or with friends, you couldn't care less, you just couldn't wait to take these dang heels off.
After the long trek down the hall, you reached the door. You fumbled through your bag to find your keys when the door to the next apartment opened.
You startled, used to it being empty for the last several months. The stranger's back was turned to you but you could tell he was a middle aged man, towering and muscular with a commanding presence, even without trying. His black t-shirt was loose over his denim jeans and a black duffel bag was slung over his shoulder.
"Uh, hi-" You started awkwardly, feeling obligated to at the very least introduce yourself to the new neighbor, "did you just move in?"
The tall man turned around to face the unexpected voice behind him and you both shared mutual looks of dawning surprise when you saw each others' faces. "Frank?" You asked in utter shock.
Frank's eyes widened and he looked like he was looking at a ghost as he said your name questioningly. This could be bad, living next to you. You even knowing he was alive was a risk.
“What the hell is going on?” You stammered, knowing full well his past. Knowing full well he was supposed to be dead. You had grown up right next to the Castle family. Granted, you had moved out by the time Lisa was four but you had been home visiting the day Frank’s family was murdered. You had been there. It was horrible and traumatic and you remembered every second of that day.
*
It was a pleasantly chilly day when you got a knock on your front door. You skipped down the stairs, happy to be home for the week, and opened it to find the Castle family standing in the doorway. Immediately, Frank Jr. and Lisa threw their arms around your waist. “We missed you so much!” Lisa squealed.
Maria laughed at her kids, “I’m sorry! We saw your car in the driveway and the kids just had to come say hi.”
You squeezed them both tightly and a beaming smile spread across your face, “Don’t be sorry! I haven’t seen you all in forever!”
“We’re going to Central Park!” Frank Jr. jumped up and down excitedly, “We want you to come with!”
You looked at Frank and Maria questioningly, “Oh, well, I don’t know. As much fun as it sounds, I know your dad just got home and I’m sure you probably want to spend time as just a family.”
Frank’s face distorted like the very thought was ridiculous, “Ah, come on. You’re practically family at this point.”
“We’d love for you to come,” Maria added with a kind smile.
You thought for a moment but once you realized that your parents both worked and you’d just be sitting at home alone all day, you decided to go. “Okay, you talked me into it. Let me grab my coat.”
You stood beside Frank and Maria, watching the kids ride the carousel. Every time you looked away, they made sure to yell your name followed by “Look at me! Look at me!”. The love you felt from and for this family had always astounded you. And to think, all it took was one drunken night in high school to form that close bond with the family that you’d always been friendly with but never this close. You didn’t even remember most of it but you’d been grateful for Frank picking you up that night and even more grateful for it making the two of your families more comfortable with each other.
Billy saddled up beside you, between you and Frank, and looked at you with those eyes that were absolutely lethal. With a face like his, he could get whatever he wanted and he knew it which was why despite his incessant flirting with you, you refused to give him it. “Hey, sweetheart, my sweet tooth is actin’ up,” he commented, looking you up and down, like you were an ice cream and he was licking you with his gaze.
Frank rolled his eyes and shoved Billy’s head, “Easy tiger. Touch her and I’ll cut your dick off.”
You gave Billy those innocent doe eyes that held restrained falsified lust behind them and cooed, “Well, if you’re that down bad for something sweet…” you got closer to him and Billy’s brows raised, sure he was about to get what he wanted. Frank looked over at you, cocking his brow with something between vague disgust and surprise. “There’s cotton candy over there,” you dropped your act and patted his shoulder in a brotherly way, “Don’t hurt yourself.”
You glanced between the two men and watched Billy laugh and shake his head, trying to play off the rejection. Frank chuckled at his brother’s failure and gave you a tiny proud nod meant just for you.
Billy was attractive, undeniably so. He looked like he was straight out of a novel with debonair danger. Still, it was Frank that had your heart. It was silly to still like him after all this time. Maybe it was the fact that you could never have him that made the flame impossible to extinguish. But still, it was always these little moments, like a tiny gesture like that nod, meant only for you, that had your heart racing. You just hoped it wasn’t obvious. If Frank ever knew, you’d probably die of humiliation and never be able to look him in the eye again.
It took you a moment to realize that your gaze had been lingering on Frank for much longer than was appropriate. Billy kicked your foot slightly, just enough to silently earn your attention. Your eyes shot over to him and he only wiggled his eyebrows once, lifting his chin towards Frank enough for only you to know what he meant and then he sent you a knowing cocky smirk. “I see,” he mused, a wicked glint in his eyes.
You tried to shake your head casually and roll your eyes as if the mere insinuation was absurd but Billy saw right through it. Paranoid, you side eyed Frank and Maria, who were watching their kids still go around and around on plastic ponies.
“I’ll be right back,” you excused yourself, gesturing to the restroom that was not too far from here. As you left, you held eye contact with Billy. As much as you despised his perceptive abilities, you had a feeling that he would enjoy holding this over you too much to actually tell Frank. Then, he lost leverage.
Turns out, going to the bathroom was the only thing that saved your life that day.
As soon as you finished and were washing your hands, gunshots boomed through the park. Your blood ran cold as ice as your knees instinctively buckled, your autopilot guiding you to partially duck behind the porcelain sink. Many more rang out with the speed of an automatic weapon.
What were you supposed to do? On one hand, you wanted to rush out to Frank, Maria, Billy, and the kids, make sure you were all safe and could leave together, alive and well. On the other, you felt like this might be one of the safest places for you and that, even in the open, Maria and the kids were safer with Billy and Frank than with anyone else.
And so you hid. You climbed into a stall, shut the door, and crouched on the toilet seat so your feet weren’t visible. With your heart pounding in your ears, tears streaking your face, and strangled muffled hiccups of sobs, you texted Frank first: Are you guys okay? And then your parents: I love you. And then Frank again: I’m in the bathroom. Please can we meet up? And then one final text: Thank you for everything.
By the time the police found you and ushered you out of the bathroom, the FBI had already had the scene under surveillance. Between the officers milling about, you caught glimpses of the Castle family on the ground, lifeless and bloody, blocked off by caution tape and being photographed by the forensics team.
Your heart plummeted, "Oh my God! No!" You screamed, trying to rush over to them but the police officer held you back. "Let me go! Frank! Lisa!" The legs you were trying to use to force your way through the officer's gave out and you crumpled to the ground in a sobbing heap.
That was the last time you saw any of them.
*
Frank's vigilante rampage as the Punisher had been all over the news and you had followed every story with immense investment. It was Frank, after all. In all honesty, you never agreed with the horrible things said about him on the news. You had known Frank for years and while you knew he had an undeniable violent streak, you knew he would never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. Despite his crimes, when news of his death broke, you were devastated. Yet here he was, standing right in front you, apparently your next door neighbor now.
Frank knew he needed to sort things out with you and fast. He put his hand out towards you and you flinched back instinctively, not because you were afraid of him but because this didn’t feel real. This couldn’t be real. He retracted and put his hand up to show he wasn’t gonna hurt you. “Look, I can explain, but you need to come inside. I can’t talk about it in the open,” he explained, gesturing towards the door of his apartment.
You looked at it cautiously, wondering if this was really the wisest decision. You had always trusted that Frank hadn’t really been in the wrong in his excursions but there was still gnawing anxiety as you thought about going through that door. But you needed to know. “Okay,” you nodded shakily and Frank opened the door again, leading you inside.
He clearly had just moved in. The pre-furnished apartment was practically as empty as it had been before a tenant moved in. Aside from the single duffel Frank had shouldered, there was one other bag on the kitchen table. You sat down on the old couch that had been worn down from the previous tenants and Frank sat beside you.
His brows seemed to be perpetually furrowed, a staple on his handsome face that showed the years of torture he had endured. He leaned forward on his knees and he ran his large hand through his hair in distress, “I know how crazy this looks-”
“Yeah,” you scoffed, “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“I know,” Frank sighed, “Look, I got a new identity now okay? You can call me Frank behind closed doors but if you see me in public, I’m Pete Castiglione.”
“Okay?” you looked at him expectantly, “That doesn’t explain anything. You were dead, Frank.”
Frank shook his head. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need you getting involved with his bullshit and he certainly didn’t need someone who knew him to screw up his chance at having a life again. “There were some bad people. The ones who- who killed my family,” there was a small pause as you both remembered that day so vividly, “I took care of it. But once the world found out I was still alive and being publicized as doin’ the things I was doin’, I had to disappear again.”
You took a moment to absorb the new information. Frank Castle, your long time neighbor turned vigilante (or mass murdered, depending on your outlook), was alive. You didn’t think too far into what ‘I took care of it’ meant. It was obvious.
“Well… you picked a hell of a place to disappear to,” you weakly attempted a joke, gesturing around the small apartment that had clearly seen better days (like, several decades ago).
Frank looked over his shoulder at his new residence, “Yeah, well, I just needed somewhere cheap. Don’t need nothin’ fancy.”
Silence settled over the two of you as you both mulled over what this now meant. In all honesty, you didn’t know what it meant for you. You were just glad Frank was alive. “Why don’t you come over for dinner?” You offered, nodding towards the wall that was shared with your apartment.
Frank shook his head, “Nah, I don’t want to put you out.”
“It looks like you haven’t had the chance to get any groceries yet and I’m telling you now that that Indian food place across the street is not worth it, if you know what I mean. I have to cook anyway so why don’t you just come over and not make me eat alone, yeah? Besides, there’s probably a lot to catch up on…”
Frank knew he couldn’t argue with that little smile you gave him, not that he wanted to. The thought of having something that resembled his life before all this pain was a glimmer of happiness that he tried to hide away because he knew it was only a matter of time before it was extinguished. But he really did want to catch up with you.
“Okay,” he agreed, “I’d like that.”
With a satisfied smile, you stood up and reshouldered your bag, “Good. Well I’m gonna go get started cause I’m starving. You’re more than welcome to come over now if you want.”
You stood beside the stove, stirring the components of the dish you’d been craving all week. The scent wafted through the air deliciously and you hummed in satisfaction when you sampled it. Frank stood opposite the little bar that also served as your counter. “You sure I can’t help with anything?”
You hummed, “Mhm! It’s almost done anyways. If you want a drink or something though, there might be wine in that cabinet.” You gestured to the cabinet to his right with the wooden spoon in your hand.
He pointed at it to double check that that was the one you were referring to and opened it, lifting down the bottle of rosé in there. He smirked at the label, “A friend of mine loves this one too.”
With a chuckle, you pulled down some plates and began to dish them up, “It’s a good one!”
“Yeah it is,” he smiled, remembering Sarah Lieberman, “Strong shit.”
Your brow quirked, “Didn’t strike me as a rosé kind of guy.”
Frank put a hand on his chest in feign offense, “Hey, I like more than beer and whiskey or whatever box you have me in in your head.”
Carrying a plate in each hand, you brought them over to the dining room table. You hustled back into the kitchen to retrieve two wine glasses and Frank joined you at the table, using the wine opener in the cabinet to uncork the clear glass bottle. His large hands poured the pink liquid with delicacy and he took his seat across from you.
You dove right in, your rumbling stomach ready to make itself a third party in this conversation. Frank took a bite too and his eyes widened. “Wow…”
“What?”
“That’s good,” he said amazed, pointing at the plate, “Definitely better than the take out I eat most of the time.”
You smiled, “Well now that you live next door, you don’t have to eat take out all the time.”
Frank covered his mouth while he chewed, brows furrowing as he shook his head, “I don’t want to bug you.”
You scoffed, “Please, you couldn’t bug me if you tried. It gets lonely anyways sometimes.” You reoccupied yourself with the food, an unexpected comfort having already settled over you and Frank.
Frank couldn’t help but watch you and wonder when the hell you had become a woman. He and Maria had bought the house next to yours just after she had had Lisa. You had to have been around fifteen when he first met you but it hadn’t been until about a year later when the two of you had had any significant interaction beyond a neighborly wave if you crossed each other in town. It wasn’t until that one night he found you drunkenly stumbling home after a party that the two of you ever really spoke more than pleasantries. After that, you babysat his children and practically became part of the family. Even after you graduated and left home, you’d stayed in touch. He knew he technically knew you as an adult but this was the first time he ever realized that you were a real woman.
“What?” You questioned, cheeks burning under his gaze that had been on you for a few too many seconds for comfort.
He shook his head and reached for his glass of wine, “Sorry just… you’ve grown up a lot since I last saw you.” Frank felt like such a creep. He had known you since you were in high school and had never felt anything more than friendship for you but now he looked at you and he felt a magnetism, like his heart was pulled towards you even though every fiber of his being told him it was wrong.
The memories of the last time you saw him threatened to slip through the wall you had it hidden behind but you quickly covered it with a chuckle, “It wasn’t that long ago. I was like 19 or 20 last time we saw each other.”
“There’s a lot of growin’ that happens in your twenties,” Frank defended before cautiously continuing, “But, uh, you look good.”
You smiled sincerely, “Thanks. I’ve definitely been trying. I had to redeem myself from that terrible haircut I had in high school.” You both laughed but Frank looked confused.
“Aw, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad!”
“I can guarantee it most definitely was,” you insisted, “I look back at my old yearbook photos and cringe.”
Frank sipped his wine, “Well, I never thought it was all that bad but I guess I’m not exactly model material myself.”
You mirrored his drink and set it down with a sigh, as if you already regretted what you were about to admit but something was still compelling you to confess anyways. “Nah…” you started with a slight concealing chuckle.
After the exhaustion of the work day and the high emotions of seeing Frank again, the voice in your head that monitored your words stood no chance against the minimal wine you'd ingested. “You know, speaking of high school, I used to have a kind of a crush on you.” You saw how his eyes widened a little at your admission so you continued, waving the idea away, “It was silly, really."
Frank couldn't believe you told him. For years, he'd harbored your secret for you, one you yourself were unaware of sharing. He'd never expected you to tell him. "Y’know, I feel bad admittin' it but I actually knew," he confessed with a gruff clearing of his throat.
You rolled your eyes, totally not believing him, "What do you mean you knew? How could you have possibly known?"
He crossed his thick arms across his chest and leaned back, eyes locking on a spot on the table, finding it easier than seeing the impending embarrassment that was sure to fall on your face. With an awkward chuckle, he started explaining, “You remember that night back in high school when I found you stumblin’ home drunk ‘n gave you a ride home?”
You nodded along to his story, hiding behind your wine glass while looking over the rim at him once you realized where this was going, “Yeah. I mean no, not really, but yeah.” You chuckled, the majority of that night having been a blur of patchy memories. He gave you a look that you knew meant that you must have done what you had always fought to conceal and your face fell, “I didn’t…”
Frank chuckled but gave you an apologetic look, “Yeah… yeah you did.”
Your eyes squeezed tight and you lightly bonked the mostly empty wine glass against your forehead, wishing it could conceal how absolutely mortified you were. Suddenly, you leaned forward, both hands twisting the stem of your wine glass. “So you’re telling me you knew all these years?”
He wiped his hand across this face, concealing the heat in his cheeks and the goofy smile on his lips, “I did.”
You groaned and plopped your forehead onto the wooden table, “Ugh, I’m gonna go crawl in a hole.”
Frank rolled his eyes, “Nah, don’t worry about it. It was actually kinda cute.”
You laughed, downing the rest of your wine in one gulp. You wiped your mouth, swallowing hard, “Well, I’m glad you thought so…” This was humiliating. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if you didn’t still have feelings for him. It was just so cute.
“I always had an ugly mug so I can’t lie, I was a little flattered when you said it,” Frank chuckled, trying to cushion the embarrassment he hadn’t intended for you to feel.
You shook your head, “You’ve never been ugly, Frank. I could never figure out why you always seemed to think so.”
Your fingertip traced lightly around the rim of your glass as silence befell your conversation. The two of you sat in the new quietness but still, all you felt was the awkwardness of this new information lingering over the two of you. Although, technically you supposed it was just new to you… Frank had known for years.
Unable to bear the tension any longer, you stood up abruptly and made your way to the wine bottle on the counter, your back to Frank at the table. You refilled your glass, probably a little too full, and sipped deeply from it. Behind you, Frank’s chair scraped against the hardwood floor and the wood creaked beneath the shift of his heavy weight.
“Did you want some more?” You offered over your shoulder, turning towards him with the bottle in your hand only to be taken aback by Frank’s large body already towering over your frame. You jumped back, hands gripping the countertop out of instinct, “Wooh! Sorry,” you chuckled, his close proximity making butterflies flutter wildly in your stomach, “Didn’t expect you there…”
Frank’s eyes were lowered towards the ground as he fidgeted the wine glass between his large hands but his brow was furrowed, something heavy on his mind. “Look, uh, I don’t want you feelin’ weird or nothin’ about what you said to me all those years ago. I know that was then and things have probably changed after everything that’s happened. But, shit, this is probably so fucking wrong of me to say but you are beautiful. And I don’t know if sayin’ that just makes me some creepy old man but…” He stopped, unable to find the right words to say next. Maybe there were no right words. Maybe he’d already said all the wrong ones.
You gawked at Frank and his confession, your brain struggling to comprehend his words. There was no way Frank was saying those words to you. There was no way he was looking at you like that, with wide desperate eyes, hoping you would say anything to dispel the disgust he felt now towards himself.
After a few moments had passed, his face fell for just a moment before he replaced it with that mask he wore so often. He cleared his throat and set the wine glass on the counter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said anything,” He turned to leave before muttering, “Thanks for dinner.”
You panicked when you saw him head for the door and chased after him. “Wait!” Your hand fell on his shoulder from behind and when he turned his large shoulders to face you, you quickly stood on your tiptoes and leaned up to press your lips to his. Your eyes were squeezed shut but you felt his surprise. Frank’s firm muscles tensed beneath your hands. He stumbled backwards from the unexpected weight of your body against his, before catching you around the waist with his broad hands. For a moment, he moved his head back but only in shock. He never pulled away.
His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, moving in better unison than you ever could have imagined in your teenage fantasies. Frank’s hands smoothed down your body respectfully, landing on the junction between the small of your back and your waist. When your calves began to quake from standing on your toes, you regretfully pulled yourself away from Frank.
You looked up at him, wide nervous eyes waiting to see his reaction. Waiting to watch him head for the door again because maybe he’d made up his mind already. Waiting to hear him tell you this was wrong and you couldn’t continue. Waiting to hear him say you had somehow misinterpreted what he had said.
But he did none of those.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, a surprising gentleness behind the desperation of his touch. Your hands came to the side of his face as your lips met again, deep and passionate. Years of affection for the man swelled in your heart, overwhelming your senses with nothing but Frank. Your brain short-circuited and you almost lost track of the world around you.
Frank’s large body pressed into yours, his weight pressing you backwards as he pulled your waist into his body deeply and throwing you off balance. He walked with you, supporting your stumbling weight before you butted up against the counter. Frank’s hands snaked under your thighs, encompassing the flesh tightly and lifting you with ease, so much so that it surprised you even with his incredibly muscular build. He set you on the cool countertop but you clung to him tightly still, pulling him in by his shirt and feeling his muscles ripple beneath your touch.
At this new height, Frank’s pelvis now rutted against your core with every shift and rock of your bodies. Frank groaned when you rocked your hips against his impressive bulge but then he stopped moving, his hands gripping the tops of your thighs like he was restraining himself. His forehead rested against yours and his eyes squeezed shut tight. Frank shook his head and he panted out, voice deep and gruff, “I-I don’t want to hurt you.”
You pulled back and looked up at him confused, “You’re not gonna hurt me.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he clarified, his fingers coming up to brush your arms so softly, careful as if you were porcelain that would crack under the slightest pressure.
“I’m an adult now. I have been for several years. If you feel uncomfortable doing this, I understand and we can stop but…” you paused for a moment, taking a shaky breath, “I’ve liked you for a long long time Frank, and I’d like to continue… if you’ll have me.”
He exhaled sharply and glanced at the ground with a smirk of disbelief, “If I’ll have you? I’d have to be stupid to say no.”
“Then kiss me,” you looked up at him through thick lashes that did nothing to conceal the way your doe eyes bore unapologetically into Frank’s own. You were done hiding your feelings for him. There was no reason to anymore.
Frank tilted his jaw, pressing his lips against yours with so much care, so much reverence, so much respect. Like you were the most important thing in his life. It was different from your last few kisses. Before it was hot and sudden and wrong. Now Frank saw a beautiful woman whom he cared about so deeply and who he knew understood him and his pain because she was the only other person who had been there that day that was still alive. And this beautiful woman who deserved so much in this world was begging him to kiss her.
The way Frank gently slipped his tongue between your lips knocked the wind from your chest. Never had you been kissed like this before. Never had a person held you with so much care. Your fingers scrunched against the short hair on the back of his head, pulling him close and never wanting to let him go. As you did so, you leaned your body back, using your soft hands on his face to gently guide him along but a large hand slid up your thigh and splayed across your back, supporting your back.
“Uh-uh,” he hummed in protest against your lips and shook his head, pulling back and looking down at you with furrowed brows.
“What?” You asked with concern, propping yourself up with a hand on the counter behind you though it was unnecessary as Frank had you fully supported.
His hands slipped down to your ass and used it to pull your body off the counter. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips and you clung to him as he carried you off to your bedroom, knowing where it was as your apartment mirrored his. “I’m not just gonna fuck you on the kitchen counter,” Frank said, his voice pure gravelly sex.
Expecting to be thrown on the mattress, you braced yourself but instead you were set down gently only to be crawled over slowly. Frank’s lips graced the bit of skin that showed from where your shirt had come untucked from your pants. His fingers released the buttons one by one, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed until your bra was exposed.
You propped yourself up and shrugged the cloth from your shoulders. You reached down and lifted Frank’s shirt up, only to be assisted by Frank pulling it up and over his head. Your mouth fell as you saw the scars that decorated his body. Large misshapen islands of flesh, some raised, some sunken, were scattered across his chest and his arms.
Your fingers gingerly traced over what you could only assume was a bullet wound on the front part of shoulder. Just as your middle finger made contact with his skin, Frank’s hand encompassed your much smaller one with ease and pressed your palm flat onto an unscarred part of his pectoral. The weight of his hand pushing yours deeper into his skin made the thumping of his heart vivid against your palm.
He looked down at where your skin met and then to your eyes that were admiring his body, muscles and scars and all. You looked at him like he was worthy of being loved and not just like a murderer.
With your hand staying in place, you shifted up onto your knees and you pressed your lips to every disfigurement in sight, starting low and working your way up to a final peck on his forehead. Frank’s eyes slid closed, no longer familiar with such a gentle touch and desperate to feel it in its entirety because otherwise he’d convince himself it wasn’t there.
With Frank’s eyes still closed, you pressed a final kiss to his lips. He breathed you in, his hand on yours holding you tight while his other scooped your lower back to press you back down to the mattress. His knees pinned you between his legs as his lips assaulted yours. Slowly, his calloused fingertips ghosted over the tops of your breasts, goosebumps pebbling in their wake. His short nails gently scratched your soft skin as he pulled the cup of your bra down, grazing your nipples as he did so.
Frank’s lips moved to your neck, short stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. While two of his fingers gently twisted and rolled your left bud, his other hand groped the other with expertise. A high sound of ecstasy slipped from your lips.
Your hands moved to tangle in his hair, finding it too short to be satisfying so you pulled at the broad muscular expanse of his back. “Frank-” you moaned breathily.
The more your hands explored each others’ bodies, the more Frank rutted his hips against your core. It was close but not quite enough for you.
You lifted your body, keeping Frank close as you did so. At the angle Frank rose with you, you were able to twist and lift your leg over the backs of his own. In actual combat, Frank would have easily stopped the action but he flowed with your movement, allowing you to roll the pair of you so that you now straddled his body.
The bulge restrained in his jeans was clear, although you didn’t need to see it to know. Your hands moved to his belt, undoing it and pulling it free from the loops of his jeans. You slid his zipper down and he sighed as some of the pressure was finally released. He lifted his hips to help you pull his jeans from his body, leaving him in black boxer-briefs that left little to the imagination.
You stood from the bed and shimmied your own pants and underwear to the floor before crawling back atop him, running your hands over his growing erection and back down again. You squeezed him through the cotton and his hips bucked into your hand.
Frank watched you in pure bliss as you reached behind you and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the side. You sat over him, core glistening wet and ready to be adored, breasts perfect and free. Your lips were swollen and your eyes were dark when they flickered from his dick to meet his burning gaze.
Finally, you released his member, hardly surprised at his impressive size. Frank was a large man and this part of him was no exception.
You crawled up his body, knees resting on either side of his hips. As you lowered your lips to his neck, you ground your hips back, your slick rubbing along his length. Now that you had skin on skin contact, small jolts of pleasure began to spark when his smooth head bumped against your clit.
After a few minutes of grinding against his length, you reached between your bodies and took his erection in your hand. A coat of wetness that had dripped from you made it easy for your hand to glide along his skin as you pumped him. Carefully, you guided him to your entrance, rubbing his tip along your slit, teasing your own clit before lowering down onto him.
Frank’s fingers dug into the flesh of your back and it took everything in his being to keep his eyes from closing - he just needed to see the way your face contorted in pleasure as you sank down. After a few test movements, you leaned forward, bracing yourself on your elbow beside Frank’s head while your other held his face. His knees bent behind you, your ass slapping against his thighs as you picked up pace.
A low moan rolled from your throat. At this angle, he stimulated every delicious spot inside of you and your clit rubbed against his lower stomach in a way that caused your muscles to spasm around Frank.
He grunted animalistically every time your walls fluttered around him. Frank was lost in you. Your body was so soft and delicate in comparison to his, encompassing him physically and emotionally in a cocoon of warmth he never wanted to leave.
Your body began to ache. Your thighs burned but the coil inside of you had just begun to wind up and you were not about to lose it. Frank felt the quake in your legs and rescued you when his hands gripped your hips and started moving your body.
Your face twisted in pleasure and your head fell in the crook of his neck. Your hot breath came out in pants as you bit on his shoulder to restrain your high pitched squeals of pleasure. The way his calloused hands squeezed your soft ass just augmented the pleasure in your core.
“Frank,” you whined loudly, toes curling.
Frank knew exactly what your whine meant. He could feel how close you were getting and he was right there with you. “You close?” He asked, his growl breaking down any barriers you had in the way between you and your orgasm.
“Mhm!” You squealed, nodding against his skin, “‘M so close, Frank.”
He began to thrust up into you, meeting your hips as he pushed them back. All that could be heard was skin on skin, heavy breathing, and desperate sounds of pleasure. You clenched around him, driving him close to the brink himself but he held back, wanting to prolong this moment. “Let go, sweetheart,” he growled in encouragement in your ear, the vibrations of his voice in his chest resonating through your own chest that had collapsed him.
“Oh my-” you were cut off by your orgasm crashing through your body. Wave after wave of pleasure rocked through your body and if your arms hadn’t already given out, they would have now.
Frank stroked you through your orgasm but knew he needed to pull out of the vice grip that became your body if he had any chance of not busting inside of you. Once your body began to relax again, he used minimal effort to roll you over, supporting your weight as he did so, and slipped out of you. He stroked his length hard and fast, squeezing tighter at the head.
One more look at you, breasts rising and falling with each breath, your hair messily muttered across the pillows, your thighs shiny with drying wetness, your lips plump and moist, was all it took. Frank busted in his hand with a restrained groan, painting your stomach in warm white ribbons in spurt after spurt of his release.
The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, his hands coming to rest on your splayed thighs and your hand in your hair as you tried to slow your breathing. Without warning, Frank stood up, the true glory of his broad muscular body coming into full view, shining with a thin layer of sweat. He disappeared into the bathroom just outside your room and returned with a warm damp washcloth. “‘M sorry,” he apologized as he wiped his cum from your skin.
“Why?” You propped yourself up on one elbow and watched with fucked-out curiosity. You flinched a little when the rag got close to your still sensitive core but also because this tender act of cleaning you off was new.
“Because,” he started before wiping his hands off on the same rag, “I don’t know… it just felt rude to do that… y’know, on you.”
You giggled, “Well, I’d rather you do it on me than in me or on my sheets. It’s a lot easier to take a shower than it is to fix those other two problems.”
Frank tossed the rag into the pile of clothes on the floor, a problem better left for later. You scooted up to the pillows and folded the sheets down on his side of the bed, signaling for him to join you beneath them. He did without hesitation, sliding beside you and facing you. You lied on your side and looked up at him, head resting on your arm.
Gosh, he was beautiful and he treated you so well. Your teenage jealousy had been right: if he treated Maria this way, she was such a lucky woman.
“Well this is certainly not how I saw today going…” you commented with a small chuckle.
He inhaled deeply and nodded, “Yeah, me neither.”
There was a pause before you admitted quietly, “I’m glad you’re okay, Frank…. When I heard that you’d died, I was devastated.”
Frank watched as your face fell at the mere thought of losing him and he instinctively wrapped his arm around you. “‘M not going anywhere,” he reassured, kissing the top of your head.
You burrowed closer into his body, not realizing how starved for his touch you still were. Frank’s body radiated heat, warming your bare form. The scent of his cologne swirled with his own musk and the detergent on your sheets to dance around your senses, making you want to curl up in this spot with nothing but Frank and never leave. The two of you had been through so much together that, far beyond your immature teenage fantasies, it felt natural that it would come down to the both of you like this, holding each other tightly as you drifted off to sleep.
Hi this is your usual Pedro Pascal stan anon, I have now finished Narcos and Peñas bulletproof vest will forever live rent free in my mind, along with the sweat between his collar bones in every rainforest scene. I am also now fully convinced that Pedro is a great and passionate lover, how else could he act it so convincingly on screen..
My goodness anon, you're always here to make me crave some Pedro Pascal. Especially him as Javier Pena. It just hits so different 👌 Cherish the memories you have now.
And nobody could convince me Pedro Pascal wouldn't be fantastic in bed. I mean everything about the man is *chef's kiss* and the way he is on screen... you don't just act that good. Man knows what he's doing.
