summary: season six - one-hundred-and-twenty-five years in cryosleep made both you and bellamy crave each other’s touch, but you need a place to satisfy your urges without disruption. perhaps a new planet would do the trick. and what better way to heighten the anticipation than with a little challenge?
warnings: porn with plot, sexual crying??, teasing/taunting, mild gore, mild exhibitionism, murphy being a cockblock, mild size kink, mild bdsm, begging
note: this is the first one-shot/smut I’ve ever written so I kinda went overboard, but I promise it’s worth it in the end. you can imagine a different season of bellamy if you want (fuck you) but I personally think he’s extremely hot in season 6.
word count: 16.7k
“…I hope your lives there will be as happy as mine has been,” an aged Monty spoke on the monitor. “Be the good guys. May we meet again.”
You stared out the window of Eligius IV in awe, arms crossed over your chest whilst taking in the view of the planet you would soon call home. Plant Alpha. A place where, hopefully, everyone could find redemption. For you, it would be a place where you would find peace with your friends and family. And your boyfriend, Bellamy Blake.
“I know this is a lot to process,” Bellamy’s deep voice spoke to the group. “Take an hour, and then meet in the mess. We need to game this out.”
A few people in the room had a short dispute, but you tuned out their bickering, gaze locked on the view outside. Everyone began to disperse, leaving the room to gather their thoughts about what the future held for the last remnants of humanity. Everyone but you and Bellamy.
Your vision shifted from focusing on Planet Alpha to watching Bellamy walk towards you in the window’s reflection. He had changed drastically since the day you and the other Ark prisoners were sent to the ground. His body was broader, and more muscular due to the unrelenting battles he fought on Earth. His arms were bigger, stronger, and probably capable of carrying the weight of two people at once. And his hands, god, his hands—they were your ultimate weakness. They were much bigger compared to your own; his fingers were thicker and longer as well, and the things he could do with them… indescribable.
He now had a short, dark beard that circled his mouth and sparsely covered the sides of his jaw. You always loved the way it tickled your face whenever he kissed you and when it rubbed against your inner thighs whilst he went down on you.
What had changed the most was his mentality, which somehow made you fall even deeper in love with him. Bellamy Blake may have been twenty-three when you first met him, but he was then still just a boy. Now, he was a man.
“You okay?” he asked, his arm snaking around your waist as his towering frame stood beside you.
Leaning into his body, you both soaked in the rays of the two suns shining through the ship’s window.
“Just hoping we don’t make the same mistakes we did back on Earth,” you spoke. “There are a lot of people on this ship in need of a second chance.”
Bellamy chuckled. “Yeah. More like a fifth chance.”
You smiled, humming in agreement.
“This time will be different,” he continued, eyes narrowed at the planet in front of them. “We can’t keep making the same mistakes without learning from them. We won’t have bombs, or missiles, or war. I’ll make sure of it; if not for the last of humanity, then for you.”
You turned your head to look at him. Such a softie.
“I ever tell you how much I love you?” You reached one of your crossed arms across your torso and rested it on his which was cupping your waist.
In response, Bellamy’s hold tightened just a little bit more, causing your heart to fumble from the affectionate gesture. “On a few occasions.”
However short the one-hundred-and-twenty-five years in cryosleep felt to your mind, your body could feel the effects of lacking physical touch for such a long time. Bellamy’s touch. Apparently, he felt the exact same way.
“I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in over a century.” His voice became soft. He turned your body to face him with his back now facing the window. Dark brown eyes gazed down at you with an intensity only he could create, sending a sudden desire to let him absolutely ravage you right where you stood. His free hand reached up to your face and gently stroked the side of your cheek, the other now caressing the exposed skin of your waist. “Or touched you.”
Closing your eyes, you focused on the areas in which his skin connected with yours. Having been in a relationship with him for a few years, his touch became a familiar sensation. Despite that, on a purely physical level, your body had forgotten the pleasure-filled heights to which he could take you. Everything seemed new again, like the very first time he touched you.
And no matter the fact that time in cryosleep seemed like it passed instantaneously, neither of you could deny the obvious pining your bodies felt for one another.
You stepped closer, hands moving to rest on his chest. The distance between your bodies closed and you whispered, “Or felt me.”
His hands stilled, realising what you had meant. He leaned backwards, enough to get a good view of the look in your eyes. It was something deep and hungry for release. Sure, you’ve both had sex plenty of times; you’ve fucked rough and fast, made love sweet and slow—however many other variations there were, you’d done it—but Bellamy had never seen your desire for him appear as powerful as this.
Your eyes were swirling with a dark passion, like rolling waves in desperate need of a crest. Your cheeks were flushed, pupils so dilated your irises were almost obscured, and lips reddened and becoming plump even despite having made no contact with his own yet. It was no doubt a mirror of what you were feeling inside.
He took in a long deep breath, eyebrows furrowed as he took in your appearance, trying to steady his heartbeat which was raging out of control. You looked so beautiful. All the blood in his body drained to the lower half of him, leaving him light-headed and fuzzy, lust being the only thing to fill the contents of his mind. Bellamy could never stop lusting after you, he had just learned to control it. A one-hundred-year wait seemed like a perfectly acceptable reason to let loose a little.
“Fuck,” was all he said before his lips came crashing down onto yours.
It didn’t start slow, but rather fast and desperate. So desperate. Even so, your mouth moved in sync with his, alternating between sucking in quick breaths of air, kissing his soft yet rough lips, and allowing him to run his tongue over your own. Your hands moved up into his pushed-back hair, fingers delving between his brown waves to give a small tug, pulling a groan from inside him that buzzed against your lips.
He pulled you closer to his body with strong arms wrapped around your back, the sensitivity between your thighs coming into contact with his hardness. The material of your pants rubbing against you only enhanced the shiver-inducing sensation.
You reigned your focus back onto his lips. His mouth was hot against yours, unrelenting, catching your lips with his between each frantic breath of air. His tongue rolled over your own, so intricate and possessive as it pushed into your mouth.
Before you knew it, his hands had moved to the backs of your thighs and lifted you into his arms; your lips never disconnected. This was a movement you had both performed many times, so it wasn’t done without skill. He took a few steps forward before placing you on the control bench behind you. You hoped there were no important buttons beneath you that would cause End of Humanity 4.0.
His mouth moved from yours and down to your jaw, cupping his hand on the side of your neck to keep your head steady. You couldn’t tell if it was a moan or a sigh that escaped you. Maybe it was a mix of both, but whatever it was, it egged him on further. He had moved down to your neck, sucking and nipping at the soft, delicate skin. This time you were sure it was a moan you let out.
He curled his hand around your neck just below your jaw, careful not to apply too much pressure, but just enough to remain in control. He loved to be in control; he also knew how much you enjoyed it too. You loved how small he made you feel compared to him, how he could dominate you without an ounce of effort.
Your legs and his were in between one another like two puzzle pieces fit together, his knee between your thighs and pressing against your clit without him even realising it. Grabbing onto his shoulders for support, you pushed yourself further onto his knee, beginning to grind yourself against him as he continued to press kisses to your neck.
“Eager, huh?” his voice vibrated against your skin.
Now he knew.
Having realised what you were doing, he pushed further onto you, heightening the pressure as you rolled your hips against him. Your head fell back. It had been so long since your body had experienced such pleasure; you knew it wouldn’t take much to reach climax. Not that it mattered. It always took you both a few rounds before you were too exhausted to move anymore. Sometimes, even fatigue couldn’t stop you two.
After deciding enough damage was done to your neck, he returned to your mouth, this time slower and more sensual.
You could have easily come undone the way you were going, grinding yourself against him but knew it would be nothing compared to the release given by his hands. Greedy as you were, you wanted—needed—more, and you knew he would never deny such a request. Your satisfaction was his own after all.
“Bellamy,” you breathed against his lips. “Touch me.”
His forehead came to rest against your own, he too breathless from the heat of the situation.
“Didn’t know you were into exhibitionism, princess,” he spoke lowly with a smirk.
“Who said I was?”
“Well, technically, we have a whole world watching us.”
You rolled your eyes, a playful grin stretching across your lips only to be intersected by a short gasp as you felt his hand slip through the waistband of your pants and press against your clit.
The second you felt his fingers apply pressure and begin to move, the door to the room burst open.
“Hey, you guys need… Jesus Christ!”
Bellamy’s hand left you quicker than it came, or quicker than you came to be more exact. The both of you jumped up from your positions and turned to see Murphy standing at the door, eyes squeezed shut.
“You ever heard of knocking, Murphy,” Bellamy grumbled.
“It’s the fucking comms room!” he complained. “Just–we need you guys out in the mess hall. Now. Oh my god.”
He made quick work of leaving the room, mumbling something about rather having a missile dropped on him than ever having to witness that again.
You looked at Bellamy who seemed to share the same flustered state as you.
He blew out a stabilising breath and placed a hand behind your back. “Come on, we should see what they want.”
Still slightly trembling, you nodded, allowing him to guide the both of you out of the room as you attempted to fix your dishevelled hair. After walking together down a few hallways in tense silence, you both reached the mess hall to see the group sitting around a table, discussing something quietly among themselves. Among them was Murphy, who overdramatically shuddered at the sight of you two.
Before you could walk over, Bellamy grabbed your upper arm, leaning down until his hair brushed against your temple and he whispered, “I’m not done with you.”
He slid past you and walked towards everyone else, acting casual as they all burst into conversation. A minute or two passed until you had regained enough composure to join the group.
**********
It had been about two hours since the incident in the comms room. A plan had been set in place regarding their journey to the ground. One minute, you were safe and sound on Eligius IV, and the next, you and a small group were descending into the atmosphere of Planet Alpha in a ship.
There was a giant, wall-length window on the front of the ship that revealed the outside surroundings once you dipped below the clouds. This world was… otherworldly. Literally. The largest sun bathed the world in a constant orange glow, and the surface was covered in an abundance of vibrant green trees that sat atop various hills and rocky snow-covered mountains. All the clouds were a light orange; the sky was more pink and orange than blue. It was like they had entered a landscape painting depicting heaven.
Everyone seemed to share the same look of astonishment.
Shaw turned in his seat to face everyone. “Boys and girls, meet Planet Alpha.”
With a shudder, the ship finally planted itself on the ground, the machine hum cutting off as the rockets stopped firing. Belt buckles clicked as everybody stood from their seats, moving in front of the door, awaiting its opening. You looked beside you to see Bellamy with that same tiny grin he had the first time they opened the dropship doors. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Technically, it was well over a lifetime ago.
He pulled down the lever and the door began to fall open. A gust of breathable fresh air wafted in your face and you inhaled deeply. It was sweet and unpolluted. Everyone remained still as they took in the incredible scenery. There were no words to describe it.
“Anyone got anything better than ‘we’re back bitches’?” Miller jested.
“Yeah,” you spoke. “Let’s not bite the apple this time.”
There were a few chuckles, a few sentimental words exchanged, along with a few heated words spoken between Shaw and Clarke. Some people were still upset over her betrayal back on Earth. What they were yet to realise was that this was not Earth, this was someplace new, a place for second chances and new beginnings.
They were supposed to be looking for a beacon that depicted a safe place for them to take up residence. Shaw, along with his tracking device, began heading in the beacon’s direction and soon enough everyone else followed suit.
You took a few moments for yourself to take in the surroundings and silently thank Monty and Harper for their sacrifice. A bittersweet smile sat on your lips and a single tear slipped down your cheek. A Garden of Eden this was, and they’d be damned if they let another serpent in.
Without even realising it, Bellamy had stood beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulder before pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.
“We’ll do better this time,” he reassured as if he could read your mind.
You turned your head and pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder.
His eyes crinkled as a soft smile grew on his lips. “Come on, let's catch up to the others.”
And so, you did.
Following Bellamy until you caught up with the rest of the group, you began the journey to the beacon, trekking through the new and undisturbed forest. Though it was beautiful, you still had a lingering fear of what might lurking in the thick clusters of trees. Maybe there were Grounders here too. At least they were human beings with actual consciences. This was an entirely new planet in an entirely new solar system so there could be animals or beings they had never encountered before.
All you could do was pray you weren’t on the bottom of the food chain.
An hour or two passed before the forest began to thin out and give way to a lake of pristine blue water surrounded by overlooking mountains.
“Looks like we found a water source,” Bellamy spoke as they stepped onto the tan sand. “We’ll camp here tonight and continue on at first light.”
They were confronted wave after wave with the planet’s beauty without end. It almost seemed too perfect. As everyone was distracted by the new view, Murphy began walking towards the water, removing a piece of clothing with each step, completely disregarding the fact that he had healing bullet holes on his body.
You stepped forward to stop him just as the others did. “Murphy, wait, your–”
He glanced back at you, cutting your sentence off. “Comms room!”
That shut you up, as well as causing your face to redden intensely.
Clarke stepped beside you, watching as Murphy took off his shirt and stepped into the water, diving beneath the surface. “What was that about?”
“Uh, nothing.” You side-eyed Bellamy who was shifting his weight, clearly uncomfortable.
Soon enough, Murphy had resurfaced, his wounds bleeding and turning the water around him a faint rust colour. Not that he cared.
“Come on in, the water’s fine!” he shouted.
Emori was next to enter the water, though not entirely at her own will. It was nice to see her and Murphy enjoying themselves, but who said they could have all the fun?
Without a second thought, you unclipped your backpack and dropped it to the ground, tying your hair into a low bun with the band on your wrist. You lifted your long-sleeve shirt over your head, leaving you only in your low-cut tank top. You had thought it would have been Bellamy who was first to notice, except it was Clarke whose eyes were now trained on your chest.
Brows raised, you motioned to your eyes with two fingers. “Eyes up here, Clarke.”
She cleared her throat and mumbled an apology, focusing back on Emori and Murphy.
You walked over to Bellamy, standing beside him as he watched the scene in front of him. His attention quickly shifted to you as your hip brushed against his hand.
“What d’you say, Blake?” You unbuttoned your jeans, pushing them down to your ankles and stepping out. “Up for a swim?”
His lips parted as he stared down at your half-naked figure. Before he had a chance to answer, you were making your way down to the water with a tantalising grin. You were nothing if not a tease and he knew that firsthand. A little extra sway in your hips was all it took for him to start removing his own backpack and undressing his upper body.
The water had reached up to your hips before a pair of hands abruptly grabbed onto your waist. A short shriek escaped your throat before you were tackled beneath the water. Resurfacing, you wiped the water from your eyes, coming face-to-face with an amused Bellamy.
“Asshole!” You attempted to push his chest, but he didn’t budge, instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist again and began dragging you both further out.
“So easily riled up,” he teased with a smirk.
Sighing defeatedly, you leaned into his grasp, allowing him to keep you both afloat. Bellamy could just touch the lake floor, so you knew if he let you go, you would be drowning. Swimming wasn’t exactly anyone’s strong suit, so you just hoped you hadn’t done anything previously to piss him off.
Your legs curled around his torso. At first, the action was innocent, but then you realised that the little performance you made on the beach had consequences. Hard consequences that he seemed to be very aware of. Eyes blown wide with surprise, you squeezed your legs around his hips, grounding yourself onto him.
He grunted softly, tightening his hold on you. “You do that again and I won’t care if everyone is watching.”
The deep sense of possession enveloped in his voice sent warm tingles running down your spine, replacing the coldness of the water surrounding your body. Knowing him, he probably wasn’t lying either, especially given both of your rising desires for each other. For a split second, you were ready to test the legitimacy of his threat, but rationality was quick to jump in.
As you loosened your hold around him, you were unsure whether the look he gave you was of praise or displeasure. If you couldn’t do that, then you would at least take advantage of the opportunity for another type of intimacy.
Placing a hand on either side of his jaw, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his which he was quick to reciprocate. Droplets of fresh water dripped from the wet strands across his forehead, mixing between your skin and his, and alleviating the heat of each other’s desire.
His hands ran up and down your back underneath your saturated tank top, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake. Over and over, you kissed him and then you’d take a split second to get some air. It quickly became a pattern yet each time your lips met became more and more exhilarating.
The moment was rapidly becoming more fervent with each passing second. Soon enough, you were clinging onto each other, the water rippling from your bodies moving ever-so-slightly against one another to create some kind of friction. You could hear Bellamy’s breathing become quick and uneven, just like your own. You could feel his tongue glide across your bottom lip as if to knock before entering. And just before you could let him in, you were pulled apart…
“Hey. Hey! None of that shit,” Murphy demanded from a distance.
Bellamy pulled away first, visibly frustrated as he turned his head to your interrupter.
You simply pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned, one hand still holding onto his shoulder.
“Shut up, Murphy!” you and Bellamy shouted in unison.
Even Emori was quick to come to your aid. “Come on, John, they were just kissing.”
“You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen,” you heard him murmur to her.
**********
The sky was blanketed in darkness long after the two suns dipped below the horizon. Insects were chirping, a small fire was crackling in the centre of the group, and tiny waves were cresting on the shore. You were leaning against a log of driftwood, legs extended in front of you as you gazed at the giant, ringed planet in the sky, its purple and pink hue reflecting on the lake’s surface.
Peace. Or so it would have been if not for the chaos running rampant in your mind.
A loud pop from the fire sounded which startled you from your thoughts.
Opening your eyes, you looked around the camp. Everybody else seemed to be in their own little worlds too, unable to shake the incredulity of knowing they were now on an alien planet. Clarke was on her back, gazing up at the foreign sky above; Jackson was enthusing about the unfamiliar wildlife. Echo simply admired the tall mountains that encompassed the lake, an expression of gratitude reflecting on her face. You would feel the same way too if your hormones weren’t raging like that of a teenage boy’s.
To add fuel to the fire—quite literally—Bellamy was bent over the flames, cyan blue sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and feeding more wood to the blaze. His dark curls were pushed back from his face apart from a few stray strands. His skin was shining from the humidity, sending your mind spiralling into a visualisation of the times he was on top of you, all sweaty and hitting that eye-rolling spot inside of you over and over.
You sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. This was ridiculous; he was your boyfriend and yet every time he was near, your body responded to him like a schoolgirl with a crush.
“Something on your mind?”
He had sat down beside you, your shoulders now pushed up against one another.
More like ‘someone’, you thought.
“Nope.” You crossed your legs over one another, thighs squeezing together in the hopes of providing some kind of relief. You couldn’t even bear to look at him, afraid that your willpower would come crumbling to ruins. “No thoughts up here.”
Bellamy eyed your visibly flustered state, one cocky eyebrow raised.
His hand moved onto your leg. “Liar. I know your tells. And this,” he murmured whilst squeezing the inner plush of your thigh, “is one of them.”
Finally, your gaze met his, almost like you were in a standoff. He knew how much you were suffering. Mostly because he was too.
“Bellamy,” you warned.
He turned back to the fire, slowly kneading your inner thigh. “I’ve been thinking…”
“Uh oh.”
The flickering flames reflecting in his dark brown irises turned them a blazing orange but did nothing to alleviate the darkness that was sitting just behind his eyes. Taunting him probably wasn’t the brightest idea at that moment.
Then again, it also held the potential to be a fantastic idea. You knew how he got when pushed to his limits.
“Seems like we can’t go five minutes without being interrupted,” he began, curling his hand around your thigh. “So, I figured we may as well turn it into a challenge.”
“A challenge?” you asked, moving your hand on top of his and taking control.
He nodded.
Slowly, you began to guide his hand further up your thigh, inch by inch. As expected, he showed no resistance. You could even see the imprint on the front of his pants which were now tight for the third time that day. “And what exactly does this challenge involve?”
As you got closer to the destination you craved most, your movements became slower, and more delayed, contrasting to the increasing pace of your chest rising and falling. Your shoulders pushed back against the driftwood, your body reclining just a tiny bit further as you stared up at him, lips parted.
Bellamy watched his hand travel beneath your own, completely transfixed. “We, uh, see who can last longer without…” he trailed off as your thighs clamped tighter around him.
The side of his hand brushed against your clit through the material of your pants and your breath hitched. Thank god everyone else was too distracted to notice the situation unfolding before them. The fire was probably doing you both some favours as well.
“Without…?” you coaxed him on.
You pressed him firmer against you, rolling your hips in small circles to create the sensation you’d been longing for. He didn’t move, only allowing you to use him for your own pleasure. The muscles in your stomach flexed as tingles quickly spread across the lower half of your body, from your toes to beneath Bellamy’s hand. You’d give anything to let him give you your release then and there, but you knew an audience wasn’t exactly favourable.
That didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the build-up.
God, Bellamy was right. You really were into exhibitionism.
By the way his brows were pulled together and his eyes looked almost pained, you swore he was about to come undone just at the sight of you.
He clenched his jaw and managed to ground out, “Without touching each other.”
Your eyes flickered between his, showing no sign of stopping your movements even when he finally managed to get out his explanation. You slightly bucked your hips forward, pulling him in further to which he inhaled sharply. Truth be told, Bellamy was the most stubborn person you had ever met, excluding his sister, Octavia. But there was one thing that could overrule Bellamy’s unwavering resolve, and that was you. Hell, on multiple occasions all you had to do was ask and he would be on his knees, mouth between your thighs in the blink of an eye, so he should have known the minute he announced his little game, you had already won.
“Okay,” you whispered with an innocent smile.
Within seconds, you had shot up onto your feet, now hovering over him.
Instinctively, he too moved into a standing position as if under threat. He stood so close that your torso was nearly touching his.
“What are you doing?” He leaned in close, voice low to prevent attracting any attention from the others.
“Um, winning?”
He scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’ve gone over a century without you; I can last a little longer.”
You took one step closer until you were flush against him. How could you not? It’s not like he’d expect you to make it easy on him.
“Only a little? Oh, come on Blake, have a bit of faith in yourself. You can last longer than that.” You looked him up and down. “I would know.”
He peered down at you, eyes half-lidded, and hummed a chuckle, one that was meant to say, ‘You are in way over your head, princess’. Maybe you were or maybe he was. What you both knew for sure was how the game was going to end, and despite your determination to win, that moment couldn’t come soon enough.
His body left yours and he backed away, a smug smirk resting on his face. He retreated over to Murphy and Emori, sitting on the log beside them and began engaging in their conversation.
You turned to face the fire, letting out a shaky breath you were hoping he couldn’t hear. It had become quiet now, the surrounding area seemed different compared to just a few minutes prior, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. The small waves were still rolling onto the shore; the campfire was still crackling.
Something was missing.
You scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing.
“Ow!”
Your eyes snapped to the sudden voice. Clarke was sitting on a plank of wood, rubbing the back of her neck with her brows furrowed together.
Walking over, you sat on a log adjacent to her. “What happened?”
“Oh, just got bit by a bug.” She gestured to the dead insect lying on the wood beside her.
It had big, round eyes, and wings like a fly. Wouldn’t have been a cause for concern if it weren’t the size of your palm and had a tail like a scorpion.
“Some bug.”
That’s when you realised—all the insects had stopped chirping.
Almost on command, Jackson and Miller stumbled over to the campfire, gaining everyone’s attention as Jackson rambled on about how he had captured the same bug in a glass jar and its behaviour had randomly become erratic. People began rising from their seats and crowding to watch the insect smash itself against the glass. Clarke and you shared a concerned look.
The air, which once was silent and peaceful, began to buzz like you were all surrounded by a cluster of beehives. Reality was much worse.
“What the hell is that?” Emori spoke.
As if to answer her question, the sky suddenly filled with hundreds, no, thousands of winged insects, which seemed to follow each other in groups that formed large patterns in the air. You were willing to bet your life on them being the same as the one that bit Clarke. Great—man-eating bugs.
“Swarm.”
“Everybody cover up! We’re heading to the beacon now!” Bellamy commanded.
You snatched your backpack from the ground, pulling out a black cotton scarf before slinging the bag straps over your shoulders. Not long passed before the others did the same and you were all running for your lives through the dense thicket of trees. Branches snagged on your clothes, shredding them to bits as you struggled not to run face-first into a tree. You wouldn’t be the first to do it, though…. Murphy.
Your breathing was becoming irregular as your body pushed to its limits. As awful as it sounded, when Emori tripped over a fallen branch and the group had to stop and help her, you praised the lord. Everyone huddled together, the bugs now surrounding the group, flying past and leaving bite marks on your bodies. Luckily, Clarke had the idea to light a flare.
“They hate fire! Light the flares!” she shouted.
Someone came running toward you from where Emori had tripped, placing a hand on each of your upper arms. Upon seeing their eyes, you knew it was Bellamy. He wordlessly scanned your features for any wounds, his gaze a mixture of concentration and worry. You nodded as if to tell him you were alright, and he did the same.
After the ten seconds you were provided to catch your breath passed, you were on the move again, the flares now protecting the group from the swarm. The trees were becoming less and less, and the ground under your feet had turned into a wide gravel path that ended at a large field of crops surrounded by metal rod towers.
You continued running forward, following the others as the field grew closer. In front was Shaw, who was multi-tasking between tracking the beacon on his device and leading the group to safety.
“Here! The beacon’s here!” he shouted.
Just as he passed through the towers that bordered the crop field, a bolt of what looked like lightning struck him. He was sent flying back into the group with a yell, landing at your feet.
“Shaw!” You crouched down, observing the minor burns that were littered across his cheeks and forehead.
He groaned, pulling himself back onto his feet with your assistance. “I’m alright.”
Jackson rushed to his side, immediately pulling out his med pack and assessing his wounds. The damage wasn’t lethal but if they couldn’t find a way to get through to the other side, they would have more to be worried about than burnt flesh.
Clarke was already searching for an answer to their escape and once again, she found it.
“It’s radiation.” She looked around as the bugs began to circle them, blocking their long-distance view. “We need to get through. It won’t affect me.”
Before anyone could stop her, she was running through the shield-like fence.
“Clarke, wait!”
“Get back here!”
To everyone’s surprise, she made it out the other side without a scratch. But how was everyone else supposed to get through without Nightblood?
You felt a warm hand slip into your own, offering a small amount of comfort. You didn’t need to look to know whose it belonged.
“Clarke, the tower—its Eligius tech. You need the failsafe code to turn off the shield!” Shaw yelled out. “Four-seven-eight-one-five!”
Exhaling a sigh of relief, you squeezed Bellamy’s hand. There’s a failsafe code.
Clarke rushed to one of the metal towers, opened the control panel and punched in the code. The energy sources atop each tower dissipated, signalling the shield's termination.
“It’s down! Come on!”
Murphy was the first to pass through, dragging Emori behind him. Copying his actions, Bellamy tugged you forward, the both of you passing through the towers together. Once everyone made it through, Clarke powered up the defence again, causing the swarm of insects to disintegrate upon meeting the shield’s radiation bolts.
No one said a word. Instead, they used the time to catch their breaths, some laying on the ground and others dropping to their knees. You tugged the covering off your head and placed your hands on your thighs for support. Multiple strands of hair fell around your face as you bent over, trying to replace the air your lungs lost, a few strings of curses spilling out in between.
Bellamy, who was so inconceivably fit that his breathing was already slow and even, placed a hand on your shoulder. “You okay?”
Lifting a shaky arm from your leg, you gave him the thumbs up.
He tenderly massaged your shoulder and scanned the group to make sure everyone else was alright.
“What the hell was that?” Echo huffed.
**********
Night cycles on Planet Alpha operated very differently compared to Earth—darkness held the sky for a good five hours before the two suns rose again, much unlike the twelve hours everyone was accustomed to back on Earth. That and this planet sent man-eating swarms of insects whenever night fell. Or so you assumed.
The suns peaked through the distant treetops; orange beams of light were spread across the fields you had walked. A few hours had gone by since you first stepped through the radiation shields. A few hours of walking got you and the others atop a small mountain that seemed to be centred within the large circle of towers, providing a good bird's eye view of the fields of crops below.
You continued trekking up the well-trodden path on the hill, Bellamy and Clarke on either side of you. The last time you interacted with Bellamy was when you entered the protected area, but since then, you had avoided eye contact, physical touch, and conversation. You knew yourself; one wrong move and you would lose his game. Despite almost being eaten alive, you were still determined to stick to the rules, and even though innocent affection and conversation were allowed, you didn’t want to risk it.
Plus, total avoidance would only make him crave you more—the basic rule of men, unfortunately.
Emori walked a few steps in front of the group, her movements quickening as they reached a rounded corner. “Guys, look. Stairs.”
Orange-brick stairs came into view and you watched as Emori began ascending them, everyone else following behind her. You climbed up the stairs, Bellamy ahead of you by a step or two. Not for long though. Your pace increased until you were shoulder-to-shoulder, but only for a split second before you placed a hand on his bicep, dragging your palm across as you moved a few steps ahead of him. You could hear his breath hitch and a small smirk teased the corner of your lips. Now he was the one behind you—how he usually liked it.
If you weren’t going to interact with him, the least you could do was give him a good view.
Once you reached the top of the stairs, everyone stood side-by-side, taking in the view in front of them. It was incredible. It was like all the beauty on that planet had been condensed, thrown into a single area and turned into a village. That was what it was—a village. Plus, a castle?
“They have a castle,” Murphy said in wonder.
It looked like something from medieval times crossed with The Hobbit. The windows were circular and made of multi-coloured glass panes. The structure was made of bricks and rounded towers with various intricate patterns decorating different areas, and two round staircases curving up to a second-level balcony. It was so striking it had to have belonged to some divine being because no one else could have deserved such a beautiful palace. Well, there was one exception.
You glanced at Bellamy whose face was lit up with the brightest grin you had ever seen as he too let the beauty sink in. Your heart skipped a beat and you had to turn away. So, you turned to Murphy.
“Perfect for you, Murphy,” you jested. “King of the cockroaches.”
“Careful. Roaches bite, you know,” he retorted
You raised your hands in faux fear.
Clarke stepped forward. “Come on. Let’s see if anyone’s home.”
Most of the buildings looked modern and were made of glass and coloured wood or shipping containers, surrounded and covered by different types of flora. Flowers were not in short supply there, that was for sure; every garden held a new and exotic type. Even the pond in the middle of the village had flowers in it. There were coloured banners everywhere as well—some that hung from each building, and some that were standalone's. The suns’ light just made everything seem so much more vibrant and enchanting.
You and the others were going door-to-door, knocking on each one to see if anyone was there. So far, you had no luck, if that’s even what it was. Almost every home had been checked, but there was no one. The last house to be checked came by and apparently Murphy ran out of patience for simple pleasantries. He kicked the front doors open.
“Well, look at that.” He turned to the group. “This one’s unlocked.”
He stepped inside and began rummaging through the owner’s belongings, not that it surprised anyone very much. You watched as he bent over and picked up something that looked like a neck cuff connected to chains on a wall.
“Hm. Kinky.” He turned back to the group with a devious grin on his face. His eyes flickered between you and Bellamy. “Any takers?”
He gestured between the two of you with the chains as if he were offering them. Oh, you were so tempted to pull a knife on him.
Your eyes went wide, and Bellamy almost choked on his own breath. All eyes were now on you and him.
You took off in the opposite direction before anyone could say a word. “I’m–I’m gonna find a change of clothes.”
It was a perfectly reasonable excuse to leave anyway. Your clothes were practically threadbare from the rough escape through the forest. Thankfully, you could hear the group begin talking about something completely unrelated before you were out of hearing distance. You weren’t sure where you were headed in particular. Anywhere that wasn’t near Murphy or Bellamy would suffice.
You didn’t want to be apart from Bellamy at all. Quite the opposite. You wanted him. You wanted his hands to roam all over your body, to feel his arms tight around your waist as he thrust deep inside you from beneath, and to have his name dripping from your tongue as he made it impossible for you to distinguish the meaning between the words ‘love’ and ‘lust’.
(If only you knew that he was suffering the exact same way.)
However, his ego was much too inflated for you to let him win. It was a sacrifice for the greater good. The greater good being not having to constantly listen to him tease you for losing in the future. But as time went on and your body started physically reacting to the separation, losing started to seem like not such a terrible idea. You were conflicted. Give in, or push on? The decision was painfully frustrating and also just downright painful.
While amidst your thoughts, your feet had carried you to the opposite side of the village until you were standing outside a dark red-wooded house. Covering the poles that held up the structure’s second story were apple blossoms. “Let’s not bite the apple this time.” That was the first thing you had said after stepping onto the ground—a reference to the story of Adam and Eve. Now here you were, contemplating handing yourself over to desire. A literal bite of the apple.
You shook your head, pulling down the door handle to the red house and it opened. Locks didn’t exist in this place it seemed. Stepping inside, you noticed several cardboard boxes on the ground both opened and unopened. There was furnishing such as couches, bookcases, a round glass dining table, and leather seats, but they were all scattered across the room and half had white sheets covering them. It looked like the owner had just been moving in.
As you assessed the room, you noticed a floor-length mirror attached to one of the walls, so naturally, you moved yourself in front of it. The reflection did not match the person you were before leaving Eligius IV. Your bun wasn’t even a bun anymore; half of it had fallen out whilst the other struggled to stay within the hair band. Your clothes had more holes than you could count and were covered in a thick layer of dirt and insect blood. A grimace fell across your face. Gross.
At your feet was another cardboard box; it was opened with a variety of fabrics spilling out. Crouching down, you pulled out the black material at the top to find that it was a long-sleeve off-the-shoulder shirt. It wasn’t exactly practical, but it beat wearing insect organs. You exchanged your two previous shirts for the black shirt; the material stretched around your curves, clinging to your body like a second skin.
Next was a change of pants. You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your jeans, leaving you only in your black underwear and socks. And so, the search began. A good ten minutes went by and you found nothing but long skirts and dresses. You were not about to walk outside dressed up like some grounder princess. Not now at least. Maybe there were more boxes upstairs?
After locating the staircase to the second story, you began to climb. Just like the first level, there were boxes and furnishings. There was a large thigh-high mattress against the back wall with two glass doors on either side leading to a balcony. The mattress was covered in several different blankets consisting of shades between white and purple with a mountain of matching pillows at the head of the bed. On the wall facing the mattress was another floor-length mirror. These people had a vanity problem.
Much to your displeasure, none of the boxes upstairs contained any pants either, so there you stood in the middle of the room wearing only a tight shirt and underwear. You sighed in frustration, tugging your hair band from the bun and letting your locks cascade over your shoulders and down your back. With nothing else to do, you decided you might as well go outside and see what the others were doing. You stepped out onto the balcony; the house’s architect had the right idea by designing it with a concrete fence that covered your lower half.
The others were still lingering on the other side of the village. You rested your forearms on the balcony fence, watching as Murphy signalled for Shaw and Bellamy’s assistance with pulling a heavy wooden crate from inside one of the houses. Knowing Murphy, it was probably full of stuff he was going to take for himself, which would have explained Bellamy’s reluctant stance. There was also something else that seemed to be troubling him. He looked distracted, almost torn between choices, his eyes occasionally wandering to the opposite side of the village where you had previously walked off to. Nevertheless, he eventually did give in to helping Murphy.
And then suddenly time all around you began to slow down. You were in a trance and it was no one but Bellamy’s fault.
He shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, exposing his tanned and veiny arms beneath. He placed his hands underneath the crate and lifted in time with Murphy and Shaw. Even from such a distance, you could see his muscles tense and flex under the weight, the size of his biceps nearly doubling and bursting through the seams of his shirt. His face carried a strained expression, something you had seen many times before but in very different circumstances.
Your skin flushed with heat, and your bottom lip curled between your teeth as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. Blood was buzzing in your ears; you felt fucking intoxicated. You were aware of how feral your behaviour had become but it was inevitable. In a game like this, it had to be.
Once the crate was outside, he and Murphy placed it on the ground. Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, his gaze already beginning to wander once again. As if he could feel your stare burning straight through him, his eyes found your distant ones up on the balcony. The feeling of a hole being burnt through him was understandable because your eyes were ablaze with sin. That had to have been the tenth time you’d made him hard now and it was becoming painful.
You weren’t embarrassed to be caught staring, instead, you were intrigued as to what his next movements would be. But he made none. He simply stared at you over his shoulder, eyes stern and calculating. Who was going to win wasn’t the question anymore. The question was: How could either of you prepare for what was coming? A century’s worth of abstinence was also a century’s worth of build-up, meaning the release would be messy, and Bellamy wasn’t one to hold back.
Finally, he broke the eye contact, but only for a few seconds. His eyes moved to the building beside him and then back to you as if he were trying to get you to follow his gaze. So, you did. What he had gestured to was another pair of chains and handcuffs connected to a wall. Instinctively, you gasped, feeling a pulse in your stomach which you knew was his exact objective. You looked back at him, seeing the self-satisfied grin plastered on his face before he turned back to the group.
That son of a bitch.
Your back slid down the concrete fence until your ass hit the cold marble floor. He was driving you to sex-crazed insanity and you didn’t know how to fight against it. You needed something. Anything to relieve the torment. But you knew if you started, your hands would never stop, not until they were replaced with his.
Maybe the cuffs weren’t such a bad idea.
“No!” you had to verbally reprimand yourself.
Your head fell in your hands. This was all getting too much for you. One-hundred-and-twenty-five years… and a day! You wouldn’t call yourself a nymphomaniac but holy fuck. It was getting to the point that even his name had you aching, tearing yourself to shreds. You couldn’t take it any longer.
Moving onto your hands and knees, you began crawling—yes, crawling—back inside. You managed to pull yourself up onto the mattress with trembling arms and fell back against the quilt and cushions in the middle of the bed. A shaky breath left your lips. If Bellamy couldn’t be there to take care of you, then you would finish the job yourself.
You slipped a hand beneath the thin fabric covering your heat, fingers racing to meet the spot you needed. Back arching into the bed and stomach tightening—that is what you expected to happen when your fingers began circling your clit, but it was nothing of the sort. All you felt was skin on skin and the slightest of sensations. Even when you pressed harder, and moved faster, there was nothing.
Letting out a quiet, distressed cry, you readjusted your position and switched hands. You began rubbing back and forth, side-to-side, every way that had gotten the job done in the past. You moved one hand under your shirt and began massaging your breast, pinching and grazing your nipple, trying to replicate all the moves Bellamy had pulled on you before.
Still, there was no relief from the ache you felt. You needed to go further. Your hand moved lower, fingers hovering over your slick opening before sliding one in. This was never your forte; it was Bellamy’s. Whenever you needed to pleasure yourself, you would stick with outside stimulation, so all you knew was what he had done to you. After sliding your finger in and out a few times, you added another, but it still didn’t feel right. There was something you were missing that he usually did.
He took over your thoughts and you tried to imagine it was his hands instead of your own, but you were just fooling yourself. They were your fingers, not his. You were alone and you were desperate. No one could make you feel as close to heaven as him, not even yourself. Somehow, he knew the workings of your body even better than you did. Without him there in your desperate time of need, it was useless…
So, you started crying—like, actual tears-running-down-cheeks-and-sniffling crying. You felt utterly pathetic and that was all you felt. There was nothing you could do to help yourself. Bellamy was outside with the others, and it wasn’t like you could just waltz out there without pants on and ask him to fuck you incoherent.
Your fingers slipped out from inside you, wet and splayed across your bare stomach as you stared up at the ceiling, condemned to the unshakable longing within. Too distracted by your inability to satisfy yourself and your attempts to stop the tears from flowing, you didn’t hear the door downstairs open and closd. You sniffled, continuing to feel sorry for yourself.
Footsteps were coming up the staircase, but you didn’t hear them either. Nor did you notice the familiar figure that was now leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, feeling that same terrible longing that had led him to you. Only when he cleared his throat did you shoot up into a sitting position.
Bellamy.
“Bellamy,” you whispered, eyes wide and full of new-found hope.
He didn’t say anything, just simply observed you. First, he noticed the sparse clothing on the bottom half of your body; his pants became the tiniest bit tighter. Then he saw your eager expression—even tighter. And then, his eyes found the fingers lying in your lap, coated in a shine that had his entire body pulsing.
The drying tears on your cheeks were a dead giveaway of the desperation you had for him. He tilted his head, insincere pity washing across his features that you knew was only meant to taunt you. “What did you do?”
Your mouth opened to speak but you couldn’t find the words. “I–I–”
He pushed off the doorway and slowly walked over to you, each step measured in regard to prolonging the time it took for the distance between you and him to close.
You moved onto your knees as he got closer.
Once he finally stopped beside the mattress where you were sitting, he peered down at you. “Just couldn’t wait, could you?”
His arms were doing that thing again where they bulged beneath his shirt. He was right in front of you, all you had to do was reach out and touch. So, you did. You reached for his arm, but he was quick to intercept, catching your wrist in his hand. He looked like he was holding back a smirk, but his scheming eyes revealed how he felt. Smug.
For a moment, he moved his attention to your hand, turning it side-to-side to watch the light catch on the wetness. His eyes returned to yours and it was suddenly impossible to guess what he was thinking. He gently began to pull you forward, guiding you off the bed and you let him, oblivious as to where he was taking you.
When your feet hit the ground, he led you towards the wall. What you had failed to notice when you first entered the room was that there was another pair of chains connected to a handcuff. Scratch what you had thought before—these people had a bigger kink problem than vanity. Before you even had a chance to think, the leather cuff was bound around both your wrists.
You looked up at Bellamy. “Wait, wha–what are you doing?”
He sat back on the edge of the mattress. “Giving you another chance to win.”
The game. You had almost forgotten.
Winning and losing were a foreign concept to your mind now. All you wanted was Bellamy and he knew it which was why he found teasing you so entertaining. You tugged on the chains, trying to reach out to him even though you knew it was useless.
“Don’t think that will work, princess.”
You stared at him, exhaling sharply. Frustration was quickly building, and you wondered how long it would take until you were in tears again.
He looked around the room as though he hadn’t a worry in the world.
“It’s kinda hot in here, don’t you think?” he asked, brows furrowed.
Then he was pulling his shirt over his head and you were sinking to your knees. That was just cruel. His entire torso was exposed now, from his well-defined abs and chest to his broad and muscular shoulders. So cruel.
Your head fell back against the wall. “Bell–”
“What were you thinking about?” he interrupted, arms crossed over his chest again. There was no material preventing you from watching his muscles expand, from seeing the crafted curves of his toned arms. “Before I came in.”
I was pretending it was you who was touching me, you thought of saying, but your voice failed you.
He leaned forward, forearms resting on his spread knees. Staring at you expectantly, he was quick to realise he wasn’t getting an explanation. He nodded as if to say, ‘I see how it is’.
“Was it my fingers…?” He began cracking his knuckles one finger at a time, gaining all of your attention. “Or was I inside you?”
Your walls spasmed at the thought and you sighed softly.
“Were you imagining what it would feel like to have me between your legs after so long?” You closed your eyes, listening to him put the images in your mind. “How good I can make you feel? How fast?”
Goosebumps spread all over your body, your skin tingling with anticipation. You heard the bedsheets ruffling. He had moved off the mattress, now crouched in front of you, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about it too.” His voice was a low murmur now. “I can’t stop.”
He watched your eyes screw shut even tighter as he got closer. You looked like you were hurting, and he almost gave in, with heavy emphasis on the ‘almost’. Instead, he ghosted a finger across your collarbone. “I think about kissing you here.” He trailed up your neck. “Here.”
You could feel the air flexing between your lips and his finger, and you shivered. “And here.”
Your eyes slowly peeled open to see his face in front of yours. His dark eyes flickered between your own, peering deep into your soul which was entwined with him. He was already inside you without even touching you; he was inside your mind and under your skin. Your body was his and his body was yours. You loved him so intensely that whenever he fucked you, you forgot you were two different people instead of one.
To Hell with the challenge. To Hell with losing. He was your Heaven, and such torturous deterrents wouldn’t keep you away from the rapture he gave.
In a single move, you leaned forward and crashed your lips to his. Your body curved into him and he caught you with both arms, holding you upright against him. There was a split second before Bellamy responded as realised you finally gave in which meant he could too, and his lips began moving against yours. Just like the first kiss you shared on Eligius IV after waking up, this one was hungry, but that word sounded inadequate compared to what it really was. ‘Ravenous’ was more accurate.
You moaned into his mouth, your body feeling like it was coming alive.
His movements were intoxicating and so were the small sounds he made when he tried to fill his lungs with air. There was a rumbling in his chest, and he sounded almost primal. He brought a hand to the side of your head, fingers buried beneath your hair as he deepened the kiss, merging your lips with his.
Your bodies rocked backwards and forwards, your cuffed hands pressed against his chest meanwhile his were around your back and the other was in your hair. Bellamy’s hand moved to squeeze your waist and your mouth opened, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue inside and meet your own.
He rolled his tongue over yours during one kiss, and the next, yours had asserted dominance. You swirled around him, tasting him, mixing with him. During the time you took to explore the inside of his mouth, the floor beneath you had disappeared and was replaced with his arms. Your back was against the wall and if he wanted to, he could have dropped you at his feet; you had no way of holding on except for your legs which were wrapped around his hips.
You returned the power to him for a few seconds only to then lightly bite down on his bottom lip. He let out a quiet groan and slowly drew back to press his forehead to yours. For a while, you both stayed like this, breathing in each other’s breaths with your eyes closed.
Everything around you began to spin, and your head felt euphoric as you used his air as your own. The sensation spread through your body, it coursed through your veins and you needed to move, to feel it come to life. Your hips bucked forward but he was quick to push back, pinning you against the wall with a small grunt. His erection pressed between your legs, but he didn’t move. Eyes snapping open, you sent him a pleading look. How much longer was he going to make you wait? You tried to move your cuffed hands between your bodies, but he held them to his chest with one hand.
You wiggled against him, but it was futile.
“Bell,” you almost sobbed. “Bellamy, please.”
He lifted a finger beneath your chin, watching your reddened lips whisper the word ‘please’. He watched your eyes water, tears threatening to spill over the edge. You begged him over and over, and he allowed you to. He let you humiliate yourself in the hopes that he would give you what you wanted. You had completely fallen apart, and now he was going to piece you back together.
“What do you want?” His thumb brushed across your lips.
“Just touch me,” you pleaded.
A few more moments passed of you both just staring at each other, and then it was like something finally snapped in his eyes. He set you down on your feet. At first, you thought he was going to sit back on the bed, and you nearly choked out an objection. That isn’t what happened.
Instead, he pressed another tender kiss to your lips, then to your jaw, your neck, and down your clothed chest. His hands moved down either side of your body as he sunk to his knees in front of you and trailed kisses across your exposed stomach.
Your breaths started coming out in shorter, shallower intervals as he moved further down.
His hands squeezed your hips as he kissed the skin below your navel, causing your eyes to nearly roll back then and there. Finally, he made it to just above the waistband of your underwear. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly now. So close. His hands moved onto your thighs and he leaned in, briefly pressing his warm lips to your thinly covered heat. A jolt of pleasure moved up your body and you gasped. You could feel it—him.
He glanced up at your impatient expression before pulling the underwear down your legs, lifting each foot until it was completely discarded. He eyed the soaking mess that you already were and licked his bottom lip. This was all because of him. His eyes found yours once more, this time wordlessly asking for access despite your obvious enthusiasm.
All you managed to get out was a frantic, “Please”.
And when his mouth finally found your clit, a tear fell from your eye.
Your bound hands fell on top of his head, tugging at the soft waves as his tongue delved between your folds and flicked across your clit. His warm hands moved to the backs of your thighs, burying his face even deeper, exploring you even further. He moved down to your opening, spreading his tongue flat against it and dragging up to collect the mess that you were already becoming. Once he had returned to your clit, his mouth suctioned, sucking with pressure that caused you to let out a cry.
It wasn’t long before you felt the ghost of your orgasm begin to slowly step into the white light. The muscles in your stomach were tensing and rubbing together, preparing for a release that they were guaranteed to have.
Your back arched off the wall as you felt Bellamy’s teeth softly graze against the most sensitive part of your clit. He circled the surrounding area, the nerves beneath your skin setting alight with pleasure under his tongue, burning you from the inside out. When he mumbled something against you, you could feel the vibrations of his voice bury itself deep inside you, and you couldn’t hold back the filthy moan that had been begging to escape.
He pulled back an inch, your hips unconsciously following him as he said, “You lose.”
His mouth returned to your heat, focusing his attention on your throbbing clit, switching between flicking it with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth.
“No,” you managed to breathe out. There was no way something like this could be called ‘losing’. You were the one who got to feel Bellamy’s mouth between your thighs, bringing you to an extreme state of ecstasy. You were the one who had him on his knees before you. “I win.”
He groaned at the sound of your voice and you felt the pleasure move up another level. Your legs buckled beneath you as you tried to grind on his tongue. He took that as a hint to haul one of your legs over his broad shoulder. Now you were another level higher. Your hips bucked against him, feeling almost like you were vibrating as he continued his movements.
Just when you thought the sensation couldn’t get any better, you felt his thick finger suddenly slide deep into your opening and curl. Another tear ran down your cheek and you gripped onto his hair as your head fell back against the wall. You couldn’t even moan; there was only a chorus of strangled noises leaving your throat. He pushed upwards into the soft fleshy wall inside you over and over at a fast and steady pace, and suddenly, you were on the edge of pure bliss, ready to dive into the consuming waters.
His mouth sucked on your clit, tongue circling its peak, meanwhile, he added another finger to pump inside of you.
“Fuck, Bellamy!” Your voice had risen an octave, all breathy and needy.
Like a heartbeat, you could feel yourself throbbing, pleasure building more intensely with each pulse. The muscles in your stomach were so tight it felt like they were being burned with a white-hot flame. Your insides were twisting and coiling and with every curl of his fingers, the feeling only intensified.
Bellamy glanced up at you from below, your eyes meeting in a short exchange.
It all happened so fast.
“I’m–” Before you could finish your sentence, you were shot back up into space, seeing stars.
Your legs tensed up, heel digging into his back as your body began to shake. The coil inside your stomach unravelled, exiting through your opening but not before aggressively rubbing at your insides on the way out. For a moment, you forgot where you were. All you knew was the release, the buzzing in your ears and the way your vision swayed through half-lidded eyes.
Bellamy’s name flowed past your lips like a mantra. He didn’t stop; he kept pumping, kept sucking, prolonging the sensation for as long as he could. Everything was pulsing—the air, his fingers, your pussy. Everything. You would’ve thought you had ascended to a higher dimension if it weren’t for the man beneath you.
You felt his mouth disconnect from your body, fingers still moving inside, although, his pace was beginning to slow and so was your orgasm. The feeling was fading away, leaving you with an overwhelming feeling of weakness in the lower half of your body. Bellamy could feel your legs shaking, so he slid his fingers out. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore and the next thing you knew, your legs buckled, and you were collapsing to the ground
Bellamy caught you in his arms, pulling you into his lap. He watched your thighs tremble as aftershocks washed over you, creamy liquid dripping down your skin. Your furrowed brows, half-closed eyes, and parted lips were a sight to see; he’d never witnessed anything more beautiful in his life.
You peered up at him through your lashes, cuffed hands resting on your stomach, and you smiled. Then you laughed, and then he was laughing too. His chest vibrated against your skin. Your hands reached up to push back a strand of his hair from his face and suddenly you were kissing again.
He placed a hand on your back and guided you until you were sitting sideways on his lap. Your taste was on his tongue and you loved it. You felt it seep into your own tastebuds as you rewound back to when you came on his fingers. You used his chest as support to help swing your legs on either side of his folded thighs so that you were now facing him.
His hands ran down your sides, stopping at the hem of your shirt before pulling it up over your head, exposing your naked breasts to the warm air. Bras were impractical when you were Bellamy Blake’s girlfriend; he’d always find some way of removing them anyway. Hell, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had burned all the ones you used to wear.
He lowered his head to your chest, hair tickling your neck as he began making it his mission to cover your breasts in bruises that marked you as his. Despite feeling like your ability to walk was eradicated, you could feel yourself craving more of him, more of his sex. As previously disclaimed, sometimes fatigue didn’t stop you two from going multiple rounds and this time wasn’t an exception.
If only your hands weren’t bound. You wanted to touch him the way he did you. You wanted him to feel the world disappear and be replaced with a mind-numbing sense of sinful pleasure. You wanted to give that to him, but you couldn’t. Your hands were cuffed, and he had the key.
“Uncuff me, Blake,” you whispered.
His head lifted from your breasts, reluctant eyes meeting your own. “Why should I?”
You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness and turned your head away from him, but he was quick to pull you back with two fingers on the side of your jaw.
“You still lost, remember?” he added.
As if you didn’t already know that. “That was not my definition of losing.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes and even though you were supposed to be in a minor disagreement, you couldn’t help but think about how fucking sexy he looked. You leaned forward, lips ghosting over his. “Uncuff me, Blake.”
His jaw clenched and he leaned in, but you quickly pulled away. His eyes narrowed at you and the smirk you were biting back. He had played the ‘humiliation game’ with you and now it was time for payback. Bellamy may have been the one with the keys, but it was you who now had the control.
“C’mon, we both know you’ll give in before me,” he said, arrogantly.
Always count on Bellamy to be egotistical, even in bed. Well, ‘on the floor’ would be more accurate.
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
You hummed, placing your restrained hands on his chest and slowly grazing them down his torso. When you reached his stomach, you made sure to slow down and drag your nails across his skin.
He inhaled sharply when your nails scratched the area above his pants’ waistband. “Very conceited for a boy who can’t even handle being touched.”
His chuckle came out as a harsh exhale. “‘Boy’?”
“A man would take these chains off me.”
“You think taunting me will get me to break?”
Provoking words wasn’t what was going to break him; you knew that. It was underestimation that was going to be his fall. When it came down to it, men were very simple creatures. They chased after pleasure like it was the one thing that kept them alive, and you knew each and every weakness this man had. He thought just because he won the game, he also won the war. Well, guess again. You were going to knock him right off his high horse.
Your fingers dipped into his waistband. His hand quickly clamped over one of your wrists, pulling it away from his pants. Not that it mattered; you didn’t need your hands. He held your hands in the space between your bodies, his chest rising a little more irregularly than before.
You leaned forward, tantalisingly slow. This time he made sure not to move a muscle, allowing you to do exactly what you wanted. Your mouth hovered in front of his and you could feel his warm breath fan across your lips. Softly, almost as if the moment had become sugary and sweet, you pressed a kiss to his lips, a tender closed-mouth moan buzzing in your throat upon contact. He responded with the same energy.
And then the mood abruptly shifted as you glided your tongue across his bottom lip.
You could feel his cock twitch beneath you, and you knew you were headed in the right direction. Grinding down on his lap, you managed to slip your tongue into his mouth as he grunted. One weakness down; four to go. Your tongue swirled around his with each open-mouth kiss, and he had no choice—you both knew he was having the time of his life—but to reciprocate since he had already given up that area of defence.
Your hips continued to rock back and forth across his lap, occasionally applying a bit more pressure in the hopes he would be triggered to move. He wasn’t. Yet. So, you left his lips and moved down to his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. His head tilted to the side with a sigh, allowing you easier access. This spot was not your main target, though. Your kisses trailed up to his jaw, running along the sides and the curve of his jawline before dipping just beneath the area where his jaw and neck connected. That was one of his weak spots.
His next exhale was shaky, paired with the quietest of groans. Two down. Then you moved on to the next target: just below his ear. Your tongue grazed the area before you left your mark by sucking on his soft skin. He was louder this time and your confidence soared higher. Three; two to go.
He had let go of your wrists now, resting his hands on the curves of your hips with his eyes closed. So much for the whole my-willpower-is-stronger-than-yours dispute. You watched his face as you dragged yourself back and forth over his erection. His eyes screwed shut, brows pulling together, and his fingers pressing hard into the soft plush of your hips.
Come on. Come on, you thought.
“Let go, Bell,” you purred into his ear. Your entire body weight shifted onto his lap and you almost revealed the same weakness you were trying to pull from him. He was so incredibly hard now that it probably wasn’t even healthy. He would have to unchain you soon. And just to pour gasoline on an already roaring fire, you added, “I want to feel you inside me.”
That was it. He couldn’t deny himself the heaven you were giving anymore. His hips bucked up into you, creating a pseudo-sensation of sliding between your folds—an action that erupted a full-fledged moan from his lips, causing your inner walls to flutter and your stomach to drop.
Weak point four—check.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath before suddenly snatching the knife from the holster on his belt and splitting the leather cuffs around your wrists.
And five. Check yes Juliet.
Wow. he couldn’t even manage to grab the keys.
Your hands were free at last, and you wasted no time in using them. They rushed down to unbuckle his belt and tossed it on the floor with a clink. Before you could continue any further, Bellamy rolled you over so that you were now lying caged beneath him. His lips came down on yours in a flurry of passion.
Now that you had full-body autonomy, you couldn’t help but explore every inch of him that you were once denied of touching. Your fingertips ran over his back, over the ridges of his shoulder blades, and around his large biceps. You wove your fingers into the roots of his hair and tugged just because you could.
He reached under the curve on your back, pulling your body up into his, your pelvis’ meeting in a rough collision. He was a mess of grunts and groans and you were quickly inhaling more air than you needed.
You moved a hand to his cheek to deepen the kiss as your touch explored his body further, slipping between your bodies and settling on unbuttoning his pants. Unzipping his flier with one-handed skill, your warm, soft hand slipped into his boxers, finally coming into contact with his hard cock.
His head fell to your chest with a broken moan.
Your fingers curled around him, beginning to stroke up and down his length. Bellamy had taken many of your firsts, including your first time so you had no one to compare him to. However, you were well aware that he was bigger than average. Even if he hadn’t been, you were certain he would satisfy you the same; he was just that good.
He managed to lift his head back up and return to your lips as your arm pumped up and down. His hips lurched forward as your grip increased. All he could think about was how good you were going to feel when it was your heat that was engulfing him, how wet and warm you always were.
Your hand reached the head of his cock, thumb rubbing circles over his tip as you felt drops of precum coat your fingertip. He was usually able to last a long time, just like you, but this was different. Everything inside him was built up for a century, and it would not take much until he was coming in your hand. You wanted him to reach that point as soon as possible.
You left pecks trailing from his mouth, across his cheek, and to the side of his jaw. The bone of his jaw fell victim to your grazing tongue as your pace increased along with the pressure of your grip. He was breathing heavily now, every second breath mixed with a low, breathy moan or grunt. You were throbbing just listening to the sounds he made.
A few curses left his mouth, revealing how close he was—that and the way his cock was practically pulsating in your hand. You twisted your hand with each stroke, effortlessly gliding your palm down his large veiny length. Your thumb grazed over the sensitive band of skin beneath the head of his cock, and his entire body flinched.
He was almost over the edge; all you had to do was give him a little push. Wanting to see his face one last time before you did, you leaned back, cradling his jaw in one hand whilst the other continued below. His eyes were shut, inner brows pulled upwards in a painfully blissful expression and strands of dishevelled dark hair had fallen across his forehead. God, he was gorgeous. What you wouldn’t give to…
No. You had your pleasure; now it was his turn. With each jerk and twist of your hand, your fingers ran over his tip then moved back down to lightly squeeze and repeat. You pressed one last peck to his lips before travelling to that spot below his ear, running your tongue over the skin and then sucked.
His cock twitched in your hand, stomach tensing against your forearm before he finally let go. He let out a loud guttural moan of your name, almost a cry, as he released onto both your hand and the inside of his pants. His head fell forward into the space between your neck and shoulder, groaning into your heated skin which sent vibrations down to your breast.
He remained in that spot for a few moments as you continued to slowly pump him up and down whilst pressing kisses to his shoulder. As he attempted to get his breath back, you removed your hand from his pants and moved both onto his back, lightly dragging your nails over his skin.
Now you were both even, but it was clear this was far from over.
Warm pants fanned across your face after he recovered enough to hover over your body. You were about to tease him for coming quicker than you did, but his tongue was suddenly in your mouth, rolling around your own. And then you felt it—he was already hard again.
That’s a lot of stamina for a hundred-and-fifty-one-year-old man.
He left your lips again and rose to his knees. His carnally intense eyes never left yours as he pulled both his pants and boxers down to his lower thighs. You watched as his cock sprang from his boxers and bounced off his toned stomach. Still looking good for a hundred-and-fifty-one-year-old man too. Extremely good. Like, actually drool-worthy good.
And it seemed he was thinking the very same thing.
“You’re so beautiful,” he spoke, almost like he couldn’t believe the fact himself before he descended back down to you, mouth hot on yours.
His hands were on the floor on either side of your shoulders, essentially trapping you beneath him. You loved how small he made you feel compared to him; almost like he could hold you in the palm of his hand like a little china doll. The treatment he gave you was also like that of a china doll—such a delicate and treasured touch. Though, there were times when he would practically throw you around like a rag doll, mostly when you were both deep in an intense fuck session.
The length of his cock glided over your stomach as he moved his body into each kiss. It was so close to where you needed it, yet still so far. Your legs curled around his hips in an attempt to guide him to your entrance, but he showed slight resistance. His tip was just pushing through your folds, sliding across with each movement he made. It was torture.
You pulled back from his lips, hands almost clawing at the sides of his chest. “Please, Bell, just–”
A gasp escaped you both as Bellamy finally pushed inside you in one fluid movement, his hips almost meeting yours as he filled you as much as your previously abstinent body allowed. Your walls welcomed him and the long-awaited feeling of his cock brushing against that back-arching spot deep within you. He hadn’t even moved yet, but your eyes were fluttering, and your throat was already tightening as you struggled to let out a moan.
Neither of you could do anything but struggle to keep your composure, waiting for the overwhelming heat of pleasure to subdue just the tiniest bit so your bodies could start moving without the world crashing down around you. After moments of stillness passed, Bellamy finally began to move, his pace slow but so, so deep. His gaze was intense as he found his rhythm, sliding almost completely out and then pushing himself back inside you. Fuck, the way your warmth consumed him was hypnotic.
It was kind of like the first time you had slept together those many years ago, minus the nearly unbearable pain when he first entered you, of course. It was intense yet still so full of adoration.
Your body soon grew accustomed to the feeling of his cock stretching you open, making room for him to bury even deeper, to feel your walls completely swallow him whole. That is when his pace started to increase. Your arms hooked around his biceps, bringing him closer as he continued his thrusts.
Not long passed before his hips were snapping against yours; he wasn’t just sliding in and out of you anymore—he was fucking you, pounding into you. Each time he buried himself deep, the area above his cock ground against your clit, stimulating you from the inside and out, so much that it was impossible to hold back a moan.
He moved a strand of hair away from your face, nodding his head as if to praise your vocalisation. The sight of him praising you for simply enjoying yourself as he fucked you was something that turned you on beyond belief. Not that you needed any more turning on at that point, but still, the reaction stood firm.
You wanted him deeper, in any way that was still physically possible.
And then, a sudden, lust-bound thought entered your mind and before you could even ponder it, you had used all your strength to roll yourself on top of his body. Now, his hands were on your hips, head thrown back on the floor and mouth hung open as you rode his cock.
“Oh, fuck!” Bellamy groaned.
Your hands were on his thighs as to hold up your half-reclined position and you were bouncing up and down, rolling your hips so you could feel him everywhere inside you.
A shudder ran down your body, peaking the nipples of your bouncing breasts. You swore you could almost feel him in your stomach. You shifted your body weight into your arms and pushed yourself upwards, sliding his cock nearly all the way out, circling your entrance around his tip before sinking back down to his base.
The both of you let out a synced noise of satisfaction.
His eyes followed each roll of your breasts in a trance, and then he cupped one in his hand, circling his thumb around your sensitive nipple. You gave Bellamy a smile, one that was so sweet and unintentionally seductive. He let out a half chuckle, half groan.
Your legs began to burn, a reminder of the experience you had with Bellamy’s tongue just before this. The way your clit was slapping against his pelvis each time you dropped mimicked the way his tongue had previously flicked and rolled around it. Your pace was beginning to slow, and your rhythm faltered, but you didn’t want the sensation to stop. Instead, you let yourself sink fully down on his cock, and your eyes rolled back. Ok, now he had to be in your stomach because there was no other explanation for the deepness you felt.
He was permanently in that spot that had blood rushing to your head, and with your hips rocking back and forth the way they were, your gut was throbbing with a build-up of ecstasy.
“I–” you panted. “I can’t hold myself up much longer.”
You squeezed his thighs, surely leaving behind red marks as you tried to push yourself up and down a few more times, pleasure and pain fuelling each of your repetitions. It was no use; your arms were trembling, and muscles were burning.
Bellamy was quick to your aid. “I’ve got you, princess, don’t worry.”
His hands moved to your back, pulling you forward, and colliding your breasts into his chest. Next thing you knew, he was pounding hard up into your pussy, his movements so fast you couldn’t even count the number of thrusts he made every five seconds, but it felt so good. So good that you almost screamed.
Your clit was throbbing, inner walls clenching around his unrelenting cock. You were hot, your body slick with sweat, but it wasn’t just that; there was also a fire pooling at the bottom of your abdomen, spreading through your muscles, through every fibre of your being and you didn’t want it to stop.
Bellamy’s arms were wrapped around your waist, rendering you immobile to each of his insatiable thrusts but it made you feel all the more incredible. He was hitting that soft, fleshy spot inside you over and over again, and you felt like you were going to burst. Your stomach was fluttering, his cock was pulsing inside you, and you were a mess of whines and moans.
“You feel–” he couldn’t even speak without releasing a rough moan. His arms tightened around you, mouth moving against your shoulder to say, “Feel so good.”
You couldn’t help but cry out at his words; he sounded so drunk on pleasure.
He began pressing rough kisses to your neck and the noises leaving your throat were utterly impure. His knees bent inwards, allowing him to thrust even faster into you. You were both overcome with desire, hellbent on chasing your release that was taunting you from the shadows. Bellamy seemed almost animalistic, sucking and biting at the skin of your neck whilst pounding into you from below.
Like always, he had made it so that you didn’t have to lift a finger, and he liked it that way. He was making you feel like you had slipped into heaven, and only he could do that. One of his many sources of joy was that your body only knew his cock, and it would forever only know his because that was how long he planned to love you.
You placed a hand on the floor beside his head, hovering your face above his. His eyes were quick to find yours as you gazed down at him.
In between each of his thrusts, you breathed out, “I–love–you.”
He looked so flustered, so puffed out. He was unable to repeat the words back without them sounding like a laboured breath of air so instead, he jerked forward and latched his mouth on the bone of your jaw, turning your skin red and purple.
Your head turned to the side to give him easier access only to unexpectedly come face-to-face with yourself being absolutely destroyed in the mirror’s reflection.
Well… It sure wasn’t a vanity problem these people had, you knew that now.
“Bellamy, look,” you gasped.
His entire body stilled at the sound of your voice and he eyed you with a worried expression. “Did I do something?”
“No,” you tilted his head with your hand so that he was looking at the mirror too. “I just…”
He didn’t need to hear more; Bellamy knew exactly what you wanted—to watch. Watch as his cock plunged in and out of your pussy, watch it curve into your entrance, watch your body bounce on top of his with each thrust. Damn, he’d wished either of you had noticed the mirror before so he could have watched you ride him from two point-of-views.
His gaze returned to you. “Hop off.” You were about to protest, but he beat you to it by clamping a large hand over your mouth. “Trust me.”
You gave him a puzzled, hesitant look but eventually submitted to his command, sliding off him and onto the hard marble floor. His body had left yours entirely, leaving you feeling cold and empty, inside and out.
It wasn’t long before he positioned himself to face the mirror, kneeling in front of it. He curled an arm around your waist and slid you across the floor towards him. Like a rag doll. He pulled you backwards onto his lap so that your back was almost against his chest and your thighs were spread open on either side of his.
“Lean back,” he said, and you did.
Your back was flush against him, and you could feel his racing heart reverberating in your ribcage. His arms wrapped around the space beneath your breasts and he pulled you upwards, supporting your weight, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up.
“Ready?” he whispered into your ear as you watched him in the reflection.
You nodded, reaching around to rest a hand on the side of his neck.
He kissed your cheek and your eyes closed at the sweet act of affection. One of his hands moved beneath you as he guided himself to your entrance, his tip pushing against your wet folds. Bellamy watched over your shoulder, his eyes focusing on the way his cock teased opening.
He finally slid inside, and you instantly fell further against him. Muscles were very handy in this kind of situation. You were captivated—his length disappeared into your body and then returned almost to the tip, covered in a thin layer of both your juices. His movements continued over and over, but you never found yourself bored or wanting to look away. Neither did he.
Your lips parted with a moan when he abruptly took one hard thrust up into you. You looked up at your reflection, seeing the expression on your face, seeing your dishevelled hair… your bouncing breasts. Not that you would say it aloud, but you looked sexy. For a split second, you found yourself finally understanding the attraction Bellamy had to you, and then your mind was torn apart once again.
His speed increased and he was hitting your insides harder and harder with each passing second. You saw your thighs slightly jiggling and weren’t insecure or afraid of Bellamy noticing, but instead found yourself feeling even more turned on.
The room was full of sex—the sounds were wet and harsh, the smell of your pheromones clung to the wall, and the visuals were etched into the mirror in front of your bodies. It was beautiful.
You moved your gaze up to Bellamy’s eyes, seeing him just as captivated as you were, alternating between watching himself slip in and out of your pussy and watching your breasts recoil from each bounce. He then met your gaze, talking to you through unspoken communication. Though you were unsure of the specifics, you were certain he was telling you how much he loved you, how beautiful you looked with his cock inside you, how no one else could ever compare.
His tip repeatedly curved into your G-spot, the rest of his length rubbing against your walls, causing the flames in your stomach to start rising. Bellamy could see the fire in your eyes, and he was ready to turn it into a blazing inferno. He shifted his hold on you into one arm, reaching around your body with the other. His fingers found your clit, instantly applying pressure as he rubbed fast circles around it. That was the gasoline.
Your orgasm was no longer creeping up inside you, but rather rocketing to the surface. You were pulsing around Bellamy’s cock, driving him even closer to his own high. His hips were slapping the skin of your ass as they kept snapping upwards. His abs were more defined as the muscles in his stomach tensed up, trying to keep you upright whilst fucking into you and controlling the orgasm that was threatening to release. You always came before him. Always.
His fingers pressed harder into you, moving side-to-side. Your G-spot was being hit without mercy, only intensifying the pleasure you felt as he rubbed your clit. You alternated between holding your breath and letting out shallow, laboured breaths, signalling how close you were.
You could feel it, Bellamy could feel it—you were pretty sure everyone outside could feel it too, feel the powerful energy leaking from the house you were in. That is what it felt like. Powerful. And now it was about to take over your entire body.
“Bell, I’m gonna–”
“I know,” he panted. “Me too.”
Your hand fell over his, pushing down on it, applying more force even though you weren’t sure he could even press any harder. His hand was almost blurring in the mirror, and his cock was pounding. He was breathing so heavily against your back and into your ear that it sounded like he couldn’t even control the grunts and moans leaving his mouth anymore.
He circled your clit a few more times before your hand moved further down to the place you both connected. Your fingers found the area between his cock and your pussy, feeling him slide over your fingertips as he moved in and out. That was what sent you over the edge.
The blaze in your stomach exploded, sending sparks throughout your body. Your moans were uncontrollable, rebounding off every corner of the room. Your ears were buzzing with overwhelming silence, your vision partially blacked out and you felt so, so good. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, but you hardly noticed, unable to think about anything except Bellamy’s cock. You had ascended to a higher dimension and he was right there with you, endlessly pounding up into you, prolonging your mind-numbing high.
Feeling your walls clenching around him was all it took for Bellamy to fill you up with his come. His cock twitched, and the warm liquid came rushing out in spurts, coating your insides with white—with him. The thick warmth of your mixed juices leaked from your opening and dripped down his length. Your inner thighs were drenched.
His thrusts were sloppy and rough, desperate to keep the feeling coursing through his body as long as possible. The sounds he made were so guttural and raw that you weren’t sure if they made you come again or if they just prolonged the orgasm you were already having.
Somehow, in the midst of both your highs, you had ended up on the floor, partially laying on each other whilst frantically gulping down air.
You couldn’t move. One of your legs was tangled between his, and one arm was thrown across his chest. Your breasts were pressed against the hard ground, head turned to the side facing Bellamy. Everything was shaking, or maybe it was just your entire body uncontrollably quivering. Even your pussy was still clenching, causing you to flinch with each fraction of a movement it made.
Bellamy had a forearm over his eyes, panting heavily; his other arm was still wrapped around your waist.
The both of you just lay there for a few minutes, not talking, not moving, just recovering. Eventually, Bellamy gained back enough strength to speak.
“We didn’t even make it to the bed,” he chuckled.
You then realised you were both literally lying naked on a stranger’s bedroom floor and laughed. “We would’ve ruined the sheets anyway.”
“Probably,” he sighed, contently. He pulled you further onto his chest, bringing your face to nuzzle into his neck. He pressed a kiss into your hair. “I love you too, princess.”
You smiled into his skin, remembering the declaration you previously made. Tilting your head up and resting your chin on his chest, you stared up at him, eyes full of reverence. He peered down at you with a grin, and then his lips were on yours again, soft and slow; so tender that you–
“Oh, come on!”
You both pulled apart at the sudden new voice. In the doorway stood a very irritated Murphy. He seemed too shocked—more like too horrified—to even look away.
Bellamy ripped a blanket from the edge of the mattress and pulled it over your body. “Murphy, I swear to god I’m gonna kill you! Get out!”
“Oh my god!” he shouted in response. “I can’t catch a fucking break around here!”
His voice echoed down the staircase as he fled the building. Someone probably needed to find him a shrink after the number of times he had walked in on you both. He had made it back outside, returning to the rest of the group, though not far enough away for you to miss his very loud complaints.
“Where are the damn carnivorous bugs when you need them?!”
You turned back to face Bellamy, grinning in a daze. “I’ll say.”
Bellamy smirked, humming in agreement as he rolled back on top of you.
It was hard to say how many more rounds you went. The only time you stopped was when your bodies were screaming for a break, and during that time, all you could think was thank god for contraceptive implants.
on february 14th, it wasn’t unexpected that mike didn’t have a valentine. lucky for him, his school’s notorious cheerleader didn’t mind hanging around for a new set of nails.
what you didn’t expect, was that you’d end up under his desk, choking on his cock while he was gaming with his friends, mic open.
“yeah, there’s a genji fucking our backline.” he mumbled, his eyes focused on his screen glowing on his face, outshining the darkness of his room.
you had spit going down your chin, mike’s other hand gripping your hair as he pushed you down, feeling your throat around him. because who else but mike wheeler could do a fucking ranked overwatch game with one hand? he let out a small grunt as your eyes fluttered from how deep his cock was in your mouth, his hand aggressively moving you up and down his length.
“stay, quiet.” he whispered as he looked down at you with an annoyed look on his face, staring at your smudged mascara and your teary eyes. “or maybe you want my friends to hear you. s’that what you want, slut? for everyone to know how much of a whore you are for my dick?” he mumbled even quieter, that usual stupid smirk reappearing on his face.
before you could answer — if you would even be able to, you heard one of his friends through his very much too loud headset.
“mike? what’d you say?” said the unfamiliar voice, making him look back at his screen, his hand pushing your head down on his cock again.
“nothing. think i’m gonna hop off, not in the mood to derank to diamond again.” replied mike, clicking the hangup button on discord without letting his friends answer.
he tossed his headset off his head, looking down at you. “now you can make all the noise you want.” he added, smirking as both his hands went to your hair, fucking up his cock into your throat.
“y-yeahhh, fuckin’ slut. you’re so fucking eager for my dick.” he groaned as you gagged around him, saliva coating his thighs and your chin, your eyelids struggling to stay open as you looked up at him. “gonna let me— fuck, gonna let me paint this throat white, yea?” added mike as his grip in your hair became harsher, his jaw tightening as he face fucked you.
it didn’t take long before he let out a moan resembling a whimper, his head throwing back as his adam’s apple bobbed, slamming your nose against his pelvis as he flooded your mouth with his thick cum. he pulled out as chuckled, still gripping your hair with one hand. “swallow.”
you stuck out your tongue to show him you did, craving validation after your throat just took the most violent yet pleasurable beating ever.
“f-fuckin’ hell, maybe i should keep you around.”
mike blurb the ppl asked for hehehehehhehe also im writing for el max will n dusty rn
finger sucking, hand fixation, creampie, implied college au, freak mike wheeler, mentions of choking + hair pulling, unedited
mike wheeler, made out of more limb than anything else, always uses his hands. he talks with his hands, uses them to express every emotion, uses them for endless fidgeting, storytelling, the like. lately though, he's been using his hands for exploring.
you love his hands.
rough slender fingers that trail up and down your hips and waist, hot, big palms that press into the arch of your back, his thumb that sneaks its way past your lips, the perfect length to leave you breathless as you suckle on his digit.
his touches are gentle, a little awkward, like he's still learning what to do with them (he is). while endearing, sometimes you just crave more.
you ache for a bruising grip on your waist, a sharp yank of your hair, tear-inducing attacks on your gag reflex as he bullies more than his thumb down your throat.
but you don't want to scare him away- it took a long time for the two of you to work up to where you are now, you couldn't imagine his reaction if you told him you wanted to be gagged.
he would probably gag with disgust, you think.
little do you know, it's the exact opposite. he and lucas had this, phase, so to say, where they (embarrassingly) stole porno tapes from family video senior year. educational purposes, they said. and really, it wasn't a lie, mike learned a lot. like how he finds the idea of having a pretty girl beneath him, completely at his mercy, his ultimate wet dream.
but, like yourself, he doesn't want to scare you away, or mess up. really, he's more bark than bite. if he can even work up the courage to 'bark'.
it truly is getting painful at this point- the two of you get so close to rough, so close to pushing past vanilla- but then you both back out, and his ego deflates each time.
on a hot and heavy day when he finds himself hovering above you on your dorm bed, hastily unbuttoning your cardigan while sloppily pressing kisses to your neck, he takes a leap of faith, and bites.
not too hard, but enough to elicit a delicious whine from your lips, and have your legs tightening around his waist, pushing his bulge into your core. when he's exposed your bra-clad chest, he lifts his head up, pupils blown wide and staring into your own. one hand goes to cup your cheek in his hand. he traces the curve of your lips with his thumb. your pink tongue darts out, kitten licking the pad of his thumb, and he shudders. he slides it in, dragging down your tongue towards your throat, teasing your gag reflex. you sputter a little, sucking obscenely.
"mmm, more," you whine, impatient. you open your mouth, hoping he gets the hint. he tilts his head a little, leaning down to kiss below your ear.
"more what?" his hums, replacing his thumb onto your lip, allowing you to speak. instead, your shyly show him, slowly taking his wrist and guiding his middle and ring fingers to sit on your wet lips where his thumb lay.
oh, he thinks, his own lips parting in shock and awe at how hot that was. instead of embarrassing himself with words, he also chooses to just slide his fingers in, relishing in how you gaze up at him with so much adoration as you choke on his fingers. your tongue is so soft, your mouth is so wet and warm, sending shivers down his spine and all his blood to his dick.
on a particularly choked gag, he pulls out, connecting your lips. the rest of your clothes come off quick after that- until your left with a heaving chest in your panties, mike in his boxers.
you switch positions, now straddling his lap, lazily moving in circles, underwear clad arousal messily creating friction that makes mike's pink to the tips of his ears. when he's so hard he can't help how his top sticks out his waistband- you decide the teasing is enough.
you shove his boxers down his legs and push your panties to the side, aligning his angry head with your entrance. he slides in with familiar ease, the wetness from your core and his pre creating enough slick to make dirty squelching noises as you bounce on his cock. his grip on your waist is shaky, clammy. he's holding himself back, you can tell- because the rest of him tenses with each particularly hard bounce. he whines your name so beautifully, strangled and fucked-out.
"mike," you whine, grabbing his chin to get his attention.
"hmm?"
"you don't have to hold back, you won't hurt me." you assure, slowing your pace slightly. "i'm not made of glass."
he looks like he didn't quite process your message, still staring at you hazily. his gears are turning though, you think. you hope.
"yeah?" he asks, lifting himself up on his elbows.
"yeah."
then, as if possessed, he lifts you up and off his cock, flipping you onto your stomach and repositioning behind you. without a wasted second he's sliding in, sheathing himself fully into your tight heat. the angle he has you in lets him bully your cunt- deep and sharp. his thrusts aren't the quickest, but they're hard. the hold he has on your waist is as rough and strong as you've craved, fingertips digging into your stomach and the dimples of your back. your teeth dig into your pillow as you attempt to keep quiet.
blissfully, you coo his name, muffled around the fabric. "mike, mike!"
it only spurs him on, hearing how wrecked you are for him; he needs to hear more. he speeds his thrusts up, pistoning into you rhythmically. you're everything he's fantasized about below him- moaning his name like a pornstar, gripping the sheets and drooling onto the pillow. he never thought he could feel so, powerful? triumphant? euphoric? he doesn't even know how to describe it- maybe as close to dying and ascending to heaven he'll get before actually dying.
he tips over the edge when you reach behind to grab at his wrists, your small and weak palms attempting to ground yourself by anchoring onto him. your back arches attempting the stretch, ass pressing into the air. mike spills into you with a groan and a few more thrusts, his balls slapping against your clit as he rides out his orgasm. the warmth sends you over the edge as you spasm and drool around his length.
the pullout is filthy, wet and sloppy. mike wishes he had a camera to take a picture of your tired body, shuddering and limp on the sheets because of him.
his big hands go to rub where he had actually left an imprint from his grasp, apologizing and massaging over the marks.
when you admit how much you liked it- he's already wracking his brain for whatever devious idea he can try with you next.
future mike wheeler where he's got two nosey teen girls who unknowingly dump salt in the wound (that has been open for thirty years). based on the tt trend cause im a cornball
a/n: girl dad mike wheeler is not something i ever pictured i'd need in life
goes hand in hand w/ this fic: good luck babe!
june 2025
madison wheeler sits in her vanity chair, her older sister gingerly curling her hair. they speak in hushed voices, discussing madison's upcoming date. while it's not a secret- it's not exactly advertised to the world either.
mike, with his aching back, trudges up the stairs, catching wind of the giggles, the teasing. it makes him smile. as he and nance got older, they grew apart. mike wouldn't come to her door to read comics on the floor while she studied, and nancy never wanted to play around with his hair or force him to be her makeup dummy. he's noticed with his own girls, and sometimes pat- that they have this inexplainable bond. they're not only siblings, but friends. the fact makes mike feel like he's doing something right.
he pauses at the doorway, where the door's cracked, and knocks. he too, has got the jitters for tonight. jane was more mellow when it came to boys, maybe cause she got lucky with her one and done by freshman year of college. madison, freshly graduated high school, is a little more flirtatious, in it for the love of the game. she's only been on a few dates, talked to a couple boys, but it makes mike feel disgruntled regardless.
"come in!" madison hollers, applying her lipgloss.
mike opens the door slowly, leaning on the doorframe. "how are my girls tonight?"
"good. just getting ready to go out with jake." mike exhales deeply through his nose, now suddenly needing a seat. he opts for a fuzzy ottoman, his still gangly limbs struggling to look in place.
madison rolls her eyes, beginning the rest of her face makeup, thanking her sister for her hair. jane retreats to sit on the bed.
jane mimics mike, sprawling on her stomach facing her father. they share an almost identical grimace. "dad she's not ten. she's fine." jane defends.
"yeah well, what's this guy do anyway?"
madison is quick to respond, throwing out buzzwords that might make mike's mood less sour. "well, he was top ten in our class, and he ran varsity all throughout high school. he even told me he liked to play like.. terraria and stuff." she 'boasts'.
"he going to school?"
"u washington for journalism." mike seems a little more satisfied, beginning to toy with a random minifigure on madison's dresser. unbeknownst to him, the girls are shooting each other looks, because they know what question comes next and they've been dying to do this trend on their father. jane starts the camera, sneakily pointing it at her dad.
"what's your plan for tonight? whatever it is it better end by ten."
"dad chill the hell out." madison sasses, making her father roll his eyes. "he's taking me to dinner at that pizza place tratta/something, which is good because i'm sooooo hungry i could eat will byers."
the world freezes. mike drops the figure with a clatter. what-how, why?
"will byers? my will? how do you know about will?" mike is sputtering, completely gobsmacked as his girls just cackle. "what are you talking about madison?"
he stares, red faced, jaw agape at the sound of will's name. he hasn't heard it in years. not since their fight when they were twenty. he hasn't thought about will either- save for some yearning nights where his nostalgia gets the best of him, and he finds himself sifting through his old belongings in the attic while his family sleeps.
"dad oh my god, it's a trend- we found some of your yearbooks 'n stuff in the attic and saw that this 'will byers' had been like- all over the place. how come you don't talk about him? we saw a bunch of stuff you guys did with uncle lucas, why don't you talk about will?" jane ponders, cutting the camera. mike, for once, doesn't really know what to say.
he looks at his hands, straight faced and thinking. the girls' smile's dissipate, fearing they might have upset their dad. when he's quiet for a whole minute, madison speaks up.
"dad?"
"yeah! yeah, he's uh. sorry. haven't heard that name for a while."
"sorry daddy." jane pouts, pulling the get out of jail card. because again, mike is nothing but a victim of nostalgia, and hearing that from his girls makes him transport back into time where their hands fit in his palms and dolls littered the house. it gets them out of whatever mess they've made, or dampens the blow- usually. jane's not sure it'll work now.
"it's okay, no it's okay. that's fun, that you girls found all that. just, will's an old friend. since kindergarten, until we had this huge fallout fight back in... '90? '91?" the girls nod in agreement.
he looks up from the floor, finally, and meets their eyes. they look like bugs, staring at him with this confused expression.
"what? something on my face?" he chuckles, breaking the tension.
"no you just were like so locked in." madison quips. "was he important?" she asks, her curiosity overtaking her as she joins her sister on the bed.
seeing them sit together criss cross on madison's fluffy bed, all wide eyed and curious makes mike's heart ache, because all he can see is the past, when fifteen years ago they used to beg for 'sister sleepovers' so mike could tell them a bedtime story all together.
mike nods, sighing fondly. how can even begin to explain how important will byers was, how important he still is, even though they haven't spoken in almost thirty years? how can he begin to describe how will byers changed the trajectory of his life, and he'll sit with that forever?
"we knew each other forever, practically glued at the hip. you know, like pat is with donnie. we did everything together, and helped each other through a lot of hard times. (he's never going to explain that) when it came time to figure out what came after hawkins, we just fought a lot. we wanted to go together, but we couldn't agree on a place (a lie). so we just, lost touch."
madison let's put a soft 'oh', frowning. they hadn't meant to open an old wound.
"sorry we brought it up dad. i didn't know he meant so much." madison repeats, relieved when mike just stands up, patting down her hair (in lieu of ruffling it and undoing all of jane's work).
"it's alright girls. we need to talk about things, yeah? if we don't, we never get over them. i'll be in my office, say bye before you leave maddie, yeah?" he kisses them both on the top of the head (again, pretty uncharacteristic these days), and walks, no sulks, to his study, where madison and jane hear the door click shut.
future mike wheeler circa 2024, beacuse the twt memes that r like "mike wheeler is gonna hear good luck babe on the radio in thirty years and want to die" literally make me laugh out loud.
internalized homophobia, loose understanding of bisexuality by mike, mike 'the yearner' wheeler, started as humorous fic then got a little deep, sorry
read : "mm dad im so hungry i could eat will byers"
spring, 2024
fifty three year old michael wheeler sits in his recliner nitpicking at the third rendition of his manuscript for his upcoming short story. a s[in off from his series, detailing a battle between a beautiful mage and a twelve legged demon, whom she defeats gruesomely with her spells- a work of total fiction.
his wife, a nice woman he met when he eventually went to college in salt lake, pads around the kitchen quietly, baking something for their youngest's fundraiser. his teen girls are huddled in one of their rooms, mike likes to think they're doing homework, but the faint shrieks and giggles allude to the fact that they are most certainly not.
"micheal?"
"yes?" he says, eyes never leaving the page.
"do you mind if i turn on the radio?" he hums a sound that says 'no' without words, and then the hosts' voices fill the room.
well that was a banger from sabrina carpenter- and i don't know, its getting late, but now i want a coffee! host one laughs heartily, mike rolls his eyes, trying to focus back on his work. he never listened to the radio, unless he was in the grocery store or somewhere where it was not his choice. it annoyed him.
next, we've got a heart puller with a good beat- this is good luck babe by chappell roan!
the music starts playing and the girls migrate downstairs, chatting and making too much noise to focus. mike, instead of grumbling and groaning and barking at his family- in his (almost futile) attempt not to be like ted, sets the binded paper down and joins his wife and daughters in the kitchen, checking out the commotion.
"dad can we go see her?"
"who?" he asks, wiping his glasses off with his shirt. he then steals some chocolate chips while his wife is distracted.
"chappell roan!" his second oldest, madison chimes in.
"who?" he parrots, furrowing his brows. the girls collectively groan, the signature wheeler annoyance plastered across their faces.
"the girl who's singing now- she's got a show in pasadena this october." the oldest jane (yeah. he did that.), turns the radio up and starts singing.
then, madison joins in, the two 'harmonizing' so loud his wife thinks the living room will cave in. though, her and mike are used to the animosity of their children's rowdiness- bold and wave-making even if they don't mean to be. it really is a mystery where they get it from- mike is nothing but just sassy at times, and the missus is nowhere near as ear-rattling. maybe too much time with their aunt holly as kids?
it doesn't set in too much- but mike hears the lyrics. they hit in unexplainably. enough that he thinks about their depth. he thinks he just likes the way the artist articulated such emotion- yeah, that's totally it. he's just a writer that appreciates art.
a writer who also flipped through an old photo album that night.
...
the next time he hears the song, he's in the car on the way to get his youngest, patrick, from baseball. the radio of his stupid 2004 subaru ascent refuses to turn off or change volumes today. it does that every now and then, alternating between that issue or just insisting there's something wrong with the engine.
(why doesn't he get a new car? because michael wheeler is a victim of nostalgia, who can't stand the idea of parting with the suv that brought all three of his kids home from the hospital, to numerous trips to gram and gramps, to school, to jane's graduation. no matter how hard his wife pleas for him to get an upgrade, he doesn't, because he's gotta see it through until pat's at least done with high school. )
so, the volume sits at a cool fifteen, and mike's grateful it isn't stuck cranked up all the way. again, its the same station, 97.3, that plays all the "top hits". he sits through that stupid 'whiskey' song and then that pop tune starts playing through the speakers
its fine... its cool
he recognizes it as the song his girls liked, paying attention to the (admittedly catchy) tune.
and when he really listens, he feels like he's got a stomachache. he gets flashbacks to the last conversation he had with will byers back in '91- over twenty years ago, yet it sneaks up on him in vivid memory all too easily. he feels his body sting just the way it did in arguably, the cruelest moment of his life.
summer before junior year 1991
will and mike touch elbows on the dingy theatre armrest. the new terminator movie is interesting, but all mike thinks about is how soft will's arm feels against his own. he hardly pays attention to the movie, and before he realizes, it's over.
will chatters about the film as they exit, still walking dangerously close to mike. mike doesn't like how it feels. well- he does, a lot, actually. he wants to grab will's hand. but he doesn't, and instead opts for staring at the ground, absentmindedly humming along to the conversation.
"mike?" will asks when they return to the car. "are you okay?" his hand slides over gingerly to mike's shoulder, but just as he grazes the fabric of mike's tee, mike jerks his body away.
"yeah, yeah. all good. let's just, um. get home." he starts the engine and begins the wordless drive back to the wheelers, where the byer boys are spending the first few weeks of summer break. mike rushes out of the car before will, not offering any explanation. just fast feet and a pounding heartbeat.
will leaves him be until it's time for bed. then, they cross paths on the way to one another.
"oh. hi." will chirps
"hey. um. i just wanted to say sorry, about earlier."
"its okay mike." will's answer is curt, and mike knows that means its not really okay.
mike seems to have more to say, so will leads him down to the basement, noticing how far mike sits from him.
then, what mike says next breaks him "i can't do this."
"huh?"
"this, us. its... i don't know what i want will."
this makes the byer's boy uncharacteristically angry. after all that's been, mike's just randomly... done?
"mike, what? what are you saying?"
"im saying will is that i can't do this right now." mike gulps, refusing to meet will's eyes. "i'm just-"
"too scared."
mike doesn't agree, but he stays quiet.
"mike don't you understand? it's not going to be like this forever, it won't be." will tries be soft, to reach for his hand, and mike pulls away like he's disgusted. "what's gotten into you?"
mike stands, head swirling, heart pounding. he felt sick, like the room was spinning. it was too much. will. coming to terms with being... possibly gay....kissing will- he didn't know how to explain how he was feeling. first it was categorized as good, butterflies, good nervous energy. now, he just wanted to curl into a ball and die. the pit he had in his stomach when holly had offhandedly mentioned seeing will in mike's bed, met by the dark and knowing look from ted, harsh, threatening. if he led this life, would he always be scrutinized?
"i can't be stared at forever will." his wording only confused will more. "i can't do this with you."
"you're too scared, so you're letting it stop you, i know how that feels. when vec-"
"exactly 'when vecna'. if a literal demon hadn't forced it out of you, you wouldn't even be like this!" mike cries, his knuckles white.
in his peripheral, he sees will's face twist.
"like this?"
"a freak. i can't be a freak." he hates to admit it, but he was intentional with his wording. he was trying to make will mad, make will hate him. he deduced that it was easier than allowing will to love him. allowing himself to freely love will.
"fuck you mike." will shoves his shoulder accusingly, tearing up. "just because you're too much of a coward to accept who you are doesn't mean that i'm a freak. it just means you're a coward."
then, he's out of his trance with a quick heartbeat and a headache, because pat is tugging at the locked car door furiously.
"okay! okay, god patrick don't do that, it's gonna rip off." mike scolds as his eight year old piles his duffel and cleats in.
"then just get a new car like mom's been askin'." he sasses, earning a thin mouthed expression from mike.
"yeah, you got sixty grand laying around?"
pat rolls his eyes, buckling in "dad- you wrote like six books and you drive a car older than jane." mike doesn't reply, too tired to get into an argument with a child. he switches the conversation to soccer and lets his son talk his ear off for the rest of the drive.
that night, mike sits in his recliner quite literally staring at the wall. wife is at book club, his kids are occupied with their own business, not noticing how their father melts into the leather. because he realizes that maybe his beautiful, stable, painfully nuclear life isn't exactly what he wanted. he realizes that maybe he should've chosen to go to school in new york with will. maybe he should have let himself... be true, he supposes. he lets his imagination run, trying his darndest to picture what life could've been, especially as the times changed. he wonders if he'd still have kids. adopted or something. he pictures what will might look like now. he imagines the same as when they were young, with that familiar glint in his eye and now maybe some smile lines. is he in the city still? maybe he's all settled down somewhere in the suburbs like mike.
but, even with his imagination and curiosities, mike knows he's happy in life, when it boils down. he loves his wife, he's still attracted to her, always was- he now knows the concept of liking "both" is a thing now, his kids had explained it when a coworker of his explained she was "bi", and he came home wickedly confused. so maybe that's what he is? and god, he loves his kids dearly, even though he can be like ted at times.
so he sits, conflicted. he's happy and content, and he loves his family. so why does he sit fantasizing about the 'what ifs'? why does he search up will on facebook and get mad when the page is private? why? why?
all he can pinpoint in the moment that if his daughters wanted to see this chappell roan in concert- they better ask their mother to take them.
steve puts a ring on it, and you live a blissfully domestic life. soon enough, you're ready for little ones of your own.
sfw: two years post finale (spring '90), mentions of trauma and violence, hurt + comfort, fluff, domesticity, trying for a baby, pwp
nsfw : breeding, smut, overstim, aftercare
a/n: i'm as disheveled and conflicted w the finale most are- but im also horny for steve harrington and the thought of him canonically being a little league coach has me frothing at the mouth.
gonna do a part 2, maybe some more just with this trope, including like dad!steve and cutesy stuff like that 🤔
....
"baby, i'm home!" steve hollers, coming through the front door.
"hi! in the kitchen." you reply, fixated on the recipe page. "testing out this new scone recipe."
he sneaks up behind you, kissing your cheek and neck. strong arms wrap around your middle, scruffy stubble tickles your skin. "sounds good toots."
you continue working the butter in, turning your head to kiss him softly. "how was work?"
"good, good. had a meeting about the travel schedule, then the boys had a great practice. they've been fired up lately knowing we get to join the d2 leauge. they're all so cute, should've seen their faces when they head one of the other teams was from indianapolis." he chuckles, pouring himself a glass of water. "any special occasion for the baking? especially in this heat."
"well, i wanted to test out some snack ideas for when the kids come to visit this summer." you smile fondly at the thought. the party, who aren't even kids anymore, are due to come home from their respective schools towards the end of the month. you can hardly believe they're in college. it makes you feel wrinkly, even when you're barely pushing twenty-three. steve has an even harder time, considering he'll be twenty-five too soon for his liking.
steve wraps his arms around you again, holding you gently. "too good to those little brats."
"they're not even little anymore steve! they're gonna be sophomores! sophomores!" you exclaim, mixing in some diced berries, swatting steve away when he goes to steal some.
"i know i know. seeing my boys reminds me of them, a lot. so excited, bright eyed." there's weight behind his words. 'cause his baseball boys won't have to watch their friends die, save the world, fight demons. they can keep the spark your younger friends never got to. "makes me think that it might be time to have one of our own."
eyes widening, your head snaps up, hands still covered in dough. "huh?" you can't hide your shock.
"i mean, we got the house, the car.. you're almost there to get one of your own. they just gave you a raise at the hospital, and the city's bumping head coach pay two percent cause of travel team, and i've got that job at the school, i think we can start thinking about being ready." he coos, rubbing thumb circles in your arms as he speaks. you can't deny the thought hasn't crossed your mind. seeing steve at work, being sent to the maternity ward sometimes, you can't help but imagine how wonderful it was to have that all to yourself.
but you're scared. so unbelievably scared. what if something supernatural awakens again? what if that beheaded bastard can reincarnate? what other labs have that fucked up black matter, and what if it gets released? you've seen the party go through dark hell as kids, all at the hands of something, someone, they couldn't control. you were a kid yourself at the start of it all- you can't fathom it happening again to a child of your own. you vocalize that to steve, who stares at you with solemn eyes.
"baby," he's at a loss for words, you can tell.
"let me put this away, we can talk in the living room." you send him to wait for you, collecting your thoughts as you wash your hands and tuck the bowl into the fridge. you want it, you know you do. but your fear trumps your desires, just like it always did.
you find steve waiting on the couch for you, fiddling with the stereo. you sit beside him, feeling his hand instinctively slide onto your thigh.
"i just, i couldn't imagine what id do if it happened again. the kids.. they're hardwired so differently because of it. no matter what that lives with them, and it's not even their fault." you can't help but sniffle, the little faces of the party flashing through your head. their horror, tears, grief.
"hey, hey. it's over now, yeah? it's over." he pulls you into his strong arms, holding you close with one hand and cradling your head on his chest with another "we're all broken from it. but it's done, you watched joyce behead him, yeah? done. i don't need an answer from you now. i don't even need it soon. but i just don't want you to live in fear anymore. i want us to move on, to rise above what tries to break us."
you nod agaisnt him, letting hot tears roll down your face. "i just can't imagine being like hop. losing a baby- two babies like that." you admit, growing more vulnerable by the second. "we all lost her, and i don't want to lose another one."
steve consoles you quietly, letting you cry. he gets it. el was like your little sister. from the moment you stumbled across her in the wheeler's basement, just looking for a screwdriver for yours and nancy's project, you knew she was special. you learned how brave she was, all while being the normalcy she was taken from. you taught her how to take care of herself, let her play with your hair and try to style it like the magazines. you did grammar lessons and told her all about high school and how to paint her nails. you fought by her side and watched as she blossomed and grew into a force to be reckoned with. and you suffered as you watched her get ripped away into the void.
"i know baby, i know. im sorry i upset you."
"no! no, i'm glad we talked." you huff, rubbing your eyes, "it's been on my mind too, and you're right, i've just been afraid."
"and that's normal," steve validates "completely normal, but you know what? those kids? they're the toughest kids i know. and i know it's partly because they had you as a role model. in all that hell, you showed them not to succumb to the pain. you taught el from the very beginning. you taught the girl that saved the world." his words make you choke up. "and you know what she wanted. she would never, never want to see you like this." he says the last part slowly, as if you'd just burst at the sound. but you don't, because you know he's right.
so you just agree, slowly, quietly. leaving it at 'i'll think about it', with a slow and deep kiss, you return to the kitchen and make two more batches of different scones, lost in thought the whole time.
....
three days later, you come to a realization. you can't live life held back by fear. it's something your friends came to a while ago, something steve came to as well. something you've been stuck on.
you also come to realization that yeah, you are ready for a change. you're ready to start the rest of your life, especially with steve by your side.
oh, and steve? he's ecstatic, picking you up and spinning you around. he's on the moon, spewing thoughts about names, nursery themes, what sport they'll play-
"hold on, hold on harrington. we're not even close to being there." you chuckle, still wrapped in his arms.
he smiles, running a hand through your hair. "we could start?"
when you agree, he wastes no time connecting your lips, smiling into the kiss.
he picks you up, leading you to your bedroom, devouring you in kisses.
"so grateful for you toots, gonna be such a good mom." he mumbles, kissing your neck. you flush at his words, gasping when his hand trails down to your core, needy, quick.
"steve," you grasp at his hair, breathing heavily, "please." you whine, not entirely sure what exactly you want.
it's enough, because steve knows.
clothes come off hastily, every touch is electric, hot. your chest is soon littered with little bruises and the damp spot on your panties clings even tighter to your core. steve ruts his hips down, his bulge creating friction with your cunt. he grinds on you for a minute or two, relishing in the teasing feeling. your hands wander his body hungrily, grabbing at his shoulders, running your hands down his back, his chest.
and because steve is nothing but impatient, he just slides your panties off and licks at your core twice, before spitting between your folds and aligning himself with your entrance. you're impossibly wet, drooling and clenching around his fat cock, pulling at his hair, because you know he adores it.
without wasting time, steve begins a rhythmic pace, fucking into you slow, but hard. he yanks you down so your hips meet the edge of the bed, lifting you up so your body angles off the bed, holding you by your legs. with this leverage you swear you feel him in your throat, overwhelmed as he speeds up. he's mumbling sweet nonsense to you as he thrusts, groaning and whining. you can't contain yourself either, feebly grabbing at the bedspread and moaning wantonly.
"gonna make it take baby, gonna fill you up." he sounds strangled, face red and sweat beading at his forehead. he slings your legs over his shoulders, baring down and pressing you so your knees nearly touch your ears. you feel like you're screaming now, though you can't register how you sound. all you can feel is white hot pleasure, and steve sheathed inside of you, kissing your cervix with each thrust.
it's not long before you're creaming around his cock, chest heaving and legs threatening to close. steve, unable to help himself, also releases; a fat load that's hot and sticky inside of you. he keeps pushing in, angling your lower body upwards and plugging you with his cock- which, is not even softening a bit.
he pulls out after a bit, allowing your legs to rest. he dives back in to kiss you, praising how good you did in your afterglow. just as you're ready to just shut your eyes and let him clean you off- you feel your body being manhandled onto your stomach, your hips being pulled towards the ceiling.
"steve, what, what 'r you doing?" you mumble, pushing yourself onto your elbows, turning towards him. the sight is pornographic, his eyes are still dark with lust, his cock red and heavy. and it's clear that he's not done yet. "again?"
"mmm, we're trying for a baby honey, gotta make it count, yeah? scoot up f'r me toots." you oblige, even though you're hesitant you can take another. you still feel his first load inside of you, full and leaking out of you. "look so pretty stuffed full of me baby."
he kneels on the bed and slides into you again with ease. again, he doesn't waste any time starting, a now borderline animalistic, pace.
"i-i can't steve! i can't!" the overstimulation creeps up quick, feeling that sweet burning sensation in your core, each deep intrusion stinging so deliciously each time he bullies his cock into you to the hilt.
"you got one more in you, i know you do baby. gonna give you one more and im gonna fill this sweet cunt up with a baby, yeah toots?" he doesn't listen to your pleas, because he can always tell when you're actually done, and he knows you can take one more. "so close baby, just wanna get you there first, can you do that for me?" he presses his hairy chest into your back, snaking an arm down to rub your clit.
wordlessly, you let your body give in completely. you gush around him, falling face first into the mattress. you're drooling into the sheets, your grip shaky. another load coerces itself into you, splooging out of your hole. when steve pulls out, a white ring is obvious at the base of his cock.
now, he's done for the night... or at least for a few hours, you think. you allow him to clean you up, wiping you off and sliding a couple pillows under your hips, dressing you in your robe until you've got the energy to shower.
you're blissfully melting into the sheets, indulging in his fantasies.
"i bet they'll have eyes like yours,"
"what if there's two? like twins- should we give them the same initials?"
"what if they want to do theatre or something? i know nothing about that! what will i do?"
you've got a soothing answer to each one, laughing at your husband's nonsensical musings.
side blurb from this two parter/trope, but can be read alone!!
your first christmas back in hawkins, and as mike's girlfriend. mike wracks his brain on what to gift you, you struggle to bake his gift. cocoa, gingerbread, and all the snowy cliches.
...
you adored christmas. pretty lights, spicy cinnamon, and dazzling snowflakes; everything about the season had you feeling as merry as one of those actors in a catalog advertisement.
being back in hawkins, your excitement had grown tenfold. you'd settled into routine the last few months, with the help of mike. he'd helped you study for school, given you rides while you searched for a car, and been just absolutely doting and wonderful overall. he'd been so enamored in getting to reconcile with you that it dawned on him just two weeks ago, that all this time he never actually asked you to be his girlfriend. six whole months of being your right hand and he never had the right mind to actually ask you the question. and to be fair- it never crossed either of your minds.
but, now, it made every sentiment sweeter. he loved to stare at the photo booth strip you'd taken at the mall that was posted on his mirror, adorned with 'xoxo' and a heart scribbled in your handwriting.
mike wheeler, and his lovely girlfriend y/n y/ln.
that being said, he was an absolute mess trying to figure out what to get you for christmas. he'd enlisted his friends, all home from break, on his 'mission'.
"dude how are we supposed to know what she likes? we haven't seen her since like sixth grade." lucas sasses, sipping on a lemonade as mike leads them through the fluorescent mall.
"yeah for all i know she'd still like a babysitters club novel and a bow or something." dustin adds, pretending not to be interested in the scammy kiosks they passed.
"shut it, all of you, and help me! she's like a girl, what do girls like?"
"a woman, mike- we're not fifteen anymore?" dustin says matter of factly, earning agreements from lucas and will. mike regrets inviting his meathead friends, until will chimes in.
"maybe a cassette of something she likes?" he gestures to the music shop down the way.
mike shoots the others a glare, "thank you will."
they paruse into jammin out, mike delegating everyone with a task to find something cyndi lauper or madonna.
lucas hits the lottery, with a cyndi lauper tshirt two sizes too big, like the ones you steal from mike to sleep in. they hit some mercantile shop next, where mike finds a gorgeous ring adorned with pretty stones and matching hoop earrings.
after buying gift wrap in your favorite color and a second round of mall lemonade- the boys have made mike's mission successful.
...
you on the other hand, were fighting with a jar of molasses as you struggled to follow some ancient recipe for ginger molasses's cookies, something you had learned mike had a soft spot for from nancy.
you took the recipe from your mom's only baking cookbook, which she had inherited from her great aunt- who you weren't positive was the first owner either. the ink was smudged from wear, and the book was worn in such a way that it kept shutting when you tried to prop it open. that, and your lack of knowledge on baking, mixed with the panic of it already being the night of the twenty-third and having to see mike tomorrow- had you a bit stressed.
when you finally pried the molasses lid off, you spooned in a tablespoon too much and almost threw the jar across the room.
eventually, you get it. a soft(ish) dough that you press into rounds and watch bake the entire ten minutes for two batches, fearing for their state if you got distracted.
they're a little lopsided and carsmilized in certain places (and only certain places, like little sugary chicken pox), but your verdict says they taste good, so who cares.
once cooled you put enough for all the wheelers in a large tin and wrap your present of a new vest beside it.
after cleaning up your whirlwind in the kitchen, you seem your own mission accomplished.
....
you meet in the wheeler basement for gift exchange with mike on christmas eve, setting aside a good two hours before the boys join you for a movie.
the presents are exciting, but not exiting as one another. you cuddle and kiss under the lights mike had hung up, giggling and sharing stories about your weekend.
when the time comes, mike's absolutely touched by your present, giving you puppy dog eyes and peppering kisses all along your face. you're equally as impressed with his.
it's tempting to go play in the snow, but after a while of getting distracted by thanking one another with kisses, the others arrive and you settle in for a cozy movie and game night, just like before.
your hear feels so incredibly warm in that moment, watching your friends laugh and play monopoly like kids again. if you squint, you'll hear low voices be replaced by the squeaky one of game master mike and sorcerer will, you'll hear your own shrill voice giggling as an elf. you'll hear mrs wheeler calling you up for dinner and you'll feel the pout on your face when your mom picks you up at seven because it's a school night. in it all, you'll feel warm and comfortable, even though it's different.
mike really was right. the universe brought you back to hawkins for a second chance. not as punishment, but as a wake up call. that what makes your heart swell isn't superficial, it's what lies beneath the surface. it's wood basement walls and rusted bikes, it's lucas' attitude and dustin's cackle, and mike's embrace.
it's home, where you can see the snow fall outside the wheeler basement, smell popcorn and cocoa, and feel your heart surge with love.
: fingering, in a public place (br), pet names, squirting
steve's thick fingers work in and out of your dripping cunt, slowly, teasing you.
"steve, stevie i need more.." you whine, hips bucking, back arching off the wall, "please,"
he shushes you softly, kissing your neck. a shudder tickles you spine at the feeling.
steve had whisked you away in the midst of the movie, in hopes of stealing a few kisses.. and now an orgasm from you. he'd slyly led you to the family restroom with a boner and a mission.
"gonna have to be quiet and take it sugar, can't get caught here." he cooed, continuing his agonizing pace "so warm and wet, all for me."
you nod, grabbing at his hair. you whine into his collar, clenching around him.
"please steve, please faster, more, anything!" it feels a little pathetic, the way you beg and cream around his digits. but he just had such a way with you, a way of making you lose all inhibition.
he wordlessly gives in, speeding up his fingers and continuing to nip at your neck. steve knew just how to curl his fingers to make you weak, pushing you to the edge almost immediately after he changed pace. it was embarrassing really, how he could just make you crumble so easily.
"hah! ah, steve, mmmph," your hold on him tightens, fisting his chestnut locks, "so close, g'na cum!"
you lose it when he reconnects your lips, simultaneously petting the gummy spot inside your core just right, working a messy orgasm out of your cunt. your pussy gushes around his fingers, face growing hot and body tensing as you let him work your release. you hear the raunchy squelch of your pussy agaisnt the smack of your kisses, the dirty sounds egging you on.
when you part, a sting of spit connects your lips, the air hot, your body loose.
steve pulls his fingers from your core, licking them clean. you moan at the sight, kissing him gently now, and mumbling sweet nothings against his lips.
when you begin to sink to your knees to take care of him, he grabs your arm gently, stopping you.
"we can fix that in the car baby, that way i can hear all of you."
aged up to 19, SMUT, sub!mike, virgin!mike, experienced!reader, swearing, piv, oral m!receiving, pwp, fluff
a/n: you guys were absolutely too sweet abt p1, im so happy you enjoyed! here's the horny part 2- i might write some more with this little trope/dynamic just bc i think its so sweet
....
cherry lipgloss, two sprays of electric youth and a tank top with a low neckline. all the things you deemed a perfect recipe to make mike wheeler's knees weak.
it was ten to seven and you were already patiently waiting for mike to arrive. you hadn't heard from him, save for the call yesterday afternoon confirming that you weren't just messing with him.
at 6:58 on the dot, your doorbell rings.
you bound down the stairs, swinging the door open, coming face to face with a nervous mike wheeler. he's in a pretty polo shirt, holding a sweet bouquet of tulips.
"mike!" you pout, coving your mouth in a little gasp. "you shouldn't have, you're too sweet." the peck you leave on his cheek stings as he hands you the bouquet, mumbling a flustered 'yeah, 's no problem'
he allows you to set down the flowers, grab your purse and bid your parents farewell, before walking you out to karen's car.
"wow, i see we've upgraded." you tease, sliding into the passenger's seat. he closes the door for you, chuckling as he heads into his side.
"couldn't take you out via bike, that wouldn't be classy at all."
....
you tone down the whole foxy act as to not scare the daylights out of mike completely. it makes him a little more at ease, to know that beneath this vixen there's still you, who still likes to chat star trek and listen to the latest news about the robotic whatever he's tinkering with.
it's a long dinner, about two hours of catching up and filling in the blanks of the last several years until the diner closes. when it does, mike doesn't even let you see the tab before sliding some cash and whisking you back to the car.
"so i was thinking we could go stargazing over at the park?" he suggests once you're inside.
"mike wheeler asking me to go park the car at 9pm?" aaand he's blushing again.
"only if you wanna," he smiles, warmed up enough to not completely crumple at your teasing. you don't hesitate to nod.
the conversation between you two flows so naturally now, and you're relieved that the flip switched from that initial reconciliation. it makes the drive across town to the nature reserve easy and quick, and when you reach the park, he's ready to let you out and set up a cute little picnic blanket and stereo in the clearing. you're surprised, he really had this in his back pocket all night.
a soft chilled breeze tickles at your skin, slightly humid. the ground is cold through the quilt, the late night radio show humming quietly in he background.
the two of you lay side by side, staring into the cool late summer sky, giggling and enjoying each other's company. you get to the topic of chicago, how your life had developed beyond hawkins. talking about it in the past tense was strange. there were parts of your high school years that made you wince when you said them out loud. too many cigarettes, too many broken hearts, and year spent trying to be someone you really might've never been.
slowly, you prop your upper half up on your elbows, turning to mike.
"this is really nice mike. i'm glad we're here. i did miss you, you know," you admit, guiltily referring to the lack of communication after your move.
"really?"
"yeah, it was just so hard adjusting to a new place. my mom signed me with some b-s therapist who suggested minimal contact with you and will and everyone else back here, back home." you confess, "something about starting anew being easier. wish i hadn't listened. maybe we wouldn't have missed out on so much." the look on your face grows somber, like when you lost the monchichi dustin got you for your 12th birthday.
mike goes to lean on one elbow, body facing yours. he lifts a (shaky) hand up to cradle your face. it's your turn to feel warm at the touch. it's safe, familiar. he feels like home, just like everything else in hawkins. everything you tried to erase, that you associated with boredom. maybe it was just erasure out of the fear you'd miss it too much.
it truly feels now that maybe your whole flirty act was a complete facade, a fake show of passion and bravado to fill the space. maybe your fickle friends who smoked too much and kissed dozens of boys weren't the best place to find genuine connection and a safe space for vulnerability.
"you're here now, yeah? everything folded out and brought you back, and you're gonna make the most out of it, aren't you? you're with your family, your grandparents.. i'd love to be part of this too. i missed you, a lot. you were my best friend. it was just.. the distance," there's a pause "but we can make up for it, yeah?"
"yeah."
he's close to your face now, centimeters away.
you close the space, connecting your lips. mike lets out a soft whine, struggling to kiss you back.
when you break away, you drink in his needy gaze. he looks awestruck, and insanely kissable- lickable, even.
needily, he comes in for more. it's messy, hasty, inexperienced- but you wouldn't have it any other way. it may not be like some of the playboys you've kissed before, but what it is- is mike wheeler. your childhood best friend, and the person that's made you feel more heard and seen in a week than some people back in the city have for years.
wanton with need, you crawl your way into his lap, straddling him. you go to grasp his collar, tugging him up to be seated beneath you. now, you can thread your fingers through his soft curls and press down onto the bulge growing in his lap.
mike thinks he might die here, a happy man, caged underneath your plush thighs and damp core. he surrenders his own efforts and lets you lead the way, slowing and deepening the kiss, letting your tongue swipe at his lips. his hands nervously find your hips, barely skimming you. with a soft smile, you remove your own from your hair to guide him.
grasping his wrists, you firmly plant them on your body. "you can touch, mike. it's okay." you whisper against his lips. without giving him another second to verbally respond, you attach a kiss to his neck, feeling his breath hitch and relishing in the little whines he can't contain. you suckle a bit, kissing all over the expanse of his neck while slowly grinding your hips. his pulse races under your glossed lips, his hands finding comfort at massaging the skin between your thighs and hips. its delicious contact, but you want more.
taking hold of his wrists again, you slide them beneath the hem of your denim skirt, guiding him to push it up your body until it rides up in a halo around your hips. he's got a full feel of the cotton panties that hug your cunt pressed directly onto his painfully hard cock. it's impossibly straining against his corduroy's, pulsing each time you squirm. he allows himself to explore your thighs, rubbing, squeezing, caressing. your skin feels like velvet under his trembling fingers, and he's drunk with the sensation of your hot kisses.
to be frank, you're not sure when to progress... is mike a virgin? you didn't want to push him (but you do want to feel whatever monster is hiding under his slacks pushing into you). so, you break the kiss slowly, letting your arms hand loosely around his neck.
"mike...what are we doing?"
"what, um, what do you want to do?" he sounds like he's questioning himself, flushed.
eyes full of lust dart down to where your bodies connect, before meeting his dark eyes. its a silent agreement, an excited one nonetheless. with a surge of completely libido driven need you push him onto his back, following him down. your hands tangle in his hair, down his neck, his chest, his waistband- exploring.
mike gets a burst of confidence from your own, and he pulls at the bottom of your shirt. "can this come off? please?' his voice is choked, low and raspy.
he doesn't have to ask you twice, you're nodding, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head, revealing the little bralette you had underneath. with his eyes wide as saucers, he brings his hand up to touch, cupping the supple flesh. you're so goddamn soft, he keeps thinking. like a god sent angel made out of candy floss.
he doesn't realize his mouth is slightly agape- and he might've actually drooled, when your hand goes to hold his jaw, pushing up slightly.
"flies are gonna get in mike." you jest. he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lips.
"you're so beautiful y/n. always have been, you know." you roll your eyes, "im serious!"
"oh c'mon mike," you chuckle, kissing his cheek.
"no really! all those years ago- if you told me i'd be here i think i woulda died, like actually. i always thought you were pretty. when you wore those cute elf costumes to campaigns, and your little ribbon phase in sixth grade- i think that's the first time i ever thought of a girl as beautiful." his confession leaves you the awestruck one. its genuine, the way he sputters and glows pink in the night. "i still think you're the most beautiful girl i've ever laid my eyes on. i don't really know what i did to deserve you coming back to me. the distance was really tough, i had thought you'd forgotten all about me, really. but now you're back, it's like i got a second chance. to keep my best friend."
there's no other response appropriate enough to capture the affection you feel besides enveloping his lips in another kiss. he reciprocates, slowly, passionately. like the beginning of making up for lost time.
his shirt comes off next, then your skirt gets tossed aside, and his pants are pooled around his ankles.
you're still on top, now kissing down his torso, feeling each shiver of his body. when you reach the hem of his boxers, you look up for any signs of hesitance- shocker, there is none. you gingerly pull them down to join his corduroys, allowing his angry cock to spring free.
it's long, not too thick, but not super skinny either. the tip is blushing a deep pink, shiny with pre. you give it a few experimental jerks, savoring his reactions. when you begin to press chaste kisses to the head, and especially when you begin licking and sucking his length, he's a whimpering mess, grabbing at your hair nimbly.
"oh, oh fuck y/n,"
"so good, oh my god,"
"fuck me, ah! ah.."
he sounds so pretty, a mess under your touch. when you feel he's close- you stop, much to his demise. he doesn't pout much when you start rummaging through your purse for a little foil packet and he realizes your intention.
he allows you to roll the rubber on, aligning himself under your weeping entrance. when you sink down on him, he thinks he's actually died and got sent to heaven. you're warm, wet, and absolutely breathtaking. your eyebrows scrunch and your puffy lips open in a soft whine, whining his name so gracefully.
clammy hands hold your hips as you take the lead, bouncing up and down shallowly, getting accustomed to the way his tip kisses your cervix with each intrusion. he gets a little experimental, thrusting up every now and then, meeting your downward motion, absolutely bruising the soft spot in your core.
expectedly, he's close soon after you start riding- you don't expect to finish too ceremoniously, but you're satisfied, worn out from bouncing on his dick.
"mmm, you close mike?" you huff sultrily, bending down and nibbling on his earlobe. he moans out a low 'mmmhm!', his grip on your waist tightening, his body becoming tense. when he releases into the condom, he swears it's the hardest he's ever came, and it's with his dick buried to the hilt inside of you.
the warmth guides you to your own soft orgasm, warm and intimate. you feel fuzzy as you slump against his chest.
you feel his rapid heartbeat under your ear, drinking in the smell of his body wash and his natural musk. it's incredibly comfortable, until you realize you're butt naked in a field. it's a little harder to enjoy the afterglow after that.
so, with stolen kisses in between, you re-dress and actually stargaze a little longer, before mike drives you home. he walks you to the door like a gentleman (as if he wasn't just balls deep moments ago) and kisses you goodnight.
"ill see you soon, yeah?" he asks.
"please," you respond, kissing his cheek and putting your hand up in a 'call me' motion, before slowly shutting your front door.
mike feels like an absolute winner as he rolls back into his own driveway.
↳ summary: mike wheeler is a loser. big time loser. and he’s dating the cheer captain. the only problem is that they’ve kept it a secret long enough.
↳ warnings: characters are 18, making out, slight voyeurism, dry humping.
↳ notes: wrote this on my phone at the airport not too much on me.
word count: 2.5k
The Hawkins High gymnasium’s smell was awful. It smelled like a lethal mix of floor wax, sweat, stale popcorn, and enough Axe body spray to tear a new hole in the ozone layer. It was the night of the Senior Championship game—or in other words, the holy grail of high school social hierarchy—and the noise was absolutely deafening.
Mike Wheeler sat sandwiched between Will Byers and a very aggressive tuba player from the marching band, his knees pressing uncomfortably into the back of a freshman. He looked miserable. He felt like he was vibrating out of his skin. He wanted to punch someone.
"Statistically speaking," Dustin shouted over the thumping bass of We Will Rock You, spraying pretzel crumbs onto Lucas's shoulder, "this is a gross misappropriation of our time! Our teams’ defensive line has the structural integrity of a wet napkin. We could be running the Vecna's Revenge campaign right now. I had the map ready! But instead, we are watching grown men chase a ball."
"It's our last semester, Henderson!" Lucas yelled back, wiping pretzel dust off his jacket. He was wearing face paint that was already sweating off in the humidity. "It's called social integration. Try it sometime! We're seniors! For fuck’s sake!"
"I am well integrated!" Dustin gestured wildly to his Hellfire Club t-shirt. "I am a leader of men! I just don't see the appeal of—"
Will nudged Mike hard in the ribs. "You okay? You look like you're going to throw up."
Mike was staring fixedly at the sidelines, his face pale, gripping his knees so hard his knuckles were white. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "I'm fine, Will.” he squeaked. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "I'm great. Go Tigers. Yay sports."
Nobody knew.
It was the absurdity of the century. It was a glitch in the matrix. It was the best-kept secret in a town famous for government conspiracies and horrendous interdimensional monsters.
The secret had a name, and that name was Y/N, his sweet little girlfriend.
It had started back in October, senior fall, on a rainy Tuesday that smelled of damp leaves and ozone. The AV Club room was Mike's sanctuary, the one place he could escape the pressures of senior year. He had been alone that afternoon, covered in black toner, cursing creatively at the large-format poster printer which had decided to jam for the third time that week.
He heard the door creak open. He expected Mr. Clarke. He expected Dustin.
He did not expect the Captain of the Hawkins High Cheer Squad.
Y/N had walked in, closing the door softly behind her. She wasn't wearing her uniform; she was in a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and jeans, looking like she had just stepped out of a catalog. Mike froze, his hands stained with ink, waiting for the usual mockery. He waited for her to ask where the "cool people" were, or to make fun of his D&D shirt.
Instead, she looked around the messy room with a sigh of relief. "Is it quiet in here?" she asked, her voice soft. "The library is full of freshmen."
"Uh," Mike had managed, eloquent as ever. "Yeah. Usually."
She held up a leather-bound notebook. "I just need somewhere to write. Journaling. I can’t do it with people behaving like animals."
She didn't leave. She sat on a desk, legs swinging, and watched him fight the printer. And then, shockingly, she helped. She rolled up her expensive sleeves, got ink on her perfect hands, and helped him dislodge the paper tray.
They spent three hours talking. And not the superficial stuff Mike expected. They talked about fears. About the crushing pressure of perfection. About how they both secretly thought Return of the Jedi was the weakest of the trilogy. Mike was a rambling, nervous mess, his hands shaking every time she looked at him with those big, intelligent eyes, but she just laughed—an overly warm, genuine sound that made his chest ache.
By the end of the day, the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. The rain was hammering against the windows, sealing them in their own little world. Mike had been staring at her lips, paralyzed by his own insecurity, convinced he was misreading the signals. Because girls like Y/N didn't look at guys like Mike Wheeler. Not like that.
"You're going to pass out if you don't kiss me, Wheeler," she had whispered, leaning in close enough for him to smell her sweet, edible vanilla perfume.
Mike had stopped breathing. "I just... I didn't think..."
"Shut up," she had smiled.
She grabbed him by his shirt, yanked him down, and planted a kiss on him that effectively rebooted his operating system. It was soft at first, then hungry, and Mike had realized with a jolt that the coolest girl in school was actually trembling just as much as he was.
Now, six months later, they were keeping it secret. Mike insisted on it. He told himself it was to protect her.. Well, obviously, dating a very active member of the Hellfire Club wasn't exactly a status booster for a cheer captain. He didn't want to be the anchor that dragged her down the social ladder.
But tonight? Tonight, Y/N had other plans.
"I'm doing a toe-touch jump right at the 50-yard line," she had told him last night, her voice husky over the phone as he lay in bed staring at his ceiling. "And if you aren't there to see it, I'm, so seriously, breaking up with you. I'm tired of hiding, Mike. I want to show you off."
Show me off, Mike thought, feeling dizzy. She's fucking insane.
Back in the gym, the buzzer sounded for halftime. The lights dimmed, and the spotlight hit center court.
"Oh, look," Dustin groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful. "Pompoms. My favorite part of the evening. Wake me when the game starts again."
"Shut up, Henderson," Mike snapped, instantly alert. He sat up straighter, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The music kicked in, something rhythmic and loud, vibrating through the bleachers. The squad moved in perfect synchronization, a sea of green and gold pleats and white sneakers. And there she was.
Y/N.
She was absolutely mesmerizing, as always, Mike thought. She flew through the air in a basket toss, soaring higher than anyone else, her ponytail whipping like a lash, her smile dazzling enough to blind the front row. She hit every beat with a sharpness that commanded attention. She looked powerful, beautiful, and completely, utterly out of his league.
Mike felt a surge of pride so intense it nearly choked him. That's my girl, he thought. His and only his. The words felt reckless and golden in his head. The girl everyone is staring at? She kisses me. She likes my nerdy ass rants.
The routine ended in a pyramid formation. Y/N was at the very top, arms raised in a V, chest heaving, glitter catching the overhead lights. The crowd went feral.
But Y/N didn't look at the crowd. She didn't look at the judges.
She turned her head and locked eyes with the specific section of the bleachers where the band geeks and the Hellfire Club sat.
She found Mike. Even from this distance, he felt the weight of her gaze. It was a look of pure, terrifying possession. A smile curled the corner of her lips; soft, intimate, and knowing.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she raised two fingers to her glittery lips and blew a kiss.
It was a direct hit.
The bleachers around them erupted in confusion.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" Lucas grabbed Dustin's arm, nearly dislocating it. "She looked right at me! Y/N just blew a kiss at me!"
"You're hallucinating, Sinclair!" Dustin scoffed, frantically smoothing his curly hair under his hat. "She was looking at the hat. Chicks dig the trucker hat energy. That was clearly for me! It was a signal!"
"In your dreams! Why would SHE blow a kiss at you?"
"Why would SHE blow a kiss at YOU!? You're wearing face paint like a damn toddler!"
"Guys," Will started, looking at Mike. "I think—"
But Mike didn't say a word. He couldn't. His face was burning so hot he thought he might spontaneously combust. He stood up abruptly, his metal chair clattering back loudly. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost, or maybe God.
"I have to go," Mike choked out. "Stomach. Bad pretzel. Need air."
He bolted before they could ask questions, scrambling down the bleachers, tripping over people's feet, fleeing the scene like a criminal.
Twenty minutes later, the game was dragging into the third quarter. The crowd was roaring, but the party was distracted.
"He's been gone a while," Will frowned, looking at the empty seat next to him.
"He's probably crying in the car because the noise was too loud," Lucas rolled his eyes, though he looked concerned. "Or he went to 7-Eleven for a slushie and didn't invite us."
"Let's go get him," Dustin decided, standing up. "This game is a blowout anyway, and I refuse to watch the Tigers lose by thirty points. Let's go."
The three boys trudged out into the cool night air, leaving the roaring, sweaty gym behind. The parking lot was a sea of metal, quiet and still under the buzzing streetlights. The distant sound of the announcer echoed eerily.
"There's his car," Dustin pointed to Mike's beat-up, beige sedan parked way in the back, under the shadow of a large oak tree. "I bet he's asleep. Grandpa Wheeler strikes again. Probably taking a nap."
As they got closer, weaving through the rows of trucks and vans, Lucas slowed down. He squinted.
"Hey... is it just me, or are the windows... wet?"
The car windows weren't just wet. They were opaque. Completely fogged up with heavy condensation, obscuring everything inside like that one scene from Titanic.
"Weird," Will murmured. "It's not that cold out."
Dustin marched up to the driver's side, a mischievous grin on his face. "Watch this. I'm gonna scare the soul out of his body." He raised his fist to bang on the glass.
Then, through a small clear streak in the condensation, his eyes adjusted to the interior.
Dustin's hand froze in mid-air. His mouth dropped open so wide a damn demogorgon could have crawled in and set up camp.
Inside the car, illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of the dashboard lights, was a scene that defied every law of the high school social universe.
Mike's seat was pushed all the way back. And Mike wasn't sleeping.
He was buried.
Y/N was straddling his lap, facing him. Her green and gold cheer skirt was hiked dangerously high, gathered at her waist, the pleats fanning out over Mike's denim-clad legs. Resting on the dashboard, next to a half-empty bottle of water, was a massive, expensive-looking bouquet of red roses with a card that screamed CONGRATS, LOVE <3 in bold marker.
But nobody was looking at the flowers.
Mike Wheeler, the lanky nerd who argued about dice rolls and refused to dance at prom, had his head thrown back against the headrest, his mouth devouring hers.
It wasn't a polite high school peck. It was feral.
Y/N had her arms wrapped tight around his neck, her fingers tangled deep in Mike's messy black curls, holding him in place as she ground her hips down into his lap. And Mike... Mike looked like a man starving. His hands were gripping her waist with a desperation that turned his knuckles white, his long fingers digging into the bare, soft skin of her thighs just below the hem of her skirt.
Y/N broke the kiss for a split second to gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting their lips, and Mike chased her immediately. He didn't let her pull away. He groaned something against her throat, a low, vibrating sound that was audible even through the glass, and buried his face in her neck.
He kissed the sensitive cord of her throat, open-mouthed and wet, his hand sliding up from her waist to palm the curve of her hip possessively, dragging her closer until there was zero space between them.
She whimpered, her head falling back, exposing her throat to him. She grabbed the collar of his Hellfire Club t-shirt, yanking on the fabric so hard the neck stretched. She bit his lower lip, hard, pulling it between her teeth, and Mike surged up to meet her, his other hand tangling in the back of her cheer uniform.
It was messy. It was frantic. It was the hottest thing any of them had ever seen, and it involved.. Mike. Jesus Christ! The Mike Wheeler.
Lucas looked like he had been slapped in the face with a wet fish. Will looked like he wanted to dissolve into the pavement.
Dustin just stood there, his brain unable to process the data. Mike? With Y/N? Making out like they were trying to invent a new form of fusion energy?
The cognitive dissonance was too much.
Inside the car, Y/N shifted her weight, pressing down harder into Mike's lap, arching her back. Mike let out a rough sound and moved his hand higher, his thumb grazing the skin of her inner thigh, his face flushed, eyes squeezed shut in pure, agonizing bliss. He looked powerful. He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Dustin couldn't take it anymore. The universe was collapsing.
He didn't tap politely. He banged on the window with the force of a SWAT team.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The reaction inside was explosive.
Y/N shrieked, a high-pitched sound of terror, scrambling backward and hitting her head on the rearview mirror. Mike practically jumped out of his skin, his limbs flailing as he tried to cover Y/N and locate his own dignity at the same time. His elbow hit the dome light, flooding the car with unforgiving brightness.
Mike whipped his head toward the window.
He looked wrecked. His black hair was standing up in every direction. His lips were swollen, red, and slick. His t-shirt was twisted. And on his neck, blooming in vibrant high-definition, was a fresh, purple hickey right above his collarbone.
He looked at Dustin with eyes the size of dinner plate; terror, shame, and fury all mixing together.
Dustin stood there, illuminated by the sudden flash of the interior light. He looked at the disheveled cheerleader trying to smooth her skirt down over her hips. He looked at the giant bouquet of love roses. He looked at Mike, whose hand was still instinctively resting on the thigh of the most popular girl in school.
Dustin threw his hands up, gesturing to the entire tableau, his voice rising to a screech that echoed across the parking lot.
the last time you saw mike wheeler was back in '83 when he had a baby face and a bowl cut. fast forward to '90- and a lot has changed.
warnings: innuendos (but no actual explicit content), aged up to 19
awkward mike x flirtyflirt bold reader- i think the trope is yummy i hope you enjoy 🫶
PART TWO (friday night.. smutty)
...
hawkins indiana was the sleepiest town you've ever stepped foot in, especially since you've spent the last seven years in booming chicago.
but alas, you find yourself solemnly back in your childhood town, for the unfortunate reason of your grandmother's illness. on her last legs in the hawkins general icu, your family decided to relocate back 'home' to care for her and your grandfather.
the decision has you with mixed feelings. you had sacrificed heading off to a bigger university, settling to go to the community college so you could be with your family- something noble, you supposed, but a difficult pill to swallow when you think about it selfishly.
nevertheless- you're back.
you move into a home close by to where you used to live- and down the street from the wheelers.
as the movers unload your boxes, you see mike parking his bike in the garage.
still on that damn bike- you think.
when you meet eyes, and you see his curious stare. he's squinting, clearly analyzing your form. you shoot him a wave, and begin to walk down the sidewalk. he reciprocates. as you get closer, his smile grows-and you can't hide the fact that yours does too.
"y/n?"
"mike."
when you meet in the middle, you really see how much he's grown. he's tall now- really, really tall. his hair is fluffy and tousled, eyes as deep and soft as ever, his hands are absolutely huge- and, holy shit? you realize; he's hot?
"what're you doing here? are you moving back?" you sigh deeply and nod, explaining your situation. with a sharp intake, you shrug. "so yeah. that's, that i guess..." you trail, looking at your feet, "you're still home?"
"yeah, um.. school wasn't really for me. i'm taking a gap year, maybe i'll find something, or whatever." he gulps.
it's a little awkward now, not much else to say. you were good friends, way back when, but with so much time and distance, things feels a little stale between the two of you. it's not an instant reconnection, yet, you literally cannot help yourself from flirting- a habit you picked up from your bold city friends.
"so, what girls you got in your corner?" he looks flabbergasted by your question. to be fair, it was out of the blue- and ballsy for a first conversation.
"what?"
"well, look at you mike, a lot's changed. i'm sure you've got the ladies swarming all over you." your finger jabs his chest, trailing down his pecs teasingly. oh now he's red, really, really, red-just what you wanted.
he coughs, running a hand through his hair before it's shoved right back into his pocket- "um, no, not really, not at all actually, i like, still play dnd- and girls don't really-"
"maybe i can be the first then."
now he's finished, obliterated, absolutely gone.
you're drop dead gorgeous- all grown up, moving next door, and flirting with him?
he can't believe it.
nobody will, he bets. when he calls dustin about this he's gonna hear a sarcastic belly laugh through the receiver, and he can practically see nancy's eye roll in his head.
"helloooo?" you close his mouth by pushing up on his agape jaw lightly "flies are gonna get in there."
snapping out of it, he coughs again. "what, um, what do you mean?"
"i mean, that i'd love to catch up, how about this friday, yeah? i'll have to see what's changed around here." the tone in your voice is so sultry, a three-sixty from his memories of you. "i've got to go, but i'll see you then at seven, yeah? i hope the diner on elm is still open."
you put a hand on his shoulder, again, letting it wander down his bicep as you depart, blowing him a kiss (which was a lot- even for you, but it's so obviously apparent you can play with him like putty) before heading back towards your house.
"it's open! yeah, i'll see you then!" he hollers after you, voice cracking.
following st5/e4, the comedown from the climax. mike is disheveled, drained. you comfort him, he comforts you. you find a rare moment of solace in each other’s presence.
warnings: st5 spoilers, hurt/comfort, fluff, bestfriends! trope, sharing a bed, aged up, NO suggestive content;clean
....
it's been a day.
you're exhausted, completely and utterly drained. shock, fear, and anxiety course through your veins. everything is just so incredibly overwhelming, so mortifying.
the events of the day play back in your head like a nightmare, except it's very much real. you try to shake what you can away as you rummage through the linen closet. returning to the living room, you see will, passed out from exhaustion on the unmade couch. you slowly tuck a pillow under his head, feeling your heart ache when he doesn't even stir. you make up an air mattress for joyce and place a blanket over will. once you've taken care of the byers, you walk back into the kitchen to mike and lucas, who sit at the table wordlessly, head in their hands. you take a seat with them, processing.
"it's late. we can.. try, to rest. okay?" you try to keep your tone even, gentle, "would you like to stay here lucas?" you offer.
"thanks, but i've got to get home. if my parents don't see me home in the morning they'll freak, especially with, you know.." he trails off.
it's a silent acknowledgment.
you walk him to the door, feeling like a newborn deer.
"walkie when you're home, yeah?" you ask, hugging him tightly. it's uncharacteristic, for you to be so clingy, so outward with your concern. but lately, you can't help it. you've seen the most unspeakable things, snd now, with everything so grave- you want to hold everyone so tight and never let go.
lucas agrees, reciprocating the hug with the same weight. then, you watch as he bikes into the night.
you lock the door and check it-as if that would stop a beast from hell, and go back to mike, who hasn't moved an inch. you walk to stand behind his chair, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your cheek into his head.
"why don't you wash up?" you suggest gently. he doesn't stir. you move to his side, kneeling beside him. "mike, please."
he shakes his head no, beginning to tremble. you stand back up, enveloping him into your arms, allowing him to crumble. he cries into your torso, sobbing for his parents, his sister- sisters, now that nancy's in the upside down, el, hop, everyone.
uncertainty looms and creates an incredulous feeling of fear and despair. where the hell is holly? is she even alive? half the party is in the upside down, his parents are in critical condition- what's supposed to happen now? what is going to happen now?
it all comes down in a wave of horrifying realization that makes him feel like he's in shock. maybe he is in shock, the way his body wracks as he sobs. he normally dwarfs your frame but in this moment he feels small, weak.
he's not a leader, not brave, not anything at all. he's just a boy who's been forced to work with a bunch of other teenagers and civilians to try and defeat some hellish entity that can twist worlds and minds; the fact that crushes him the most.
he breaks down for a solid ten minutes before he slows, growing too weary to extert himself. he lets you guide him upstairs to your bathroom, and allows himself to be vulnerable. you help him undress, start the shower, and get him a warm towel and fresh clothing.
when he's finished, he shuffles back to your room, where you sit in your desk chair, reading. your eyes dart to him, a gentle smile on your face. but he can see through it, he can see the pity. and he knows he looks pitiful, he does. his eyes are swollen, hell, his whole face is. his posture is weak from feeling heavy, his entirety sullen.
you don't acknowledge it, and just help him into your frilly cotton sheets, making sure he drinks some water before he lays down.
"in going to shower, but i'll be right back, okay?"
mike nods, but he wishes he could follow. like the little kid who trailed after his best friend when you first met, he wants to follow you, to feel your familiarity, your warmth. to hear your soft voice and unwavering support and affection.
he anxiously waits for your return, fearing the worst in the twenty minutes it takes for you to get ready for bed. when he sees your gentle figure return, he's relieved. at least he knows you're here. his relief is short lived because he can't help the downwards spiral of thoughts containing all the reasons you could be torn away too.
you crawl into bed beside him, keeping a respectful distance. he wishes you would close the space.
"goodnight mike. please don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything, alright? anything at all, im here for you." you flick the lamp off, allowing pale moonlight to pour in through the sheer fabric of your curtains. you lay with your back towards mike, feeling his warmth even without contact.
expectedly, you're both unable to sleep. try and try as you must, your mind fights your body's exhaustion. there's too many things happening for you to just surrender to sleep.
"mike?" you say slowly, voice barely above a whisper. it's been a solid twenty minutes of "sleep" and you can't beat the silence anymore.
to your surprise, he responds with a soft hum.
you don't know what the right thing to say is. you don't know whether to admit your fears, try to say something totally unrelated, try to comfort him- so you just turn to face him, and ask;
"can you come closer?"
he's a bit surprised by your question. it's not like you've never shared a space before. you've been friends since you were in kindergarten, closeness is no foreign territory. but now, as you're older, it does carry a certain tension; especially with whatever unsaid feelings stand between the two of you. it's too much work to try and save the world and focus on relationships- so the both of you dance around it, sometimes intentionally, but most of the time it's because you're genuinely too occupied. he notices the dimples in your smile, notices how warm you make him feel, how even in the darkest of times you prevail and offer your kindness and comfort to the people you love. he feels lucky, all the time, to have you near. it's a crush, he thinks? he's not sure. he knew his crush on el when he was twelve was a "crush", but with you, he feels something deeper, something with history. a bond so twisted and weighty, like an anchor chain, heavy, metal. it roots and digs itself until it's solid and sturdy. he feels anchored around you, safe, even when the world around isn't.
that being said, he doesn't hesitate to turn your way and scoot closer to the middle of the bed. you follow suit, until your knees touch and your forearms press against one another's. it's awkward, to breather each other’s air so literally, so mike opts for pulling you into his chest, holding you securely. you reciprocate, feeling yourself melt into him. your forehead presses into his chest, and you hear his heartbeat. rhythmic, quick.
your fingers tangle into the fabric of his sleep shirt, alternating grabbing the fabric to fidget and rubbing soft circles on his back. the two of you, intertwined on your bed, melted together like ice cubes; rigid and cold until you were able to relax and melt into a puddle of one another.
not another word needs to be exchanged for tonight. not when you're the most comfortable you've been in weeks. not when you're moments away from drifting to sleep in a (already) snoring mike's arms.
for now, there's peace, and that's more than you expect these days.
big, broad, muscular arms trap you in between himself and the back of the passenger seat. your legs tremble around his toned thighs, your meek little frame cowering beneath his gaze. his lips are hot against yours, feverish, hungry, his tongue slotting between your lips, forcing itself into your mouth.
"hmph! 'zuku..." you whine when he finally catches you a break, chest heaving, eyes predatory. your hips wriggle in his lap, savoring the friction of his black denim against your thinly clothed core.
a calloused palm engulfs nearly half your face in a gentle caress, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your cheekbone. he lets you squirm, sensing your flusteredness between the walls he's created. the car itself is tiny, especially with his large frame taking up a large portion of the backseat.
your head goes to rest against the arm still propped up on the seat in front of him, tenderly nuzzling his forearm. his breath hitches, his heart tugs. did katsuki really get all this tenderness, this adoration, from a heaven sent angel, all to himself? in what world did katsuki bakugou deserve a honey-sweet, soft, little baby like you? the thought makes izuku's stomach hurt. japan's most promising aspiring hero, getting a tummy ache because all he wants to do is slum around and fuck his best friend's girlfriend, instead of finding a lady of his own. idol deku, getting flustered over his best friend's girlfriend dry humping him in his backseat.
how pathetic.
"what're you staring at?" you murmur, nimble fingers going to trace izuku's bare chest. he snaps out of his gaze, dropping both arms to his side. he kisses you again.
"nothing. just, let me take you, please." he pleads, beginning to tug at your sundress. you nod, allowing him to pull it over your head, leaving you clad in soaked cotton. you brace yourself on his shoulders, grinding over his thick bulge again. your lips connect, whines and moans slipping through the cracks.
"more, please more!" you whimper, hands reaching down to begin unbuttoning his jeans.
he helps you, tugging the baggy pants down to his knees, gravity pulling them down to pool at his ankles. his cock stood flushed and proud, strained against his boxer briefs futile attempt to hold it in. a simple tug to the waistband releases his member, heavy, hot, dripping with precum.
without a second thought you shove your panties to the side and align him with your tight cunt. you're so wet it doesn't take too much for izuku's giant cock to bully its way into your pussy, stretching you out with each inch (all 8.5 of them).
"hnnnnhgh, fuck! 'zuku so good, so fucking big!"
your whines egg him on as he begins to snap his hips upwards, his grip on yours bruising, cautious not to bump your head atop the car ceiling.
"yeah? that feel good baby? bet kacchan can't take you like this huh?" he taunts, spitting on your chest. the glob dribbles down your left tit, spilling onto your trembling thigh. he spits again on the right to make it even. "fuckin dirty slut. can't do anything besides take your goddamn boyfriend's best friend's cock." he sneers, watching your face twist and cheeks puff up in a pout. you try to justify, retort back, but it's difficult when his cock is drilling into you so deep you feel it in your throat.
"being MEAN!" you punctuate. "that's- hmph! ah! not NICE 'zuku."
"like cheating on your boyfriend is." he scoffs back.
he's had enough of the banter, scooting the two of you to the middle of the seat. while you're still firmly planted on his cock, he lays you down by the neck, back arched awkwardly over the console. he could care less about your whines and complaints, not when this new angle allows for him to slot right into your cunt and have your thighs as practically handlebars.
"such a good little slut, my god." he whistles, beads of sweat forming at his brow. "gonna spill inside this slutty cunt, make kacchan feel my cum inside his precious baby."
"oh! ah, 'izuku!" you clench and cream around his cock, grabbing onto the seats for bearings. he spills inside of you, hot and wet, with a strangled moan.
when he pulls out he can't help but stare at your gaped hole, your wrecked body.
no way he can let kacchan have all of this to himself.
you're fastening your earrings as you read the text from katsuki, already ready for your night. every now and then, when the two of you get a night off from patrolling or paperwork, you seize the opportunity to go out together, have a nice dinner and maybe some drinks afterwards.
it's practically date night, but it's not a date!
the relationship is entirely platonic, no matter how hard your friends tease, or how long the two of you somehow remain single, or how often katsuki lets himself stare....
but it's platonic. you swear! you couldn't ruin your relationship with katsuki like that. you'd been friends since you were wide eyed little classmates in 1-A. it would be nonsensical.
so the two of you go about your lives like friends do, save for some habits
like when you do his laundry, or when he makes you dinner almost every night. how he treats you to pretty jewelry when you get promoted or when you sneak into his bed sometimes.
it's not a thought you dwell on often. you enjoy your relationship with katsuki, no matter what social standards it might not abide with.
you're sitting in bed in your silky black satin midi dress, when the doorknob begins to jiggle. you practically spring out of bed, walking as fast as you can in your heels to meet him in the living room. when he opens the door, already dressed from having gotten ready at the gym, his eyes grow hungry. he drinks in the sight of you, curves and perky tits sitting so pretty beneath the satin. he walks in, shutting the door and placing his duffel bag on the floor. he'd be a liar to deny how stunning you look.
"making me look like a peasant here." he jests, running a hand through his (still wet) hair. he's checking himself in the hallway mirror, to which you reassure him with your words.
"you look great katsuki. handsome under all those frown lines." you poke, walking up to him and adjusting his collar. it feels intimate, and in certain moments like this you do find yourself noticing the tension in the air. but you ignore it, helping him tuck his white dress shirt into his slacks before leaving for dinner.
katsuki had gotten a reservation at some fancy european restaurant downtown, in a high rise building with a view of the city. it was a hard to get into spot, but when you pull the dynamight card, anything is possible.
he drives the two of you and lets the valet park his car. when you're on the sidewalk, you naturally wrap your arm around his. he feels a surge of warmth where you touch him.
___
dinner was spectacular, glittery and fancy, with duck on the menu and words with accent letters that were difficult to pronounce. katsuki insists on picking up the check, but allows you to buy the wine for your movie on the way home.
see? not a date.
pajamas replace formal wear immediately and the biggest, coziest blanket is broken out of the closet. you curl into katsuki's side because it's cold, and allow him to wrap a solid arm around you.
most of the time, you excuse your closeness with the fact that yours and katsuki's love lives are dry. dating as pros sucks, and nobody has ever felt right.
you put on some cheesy little dramatic romance and the two of you burn through 3/4ths a bottle of aged cabernet in no time.
you feel warmer now, cozier, as you practically lay on top of katsuki. you've lost the plot of the movie, opting to stare at the man above you instead. he's so dreamy right now, with flushed cheeks and a tight white tee on.
why hadn't you noticed how fucking irresistible he was sooner? sure, you've noticed, everyone's noticed how much of a babe katsuki is. he' pro hero dynamight for god's sake. but right now, in your tipsy stupor, you notice his freckles, the bob of his adam's apple, and he way his chest rises and falls. the scent of his aftershave and the rough sensation of his calloused hand atop your arm. his warmth, his scent, his... well, everything. it was like you were in a trance, drunk not off wine, but off his presence.
so you tell him.
"'suki, how come you look so good right now?" you giggle, reaching up to touch his face. you feel his breath hitch as he looks down at you.
"heh?"
"you'rejustsohot." you slur, tracing a finger between his pecs.
he's blushing, staring at you like a deer in headlights. you're laid on your back in his lap, hair splayed out like a halo beneath your head, eyes hooded and still adorned with your makeup. you look pretty hot too.
"could say the same thing about you baby." he lets the name leave his lips with bravado. really, he's scared for your reaction.
"can i kiss you?" now his heart's stopped beating. "katsuki pleeeease." you sit up, facing him.
he sighs, running a tired hand over his face, "you're drunk."
"so? doesn't mean i don't mean it. it just means i cant help myself. you can't leave me like this!" you wail dramatically, tossing yourself at him. arms wrapped around his neck, waiting for the okay to crawl into his lap and devour him.
"are you sure?"
"yes 'suki"
"c'mere then."
like a cat, you pounce on him, ecstatic when your energy is matched. you capture his lips with fevor, straddling his lap. hands are wandering messily, and your kiss is deep with years of pent up emotion.
"mmmph, 'suki you taste so good." you moan, firmly pressing your core down to his hips. he hisses at the contact, already hardening.
"yeah? you been thinking about this or what?" you nod frantically, kissing him again. you'd think the would sober you up, but really, it does the opposite. you feel warm, mushy. so pliant in his arms as he hoists you up by the waist. "such a pretty girl." he muses, tucking your hair behind your ear.
you whine, kissing him again. you just can't get enough.
"take me kats, wanna feel you."
the words make all the blood in his body rush to his cock, and he's lifting you in an instant, flipping you onto your back, kissing your neck while fumbling with the waistband of your pj pants. when they slide off he stares at your body, your cropped t shirt ridden up, clearly with no bra underneath, and your little black and green panties, with... with a orange x on the front- is that?
"stop looking!! my friend got them as a joke, i wasn't expecting you to EVER see them!" you squeal, giggling your embarrassment away. you cross your legs, covering your crotch with your hands. "katsuki!" you scold, because he's still staring.
really, he's seconds away from snapping. you own a pair of fucking dynamight panties.
sure, they were a joke, but you actually wore them? you put those on, with his hero signature painted on your cunt all day, all night.
holy shit.
when he snaps out of his daze, he mutters "should wear 'em more often." with a smirk and dives in, shoving the thin fabric to the side and liking broad stripes up your cunt. you squeal, back arching off the cushions. it's been a while since someone's given you attention, let alone someone so damn hot.
he nips and suckels at your clit, reveling in your reactions and rutting against the couch. two thick fingers sneak up to your mouth and you suck, swirling your tongue around. when they're lubes with your spit, the join the attack on your cunt, sliding in easily.
"ah! katsuki!" you moan, grabbing his blonde hair. you press him further into your cunt, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. "mmm gonna cum," you pant, tightening your legs around his head.
"let go baby, let me see you cream on these fingers."
you cum with a shout, high-pitched and punchy, like someone yanked your hair. really, it was just from the absolute power of your orgasm. you don't think someone's ever made you cum that hard.
he lets up on the assault, getting up to hover over you again. when you kiss, you taste your arousal on his lips and tongue.
"can i take care of you now?" you question, wrapping your hand around the bulge in his sweats.
"fuck yeah baby." he groans, moving to recline on the cushions. you sink to your knees in front of him, yanking the fabric from his legs. you marvel at the sight of him. no boxers to hide his massive cock, red and angry, with a flushed tip and pretty beads of translucent precum. you jerk him a few times, your hand not wrapping around his base fully. when he gets harder, you start to wonder if he'll fit.
doubts aside, you wrap your lips around the top, suckling experimentally. your tounge swirls around the tip, before your lips go to drag from base to tip. he's wrecked beneath you, moaning unashamedly, dirty talking like a pornstar.
"fuck yeah take that cock baby."
"such a good little slut, wondering how that's gonna fit in that tight cunt huh?"
"bet your little pussy's dripping from sucking me off, good fucking girl."
some of it is nonsense, but all of it motivates you to get him to blow a load down your throat.
your goal is achieved (almost embarrassingly) quickly, as his volume increases and the grip on your head tightens. when he cums, he moans gutturally and shoves your head down so your throat literally fills with his seed, nose flush against his curly blonde pubes as you choke and sputter.
when you pull of he doesn't even let you breathe, grabbing your jaw.
"swallow" he commands
you do with a heavy gulp, allowing him to shove his thumb in your mouth and pry it open to check.
"good girl. let's have some real fun now baby." he teases, yanking you up by the throat. he walks you over to the arm of the couch and you get the hint, bending over so your hips hinge over the armrest, ass in the air. he spanks you once or twice before spreading your asscheeks apart and spiting a thick glob of saliva onto your core. he smears it around dirtily with his thumb before spitting again, this time into his hand. he jerks himself a couple times before bullying his cock into your cunt, the fat head stretching you immediately.
he doesn't give you much time to adjust before he's greedily burying all of himself into you, and starting a steady pace. you let out little "uh!"s and "hmphs!" with every thrust, unable to control how good he's making you feel.
he reaches every little gummy spot in your cunt and kisses your cervix with his especially deep thrusts.
"good girl, letting your best friend hit it raw on the first time? what a dirty girl." he jests, snickering. "gonna cum on this cock this time yeah? make a mess on me all over so you can't get with nobody else. i'm gonna ruin you for anyone else."
just like that, you're finishing at his mercy, clenching around his length.
"tryna run from me? push me out? not happening baby." he loops his arms around your elbows, yanking you up so your back his flush on his toned chest. "not done with you yet."
he fucks up into you and at this new angle, in your afterglow, you become so fucked out all you can do is babble his name and leak on his cock. he murmurs nasty musings into your ear, kissing on your neck sloppily as you feel his strokes get faster.
"can i fill up the sweet cunt baby? gonna let me pump you full?"
"yes! yes, mmm fuck katsuki!"
he releases an even fatter load this time, you feel it hot and wet inside your pussy, leaving out from where he has you stuffed full.
he releases you and you flop down like a ragdoll, feeling his softening cock slip out of you. you feel his searing gaze on where your gaping hole leaks his seed, and hear a little shuffling, then a camera shutter.
"hey!"
"don't worry sugar. just for the spank bank."
"you are gross." you reply, rolling your eyes. he walks off and you hear him turn the sink on, and feel him wiping you off gently after. he helps you into your pajamas again, lifting you back to your previous position gently. he lets you furl into his side and massages your scalp as you settle back into the couch, the movie now over.
"mmm we didn't even see the end!" you chuckle, tracing shapes on his chest.
"eh, was stupid anyways." he retorts, scrolling through the reccomended. you start picking what to watch next like he didn't just fuck you stupid, the both of you silently agreeing to discuss what exactly that means tomorrow.
for now, you just let yourself relax, dazed and sleepy, using katsuki's chest as a pillow and letting him and the background noise lull you to sleep.
guys the world is healing with this whole rodgina thing
here's my two cents
---
"you are absolutely insufferable!" regina screeches, hurling a drumstick at rodrick's head. he dodges it just in time for it to slam against the garage wall and clatter onto the floor unceremoniously.
big surprise to nobody, the couple, kind of, not really, whatever they may be- are arguing again. shouts, accusations, and petty insults are thrown like pebbles in the heffley garage- easy to toss, but sting when hit.
he accuses her of sneaking around with aaron, she denies, denies, denies, then gets mad and begins to pick at all of rodrick's flaws. it's a vicious cycle, and it's so loud that susan's often grown accustomed to turning up the tv inside so manny doesn't hear all the obscenities.
"then go! go be with your little golden boy baby. if im so full of shit." rodrick sneers "i'll be right here when you realize he's just a waste of time." he makes his smirk evident just to piss her off, reviling back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. he knows just how to get under her skin; it's especially easy in times like this.
because what peeves regina the most is when rodrick just won't go away. the way he waits for her like a damn puppy, even after she cusses him out, almost broke one of his drums, snaps countless drumsticks and rips his playboys to shreds, he doesn't go away.
part of her adores it, that's the part that has her coming back and letting him pick her up in that butt ugly van.
the other part of her feels what can only really be described as shame. shame for fooling around with a loser like rodrick, shame when she overhears the whispers, the rumors, shame for lying to karen and gretchen. that's the part of her that is full of rage, anger, and embarrassment.
the two sides contradict each other everyday, making regina's behavior, and mood, incredibly unpredictable. she's not used to feeling this kind of complexity about a boy. let alone one who uses the same eyeliner as she does.
all she knows that as she's screaming "fuck you heffley! fuck you fuck you fuck you!!!" as she storms out of his garage, swinging her purse and stomping to her little convertible, she doesn't really mean it, she doesn't really hate him.
they both know she'll be back, with a "u up?" text this saturday night, and he'll give right in, picking her up in the clunky löded diaper van, driving off to a park in the town over to.... talk...
