iluvsmut

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[cherryambition]

Waiting Out The Storm

~18+, MDNI please~ Spider-man x Fem!Reader Oneshot

Summary When a flash flood has Spider-man seeking shelter, he winds up on your fire escape.

W.C. 6k

Tags No use of y/n for reader insert, explicit smut, mask stays on until it doesn't, strangers to lovers, thigh riding, oral (mostly just m receiving), unprotected p in v, doggy, just absolutely unrealistic escalation of events I need you to stick with me on this, mock flirting, calling him fucking spider-man the entire fic bc reader doesn't know who he is I'm sorry it is a little annoying, anywayyyy

Author’s Note does this happen before or after bnd I don't know but I do know he's never looked more hot and miserable.

xoxo

Rain pelts the windows of your corner unit. Fat raindrops that seem to rush down faster with every gust of wind that runs through. The sky is dark and angry, a wall of clouds that makes it look nearly night outside.

These damn summer storms 

It was perfectly sunny maybe thirty minutes ago. The dark clouds rolled in out of nowhere, and it wasn't long until the heavens just completely unleashed the worst storm of the summer on New York City.

You knew it was going to rain. But you didn't know it was going to rain like this. 

You watch from the windows as the rain moves sideways, people on the streets below searching for any cover they can find from this flash flood. The trees flail like tissue paper, as if their trunks and branches are mere twigs, thunder shaking your building as the storm moves closer and closer.

You slide a pizza into the oven, having decided that there was no way you were getting takeout in this weather. Music is playing low in the living room, lights illuminating your apartment in a soft glow. It’s just lucky that you were ready to stay home at this point and had no intention of leaving your apartment any time soon.

There’s a soft thud at the window outside your living room. For a moment, you think it’s nothing. Just something blowing against the wind or a trick of your imagination. But when you move into the next room, you see a flash of bright red and blue out of the corner of your eye. You blink and see someone hunched over on your fire escape. Not just someone.

It takes a second for you to process that this is real. You move quickly, pulling at the windowpane.

Spider-Man nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden noise. You finally pry your window open, water splashing inside with every rain drop.

“Hey,” he waves awkwardly. “Can I borrow your fire escape for a minute? It’s not exactly prime swinging conditions.”

“Get in here!” you wave him inside, trying to make your voice carry over the storm.

“S’okay!” Spider-Man shakes his head and holds his palms up towards you, “just waiting it out!”

You almost roll your eyes. “Come on, wait it out inside!”

Spider-Man hesitates. Cocks his head to the side slightly and considers you.

“Preferably before my apartment also gets soaked!” you add. 

“Right, sorry,” Spider-man shakes his head. He slips inside.

You move to shut the window, but it has a tendency to stick. Old building and all that. Slightly embarrassed, you yank and yank, more raindrops blowing inside the longer the window stays open. 

Spider-Man reaches over from behind you and, with one hand, carefully lowers the window with ease.

You turn around to see him, very much soaked and very much standing in your apartment.

“Thanks,” you smile, a little sheepishly. “It does that sometimes.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There’s a stretch of silence. Your brain slowly catches up to what your eyes are seeing. Spider-man is in your apartment. He’s in your apartment and he’s soaking wet. His suit is soaking wet and clinging to his body even more than usual and also dripping on your rug. 

“Let me get you some clothes to change into,” you start for your bedroom.

“No, I’m fine, really,” Spider-Man shakes his head rapidly.

“I know, I know, you can leave the mask on,” you say. “But at least lay your suit out to dry. You’re getting water everywhere.”

“Oh,” he looks down, lifting his arms to see the wet puddle that’s accumulated by his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you give a half smile. “Plus, you're literally shaking.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I’m already doing it,” you call behind you, already on your way to your bedroom.

Once there’s some distance between you, you take a large, steadying breath. It doesn’t work, but at least you know your lungs still work. What the actual fuck were you thinking? Bringing Spider-man into your apartment and then pressuring him to take his suit off? He’s going to think you’re insane, or a pervert at the very least. 

But he is actually shaking, probably drenched to the bone. It is the least you can do at this point.

You dig through your closet, looking for some old clothes that your ex left behind. A t-shirt, hoodie, anything. 

“Here you go. I think these will fit you,” you come back, and Spider-man hasn’t moved an inch since you walked off. Probably too scared of getting water everywhere, which you appreciated. “Clothes that my ex left behind. I guess they came in handy. Bathroom is that way,” you point. 

Spider-man gently takes the clothes from you. He looks down at the stack, then up at you. “Right. Yeah. Uhm. I’ll just, I’ll be right back.”

He emerges shortly after. T-shirt, cargo sweat pants, and his mask still on. You bite back a grin, but it just looks so funny. That grin is quickly wiped off your face when your eyes drift down, and you notice his arms. Spider-man is much…thicker than your ex-boyfriend, the short sleeves straining around his biceps and screenprinted design stretched against his chest.

You blink a few times, trying to get your head on right.

“May I?” you rise from the couch and hold your hands out, nodding at his suit. He reluctantly hands it to you.

You move your clothes hanger closer to the radiator and pin his suit to it, hopefully getting it warm and dry without ruining anything. 

“Thanks,” Spider-man says, raising an arm to scratch awkwardly behind his head. “I knew it was going to rain, but I thought I could make it back before-”

A large crack of thunder shakes your apartment. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I get it.”

There’s another awkward stretch. You’re freaking out internally, and he’s not making this easy. 

“I think my pizza’s about done,” you move to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

Spider-man meanders, almost following you but not really. “You don’t have to…” he starts, trailing off. 

“If you’re going to say that every time I offer you something, you can save your breath.” You open the oven door and poke at the pizza, making sure the cheese is melted and the crust is crispy. “Besides, I’ve already made it. And I’m not eating this whole thing myself.”

Spider-man sighs, his head dropping down dramatically. “You’re right, sorry. I guess I’m just- I don’t want to impose.”

“Please,” you roll your eyes, “You’ve done enough for this city. Let someone take care of you for a change.”

He doesn’t react to that. At least, not verbally. You wish you could see his face. Not to know who he is- although you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious. But it’s almost impossible to understand him this way. His tone, how he takes what you're saying- you’re completely in the dark in this conversation. It’s freaking you out. 

“Just, go sit down, or something,” you nod to the couch. 

Spider-man turns on his heels. He’s clearly not comfortable letting someone do anything like this for him. Makes you wonder if he lives alone. He must, right? How difficult is it to balance both lives? 

“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Spider-man crosses his arms. It stretches the sleeves of the shirt even more. He uncrosses them, unsure of what to do with his hands.

You have to close your eyes for a second to collect yourself.

“Nope,” you say. “Just an exciting afternoon of trashy television and doomscrolling over pizza and wine. I’m sure you were doing much more important things when the storm hit.”

“Yes, absolutely,” he nods dramatically. “Super important, uh, super hero stuff. Top secret.”

You slide the pizza onto a cutting board, eyes flickering up to him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I was on my way to pick up a new lego set.”

That took no effort on your end, just a narrow gaze. It's almost like he was waiting to talk to someone about it.

You bite back a smile and nod, cutting the pizza into slices. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“What tracks?” Spider-man cocks his head to the side, taking a few steps closer.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “just that you would be hot and nerdy. You know?”

“You can’t even see my face,” he says. “How would you know if I’m hot?”

You open your mouth to respond, but your eyes fall on his arms again. On his torso. Heat floods your face and you rip your eyes away again, focusing on the task at hand. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you cough. “Just a guess.”

You pull plates from the cabinet behind you, cursing the fates that brought him into your apartment like this. 

A bright light flashes through the sky, immediately followed by a crack of thunder. The eye of the storm has officially hit. You can feel it in the way your windows shudder and the raindrops come down harder and faster. 

The lights surge and flicker. You hold your breath, hoping that the old wires in the building are stronger than they seem. Of course, they’re not, and everything goes dark.

“You’re joking,” you deadpan, running a hand over your face. 

“You got any candles?” Spider-man tilts his head to the side. 

“Uh, yeah, one sec,” you try to remember what you even have. Where they are. 

Even with the ambient lighting from the street outside and the flashlight on your phone, you’re hopelessly clumsy looking for your small stash of candles. You feel around for the tealights in the cabinet in your kitchen, and the random taper candles you used for decoration at a dinner party.

“Hey,” Spider-man takes the candles from you. Not forcefully, but firmly enough that you don’t argue. “Let me. I can make my way around just fine.”

“Suddenly you have night vision?” you say, trying for a joke but not quite liking how it comes out. 

“I’ve got good senses,” he says shrugs, setting up the candles around your living room. 

You follow close behind, hanging on to the back of his shirt at one point when he starts walking over to the kitchen, worried that you’ll trip over a landmine, or your slippers. If he notices or minds, he doesn’t say anything.

Soon, your apartment is lit up with a gentle, amber glow. There aren't many candles, but it's enough to make your way around.

It’s annoyingly romantic, and doesn’t help the fact that your heart is already racing whenever Spider-man so much as looks your way. 

“There,” you say, trying your hardest not to look at him. “All lit up. I mean. All- the candles- they’re-”

You sigh and close your eyes for a moment.

“At least this way you can eat without worrying if I can see your face,” you say, handing him a plate. 

He takes it from you, your fingers brushing in a way that cannot be an accident. But you don’t know who’s fault it is. Yours or his. You swallow and take your own plate in your hands.

You both settle down on opposite sides of the couch. When Spider-man picks up a slice of pizza, you avert your eyes as he lifts his mask just enough to take a bite. Even though you can’t really make out the details of his face in this shitty candle light anyway, it feels respectful.

Rain continues to batter against your windows, and it feels all the more intense without power in the apartment. 

“I’m not sure what we should even talk about,” you say in between bites. “It’s not like you can tell me where you’re from, what you do for work, what your favorite color is.”

“No,” he shrugs, “but you can tell me those things.”

“Titilating conversation,” you say, “I just talk your ear off for an hour straight.”

“This is the most I’ve talked to anyone in months,” he says, turning his head to take another bite of pizza. “Well, except for the people I'm fighting. But they don't usually like when I make conversation. And the police chief. And sometimes a few of the New Avengers. Or Frank-”

You stop eating and just look at him, taking it all in. 

“Okay, so the most I’ve talked to a normal person,” he concedes. 

“You don’t have like, I don’t know, a girlfriend?” you ask, super nonchalantly and not digging whatsoever. “Like a Mrs. Spider-man or something?”

He freezes and lets out a breath, biting back a laugh. 

“No, there isn’t a Mrs. Spider-man,” he shakes his head. 

“Pity,” you say. 

It isn’t supposed to mean anything. You’re not even sure why you said it. It’s not like you think flirting with Spider-man will get you anywhere. It’s just the storm outside and the cozy candles inside and him in clothes that are obviously too tight and it’s all making you really…

Hot and bothered. 

That’s it. That’s all it is. There’s a hot guy in your apartment and you're single and horny. Simple.

You clear your throat and set your empty plate on the coffee table.

“You’re nervous,” Spider-man says, cocking his head to the side a little. It’s not a question. It’s a fact. He says it calmly.

“Wh-what makes you say that?” you pull your legs in close. 

“Am I making you nervous? I usually try to make people more comfortable. It’s kind of important, you know? I want people to trust me. Friendly neighbor and all that,” his voice is picking up speed the longer he goes on uninterrupted. 

“Spidey,” you say.

He stops talking immediately.

“Thank you,” you nod, trying not to laugh. “I’m fine. Swear.”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you. There is a masked vigilante in your living room,” he nods. 

“You’re so focused on my comfort level, and yet you haven’t done anything to make me more comfortable?” you tease, leaning in closer. 

He looks at you, face tilting downwards slightly. It’s the only thing letting you know that he’s looking down your shirt. Under which, you’re not wearing a bra. Because you are in the comfort of your own home and you were alone and didn’t realize you would have company or that said company would be Spider-man or that-

Your mouth is dry. His plate is stacked on top of yours. You clear your throat. 

“You know any card games?” you say, pulling hair behind your ear. You go to stand up and he gently wraps a hand around your wrist, pulling you back down. 

“You need to relax,” he says softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or do anything- I mean, anything that’s- if you don’t want-”

“You’re telling me to relax?” you bite your lip and settle over him, sitting on his thighs. Not quite his lap. Not yet.

Thunder claps outside again, and you jump slightly, moving closer to him. You're almost taken out of the moment. Out of your head.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Spider-man nods at you. “Still jumpy.”

You just look at him for a minute. Look at the situation, where he has you right now. His hands are settled on the couch on either side. You lean down and take them in your own, turning them over and feeling how warm he is, the callouses on the pads of his fingers. 

“Maybe we both need to relax,” you say softly. 

Spider-man just watches as you slowly move his hands, letting you place them on your hips. You lean in, giving him time to push you away, to tell you this is a bad idea, or completely insane. But he doesn’t. You press a kiss to his forehead, feeling the warm, real man under the suit.

He goes soft under your touch. You shift over his slightly, sitting over one of his thighs. 

“Your heart rate just spiked, yeah?” he says, voice low.

“You don’t say,” you reply.

He looks down, and in the dim glow of the candle light, you can just barely make out the wet spot you're leaving on his sweats, your sleep shorts doing nothing to protect you here.

“Shit,” you hiss softly. You move to get up, trying to put distance between you again. And again, he stops you. Hands planted firmly on top of your ass with his strength, you aren’t going anywhere.

“Don’t be embarrassed," he mutters. “You’re feeling needy?”

“Maybe a little,” you shrug.

Spider-man puts gentle pressure on your hips, moving you forward on his thigh. The feeling sends heat straight through you. 

Surprised, you fall forward, holding yourself up against his shoulders. 

“Don’t- please-” your voice is breathy and faint, losing the battle with your racing heart.

“Let go,” he says, moving your hips again. A small whine slips past your lips against your will, and you can feel his fingers dig in slightly. “I want to watch.”

Eventually, you let your hips move without his aide. Sliding up and down the length of his thigh, the friction against your clit sending sparks through your body. It feels good. And the lights are low and there’s a storm raging outside and nothing matters at this moment. There is nothing and no one else. Just you two, alone in your apartment.

You tilt your head back, breathing quickening, and close your eyes. You’ve committed to this. Committed to your pleasure.

Spider-man raises a tentative hand under your shirt, right at the top of your ribs. Without opening your eyes, you gently move his hand further up your shirt, leading him right to your breast. You inhale sharply as he twists your nipple, a slight moan escaping your lips.

“Feel good?” he mutters.

“Mhmm,” you nod, biting your lip, eyebrows creasing. You pick up the pace, grinding against his thigh with increasing desperation. 

“You gonna come on my thigh babygirl? Yeah?” he teases you, pinching and twisting your nipple, pulling louder moans. He sits back and watches you move slowly back and forth, losing yourself in the feeling.

“Please,” you breathe. 

In one fluid motion, your shirt is gone, discarded on the floor. You’re not even sure which one of you slid it over your head. But it’s gone, and your nipples are hard as his thumb grazes over them.

“Please what?” he says. “You’re the one in control here.”

You fall forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders and moving your hips out. It puts more contact on your clit, and you can feel your orgasm building closer and closer. You close your eyes, jaw slack as your pants turn into long, drawn out moans. His hands move around your ass, fingers spread wide. Not pulling, but holding you steady as you ride him. 

Your orgasm washes over you, and bury your face into the crook of his neck as you ride it out on his thigh, still sliding against him as you come back down.

“Fuck,” you say, voice muffled by his shoulder. He lets you stay like that for a moment, thumbs moving back and forth over your ass as you find your breath again.

You shift in his lap to sit upright, your knee knocking against the obvious- and large- tent in his sweats. 

Your eyes flick down and back up to his mask, taking your bottom lip in your teeth as you brush your knee against him again, this time on purpose. 

Spider-man shudders under you. 

“You don’t- ugh,” he bites back a groan.

“I told you earlier that you need to let people take care of you,” you slide off his lap, eyes flickering to the damp spot you left on his thigh.

You rub your hand over his covered bulge. He lays his head back against the couch, chest rising and falling steadily. 

“You gonna do that?” his hand reaches out for your cheek. “You’re gonna take care of me?”

You slip your hands under the waistband of the sweats and pull out his hard cock, already slick at the tip and aching for you. You lean forward and drop a long string of saliva onto his cock, rubbing it around with your fingers and stroking him gently.

“When was the last time someone made you feel good, Spidey?” you whisper.

Spider-man drags a hand over his mask, his other hand twitching on the couch next to you.

You drag your tongue up his length before taking him completely in your mouth. Just a little, at first. Just enough to get a taste and hear him let out a long, low groan. You drop your moth around him, taking in as much as your throat will allow.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re- you’re good at this.”

You pull your mouth off him with a wet pop and smile. “You deserve the best treatment, dontcha?”

“Well, I don’t know about- oh fuck,” he bites his word back as you slide your mouth over him again, opening your throat to take his cock as far back as you can. “That’s it, just like that,” he coos.

Head bobbing up and down, you can’t help but slide your fingers under your shorts. You slip over your clit, through your soaking pussy before sliding one finger inside.

“You touching yourself down there, baby?” he nods. 

“Mmm,” you blink, looking at him through your lashes. 

The vibration against his dick makes Spider-man groan. You can see the mask puff out slightly by his mouth, because he’s definitely panting. 

“Fuck,” he lets out a frustated groan. “You’re touching yourself, I’m- I can’t-”

He pulls you up from the floor and just stands there with you. You think his eyes are taking you in- bare chest, tousled hair, sleep shorts hanging low on your hips- you can’t actually see his gaze, but you can feel his attention. 

The candle light flickers around you, and his breath is so close, but so far away. 

His cock bobs over the waistband of the sweats, and you reach out to pull the waistband down further, taking his underwear, too.

“You can fuck me,” you whisper, “if you want.”

“If I want?” he lets out a low breath, echoing your words with the hint of a laugh.

You pull at the hem of his borrowed t-shirt, peeling it off over his head, making sure not to accidentally pull on the mask. He lets you, raising his arms and tugging gently when the sleeve gets caught around his biceps. 

There’s some faded bruising on his ribs that you can barely make out. Clearly, they’re from an old fight, and you bend down to press small kisses over each one, mouth moving up towards his chest. Your hand wraps around his dick, stroking gently as you make your way up to his neck. 

“We don’t have to do anything else,” you say softly. “But just so you know, you can do whatever you want with me.”

He tilts his head back and lets out a low groan. 

“Fuck, you can’t say that,” he says, voice gravelly. 

“Why not?” you look up at him through your lashes.

Spider-man’s shoulders settle, his head tilts to the side. Just barely. You wish you could read his expression. 

“Because I want to,” he says. 

He seems to have made up his mind. 

Spider-man takes you by the hand and folds you over the arm of the couch, pulling your ass in the air. He drags his hands up the backs of your thighs, gently pushing your legs apart.

“Don’t turn around, okay baby?” he says. 

You nod.

“Okay?” a heavy hand comes down on your ass. 

You yelp. “Okay! I won’t. I swear.”

“Good,” he breathes.

There’s some movement behind you, and in your periphery, you see his mask land on the coffee table. Spider-man takes his first unobstructed breath. A deep, low breath. You squirm under him, your neediness blooming within you.

He bends over you, pressing open, wet kisses along your back. His teeth grazing your skin every so often. Mouth warm and hungry, you didn’t realize how something so simple could make you feel so good. 

“I’m gonna slide these off, is that okay?” he toys with the elastic waistband of your shorts. 

“Yes,” you mewl, already breathless. 

He moves your shorts down, exposing your pussy to the cold air. You shudder slightly as he moves his face closer, his breath making your cunt pulse in anticipation. 

“Goddamn,” he breathes. He presses a few more kisses to your inner thighs, before dragging his tongue up through your cunt. 

“Oh my god,” you groan. His tongue slides in and around you, savoring the taste of you, spending time on your sensitive clit. 

“What’s got you so wet? Hm?” he says, his fingers pulling you apart just a little. “You this pent up over a little grinding?”

You bury your face in the couch cushion, heat rising in your cheeks. When he moves his mouth away, you immediately feel frustrated and needy again, validating his teasing words.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he mutters. “Be a good girl and remember what I said.”

You arch your back as his hands travel over you. Touching and grabbing every soft curve and plush fold. It’s enough to make your head spin. 

“I promise. I promise, I’ll be good. I won’t turn around,” you plead.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low and appraising. “Thatta girl.”

It’s embarrassing how much the words run through you. Your body heats up, cheeks flush and skin prickly. The lack of air conditioning in your apartment is starting to have an effect, and there’s already sweat collecting at your hairline. 

You feel his cock slowly poke at your cunt, and your eyes close as you stretch to make room for him. He slowly sinks in, inch by inch, until his hips are flush against your ass. You let out a low, desperate moan. 

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re sucking me right in.”

“Feels s’good,” you whine. 

He starts to move. Slowly, at first. Letting you get used to the feeling of him filling you up. His hands hold you tightly at your hips, fingers sinking into your soft skin. 

You arch your head back, looking up at the ceiling. At the last second, you close your eyes, not willing to do anything to risk him getting spooked and pulling out. This feels too good to lose.

His fingers wrap around your hair, close to your scalp positioning your head exactly where he wants it. You whine a little at the contact, but it doesn’t bother you. If anything, it makes you hotter.

“Careful, doll,” he breathes, his voice firm.

His other hand moves around your hip, gently pressing his fingers over your clit and moving in small circles. It sends sparks through your body. 

“I can already feel you twitching around me,” he mutters. “You like when I play with your pussy? While I’m filling you up?”

“Yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips closer to him, “yes, I do. I do, fuck.”

“Yeah, I knew it,” Spider-man breathes out half a laugh. He bends over and presses another kiss to your back. “You’re gonna come again for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna let me feel that pretty pussy come around my dick.”

You let out a low, bitten off moan as his pace picks up, hips slapping against your ass. You feel insane, he’s reaching so deep inside you and it feels so good.

His hand moves from your hair to your face, pressing firmly over your eyes. Slowly, he pulls you up against him, pressing your back flush against his chest. 

Without being able to see him, everything else is amplified, making your head spin. His strong hands holding you, fingers still slow over your clit, his breath in your ear. It’s all you have to focus on, and it’s driving you crazy.

“So pretty, you know that?” His lips move against the pulse point of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His voice is low, it's making you insane. “Letting me fuck you like this. You can’t even see me.”

His words are hoarse right against your ear. He feels it too. This pleasure coursing through you. You can feel that familiar pressure building again. 

“Right there,” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

“Good,” he mutters, “tell me what you need.”

“Just,” you breathe, leaning back into his hold. You can feel sweat dripping down your back, between your bodies. His fingers twitch against your eyes, but don’t move away. “Just like that.”

Spider-man sucks a bruise right above your shoulder, and suddenly, it’s all too much. Your legs want to give out, but he’s holding you so tightly against him, you have no choice. 

“Fuck!” you moan as the crescendo hits. 

“That’s right,” Spider-man keeps his pace, fucking you through it. “Let me have it- f-fuck.”

You cry out, and his pace stutters as you come undone, cunt clenching around him, panting and writhing in his grip.

Spider-man gently folds you back over the couch, moving his hand away from your eyes and grabbing a handful of your ass. 

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “That was- you just- I’m so close.”

You tilt your hips up slightly, letting get a better angle. You’re so stuffed and overstimulated, you probably couldn’t turn around if you wanted to.

Spider-man lets out a choked sound and suddenly pulls out. He pants through it, breaths short and rapid, stroking himself to completion. You can feel him let out sticky ropes of cum all over your bare ass. 

Both of you stay like that for a moment, just panting and coming back down to earth. 

“Good job,” he kisses your shoulder blade. “Just, uh, stay there for a second.”

“I don’t think I can move, anyway,” you mutter against the couch cushion. 

There’s movement and commotion behind you. His footsteps carry him away, and you hear the bathroom door creak open. Suddenly, there’s a warm, wet feeling of a fresh washcloth being gently wiped over your sensitive pussy, and cleaning off your ass. 

You smile to yourself, letting Spider-man take care of you. There’s another pause, and you see the mask lift away from the coffee table.

“Okay, you can- well, you can look now,” he says. And you already miss the clarity of his voice without the mask.

You blink slowly and turn your head back. “You didn’t have to put it back on right away,” you sigh. “I could have kept my eyes closed a little longer.”

“Yeah, but then I couldn’t do this,” he says. Spider-man gently unfolds you from the couch, taking you in his arms.

He carries you down the hall to your to your bedroom, and settles you on your bed. You tug on his hand, so he crawls next to you, pulling you to his side so you can lay your head on his chest. 

It’s quiet for a moment. You can feel his heartbeat, once pounding, now calming down to a steady pace.

You have no idea how long you’ve been laying like that when the power comes back on. It’s rude and bright, illuminating the reality of what just happened. You drag your eyes out the window and finally let yourself notice that the clouds are a little less angry, the rain a little less intense.

“The storm has let up,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he sighs, running a hand up and down your back. 

“You can go get your legos,” you settle your chin on his chest, suppressing a smirk. 

“Jesus,” he drops his head back and drags a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I told you that. Ace flirting.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” you raise your eyebrows, looking down at your naked bodies still tangled together. “Come on, let’s see if your suit is dry.”

You press a soft kiss to his chest. 

You know his suit is going to be dry. You know that as soon as you make it to the living room, he’s going to get changed again and leave. This will be just a crazy memory. But you know better than you hope that this could last any longer.

Spider-man puts his suit back on in your living room, and you watch from the couch, wearing the old t-shirt you had just peeled off of his chest. It’s amazing how the suit molds to his body. And more amazing that you now know what that body looks like. What it feels like.

He opens the window out to the fire escape and sticks his head out, noting that the rain has slowed to a gentle drizzle. 

“Yeah, I can head out in this,” he says. “It’s just, when it downpours like that, you get really weighed down. Totally messes up the velocity of my swing, how I move through the air, you know?”

“No,” you shake your head, smiling, “I don’t think I do.”

“Right,” he nods.

You rise from the couch, the t-shirt sliding up your bare thighs, and pad closer.

“Thanks for letting me wait the storm out,” Spider-man says, climbing out to the fire escape. 

“Wait,” you lean out the window, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

Spider-man looks back at you, positioning his body to face you fully. You take a breath and reach out, settling your fingers along his jaw. Testing the waters. Making sure this is okay. 

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t swat at your hand. So you take it one step further. Hoping that, for whatever reason, he trusts you enough.

You lift his mask. Just slightly. Just enough. Right under his nose. He licks his lips, clearly nervous. You see his jawline up close, run a light touch along it. 

“Be safe,” you say quietly, and press a light kiss to his lips. 

You go to pull away, only for him to move closer, deepening the kiss. Fire moves through your belly, and you groan into his mouth. He finally pulls away, readjusting his mask. 

“I’ll see you around,” he nods, gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer.

You watch as he falls backwards, into the air, and swings away. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter to yourself, scrubbing your eyes with your hands. 

You turn back to your apartment, the romance of the afternoon gone with Spider-man. Plates stacked on the coffee table, your clothes strewn about on the floor, remaining pizza getting cold in the kitchen.

It takes a week for you to stop thinking about him randomly. To stop getting distracted at work, remembering how he groaned in your ear, what he sounded like calling you babygirl. To not get wet and annoyed every time you see a story about him on the news. 

It takes a week for you to settle back into your regular life, making peace with the fact that you had a one-off hook up with a superhero, and it will be a story you tell your grandkids when you have one foot in the grave. 

But, it also takes a week for you to hear a soft knock at your window, and see a familiar figure waiting on your fire escape. Your heart skips a beat.

You bite your lip, and raise the glass, leaning out the window.

“Couldn’t stay away?” you smile.

[graywrenhart]

when did you get hot?

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: The last time you saw Draco Malfoy, he was a whiny, petulant, self-absorbed shrimp. Now, in his eighth year at Hogwarts, he's still most of that, but some things have changed...

a/n: Prompt #41: "Like what you see?" Lost the ask, but thank you anon for joining my 3k follower event! Title is from that Sabrina Carpenter song because that's all I could hear while writing this. 2.3k words

tags: [fluff] [suggestive material] [quidditch] [language] [banter] [tension] [kissing]

“No,” Cho says, wagging a finger at you. “Absolutely not. Don’t even think about it.”

“What? I didn’t say anything!” you defend, even as you lean forward in your seat, hoping to catch a better glimpse at a certain Slytherin seeker.

The sun is just finishing its descent, painting the pitch in creamy oranges and pinks that make the grounds look soft, even as two rival schools battle on the field. The players fly by in streaks of green and grey, dodging Bludgers and weaving between each other. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she continues. “You’ve got the look.”

You scoff. “What look?”

“The look! The drooling…panting, fainting…eye…thing.”

“Wow, Cho,” you deadpan, turning around to face her. “Top marks for that description. And you’re exaggerating. I was just curious! You know, I haven’t been to Hogwarts in years.”

You attended here for first, second, and third years before transferring to Ilvermory. The school in which, somehow, made it to the Cup finals, bringing you back here to Hogwarts for the final match.

But, instead of sitting with your classmates, you’re perched in the Hogwarts section. Right next to your oldest friend, Cho Chang, who has kept in contact with you via owl for years.

The crowd goes wild as Lane sails the Quaffle through the hoop, right past the Keeper’s fingers, but something pulls your attention farther down the field, where you catch sight of Draco flying up towards the stands.

He looks over his shoulder, barking an order to his teammate that gets lost to the wind as it brushes his platinum hair from his face, revealing a strong, sharp jaw.

He twists back around on his broom, his jersey pinned to his broad shoulders and narrow waist by the force of the air. His gaze is focused, blue eyes sharp as ice, but he swoops upward suddenly, and then—then you’re looking at each other.

You barely have time to blink, your breath caught in your chest. His eyes narrow slightly, glancing at Cho, then back at you, before a faint buzzing sound reaches your ears and he takes off again down the pitch after the Snitch.

Cho shoots you a look, then tucks her dark hair behind her ear.

“Listen, it’s just the stupid jersey, okay? Trust me. They ditched the Quidditch robes, and everyone's gone crazy, but he’s just the same person he’s always been.”

You hum. “Mean, sniveling, and judgmental?”

“That’s Draco Malfoy for you.”

You turn back to the pitch, watching as he weaves between defenders like a ribbon. Effortless and weightless.

“Hell of a flier, though,” you mutter under your breath.

She sighs. “You’re supposed to be cheering for your school.”

“I am!”

“I don’t think eye-fucking the opposing seeker is exactly team spirit—”

Suddenly, a shrill voice cuts her off. “And here we are at the Quidditch Cup finals!” You glance over your shoulder to see none other than Rita Skeeter up on the platform a few feet away. “Tensions are high, and tonight only one team will—oh? What’s happening?” 

She adjusts her glasses, leaning precariously over the edge, one hand pressed to her chest in dramatic concern. Her quill hovers over her shoulder, its feathered tip angled downward as if it’s looking too. 

You follow her gaze.

Below, Draco is racing towards the ground at a breakneck speed. You rise to your feet in alarm, brows furrowing. He’s going too fast. He’s going to—

Malfoy slams into the dirt, arm outstretched, and you wince as his arm twists at un unnatural angle.

Rita gasps. “A devastating fall for Draco Malfoy! Will he live to see another match? Oh, wait. Wait! What is that in his hand? The Snitch!” She turns to the quill. “Cut that part out. The first question, yes.” The quill rushes to oblige her request, the paper snapping in the air as it scratches something out.

“Slytherin wins the Cup!” she announces, her almost voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd. 

Your heart pounds in your throat as you look down again, expecting to see healers rush out, wands at the ready to help the wounded Seeker. But instead, Malfoy’s already on his feet, striding off the pitch. Even from up here, you can see the way his arm dangles unnaturally, the skin of his shoulder rubbed raw. 

The announcer sounds the horn, officially ending the match, just as Malfoy rips off his glove with his teeth. His broad chest heaves with every breath, and as he disappears through the doors under the stands, you catch a glimpse of the back of his jersey.

His last name hangs off him, bloody and torn. 

On instinct, you move towards the stairway, but Cho catches you by the wrist.

“Where are you going?”

You gesture down to the pitch. “I’m a healer, Cho. I can help.”

Rita turns toward you, head cocked, but you keep your eyes on your friend.

Cho’s lips part in surprise. “You’re not serious. He will just go to the infirmary later. He’ll be fine!” 

“He’s in pain,” you say. “This is literally, like, my duty.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s the only reason.”

The two of you look at each other for a long moment before, finally, she exhales in defeat and releases you. “Fine. Go. But I want the full story later with details—”

You barely hear the rest of her sentence because you’re already rounding the tent fabric flap and taking the steps two at a time.

Downstairs, underneath the pitch, it’s dark and musty. Lanterns line the corridor, with multiple doors on each side for the players’ rooms and stairwells winding up to the viewing platforms. 

The staircase happens to deposit you in the right spot at the right time, because when you whirl around the bottom step, you bump into something solid and warm.

Draco hisses, leaping back and cradling his shoulder. 

“Watch it,” he snaps, scowling down at you like you’ve injured him further. 

His jersey has completely slipped off his shoulder now, revealing bloody, scraped flesh and a joint that looks painfully out of place. 

Ignoring his attitude, you look around for the nearest room. 

 “Here—” You brush back a curtain and gesture him inside. “I’m a healer. Let me help.”

“About time this place got some of those,” Draco says, but he takes one look inside the cramped room—with its pile of crates, wooden table, and a solitary stray lantern—before brushing past you. “Take your help somewhere else.”

“Your shoulder is dislocated!” you argue, still holding the tent flap open. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

He pauses, then looks over his shoulder. Your gazes lock, and his jaw pulses, a strand of platinum hair falling into his eyes.

You jut your chin toward the table. “Just sit down, Malfoy. You’ll be pain free in two minutes.”

He must really be in agony, because he does, finally, follow you inside and take a seat where you tell him to. The room smells like wood and rust, but it’s not unpleasant, and it’s sterile enough for a procedure like this. 

Reaching into the bag hanging across your body, you procure your wand and a small vial. 

Draco scoffs. “You carry that around with you? Just hoping to run into some injured person?”

“Oh, this?” You wiggle the glass in front of his face that’s level with yours. “This little bottle of salve that’s going to heal you right now? I sure do. Aren’t you lucky? Now, take off your shirt.”

The corner of his mouth curves into a dangerous smirk, but it falters as he starts to peel the ruined jersey over his head. Lantern lights spills over the hard lines of his stomach, cascading over his muscles flexing with the movement. Once the shirt is gone, he leans back on one lean, toned arm, and the smirk is back.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “You can look. You like what you see?”

You sniff once, trying very hard not to let your eyes wander his broad, toned frame. “You sure are cocky for a guy with a dislocated shoulder.”

He shrugs. “Why shouldn’t I be? I caught the Snitch. Won the Cup. And I didn’t even make it off the pitch before I’ve got girls pouncing on me.”

You glare at him, suddenly wishing this ointment had a bit more bite to it. “I wasn’t pouncing on you! I saw you were hurt, and I just…”

The murmur of the crowd outside fills the silence between you, but a peek up at Draco reveals he is not the least bit convinced by your statement.

“…I wanted to help,” you finish lamely.

“How noble.” His smirk grows. “Go on, then.”

You swallow hard before uncorking the salve and lathering your hands with the silky ointment. The bitter herbs bite your nose, a familiar scent after all your time in the infirmary. 

“I’m just going to put this on first to stop the bleeding on these ground burns, and then I’ll set the bone,” you say, your fingers hovering over his skin. 

“Fine,” he mutters, bracing himself. “Get on with it.”

Slowly, you bring your hands down to his warm skin. He hisses, and you jerk back, startled, but he just shakes his head and gestures for you to keep going. You bring your hands back to his shoulder, even gentler this time, fingers gliding over his bicep and shoulder, carefully skimming over his wounds.

Then, you steady his elbow with one hand, and press your wand against his shoulder joint with the other. 

“This might hurt a little, I’m sorry,” you say. 

“Why are you apologizing?”

You keep your eyes on your work, prodding his arm clinically and trying not to think about how it would feel wrapped around you. “Because it’s going to pinch. Ache. Be uncomfortable. What am I supposed to say?”

He curses under his breath, then looks away. “Merlin, you haven’t changed at all, have you?”

Your gaze darts up in surprise. Malfoy was always telling you to stop apologizing when you were kids. But he remembered that? He remembers… you?

Shaking those thoughts away, you focus on the task at hand, pressing the wand right under his joint. You whisper the spell behind your teeth, and then his shoulder socket slides back into position with a sickening click. 

“Fuck!” Draco gasps, jerking in your hold. “What in Merlin’s bloody name was that?”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Yes, but apologies don’t help! Fuck!” He pinches his eyes closed, blond lashes caressing his windswept cheeks in the lamplight. 

You step back, suddenly unsure what to do now as your hands turn cold, dropping from his warm skin.

“The joint is back in place, but you’ll need to go to the infirmary to get a proper fitted sling,” you say.

He sighs heavily, then tests his arm. His hair glints in the light as he carefully moves his shoulder back and forth. 

“Alight,” he says finally, voice firm and determined.

You squint at him in confusion. “Alright?”

He glances up at you and crooks two fingers, beckoning for you to step back into his space. 

“C’mon then.” His hand finds your waist, and before you know what’s happening, you’re tugged forward across the dirt floor until your chest brushes his. “You’ve tended to me, Healer. Now let’s get to the main event, shall we? The reason you’re really here?”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly gone dry as your gaze drops to his lips, and you watch as they curve up slightly. 

You should be defending yourself right now. Arguing with him that you had absolutely no ulterior motives. But as his breath ghosts over your cheek, you forget how to form words. Merlin, you even forget how to breathe. 

He hovers there, his hand on your hip and his nose brushing yours, for a second. 

But it’s a second too long. 

You close the distance, lips meeting his with a hunger you hadn’t anticipated. Your hands fly to his shoulders to hold yourself steady, careful of his injury even as his tongue flicks against your lips, parting them gently. His answering moan brushes your lips, but it hits you low in your gut. Heat licks up your spine, and you drag him closer, kissing him harder. 

He tastes like salt and mint, and his hair is so soft between your fingers. You hadn’t even realized your hands had drifted there. His knees part another inch, allowing you to step even closer, and his fingers dig into your hips, gliding up to your waist in earnest. 

You’re so wrapped up in the feel of him, so strong and steady beneath your hands, that you don’t even notice the tent flap open and shut somewhere behind you. 

Then, you hear pop, followed by a bright flash behind your closed eyelids. 

You spring apart, panting. Draco’s hands drop from your waist as you whirl around to find none other than Rita Skeeter inside. 

She lowers her camera slowly, a devilish smile spreading across her face while her quill scribbles furiously over her shoulder. 

“Well,” she says, drawing out the word as her gaze flicks between the two of you. “There you are, Mr. Malfoy. We were coming to get a photo of just you, but this will do quite nicely!”

She spreads her hands through the air and looks dramatically toward the corner of the tent, as if picturing a future headline. 

“Malfoy wins the Quidditch Cup and the heart of an enthusiastic fan.”

Her expression turns dreamy, hands clasping under her chin, and then before either of you can stop her, she ducks back out, leaving only the faint trace of perfume behind. 

When you turn back to Draco, he’s glaring at you. 

“Brilliant,” he says flatly. “Look what you’ve done. Now, that’s something worth apologizing to me for.”

You gasp. “Me? I didn’t do anything—”

“My dorm. Nine o’clock.” 

Before you can form a response to that he stands, grabs his ripped jersey, and strides over to the tent flap. But he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder, one lock of hair falling over his eyes.

 “And don’t keep me waiting. I’ve waited for you long enough as it is.”

draco masterlist

draco taglist: @hauntedpeanutking , @jessm1203, @earth2marie , @inkedinevermore , @dreamybiitch,

@somegirlfromasgard, @ttendo , @yourlivewire , @lemonraaaw , @goodmendiet00

@rosebunnysblog , @sassycupcake12 , @vamplailaa , @petalzurzolo, if you want to be added, comment below here

[happylilthought]

Bubblegum Pink (Chapter 1: Pleasure Meeting You)

Summary: You are on the Yearbook Committee and have to take photos of all the clubs, which is how you’re formally introduced to Eddie Munson. After Eddie goes on a spiel about how nobody cares about the freaks/losers of the school, you decide to write an article about the Hellfire Club which spearheads getting to know Eddie up close and personal.  Relationship: Eddie Munson x Y/N fem! Reader (Eddie’s 20 and Y/N’s 18) Chapter Word Count: 18,288 Rating: Mature / Explicit 18+ Only - MINORS DNI (Includes some drug use: weed; and smut: masturbating, dirty talk, handjob, blowjob, fingering, cunnilingus) A/N: The song mentioned is “Hold on to My Heart” by W.A.S.P. I originally had this idea out of high school nostalgia and then reminisced  on my hot pink leather jacket with the torturous idea that Eddie would nickname me “bubblegum” because of it. Also missing my old D&D group so there’s a nod to the s’mores cookies I used to make for our sessions in this fic. Safe to say I’m even further down the Eddie Munson rabbit hole. I hope you enjoy it! (Read Chapter 2, Read Chapter 3, Read Chapter 4, or Read on AO3)

You’d been assigned to photograph every school club for the Hawkins High School 1986 Yearbook. Given the daunting task, you began alphabetically, still finding hiccups as clubs wouldn’t attend the scheduled photo session, not to mention the attitudes once they realized it was only an amateur taking photos in the gym. Of course that meant accommodating around physical education classes, and sports practices - heaven forbid the basketball team be told to wait, or reschedule in order to showcase any of the other school talent. 

You decided to come up with an alternate plan around the club’s schedules, attending their meetings instead of congregating in the gym. That’s how you ended up knocking on the door to the theatre/music room only to be met with seven pairs of eyes staring you down. 

“Who dares enter the lair of the Hellfire Club?” The boy holding the door open for you inquired.

Keep reading

[conleches]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

body language masterlist

a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

550 words to say instead of fuckin said

638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

some more body language help 

[bellero]

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER

[waitimcomingtoo]

When Did You Get Hot?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Synopsis: You see Peter for the first time in years and suddenly find it hard to be around him due to all his new improvements

Masterlist

After erasing the same spot on your paper for the fifth time, the paper finally tore. You ripped the page out of the notebook and crumpled it up in frustration. To your luck, Happy walked into the lab just as you threw it, nailing him right on the forehead.

“Oh. Throwing things before 11 am, are we?” He laughed as he rubbed the spot your paper ball hit.

“Sorry.” You grimaced. “I’ll pick it up. And then burn it. And then run into oncoming traffic.”

“Tough day in the lab?”

“Tough week.” You sighed and shut your notebook. “I’m about to throw this whole notebook in the fireplace.”

“Before you do that, I wanted you to say hello to our guest for the week.” Happy said and pointed his thumb at the hallway to signal that he had someone out there waiting.

“Sorry, Happy. I don’t know if I’m in a stable enough mood to be nice to strangers right now.” You told him, but he was already opening the lab door to let someone in.

“He’s not a stranger. He’s an old friend of your dad’s. Don’t you know Peter?” Happy asked as a guy your age walked into the lab. Time slowed down and you could have sworn a gust of air hit you, causing you to stumble back a little. “Bliss” by Mariah Carey started to play in your head as the most beautiful stranger made eye contact with you. He was in an Empire State University t-shirt that fit him just tad too tightly, but only because he was so defined. Curly brown hair that was just the right amount of overgrown spilled into his eyes, which he shook out of the way. He gave you a smile that felt like you just quite possibly started the second immaculate conception in your uterus.

“Did you hear me?” Happy asked, making you realize you’d been standing there in silence as you gawked at the boy.

“Sorry, I have my headphones in.” You lied once you composed yourself enough to speak.

“No you do-.” Happy began to point out.

“Sorry, was did you say your name was?” You quickly cut Happy off so he didn’t expose your lie.

“Peter. We met a couple years ago before the uh, airport battle royale, if you will.” He told you, and even his voice was attractive. You stared at his face for a moment but struggled to place him. You remembered your dad introducing you to some of his new recruits, but you knew you would’ve remembered if you met this man before.

“I was the sticky one in the red suit.” Peter followed up, hoping it would jog your memory.

That’s when it clicked for you. The picture frame on your dad’s desk, untouched in the years since his passing. There was a boy in the picture making bunny ears behind your dad’s head, the same boy in red and blue pajamas you showed your dad videos of all those years ago. That nerdy kid from the videos had somehow turned into the captivating man in front of you in the years since your last seen him.

“Wait, you’re Peter? Peter Parker?” You asked, failing to hide your disbelief. Peter let out a shy laugh and nodded his head.

“That’s me. Sorry, you probably didn’t recognize me. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. Not since the um, well, it’s just been a long time.”

“Clearly.” You blurted, the quickly followed it up with, “I mean, what’s, uh, what’s new?”

“Not much. I’m in college, but I won’t bore you out the details. It’s really good to see you.” He said as he started to come closer to you.

“It is really good to see you too.” You replied, finally sounding normal just as he enveloped you in a hug. You stiffened in surprise before hugging him back. The scent of his cologne wafted off his skin and if he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you might’ve collapsed on the floor.

“Sorry. I just don’t see many familiar faces lately.” Peter said sheepishly once he pulled away. From how tightly he hugged you, you could tell he really needed it. You had no idea what had happened to him since the last time you saw him, but the sadness in his eyes now told you it wasn’t good.

“It’s okay.” You assured him as you held his gaze. To make matters worse, he had the softest brown eyes you’d even seen. Much to your dismay, you were officially enamored with this man.

“Peter is staying here for the week while he’s home from college.” Happy told you. “Would you mind showing him around? I put his room right across the hall from yours.”

“Of course you did.” You mumbled.

“I can wait outside if you’re still working.” Peter offered politely.

“It’s okay. I need to clear my head a little anyway.” You decided and shoved what you were working on away from you.

As you led Peter through the halls of Avengers Tower, you made absolutely no eye contact with him. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself any further, so you made no effort to make conversation.

“It really is good to see you. It’s been such a long time. So many things have changed.” Peter said to break the silence. You allowed yourself just one glance at him, and immediately caught sight of his enormous bicep. You quickly looked away and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Yes, they most certainly have.” You replied.

“What was that you were working on?” He asked you on the elevator ride to the main floor.

“Just some stupid blueprints that I can’t get to work.” You sighed. “I think just gonna scrap it.”

“What’s it for?”

“I’m trying to make a bracelet for kids that can scan food and detect allergens. It’ll buzz and turn red if they can’t eat the food. But I can’t get it to stop exploding. And I don’t think parents want their kids to explode. Or, maybe they do, and I have a genius invention on my hands.”

“That’s an incredible idea. I don’t think you should scrap it. One of them has to not explode, right?” He asked. His encouragement sounded sincere, making you even more in love with him. You decided to probe for reasons to not be attracted to him, since that would be the only way for you two to coexist while he stayed at the Tower. You brought the tour to the kitchen and showed him the inside.

“This is the kitchen. You probably won’t use it much.” You assumed. “I know most guys our age are all about protein maxxing and pre-workout inhaling.”

“Not me, actually. I love to cook. I make all my own meals. It feels better to eat it knowing I prepared it.” Peter told you, because of course he loved to cook.

“Is that so?” You asked with a dry mouth.

“Yeah! I could show you sometime, if you like. What do you like to eat?” He asked.

“Well, I think my favorite food is something my best friend’s mom used to make a lot when we were kids. They’re called tostones. She made them the perfect amount of salty and crispy.”

“Hm. I haven’t heard of that, but it sounds really good. Are you two still friends?” Peter wondered, making things ten times worse. Asking questions to get to know you was not helping you not fall for Peter.

“We are. It’s just harder to find time for a family dinner nowadays.”

“I bet. Happy told me how busy you are. From what he said, it sounds like you’re ready to take over Stark Industries any day now.”

“That’s the goal.” You admitted. “It certainly pays to be a Nepo baby in a field I actually really enjoy.”

“Hey, you may be Tony Stark’s daughter, but you’re inheriting the company because you earned it.” Peter said sincerely. “I’ve read about the stuff you’ve made. You’re brilliant.”

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled shyly at the compliment. “I remember that you are as well.”

“I wouldn’t say brilliant. I’m nowhere near your level. But I know what to do when I’m in there.” Peter shrugged modestly, highlighting his perfectly broad shoulders.

“I bet you do.” You whispered.

“What did you say?” He asked.

“I asked what you like to do?” You lied. “Physics? Engineering? Chemistry?”

“I love it all. But I think engineering. I made these, actually.” He said as he clinked his wrists together. Two black bands formed on each wrist and he held them out for you to see.

“What do they do?”

To answer your question, Peter shot a web at a flower pot across the room. He yanked it back, caught he effortlessly, and then handed you the flower. You felt your face warm up and accepted it with a soft smile.

“You created those yourself?” You asked him with amazement.

“Yeah. It took me forever to get the web formula right. And then when I did, I had to reconfigure the shooter a thousand times to get it to stop sticking to the inside when I tried to shoot them. But now they work well. See?” He shot another web, but you weren’t sure what he was aiming for this time. You were too fixated on watching his veins when he flexed his forearms.

“Oh, I see.” You said under your breath.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s this way to our rooms.” You quickly covered up and faked a smile. You showed Peter to his room and then got out of there was fast as you could. You leaned against your door after shutting it and stared up at the ceiling as you caught your breath.

Once you were composed, you slipped the Kimoyo beads off your wrist and used them to call Shuri. When she answered, she appeared as a holographic projection in your room. You caught up with your friend for a little bit, but when she asked why you called out of the blue, you had to confess.

“You know Spider-Man?” You asked her.

“The sticky one? Only a little bit.“

“Have you ever seen him without his mask?”

“I have. At your father’s funeral.” She responded. That answer brought you right back to that day at the cabin. You vaguely remembered seeing Peter that day, but the day was mostly a blur. It suddenly made sense why he didn’t specify the last time you saw each other. He didn’t want to bring back bad memories for you.

“Why do you ask?” Shuri asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.”

“No reason.” You lied. “I just had a quick question about him.”

“I don’t know him too well, so I might not know the answer. What were you wondering?”

“Oh, not much. Just when did he, you know…” You trailed off at the end and gestured with your hand for her to fill in the blank.

“I don’t know.” Shuri said with a laugh.

“You know. Was he always so…” You tried again and gave her a look.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Shuri told you.

“When did he get so fucking hot?” You blurted, followed by you looking at your door to make sure it was shut. Shuri bent over laughing as your entire face heated up.

“I don’t know.” She said when she stopped laughing. “He got bit by that spider.”

“How swol was the spider?” You asked out of the corner of your mouth.

“I think I was told it was radioactive. I don’t remember if I was told about its muscle composition.” She replied, making you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know what to do, princess.” You groaned. “He’s staying here for the week, but I can’t be around him. He’s too sexy. I just tried to show him around the kitchen, and all I could think of was riding on a horse with him and holding on to his gigantic shoulders for support. How am I supposed to stay across the hall from him?”

“If you’re that attracted to him, ask him out.” Shuri said simply.

“I can’t. I can tell that he’s a really nice guy. I don’t want him to think I’m shallow and just trying to hop on that because of his looks. He deserves better than that.”

“Are you trying to hop on that?” Shuri asked, gathering from context clues what you meant by that.

“Oh yeah. Ohhhhh yeah. All day.” You answered, making her laugh again.

“Maybe he’ll be flattered.” She shrugged.

“I don’t think he’s that kind of guy. Which makes it even worse. He’s a gentleman. God, I wish I was dead.” You whined and flopped on your bed.

“People have worse problems.” She reminded you.

“No, I don’t think they do. His eyes are so brown, princess. You have no idea. They’re like the Willy Wonka chocolate river. And I feel like that little fat fuck that got too greedy and fell in.”

“Do I know Willy Wonka?” Shuri asked. “Has he been to Wakanda?”

“Honestly, probably.” You replied. “But no, you don’t know him. Oh my God. What am I gonna do?”

“I think if you’re worried about him thinking you’re shallow, then get to know him first. Maybe you’ll discover you don’t actually like him.” Shuri suggested. You sat up on your elbows and stared at a picture of your dad on your dresser. It was time to come clean about the other reason that had been eating away at you.

“Him thinking I’m shallow isn’t my only reason.” You admitted. “My dad only knew about Peter because I showed him the videos of him. He believed in him because I believe in him. If I mess this up with Peter, it’s like I’m cutting on one of my last remaining ties with my dad.”

“Maybe the reason your dad liked him so much was because he reminded him of his daughter.” Shuri said softly. You thought about her words and as much as you wanted to believe her, you were scared.

“You’re very wise.” You said finally. “Someone should put you in charge of country or something.”

“They should.“ She played along. You moved on and talked about other things, but a corner of your mind stayed on Peter.

When you walked into the kitchen the following morning, Peter was already in there. You were about to turn around to leave when he called you over.

“Good morning. Look what I got at the bodega.” Peter said and held up a bunch of plantains.

“Good morning.” You said back. “What’s that for?”

“Well, I looked up tostones after you mentioned them yesterday, and they looked delicious. And since you haven’t had them in a while, I thought we could make it together.”

“You went out and got plantains because I mentioned that they were my favorite?” You asked slowly.

“Sorry, is that weird?” Peter frowned and put the bunch down.

“No, no, no!” You quickly assured him. “It’s not weird at all. I just wasn’t expecting you to do something so nice after how crappy my tour was yesterday.”

“It couldn’t have been that crappy if I found my way back to the kitchen today.” Peter pointed out.

“That’s true.” You smiled. “Let me see your recipe.”

You helped Peter make the tostones and decided your plan to avoid him would start tomorrow. When they were ready, you sat down together at the table to try them.

“Are they as good as your friend’s mom’s?” He asked you between bites.

“Not quite. But still very good. Thank you for doing this. I haven’t had them in so long.”

“You’re very welcome. I wanted you to have a taste of something familiar since you don’t get to see your friend as much.”

“That was very kind of you. I can’t wait to send her a picture of these.” You told him. “She’s gonna be so jealous.”

“Wait, we should invite her!” Peter realized. “I’d love to meet your friends.”

You froze when he said this, suddenly feeling the urge to run away. He had already gone out of his way to make your favorite food, and now he was saying he wanted to meet your friends. Things were getting too real and you needed to leave.

“Um, I’m so sorry.” You said as you stood up. “I just realized I forgot to do something. I have to go.”

You left the room without further explanation, leaving Peter alone and extremely confused.

The next day, you skillfully avoided Peter in the kitchen at breakfast, and again during lunch. It wasn’t until you walked by the gym that you were no longer able to avoid him. It was your fault really, since you did a double take when you saw him doing pull up’s on the chin-up bar. It became extra your fault when you stopped to watch him.

“Oh, he’s ripped as fuck? Amazing. Just what I wanted to find out.” You mumbled sarcastically to yourself.

You were only there for a few seconds before he made eye contact with you. It was too late to take off running, despite how much you wanted to do exactly that.

“Oh, hey!” Peter greeted. “Can you come in here for a second?”

You contemplated running once more, but knew it wasn’t an option. Instead, you walked into the gym, right up to the man you were trying to avoid. His tight black tank top put all his new improvements on display, and you were fighting for your life not to pay attention to that.

“Hello, Peter.” You said calmly.

“I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.” He said as he continued to move up and down on the bar.

“Talk to me? About what?” You asked and prayed for a bolt of lightening would strike that specific part of the Tower so that you would have an excuse to leave the conversation.

“Could you please wait a minute for me? I just have a few more reps.” He said, with manners he just had to have. You stared up at the ceiling to wait for him to be done.

“Take your time.” You squeaked out. He let go of the bat when he was finished and lifted up his shirt to wipe his face with it, giving you a full view of his torso.

“Fuck. My ovaries.” You whispered.

“Did you say something?” Peter asked as he continued to dry his face.

“I said there’s towels over here.” You covered up and grabbed a nearby towel. Without looking, you handed it to him and tried to compose yourself.

“Thanks.” He smiled at you, but you didn’t look at him.

“You wanted to talk to me?” You reminded him.

“Yeah. Are you busy tonight?” He asked you as he dried himself off with the towel.

“I might be.” You said as you forced yourself to keep eye contact and not look anywhere else.

“If you’re not, would you want to come with me to this party?” He asked. “I don’t really know the guy who’s hosting, but some of my friends from high school are going.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t know anyone.”

“It’s okay. You can stay with me. I won’t leave you to talk to strangers. I hate when people do that.” He told you, making you smile softly.

“Yeah, I hate that too.” You said. “I guess I could come to a party.”

You regretted it as soon as you said it. You were supposed to be avoiding him, but it just wasn’t in your willpower to turn down the cute boy inviting you to a party and offering to stay with you the whole night.

“Great.” Peter grinned. “I’ll come by your room around 7?“

“I’ll be there. In my room. Around 7.” You said and pointed finger guns at him, because why would you possibly be cool ever? You quickly put your hands down and hoped for that lightning strike again.

“Sounds good. I’m gonna do some push ups now. You’re welcome to stay and watch, but it’s not my best angle.” He joked, making you let out an audible gulp at the thought of him at that angle. You quickly cleared your throat to cover up the sound.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t want to watch you do push up’s. That would be crazy if I wanted to watch that.” You said through a forced laugh. Things quickly became awkward, and you decided you had to get out of there as soon as possible.

“So 7?” You said, and Peter nodded. You gave him a thumbs up and practically sprinted out of the room after that. You ran all the way to your room and slammed the door behind you.

Peter gave you another reason to fall for him when he showed up at your door 5 minutes early. Punctuality was rare among boys your age, but of course a quality that Peter possessed. If his workout attire hadn’t been bad enough, now he was in a button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You opened the door and let out a small sound that you hoped Peter didn’t catch.

“Hi. You look beautiful.” He complimented you, making you instinctively smile.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” You replied coyly. Peter smiled at you and offered his arm to walk you to the elevator. You thought he was going to press the button for the ground floor, but he went up to the roof instead.

“Where are we going?” You asked on the ride up.

“I was gonna swing us, if thats okay.” He said, making your heart pick up its pace.

“You want to swing me around the city in your big arms?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“If that’s okay.” Peter repeated as he laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s okay.” You told him and turned your face so that he couldn’t see you mouthing “Oh my God” to yourself.

When you got to the roof, Peter brought you to the edge.

“How does this work? Do I get on your back Bella and Edward style?” You asked him.

“Yes, actually.” He chuckled, taking you by surprise that he knew the reference. You shrugged and climbed on his back, getting enveloped in the scent of his cologne.

“Hold tight, Spider Monkey. And don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” Peter said before shooting a web at a nearby building. Your dad was Iron Man, so heights did not scare you. What did scare you was getting attached to the feeling of holding Peter, which was admittedly a pretty great feeling. You let out a happy scream as he swung you from building to building. When you landed on the rooftop of where the party was, you fought the urge to hug him.

“Ready?” Peter asked you as he smoothed down his hair. You adjusted your outfit and nodded your head.

Once inside, Peter introduced you to his friends, Ned and MJ. You and MJ got to talking as Peter and Ned over some movie they had just seen. You liked watching Peter in this relaxed setting, but it wasn’t helping you to not fall for him. You stopped watching him and tuned back into your conversation with MJ.

You felt unexpectedly at ease with Peter’s friends. It didn’t feel like you’d just met that night and instead felt more like you’d grown up with them. They included you and got to know you, making you feel at home. Peter having a great groups of friends was yet another reason you were struggling not to fall for him.

“I’m really glad you said yes to tonight.” Peter told you once Ned and MJ walked off to refill their drinks.

“You are?” You asked him, feeling more comfortable around him now that you had some drinks in you.

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to hang out with you, but I can never find you.”

“How strange.” You said through a fake laugh, because you 100% avoided him all day. Peter looked into your eyes for a moment with a shy smile on his face. You tried not to look back at first and looked all around the room, but your gaze eventually came back to him. You looked into his eyes and felt all your walls crumbling down.

“Can I say something and then we never talk about it?” Peter asked suddenly, making you freeze.

“Um, sure? You said nervously.

“I’m so sorry that I disappeared. After everything with your dad happened, I just couldn’t bear to come back to the Tower. But I should have.” Peter said with guilt in his voice. You were not expecting him to say this and blamed it on the alcohol.

“Peter, it’s fine.” You assured him. “You don’t have to apologize to me. You were his friend. We didn’t know each other.”

“I know. But I always felt guilty about not reaching out to see how you were. He loved you so much. And I loved him. I should have checked up on you. I should’ve gotten to know you.” Peter continued. You could see his eyes welling up with tears and didn’t know what to do. Without thinking it through, you put down your cup and pulled him into a tight hug. Peter immediately hugged you back and hurried his face in your neck.

“Now we’re the weirdos hugging in the middle of the party.” You said as you rubbed circle onto his back. He let out a laugh and hugged you tighter. He came up after another minute and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I had to get that off my chest.” He said, looking shy now.

“It’s okay. And honestly, I should’ve reached out too. It was just all so crazy after he passed. But I saw the picture of the two of you on his desk all the time. I should’ve tracked you down. I should’ve gotten to know you.”

“At least we found each other now.” Peter said with a soft smile. You smiled back and nodded your head.

“At least we did.”

Ned came running back into the room you were in, interrupting your emotional moment. You were admittedly a little glad he did, because things were getting too real once again.

“Guys, they’re playing Spin the Bottle in the other room. In real life. Let’s go!” Ned said and pulled Peter’s arm.

“You coming?” Peter asked as he stumbled towards Ned.

“No thanks.” You shook your head. “I’m not really a kissing strangers type of gal. I just don’t think mono is for me.”

“Me neither.” Peter chuckled. “Maybe we can just watch and silently judge the players?”

You shrugged and followed him and his friends into the room. You didn’t really want to watch, but it would be a good preventative from another deep conversation with Peter. And so, you found a spot against a wall as others took their seats on the floor.

“What do you think about all this?” Peter leaned in close to you to ask. You gave him the side eye from how close he was and then looked away.

“I think someone of definately walking away from this with a cold sore.”

“Not that.” He laughed. “But I agree. I mean kissing for recreation.”

“Oh. I never thought about it like that. I guess I would say to each their own, but it’s not really my style.”

“Me either. I don’t want to kiss some stranger at a party with a bunch of people I kinda know watching. I think a kiss should mean something.” Peter said as he looked at you. You looked back for just a moment and then quickly looked away.

“So when you’re kissing for meaning, who is it with? Girls? Boys? A little bit of both?” You asked him. If he was gay, maybe it would help you get over your crush faster.

“Girls. Though, if you can believe it, I haven’t been too lucky in that department.” He said with a half hearted chuckle. You smiled in response but internally cursed that he wasn’t gay or a player.

“Well that’s probably because you’re hideous to look at.” You said bluntly, making Peter laugh. You cracked a smile but continued to avoid eye contact with him.

“Thank you. I was hoping you’d notice.”

“I’m teasing.” You assured him. “I was honestly stunned when you walked in the other day. I could not believe you were the same Peter my dad used to talk about.”

“Stunned?” He asked. “Why?”

“Because I would’ve remembered if you had that face.”

You folded your lips in after you said it, knowing you had said too much. You hoped he wouldn’t catch it and move on, but to no avail. Peter was leaning in closer to you with a big smile on his face.

“What about my face?” He asked with an amused look. You opened your mouth to respond, but were interrupted by everyone’s eyes turning to you. You looked down at the bottle on the floor and saw it was pointed in the gap between two players and set directly at you.

“It landed on you, miss Stark. Guess we have to kiss.” A guy you’d never met before said as he stood up.

“Oh, I’m not playing.” You smiled politely and turned back to Peter.

“You’re in the room. Rules are rules.” The guy continued as he walked towards you, making you and Peter slowly turn to look at him. You exchanged a look with each other before looking back at the guy.

“Well, the rules don’t apply to people who aren’t playing, so.” You said with zero politeness this time.

“Hey, if you have an issue, take it up with the bottle. Just give me a quick one. I’ll be gentle.” The guy chuckled and stood in front of you. Peter stepped in between you suddenly and pushed the guy back.

“She said she wasn’t playing.” Peter said sternly. The corners of your mouth tugged into a smile after seeing the fire in Peter’s eyes.

“Woah. Sorry, dude. I didn’t realize you were her boyfriend.” The guy said in a different tone than the one he used with you. You rolled your eyes at the guys sudden ability to be respectful.

“Don’t say sorry to me. Say it to her.” Peter demanded. “She should not have had to say no more than once before you got it through your thick skull.”

“I’m sorry.” The guy begrudgingly said to you. You didn’t say anything in response.

“Go on. Fuck off.” Peter ordered, and the guy walked away. Everyone was staring at you at this point and a few had their phones out to film, one of the perks of being the child of a micro-celebrity. You looked around the room and felt your face getting warmer by the second.

“I think I’m gonna go.” You whispered to Peter. You swiftly left the room and Peter followed after you.

“Are you okay?” He asked once you were alone in the next room.

“Yeah, it’s just not really my scene. Thank you for inviting me though.” You said sincerely and started walking to the door again.

“I can walk you home.” He offered.

“Don’t worry about it. Stay with your friends. I don’t want you to miss the party.” You assured him, mostly wanting to be alone after that last encounter.

“I don’t care about the party if you’re not there. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I don’t want you walking alone.” Peter said as he gently caught your arm. You looked at where his hand was holding you and sucked in a little breath. Being protective of you was making it hard not to fall for him right then and there.

“Okay.” You decided. “We can walk together.“

And so you did. You walked side by side in silence all the way home. Peter had a no swinging and drinking rule, and you were both a little tipsy. But the cold New York air was helping you come back to your normal state of mind. The silence between you as you walked was comfortable, and you were grateful for that. You liked that he was someone you could be comfortable around without having to exchange any words.

“Brought her back safe, Parker?” Happy asked when the two of you entered the Tower.

“Yes, sir.” Peter said with genuine manners.

“Knew you would, kid. So, was this a date, or can I sleep peacefully tonight knowing you two are across the hall from each other? Because I’m not ready to be a grandfather.” Happy asked, making you start to choke on air. Peter clapped your back to help you out and you finally composed yourself.

“It wasn’t a date.” You finally croaked out. You looked over at Peter, was who surprisingly bright red.

“Not a date.” Peter agreed. “I just took her to meet my friends.”

“Good answer.“ Happy nodded. “Because your dad always told me any boyfriend of yours would have to go through Navy Seal level training before he was allowed to spend the night.”

“Again, not my boyfriend.” You stated as you glared at Happy for embarrassing you. Peter was smiling shyly and scratching the back of his head.

“Well if anything changes in the next 48 hours, let me know. I can have Peter sent off to bootcamp by the weekend. Night, you two.” Happy said before walking away. You and Peter stood there in silence for a minute, this time, a very uncomfortable silence.

“I’m gonna…” Peter finally broke the tension and pointed in the direction of your rooms.

“Right. Me too. Goodnight, Peter.” You said and forced a smile. Peter caught your eye and looked at you for just long enough to make your knees wobbly.

“Goodnight.” He said with a soft smile. You gulped and waited where you were until he was gone. When the coast was clear, you let out a loud sigh and rubbed your face. The week wasn’t up yet and you were losing the battle against falling for him more and more every day.

You eventually retreated back to your room, but you couldn’t settle down. Tonight felt very different between you and Peter, and you didn’t like how things ended after the connection you shared. After pacing your room for a full half hour, you decided to go knock on his door.

Peter just had to open his door with nothing on but a towel around his hips. You had caught Peter just coming out do the shower, and for some reason, he decided to open the door before getting dressed. He had another towel in his hand that he was rubbing back and forth on his damp curls.

“Fuck.” You practically shouted in his face. You instantly clamped your mouth shut and felt your eyes go wide.

“Um, what?” Peter laughed in confusion. You had to think quickly and your eyes landed on his phone cable on his night stand.

“Fuck…my phone charger. It’s broken.” You said weakly. “I guess. Can I borrow one?”

“Oh, sure. Come in.” Peter said and went back into his room.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll wait here.” You said and kept your eyes glued to ceiling to stop probing him with them. His back was to you now, which was not helping anything. Even his back was hot.

“You can come in. I want to show you something.” He said as he turned back to face you. Your eyes instinctively dropped to his waistband before going back up to his eyes.

“Show me something?” You asked in a low voice.

“One second.” He said and went into his connected bathroom. You blew out a breath once he was gone and fanned yourself. After emotionally connecting with him at the party, he just had to remind you why he caught your eye in the first place.

Peter came back after a minute in his pajamas, thankfully. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his desk drawer and handed it to you.

“What’s this?” You asked as you took it.

“Your scrapped design for the allergy bracelet. I hope it’s okay that I took it out of the trash. I thought it was too creative to throw out. But it was super crumpled, so I rewrote it as best as I could.”

“You saved my design?”

“Yeah. I think if we look at it together, we can figure out what’s missing. Maybe we can get it to stop exploding?” He asked hopefully. Thus, reminding you of the other reason you liked Peter. He was incredibly thoughtful.

“Thanks, Peter. That was really nice of you.” You smile softly as you looked up at him.

“It’s no problem. I had to save it. You’re an amazing inventor. You are totally going to run the world one day.” He said with a shy smile on his lips.

“If I don’t blow it up first.” You replied. It suddenly dawned on you how close you and Peter were. He was just inches away, close enough for you to smell the body wash he just used. You gulped a little and hoped it wasn’t as audible to him as it sounded to you.

“I don’t think you will.” He said softly. “And even if you did, you’d probably do it in a really cool way.”

He was so close now that a droplet from his hair landed on your shirt. You could see every freckle on his nose. He has creases by his eyes, something you somehow hadn’t noticed before despite all your staring at him. Peter seemed to be getting closer by the second, and you suddenly remembered you were not supposed to be falling for him. You pulled away and cleared your throat, leading him to do the same. He turned his face so you wouldn’t see his disappointment and grabbed a phone charger off his desk.

“Uh, here.” He said quietly and handed it to you.

“What’s this for?” You frowned.

“You said yours was broken.” He reminded you.

“Oh.” You laughed in embarrassment. “Right. I did say that.”

You and Peter stood in uncomfortable silence once again. You had come over to smooth things out, but somehow managed to make things feel worse.

“I should probably go.” You said, not bothering to hide how defeated you felt.

“Oh, yeah. I should probably get some sleep.” Peter said without looking at you. The vibe in the room had become palpably bad, but you didn’t full understand why.

“Goodnight, Peter.” You said for the second time that night.

“Goodnight.” He answered with a smile you knew was fake. You saw yourself out and shut your bedroom door behind you before dramatically throwing yourself on your bed.

For the next two days, you got serious about avoiding Peter. You made FRIDAY scan rooms for him before you left your own so that you wouldn’t run into him. If he did come into a room you were in, you made up a quick excuse to leave. You had nearly 48 hours of success avoidance of Peter until he found you on a late night trip to the kitchen to get string cheese.

“Can we talk?” Peter asked, making you jump in surprise. He had concealed himself behind the open refrigerator door so you didn’t know he had entered the kitchen.

“I can’t. I am extremely busy.” You lied as one of your cheese sticks fell on the floor. Peter bent down and picked it up for you.

“I feel like you’re avoiding me.” He said as he handed it back.

“What?” You forced a laugh. “What would make you think that?”

“Because ever since the night of the party, I haven’t seen you. You find an excuse to leave the room as soon as I walk in. You’re always running off if I try to talk to you. You don’t even look at me anymore.”

“Peter, I’m not avoiding you. I just have to leave the room a lot.” You lied, already feeling guilty for what you’d been doing. He sounded so upset and it was killing you.

“Did I do something to offend you? Because if I did, I am so sorry. Please tell me so I can make it right.” He pleaded. You felt a pit form in your stomach knowing you had caused him to feel punished for something he did not do. And yet, you did not have it in you to come clean.

“Yeah, actually.” You lied. “You did.”

“What was it?” Peter asked desperately. “Something I said?”

“Uh huh.” You weakly went along with whatever he said.

“Can you tell me what it was?” He begged.

“Wow.” You blew out a breath. “You really don’t remember?”

“No, I’m sorry. What was it?”

“I can’t believe this. How can you say the very offensive thing you said and not remember?” You asked him. You had dug yourself so deep now that there was no turning back.

“I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.“

“Wow, y’all, wow.” You shook your head. “You’ve changed, Peter.”

You walked away from him after that, feeling yourself well up with tears once he couldn’t see you. You hated yourself for letting things get to this point. You wished you hadn’t avoided him and just spoken to him, or at least not convinced him he did something to hurt your feelings. You went to your room and wiped your face clean of your tears. The blueprint Peter had rewritten for you that was sitting on your desk caught your eye. You picked it up and looked at it again, admitting the swoops and slopes of his handwriting. That’s when you noticed something at the bottom.

“Genius girl, don’t give up. The world needs you to keep going.” He had written to you.

“Ohh, so I’m a massive bitch.” You said decidedly to yourself. You put the blueprints back down and went straight to Peter’s room to set things right. He opened the door after the second knock, looking that he too had shed a few tears.

“Can I come in?” You asked him. He didn’t say anything, but nodded his head as he stepped to the side. You sat down on his bed and he sat beside you.

“Peter, I’m so sorry.” You began. “I’ve been such a jerk to you.”

“What’s going on?” He asked in a quiet voice. “What did I do to offend you?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You assured him. “You have been completely perfect since the moment you got here.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” He wondered. You looked into his eyes and let out a sigh. It was now or never to make things right.

“I just don’t know how to talk to you.” You admitted to him.

“Oh. I mean, I can kinda understand that. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

“A really long time. And I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” You trailed off and felt your face warm up.

“So what? Annoying?”

“What? No.” You quickly assured him and shook your head.

“So weird? So rude?” He kept asking.

“Nope. Not those either. So, ummm….whats the word I’m looking for?” You asked and clicked your tongue.

“So what? What is it?” Peter put his hand on you shoulder and leaned it to ask you. You stared at him like a deer in the handsome headlights and blinked.

“Hot.” You said in the smallest voice you could muster.

“What was that?” Peter asked and leaned in closer to hear you better.

“So hot.” You said louder and flung your hands in frustration, making Peter jump back at the sudden loud noise.

“I heard you the first time, I just didn’t believe it.” Peter admitted out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re telling me you haven’t talked to me the last few days because you think I’m hot?”

“That’s what it was at first.” You confessed. “But it’s changed now.”

“I’m not following.” Peter told you, making you sigh.

“Look, Peter. When you first walked in, I was stunned, like I told you at the party. Because the last time I saw you, you were this excitable 14 year old kid who was filming himself doing parkour on top of buildings. And now…” You trailed off again and gestured to all of him.

“Now?” He asked, looking down at outfit as if you were referring to his clothes. You let out a groan and rubbed your face with your hands.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” You whined.

“Yes, actually.” He said firmly, making you groan again. You gave him one last look before letting all your bottled up feeling out.

“Now, you look like Zeus, and I’m sure you have the lightening rod to match. I literally cannot look at you without getting bricked up. When you opened the door the other night in just your towel, I was like oh okay, I’m 21 weeks along, and it might be twins. When you were doing pull up’s in front of me, I had to clench my legs together to not flood the whole Tower and the surrounding neighborhoods. Probably New Jersey too, if we’re being honest. And if that’s not bad enough, you cook my favorite foods and ask to meet my friends. You stand up for me and make douche bags apologize for making me incompatible. You save my freaking scrapped designs and compliment my mind. You’re too perfect! So no, I can’t talk to you!” You finally said, shouting by the end of it.

Peter leaned back and stared at you with a stunned expression for a long time. You stared back with your lips folded in, not moving a muscle. This staring contest went on for quite some time since there was really no appropriate response to what you had said. You may have gone for overkill, but you figured he deserved to know the truth after avoiding him for two days.

“Lighting rod?” He said finally, making you bury your face in your hands.

“Is that really all you heard?” You asked through your hands.

“I don’t really know what I just heard.” Peter admitted. “So you won’t talk to me because you think I’m too perfect?”

“I can’t talk to you because I didn’t want you to think I was throwing myself at you just because you got hot.” You explained. “But then, I started finding out you’re this too good to be true stand up guy who is also hot. So now I hate you and I can’t be around you.”

“If you feel that way about me, why didn’t you just tell me? I wouldn’t have exactly been mad if you threw yourself at me.” Peter told you, making you smile a little. He gave you a look and you were suddenly feeling a little silly for ever coming up with your plan not to fall for him before finding out how he felt about you.

“Because. You were friends with my dad. And I didn’t want to mess that up. And I’m really busy in the lab. And we barely know each other. And…” You trailed off as Peter leaned in closer to you.

“And?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. Your faces were just inches apart now and your eyes were locked on his lips.

“And I can’t take it anymore.” You decided before climbing into his lap to pull him into a kiss.

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

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[xpeachsunsidex]

You Know That I’m Falling For Ya

Steve Harrington x Buckley!Fem!Reader

Summary: You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you’ve fallen in love with your sister’s best friend.

WC: 4.5k

Warnings & What To Expect: Slight opposites attract trope, platonic Eddie & reader, Eddie being a menace, hints of jealous Steve, very brief heavy petting (18+).

Masterlist If Interested!

****************************************************

You and Steve Harrington are polar opposites.

You couldn’t be any more different if you tried. Everything about the two of you screamed incompatible - contradictory tastes in music, styles, interests, and personalities.

It’s why when you finally worked up the courage to tell Robin that you were in love with him, she initially thought you were joking.

You didn’t expect it to happen, but how could it not?

Steve is probably the most charming person you have ever met. Unfortunately for you, you fell for that charm faster than a dream that fades when you wake up.

He was enchanting, and he had emotionally matured years beyond what you once thought him capable of; it was extremely attractive to say the least.

When Robin had first brought Steve over to your house, you thought you were hallucinating. Your sister had complained about the man being a neanderthal who was stealing the attention of the love of her life just a year ago; and suddenly she was introducing him to you like he was the most precious thing to her.

Realistically, he was. He was the only other person besides you that she trusted enough to come out to. It was part of why you’d fallen for him. Watching her treat him like a safe space, and seeing Steve support her on her quest to talk to Vickie made your heart ache in a way you didn’t know it could.

Which led to now, where you and Steve were currently teaming up together trying to get Robin to ask out Vickie. That meant showing up to support Robin‘s band performance at the Hawkins High basketball game even though you’d literally rather be anywhere else.

The only thing bearable about it was that it meant sitting with Steve in the bleachers, shoulders brushing, heads leaning in close to whisper conspiratorially about how to get Vickie to notice Robin.

At first, you really did just see him as your sister’s best friend. Then one day, he was Steve.

Somewhere along the lines of the scheming you’ve been doing with him, the natural bantering turned into blatant flirting, which then bloomed into real feelings for him.

You couldn’t be around him anymore without your heart fluttering wildly, or your breath catching at the sound of his laughter, or your stomach twisting into flustered knots when he threw a cheeky grin your way.

He’s giving you that grin now, when Tammy Thompson starts singing the national anthem.

“Has she always been this bad?” you whisper to him, mystified that the students around you seem to think she’s doing a fantastic job.

“Don’t you think she sounds like a muppet? That’s what I told Robin,” Steve laughs, and his breath caresses the shell of your ear as he tilts his head towards yours. You swallow thickly, distracted by the fact that it's minty from the piece of gum he’d thrown in his mouth earlier.

You hum out a half hearted response, sufficiently dazed by his presence. You ogle his side profile when he turns his head to look towards Robin a few rows down. She’s already looking up at him with a smile on her face, and you watch as he mouths ‘told you, muppet’ to her. She rolls her eyes at him, but huffs out a laugh and concedes. At her whispered agreement, Vickie turns to say something to her and Robin's face changes to one of astonishment.

“Oh, Robs, you can do this,” you murmur, silently encouraging her from afar.

Steve turns back to you, eyes delighted at seeing the two of them interacting.

“It’s happening. Our meddling is working," he says joyfully, hands coming down onto your shoulders animatedly to give you a shake.

One of your hands comes up to rest on his, turning to smile enthusiastically at him.

The two of you stare at each other like a bunch of proud parents, and when Steve’s eyes flick down to your lips, tongue darting out to wet his own, you feel yourself being drawn to him like a flower stretching towards the sun.

Steve reciprocates the movement, lips inching closer towards yours, and when the whistle to start the game echoes around the room, the spell is broken. You wrench away from him and uneasily mention that you have to go to the bathroom.

You turn on your heel, hurrying down the bleachers, and slam open the gym doors to the hallway. You decide you need to cool down and step outside into the fresh night air.

Were you seriously about to just kiss Steve in a place where Robin could have easily seen the two of you?

It’s been torture hiding your feelings for him from your sister. You’re used to telling her everything, but it didn’t feel right to tell her you thought you might be in love with her best friend.

Robin’s never had a friend like Steve before, and it felt selfish to ruin that for your own wants.

You find yourself leaning against the side of the building by the front doors, trying to calm your racing heart and erase your thoughts of Steve.

Your plan is ruined when the man himself walks through the doors, scanning the area for you. When he sees you, he sidles up to where you’re standing and leans against the support beam across from you.

“This doesn’t look like the bathroom,” Steve attempts to joke, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, sorry. It just got kind of crowded in there,” you shrug, making up a pathetic excuse and from the look on his face, he knows it.

“You mean, I crowded you,” he says meekly.

“Steve-,” you start.

“I read it wrong,” he jumps in before you can tell him otherwise, raising his hands apologetically.

“You didn’t,” you whisper bashfully, trying to assure him.

“No?” he asks curiously, stepping closer to you.

“You read it right. It’s just, Robin. She doesn’t deserve to find out that way,” you tell him, vaguely gesturing between the two of you.

“You do want something to happen between us then?” he asks slyly, making his way to stand directly in front of you.

You gulp, and have to take a breath to steady yourself at his closeness. Your brain spins when his hands confidently drop to the swell of your hips. An ache of want for him nestles itself in the hollow of your rib cage.

You become overwhelmed in the best way possible when he guides your back to press more solidly against the wall, and you incoherently mumble out some resemblance of a yes.

“I thought so, sweet girl,” he chuckles, guiding his nose to yours, pausing when his mouth is by yours, waiting for your permission.

You can’t take wait any longer, and you reach up on your tip toes to finally connect your lips with his. It’s barely a brush, unsure if you’ve just made the right move.

Steve takes a startled inhale, before matching your movements, pressing his plush lips tenderly against yours. It’s a simple and warm first kiss, the both of you hesitant, learning each other's ticks and body language.

You hands find purchase in the material of his sweater, loosely grabbing onto it to ground yourself. One kiss was all it took for you to completely unravel for him, dissolving into a puddle at the way his lips slowly worked against yours, like he was memorizing every part of you.

The slam of the doors to the front entrance makes you and Steve break apart. You’re breathless, heaving in deep lungfuls of air. Steve does the same, staring at you with a look of desire clouding his dazzling brown eyes. You’re about to give in and kiss the life out of him when you hear a familiar voice calling your name.

“What are you doing out here, princess?” Eddie exclaims, and you turn to watch as the Hellfire Club is parting ways from one another; they must’ve just gotten out of their Dungeons & Dragons session.

You hate the ridiculous nickname that Eddie calls you, and you know he’s just saying it to get under Steve’s skin, which it does. You see a muscle twitch in Steve’s jaw, his teeth clenching.

Eddie trods lazily over, giving you a triumphant look when you glare at him.

“Harrington, nice to see you man,” Eddie says, and you hear the taunting lilt in his voice.

Eddie knew of your crush on Steve, and was persistent in making Steve suffer; trying to motivate him to make a move on you.

“Munson,” Steve nods slightly in greeting, eyes wary of the older male.

Steve believes that Eddie has a thing for you and was insistent on making him feel miserable about how close the two of you were. Eddie slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. You elbow him, frustrated at his interruption.

“Need a ride, princess? Or, is Harrington taking you somewhere?” Eddie smiles knowingly.

You stupidly panic at his assumption, because Eddie can’t know about what just happened before Robin knows. In your haste, your nonchalant words do more damage than you realize they will.

“No, he’s not. I can use a ride,” you tell Eddie.

Steve bites his lip hard, a resigned look on his face. You watch somberly as he turns abruptly without even saying goodbye, walking rigidly back into the school.

“Damn, princess. Way to break a guys heart,” Eddie chides you, because he meant to give you an in with Steve, and you’d just ruthlessly shut it down.

“Just bring me home, Eddie,” you sigh, angry with yourself for making a mess of things.

****************************************************

You’re sitting on Robin's bed, watching as she paces giddily around her room, sharing with you about her night with Vickie. Well, her night with Vickie and the rest of the band team that went out celebrating the basketball team's win.

You’re desperate to tell her about the kiss you shared with Steve, but you don’t want to ruin her moment. You try your best to pretend like everything is normal.

“I’m proud of you, Robs,” you tell her, acknowledging that her asking Vickie to hang out by themselves was a huge step in the right direction.

Robin sighs dreamily, before collapsing onto the bed next to you.

She grabs your hand, giving it a loving squeeze, “Thank you, seriously. I couldn’t have done it without your and Steve’s support.”

You stiffen at the mention of Steve’s name, a flashback of your back pressed against the brick wall of the school, Steve’s lips eager against your own. She catches onto your unease immediately. After all, she doesn’t brag about being a genius for nothing.

“What’s wrong?” she prompts, eyes narrowing, searching your face.

“N-nothing,” you stutter out too quickly, and her eyebrows shoot up at your response.

She props herself up on her elbows, puts a hand on one of your knees and says, “Come on. You can tell me anything, you know that. No judgement, promise.”

Her words make you realize you’re being silly. Robin was the bravest person you knew, and the last person to ever belittle you for anything.

The truth tumbles out of your mouth so quickly, that she clearly misses it. She gives you a look to stop screwing around.

“I kissed Steve, and I think I might be in love with him,” you repeat, slower this time, but your admission is quiet.

Robin stares blankly at you, not staying a word, which is very abnormal for her.

You take a deep breath, “I said-.”

She cuts you off, raising a hand calmly to stop you,“I heard you. I’m just, I’m processing.”

You dart your eyes away from hers, picking restlessly at your nails as the silence stretches between you two.

Robin finally breaks it, “Steve, as in my Steve? You’re joking, right?”

Your gut twists something awful at her choice of words. My Steve. Of course he’s hers. He was hers first, and he always would be.

“I’m sorry,” You rush out, “It’s stupid, I know. It’s probably just a fleeting crush. I’ll get over it.”

“But, do you want to get over him?” she asks you softly.

“No,” you admit warily, trying to gauge what she’s thinking.

Her lips pull into a smile, “Well, good, because I didn’t mean ‘my Steve’ as in he couldn’t be yours too.”

“Yeah?” you question, voice laced with hope.

“I only said it because I didn’t expect it; the two of you are incredibly different, but you'd actually totally make sense together,” she replies, shifting to sit up next to you.

“Opposites attract and all that, right?” you sigh, closing your eyes and picturing Steve’s gorgeous face behind your eyelids.

“To be honest, I kind of always pictured your type as more of an Eddie Munson. But it looks like Steve’s got you down bad,” she says playfully, nudging your shoulder, making your eyes open back up.

You let out a huff of air, because you also thought at one point you’d end up with Eddie until Steve had somehow burrowed his way into the cavity of your chest.

“You’d be okay with us?” you ask her, wanting her approval more than anything.

She nods, getting excited at the prospect of the two people she loves the most getting together, “Steve’s a solid choice.”

You feel relief at her words, “You’re really sure?”

“Absolutely,” she says, throwing her arms around you, finally convincing you.

“I love you, Robs,” you whisper to her, holding her tightly.

“I love you. Now, tell me about this kiss. Does he really live up to his reputation?” she asks, pulling back from you, grin forming, eyebrows wiggling.

“Better,” you laugh lightly, before continuing, “but I might have blown my chance. I totally chickened out and left him there alone.”

She’s shaking her head before you even finish talking,

“Trust me, if Steve knew how you felt about him, he’d definitely ask you out. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a real dry season for him. Lots of time spent with his right h-,” Robin babbles on, and you shriek in embarrassment at what she was about to just say.

“Okay, Robs, stop! I really don’t need to know that about him,” You feel the blood rising to your cheeks.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, awkwardly scratching her neck.

“This is why I was worried about telling you. You know things about him that I don’t, and that’s how it should be; you’re best friends with him. But I don’t want this being weird for you,” you plead with her.

“First of all, you’re my best friend. Dingus is my second best friend,” she says teasingly, like a school child fighting over their relationships.

“Second of all, I want you to be happy. It might be kind of weird for me sometimes, but don’t worry about me. Steve’s a really good guy. If you’re into him, you should tell him. You kind of have to spell it out for him though. You’re going to have to be very direct because he’s pretty oblivious sometimes,” she chuckles fondly.

“What if he doesn’t want me?” you ask, insecurity slipping in.

“Steve Harrington turning down a girl? Not likely,” Robin replies with certainty.

You think about the kiss again, how Steve’s tongue had just started to try to slip into yours before Eddie stormed outside. It reminds you that there has to be a part of him that wants you.

“When should I ask him?” you wonder out loud.

“Tomorrow? You’re working at the arcade, right? I can tell him he needs to pick me up from there, but really it’ll be towards the end of your shift and he’ll run into you,” she winks at you, before clapping her hands, satisfied with her plan.

You just hope Steve’s able to give you a second chance.

****************************************************

You love your job, which is a rare thing to say about working at an arcade. You’d been working here since your freshman year in high school. At the time, it was just a part time job to make some extra cash, but over the years you’ve grown to love the dim lights, the buzz of the machines, the kids cheering when they break a new record.

It got even better when your old manager Keith had left and gone to Family Video, which Robin and Steve were still sour about.

You’ve spent most of your shift giving a middle schooler advice on how to beat Dig Dug, which you only knew thanks to Dustin and Max when they were still frequent flyers here.

You were leaning against the game, giving out pointers on silly mistakes that could be fixed when the chime of bells ring, signaling a new customer has come in. You anxiously glance at the doors to find it’s just another group of high schoolers.

You were edgy all day, pondering if Robin would be able to persuade Steve that she’d actually be spending time here with you. Robin and Steve didn’t really ever come to the arcade to hang out with you, but she told you she’d come up with a believable story. Something about forced sibling bonding.

The bell chimes again, and you glance over to find Eddie waltzing in and up to you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him suspiciously, because he never shows up like this unannounced.

“Little birdie told me that you plan to tell Stevie how you feel,” he says, drumming his hands on the machine.

The tween playing stares Eddie down, annoyed at him interrupting their game. You apologize to them, steering Eddie towards the prize booth that’s currently unoccupied.

“Robin told you?” you hiss at him.

“Ran into her at the record shop earlier today. You know how she is, prattled on and on about playing matchmaker for you and Harrington,” he grins.

“God, Eddie, you can’t be here. Steve already thinks you're into me! If he sees you here, this plan won’t work,” you plead with him, pushing at his chest.

“Alright princess, relax. I just wanted to tell you I’m rooting for you two, despite the fact that he’s got some grudge against me for hanging out with you and Dustin,” he puts his hands up in defense.

“You don’t exactly make it easy for him,” you quirk an eyebrow up at him, referring to all the jokes he’s made at Steve’s expense.

Eddie starts to defend himself, when his eyes cut to the front of the arcade.

“Oh, shit,” he says guiltily.

You follow his eyes, noticing the back of Steve’s head, retreating from the building and to his Beamer.

“Cover for me,” you beg him, and Eddie sighs but nods reluctantly.

You chase Steve out to the parking lot, calling his name. Either he’s ignoring you on purpose, or his hearing is going from the beatings he’s taken in the past, which you’ve brought up to him in concern before; because he slides into the front seat of the parked car without acknowledging you.

“Jesus, what the hell!” Steve yelps, when you ease into his passenger seat, caught off guard by your presence. Which proves your later theory; you’ll have to discuss it with him again about visiting a doctor.

“Hi,” you greet him breathily after running after him.

“Hi?” he responds a bit confused at your sudden appearance, keys frozen by the ignition.

“Um, could we talk?” you ask him frantically, not willing to let him go without expressing how you feel for him, no matter what the outcome might be.

Steve swallows, Adam’s apple moving with the action, “Aren’t you working right now?”

You have to remind yourself to not get distracted by how effortlessly attractive he is.

“My shift’s almost over, and Eddie's keeping my boss occupied," you promise, but it was the wrong thing to say.

Steve looks away from you, running his hands down his face, “Right, Munson.”

“He’s tolerable once you get to know him,” you try again, and Steve scoffs at that.

“You would defend him,” he mumbles out bitterly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you inquire, voice hardening just the slightest. You know Eddie can be a lot for people, but he means well, most of the time.

“It means I’m a naive idiot to think that last night actually meant something to you,” Steve grumbles out, refusing to meet your eyes.

Your jaw drops at his accusation, “I’m the one that kissed you, Steve.”

He shrugs indifferently, fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel.

You sigh in slight annoyance at his ill timed pettiness, realizing you’re going to have to be brutally honest with him, the way Robin told you to be.

You reach across the seat, tenderly grasping his jaw in your hand, forcing him to look at you. His skin is soft to the touch, and he stares longingly at you now, in a trance from the motion of your thumb sweetly grasping his chin.

“Steve. I kissed you first,” you emphasize, trying to get him to understand that you’ve already chosen him.

“But, Eddie,” he trails off diffidently.

You continue to brush your hand against him, fingers drifting to the tendrils of hair that curl around his hair, “What about him?”

“You’d be perfect with him,” Steve admits with defeat in his tone.

“I’d be perfect with you,” you argue, deciding to be brave and crawl over the arm rest, dragging yourself into Steve’s lap.

“Woah, hey," Steve weakly protests, giving in when he feels your hips flush to his.

You lock your hands around his neck, body pressed to his, and Steve’s hands settle around the curve of your lower back.

“I like you, Steve. I’m pretty sure it’s more than that,” you hint, “and it’s okay if you don’t quite feel that for me yet.”

Steve looks at you in awe, jaw going slack, eyes widening in surprise. You can’t help but think how adorable he looks at this moment. You press a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead, and nose, before hovering over his lips.

“But rest assured, Steve Harrington, I plan to make you fall for me just like I’ve fallen for you,” you whisper against his mouth.

He makes a strangled sound at that, eyes fluttering closed in disbelief, and he closes the distance between you, firmly pressing his lips to yours.

This kiss is different than last night; hungrier, bolder, a bit reckless.

Your fingers grip at his hair desperately, pushing yourself as close to him as possible. It causes you to grind down on him, and he pulls away with a broken moan at the feeling.

He tosses his head back against the headrest when you drag your core against him once again, his breathing coming out in short bursts.

You feel him, straining in his jeans, and an instinctive buck of his own hips has you gasping for air. You’re dying to kiss him again, but he’s got his eyes screwed shut, whines falling from his lips as you continue to move with him. You settle for kissing the column of his throat, scattering kisses along the base of it.

You’re totally gone on him, and you can tell Steve’s teetering on the edge of relief from the uptick in his pace of the glide of his hips, when suddenly there’s rapid banging on the driver's side window.

It forces you away from Steve’s hold, heart beating so loud you can hear the roar of it in your ear. In the midst of scrambling backwards, your elbow slams into the car horn which beeps sharply.

You wince, and look to see Eddie standing outside the car. Steve mutters something about this being the second time that he’s disrupted you two in the past twenty four hours, but Steve rolls the window down anyway.

“Hey man,” Eddie greets, reaching into the car to clap a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “totally don’t mean to be a cock block here, but her boss is maybe two seconds from flipping his lid that she’s nowhere to be seen.”

You burn with embarrassment at the situation Eddie’s found you in, no doubt he’s going to hold it over your head for the next couple of months.

Eddie’s still standing there awkwardly, and you shoo him away with your hands, silently communicating to leave you and Steve alone. He gives you a salute, laughing to himself before turning to his van parked a few spots down. You’ll have to call him later, and express your gratitude for at least buying you some time.

When you look back at Steve, he’s got a look of pure affection in his eyes, and you smile shyly at him.

Steve clears his throat, before asking, “Forced sibling bonding?”

A loud laugh rips from the back of your throat, and you drop your head onto his shoulder. His hand cradles the back of your head, delicately threading his fingers through your hair.

“That’s nice,” you comment, before continuing, “Robin’s idea, by the way.”

The corner of Steve’s eyes crinkle up as he smirks widely, “Makes sense.”

You could stay in his arms for hours if you could, but Eddie’s words about your boss looking for you linger.

You pull away, hands moving to cup his jaw, “Did that make my feelings clear?”

Steve gives you a lopsided smile, “Crystal.”

“I should probably find my boss, but I’m officially off the clock in about 10 minutes,” you glance down at your watch, “as long as I don’t get reamed too badly. Any plans for the evening, Harrington?”

Steve laughs lightly, “Big plans; taking the prettiest girl in Hawkins out on a date.”

“Damn, what a lucky girl,” you smile, brushing your thumbs over the slight stubble that dusts his jawline.

“Believe me, I’m the lucky one,” he breathes out, leaning forward to capture your lips again.

You somehow manage to pull yourself away, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Not planning on it, sweet girl,” he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, before opening up the driver's side door for you.

You slip off his lap, blushing slightly when you catch sight of the hard on in his jeans.

“We should talk about us, but maybe we could take care of that too?” you ask suggestively.

“God, yes please,” he exclaims, giving the back of your hand a quick kiss before letting you go back to the arcade.

Steve watches you through the rearview mirror as you check the parking lot for cars before making your way back to the arcade.

You turn briefly, feeling his eyes on you. You teasingly blow him a kiss and he theatrically pretends to catch it, cupping it to his heart.

His actions make you giggle, and they also make you doubt what he said before. He said that he’s the lucky one, but you know that you’re far luckier to have fallen for someone like Steve Harrington.

[hanginginthevoid]

ketstun -> sang

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 Neteyam x Reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 instead of heading to the reef clans, jake sully takes his family to search for the herwìslär clan, the snow people. despite her cold demeanor that rivals that of the weather outside, neteyam cannot help himself upon falling for the olo'eyktans daughter. only you seem to not want him, and he cannot understand why.

ᶜʷ cannon divergence, rude(?) reader, yearning, my baby lo’ak being an ass for a minute, sharing a bed(kinda), ‘i dont want ninat’ vibes, reader and neteyam are lowk jake and neytiri 2.0, misunderstandings, tshaeylu, suggestive content, angst?(happy ending), a child

ʷᶜ 12.6k

A fresh hunt meant there was much to do.

Every part of a kill was to be used. It could be detrimental to the people if even a single part was discarded. In the harsh conditions of the frozen taiga you called home, every part of a kill must be used.

You were stood over a square frame, currently tying a fresh pelt onto it. After tightening each side multiple times to ensure that the pelt was pulled to its max, you began shaving away at the various layers of fat.

Proper technique must be used when shaving the fat away. If you angle the knife improperly you may tear through the pelt, rendering it useless. Yet the motions are calming to you, it being something you’ve done for many years.

Various other clan women are also completing the same tasks, idle chatter falling around you. Many are pleased with the result of this hunt, some gloat over the kills their mates or children have made, a few congratulate you on the kills you made today as well. 

The corners of your lips tilt upwards, a pleased grin settling on your cheeks. As the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik’s oldest child duty settled heavy on your shoulders. A good hunt today meant that the clan would be happy for at least a week, which meant that your parents would be happy for the week, so you could also be happy for the week. 

“I heard you killed the largest her’ang today,” Posma whispered next to you. Your ear flicks, as the words take form in your head.

She was correct to hear that you had killed the biggest her’ang, but you did not say that to anyone. You would never boast about such a thing. 

“Who said that?” Your hand pauses in its motion as you turn your head, refusing to slice without eyes on your target.

Posma giggles at you, she is one of your oldest friends, the two of you being together since you could only toddle along the furs. “It does not matter. You should be proud.”

“Being proud is not becoming.” 

“It’s not unbecoming!”

You huff, “There is a fine line between being proud and being pompous. Most toe the line, I do not desire to do such a thing.”

You turn your head back towards your work. Shearing the last few pieces of fat from the pelt you sheath your knife. Due to its curved shape you must tie it before you can move onto your next task.

As you’re scooping your curved fingers into a jar filled with salt Posma continues, “You would not. It would not deter anyone if you were to take some satisfaction in your accomplishments.”

“Focus on your duties Posma.” You flick your tail in her direction, trying to shoo her away, “We can participate in such discussions later.”

Your fingers splay the salt in a decently thick coating across the pelt. It must be enough to thoroughly dry the pelt, but it cannot be too much where the pelt cannot breathe. A final glance across the entire pelt leaves you with the conclusion that you can leave it for the night and check upon it again tomorrow.

You turn to leave, wanting to know how the rest of the preparations of the kills are going. But you make sure to call out to Posma one more time before you leave, “You will sit next to me tonight?” 

Her cheery reply follows less than a second later, “Always!” 

Hometree and most of the clan's establishments resided underground, deeply embedded into the ground. It was much warmer there than temperatures outside, but furs and pelts were still required if you desired to be a comfortable temperature while walking around. 

You move towards the outer areas of the village, wanting to see if every kill has been brought in yet. However on your way there a shot of your name makes you still in your path.

It is Huamtey who calls you. One of the clan warriors, one that you were out hunting with just earlier today. “You must come, I cannot find the Olo’eyktan.”

“My father is missing?”

“You misunderstand, I believe he is tied up with other duties and I cannot find him.” Huamtey grimaces a little, nervous of your reaction to his miscommunication, “The sentries said they are hearing foreign wails, I was hoping the Olo’eyktan would lead the search.”

“But I am the next best thing?”

“You are mighty. We would be honored if you guided us.”

A smile graces your lips as you nod. Whatever beast resided outside the village gates, you and this search party would slay it. Whatever it was would not harm your people. 

As you emerge from the gates, you raise your hand in greeting to the sentries. Then you lay your eyes upon the group. It is small, only eight of them, but it would do. You had killed big predators with less people.

A deep call resonates in your throat, but your lips stay sealed. You repeat the call a few times, urging your mount to approach. In the distance you can see shifting between the trees, your legs carry you forward to meet it halfway. As you approach your herwanpalu a rough, loud rumbling emerges from deep in his chest. 

He is happy to see you so soon. Your hand reaches out to scratch along his forehead eventually falling behind one of his ears. You saddle him, tightening the straps before turning back towards the group. “Let us go, it will be dark soon.”

It is hard to miss the yowls of the unknown creatures. They are sharp, and loud – one might assume that they were calling out, searching for something. But that would be a naive thought, there were only predators and prey in this taiga, and this thing would become prey whether it wanted to or not. 

The calls lead the nine of you to the tundra. No trees reside here making it risky hunting grounds. But if the beast wanted to fight here, who were you to deny it? 

You first scan the ground, searching for some large disfigured creature to be staring back at you. You find none, instead you see five shadows seemingly circling around. When you look up you see bright and deeply shaded creatures. 

Ones that you’ve never seen before. They’re colors you’re familiar with, seeing them in the summer months, but they definitely do not belong here in winter. You start making motions with your hands, dividing and directing the group so you could circle them.

The members are to find a good angle, one that they can get a presumed clean kill shot from. On your mark they will take it, if you’re lucky all five will go down at once. An immaculate feat, one you would shortly be discussing over fresh meat at the cookfire.

The white of the pelts blends nicely with the herwanpalu furs, and their furs blend almost seamlessly with the snow. The flying creatures shouldn’t be able to see any danger until it is too late. 

You raise your bow, aiming for the chest cavity of the beast. You can hear a hunting call come from your right, another from your left – it was time to strike. When your arrow sailed, theirs would fly too.

But then you falter. There is something atop the creature. Could it be mangkwan? No. They never ventured to these parts, it being far too cold for their hot nature. 

“Hold!” You hiss, just loud enough for the group to hear. “Hold position, do not reveal yourselves. I will make contact.”

You dismount your herwanpalu, slinging your bow back over your shoulder and flipping your hood down. You shout, “If you wish to live, land your beast and surrender!” 

The call triggers a response. At first the beasts begin banking tightly left and right, granting their riders better visibility to the land below. And then they descend and land.

You allow them to clamber off of their mounts, to come to stand before you before questioning, “Who are you?” 

“We seek uturu.”

“Who are you to seek uturu?”

“I am Jake Sully, my mate Neytiri, and our children. You’re from the Herwìslär clan right?” His hands are upturned trying to seem like he is not a threat. You step to the side, eyeing his family. They looked to be cold, slightly huddled together, their animal hide cloaks doing nothing to shield them from the freezing tundra temperatures. 

You’re skeptical. They may be trying to cause chaos, to destroy the clan from the inside out. The doubt flows entirely through your body, your tail lashing, ears pressed tightly to your skull. It triggers Neytiri to speak.

“My husband was Toruk Makto. He brought the clans together against the sky people.”

Toruk Makto? This man was Toruk Makto? That was not a name to be taken lightly, the stories of a great flying beast, the scariest thing in the sky; and the very few Na’vi who were able to tame it were named Toruk Makto.

If these Na’vi were any bit honorable they would not throw the title around. You could indulge them at the very least, bring them in and if they misbehaved take them as prisoners. 

“Reveal yourselves!” Your voice booms out across the tundra. Jake Sully and his family flinch, surprised at the sudden burst of energy. Their heads whipping around at the sudden movement of the warriors around you.

Then you point, “You will follow me. And they,” Your hand changes direction towards the warriors, “Will follow you. Come.”

As you direct them back towards the village you can only imagine what your father will think. If he will believe that you made the right choice, or if he will be disappointed that you risked the safety of the clan. 

You motion the sentries to open the gate, allowing you entrance to the village. One of the warriors runs ahead to go retrieve your father. You continue to bring the Sullys forwards, deeper into the village.

“Where are we going?” 

It is Jake who speaks up. Apparently the only one with a voice in his family. You spare him a glance, seeing the apprehension clear on his face.

“To see the Olo’eyktan. He will decide your fate.”

That seems to settle him. Neytiri begins whispering something, keeping it low enough that even just a few feet away you cannot hear them chatter. It did not matter though, your father approached and their fates would soon be sealed.

Your father stands strong. If his furs did not differentiate him from the rest of the clan, then surely the necklace and beaded covering that rested on top of them would. The deep black tattoos in distinctive lines decorated his face more than others. 

But if none of that directed the Sully's to who this was, then his presence must have. It commanded attention more so than others, leaving you nowhere else to look.  

You take the last few steps to him as he opens his mouth to speak, “What is this?”

“They seek uturu. Apparently the father is Toruk Makto.” You meet his eyes briefly, before walking past him and turning to stand slightly behind him.

“Toruk Makto seeks uturu with us? The Herwìslär people?”

Jake nods “Yes. We will learn your ways, be helpful, right?” He turns, nodding to his family, encouraging them to agree with his statements.

“It will be tough, difficult to teach who has already been taught.”

“We can learn. We can adapt. We will adapt.”

“Then it is decided.” Your father steps forwards, reaching his arm out in the traditional Na’vi binding contract, “Toruk Makto and his family will receive uturu with us! Teach them our ways, and treat them as our own!”

As Jake wraps his hand around your fathers forearm, your father continues his brief speech, “You may learn with me, your mate with mine. My daughter will teach your children the ways. Nume nìwin.”

As they separate you rush to your fathers side. “Father. They are dark, they will easily attract attention when hunting.”

“Then you will give them extra pelts to cover.” He dismisses you easily, readily moving direct people to either help the Sullys to a kelku, or return to their prior duties. 

“But look at their tails! They will freeze off when the winter gets harsher.”

“Pelts, again daughter.”

“And their eyes! The brightness will make it difficult to see when they leave the village!”

“You are to teach them our ways.” He turns, locking you in place with a pointed stare, “Do not make me repeat myself, and do not give more excuses as to how useless they will be without seeing their capabilities.”

You tuck into yourself. Abashed at being reprimanded and dismissed out in public, you turn back to the Sullys, “Come I will bring you to your kelku, so you may drop off your things. Then we will go get pelts so you do not freeze to death.”

Looks like you would not be sitting with Posma at the cookfire.

“Not like that.” You tug Neteyams hands away from the pelt and fur he is stitching together. You begin unstitching the progress he has made.

Neteyam is watching your movements carefully, “What was I doing wrong?”

His voice is curious – a genuineness to it that makes you want to believe that he truly wants to make it better.

“Your stitch would allow air to slip between the pelt and the fur. It would not insulate properly.” You take the needle crafted of bone from his hand and begin to stitch slowly, “When you stitch like this it traps the heat, pushing it back onto your body instead of allowing it to escape.”

You hand the coat back to Neteyam first, then the needle. He nods at you before beginning to stitch the same way you showed him. When you are content with how he is working you spare a glance at the rest of the group.  

Posma and Tempat have joined you in your duties. They seem to be working well with the remaining Sully kids. Posma guiding Kiri and Tuk, while Tempat is stuck with Lo'ak.

Fur binding is one of the most essential skills that a Herwìslär member must know. It is something that you learn as a child. As if you were to get lost or stranded and cannot craft a proper coat you will freeze to death. 

You wish you were hunting today. Or drying pelts. Even foraging would be more preferable. You truly wish you were doing anything else besides teaching remedial skills to mostly grown Na'vi.

Before your mind can drift Neteyam calls you softly, when you turn your head he hands over the coat again. “Did I do it properly?”

You turn it over in your palms. Visually the stitches seem good, like they will hold. Then you begin tugging roughly around the seams. If the stitching was bad, they would burst from your onslaught. 

However, they don’t. You smile a little when you hand Neteyam his coat again, “It will hold. Good work.”

He smiles at that. Proud at being able to adapt like his father said, to make something of his own in a new clan, and maybe just a little bit at your smile. He has not seen you smile often since his family has arrived, and for him to be the cause of your baby blue cheeks raising to make space for the upturn of your lips makes satisfaction settle warm in his chest.

Lo’ak’s whine drags your attention away, “When are we gonna ride a mount?”

“Soon.”

“When is soon? We have been cooped up in here for days now.” 

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam smacks the back of his head, “Apologize.”

Before Lo’ak can open his mouth again, you laugh a little. You suppose they must be feeling like caged animals, not seeing the true sky for many nights as the pelts they received on the first night were not well fitted for taiga exploration. 

And you were just thinking about wanting to be anywhere but here. Itching to go outside and to have the fresh frozen air sting your lungs. 

“Come, we can attempt to ride with your new furs.”

Lo’ak is smiling, but then he realizes you did not promise a ride. “Attempt?”

“Yes. Herwanpalu do not allow just anyone to ride.” 

“So they are like ikran, one rider for one mount.”

Posma speaks then, “Not particularly! Some herwanpalu are more friendly, and they allow multiple riders. Others are possessive, even going to great lengths to prevent their riders from mounting another.”

Her light, happy tone helps settle the Sully children a little bit. If she mentioned it, that must mean that there are plenty of herwanpalu willing to allow them to ride. 

As your small group emerges out of the gate and into the taiga in front of you, you begin grunting. The sound comes from the back of your throat, with your lips closed. Posma and Tempat follow you, making their own sounds.

“Each herwanpalu comes at a specific call.” You turn to face the Sullys as you explain, “We teach them their calls as cubs, when they are most impressionable. Some will answer when any use their call, others may refuse as Posma said.”

Your mount approaches. He circles you while purring, before turning to sniff at the air where the Sullys stand. Now that he has come, you begin a new call, urging another friendlier mount to come.

“This is Wi’tsin.” You pet his head lovingly as Tuk approaches, “He and I have been together many years. He is one of the more possessive mounts that Posma had mentioned.”

While he may have been possessive, Wi’tsin would not hurt anyone you showed favor to. He allows the Sullys to pet him, to feel the difference of his furs. 

Tuk hasn’t taken her hands off him, she seems to be enamoured with the softness of him, “Can I ride him?” 

“You may join me if your siblings allow it.”

She whips around facing Neteyam with a dragged out pleaseeee. You can see the fondness in his eyes even though his expression remains contemplative. But then he nods, “I suppose she is more experienced and it would be a better ride.” 

He was right, it would be a better ride with you. No tumbling, or fighting for control. She would have a good time. So after you get everyone else settled, get them saddled up and positioned correctly on the mounts you tug Tuk up onto Wi’tsin.

“We will head to the lake, then return.” You motion your mount to move through the bond, “It is a simple ride, the perfect opportunity to learn the mounts.”

While the herwanpalu were not difficult mounts to ride, it was still new to the Sullys. They would need to learn the breathing patterns of the beasts. Need to learn how their paws felt pressing into the snow. How their ears were attuned to even the smallest critters, and their tails swished to allow them quick turns. 

The first bit of the trek, you direct them to walk. To zig and zag through the trees, to feel the curve of the herwanpalu’s spine. To understand how swiftly they can move. 

It goes about as well as you would assume. Lo’ak falls off on his first turn, telling the herwanpalu to move faster than you had told him to. He was unused to how to move his body in turn with the mounts, so when she dove to avoid a tree he flew off her back.

You show them that the mounts may also be used for climbing, demonstrating with Tuk and yourself upon a tree. It is then that Kiri falls off. On her recount she ‘misjudged how rough her mount would slam onto the tree’ and then the story shortly changed to being shocked at the feeling of the bark underneath the mount's claws course through her fingers. 

By the time you make it to the lake the only one to not make a fool of themselves and take a tumble in the fresh snowfall is Neteyam. He took every motion with stride, moved with the mount as if they were one. He curved his spine on the sharp turns, and pressed himself into the furs and saddle while climbing up the trees. 

“This is the grand lake. It thaws in the warmer months, allowing for free fishing and swimming.” As you monologue, you begin to walk out towards the center of the lake, “Most of it freezes during the winter, but we carve into the ice to allow for fishing. Would you like to try?”

“We know how to fish, zusawkrr olo’eyk

te.” Lo’ak laughs as if it is childish to assume they don’t know how to fish.

That they don’t know how to carve the ice. That they don’t know they must tie some twine to the end of their arrows. That they don’t know how important it is to angle properly, and strike as soon as they see their target.

So instead of helping them, you decide to let them figure it out themselves. Striding back over to Wi’tsin, you dig into a woven bag attached to his saddle. You place the serrated crystal knife into Lo’ak’s hand and gesture towards the ice at his feet, “Show me.”

It does not go well. 

Lo’ak doesn’t carve deep enough the first time, so Tempat takes the knife and shows him how to properly carve into the ice. 

You have to admit that he does take a good shot. His arrow is aimed well, sinking directly into his kill. But without any twine, there is no way to drag it back to the surface. 

Lo’ak has been teasing you since the Sullys arrived. Trying to poke the right buttons. Attempting to break your composure. You assume comedy is his comfort, so it does not offend you.

But it does little to soften you to the Sullys. Still not believing they could be useful, that they could fully acclimate to your people. 

Their ability to ride the herwanpalu does little to change your mind. If they wanted to survive here, they would have to learn this mount at the minimum. 

Nonetheless you are pleased with their progress towards becoming competent. 

Pleased that you are one step closer to not having to see them unless you desired.

It’s late, the cookfire nearly being diminished to embers.

A few weeks have passed since you taught him and his siblings how to ride their first Herwìslär mount. The rest of their lessons have been going smoothly since.

You had just allowed Neteyam and Lo’ak to join on their first group hunt. Tonight's dinner being partially the fruits of their labor. So when Neteyam approaches you, you decide to grant him a small smile. 

He tries to smile back, it looks more like a grimace however, with how his eyebrows are pinched and his eyes are lost in thought. “You know I was a warrior with the Omatikaya.”

You nod, well aware of his past.

“I wish to become a warrior here too.”

It was not an outlandish thing to ask. He wanted responsibility, to prove himself in the clan. But it was risky; the Herwìslär final rite of passage being taming their own flying mount. You assume it also has something to do with how his mother and fathers txawuks have recently matured. 

You must tame it while it is a juvenile, making the bond when it is still young. They are ridable from the time of taming, but it still takes a few months for them to reach full size.

It is of utmost importance to avoid the mother. Many Na’vi have passed from the trial; dying from the fall, succumbing to their injuries, or never returning after interacting with the mother.

“You are not ready. The txawuk are not forgiving.”

He shuffles into a seat next to you, “Ikran try to kill us as well. It is how we know we picked the proper mount, as they must also pick us.”

You run your tongue across your bottom teeth. Shaking your head lightly as you weigh your choices, as you debate Neteyam’s odds.

He speaks again when you don’t respond, “I am strong. You have seen me hunt, I am reliable. I can do this.”

“I cannot save you if something goes wrong.” You side eye him, “If you slip, if you are bitten, if you do not seal the bond, I cannot interfere.”

“I will not fail. My fingers will not lose their grip, and my reflexes will not slow.”

You click your tongue in annoyance. Neteyam was not giving this up, you would grant him his request if he completed a final test.

“You will hunt a her’ang tomorrow, without assistance.” You turn to face him, greyed out green eyes staring into his amber ones, “If you complete the test I will grant your request to complete your final rite and be welcomed into the arms of the people as one of us.”

Neteyam smiles then, it’s more boyish than you’ve seen him smile. A warmth blooms in your chest as you admire him, finally beginning to see him as one of the people. To allow yourself to view all possibilities of him.

“I will not fail.” Neteyam reiterates. Overjoyed that he’s so close to getting his wish granted. 

You send him off to sleep then, informing him that it would be a long and tiring hunt and he needed his energy. You follow shortly after retiring to your own kelku. 

In the morning you inform your father that you will be gone on a hunt. He reminds you that the winds shifted yesterday, that the skies in the distance looked to be gray with snowfall.

But you brush him off. You’ve hunted in storms before, been stuck out in the wilderness in even the harshest of winds and temperatures. And if Neteyam wanted to become a warrior in the eyes of your people, he would have to prove himself in all conditions.

So the two of you head out, dressed in the warmest furs, quivers full where they are attached to your herwanpalu’s, spare paint hanging from your tewng in case yours came off in the snowfall. The snow is light at the start of your hunt, coming down fast but not enough to obscure your vision.

You are only there to observe, to step in if everything goes terribly wrong. Neteyam leads, tracking the her’ang up a mountain. The tracking gets difficult then, old prints getting frosted over in new snowfall.

Maybe you underestimated the snow. It was falling heavier than you thought it would, and Neteyam was too stubborn to make camp earlier in the night when there was still light to aid you. 

So you call out to him, hoping it reaches his ears despite the howling winds, “Neteyam!”

He turns to face you, his hood resting heavy over his forehead. He waits for you to reach him, “What is it?”

“We must find shelter.” 

“But we are so close!” 

Neteyam was always the responsible one of his siblings. Always the one to pull back before things could escalate so it made no sense why he would be so set on staying out in these harsh conditions.

“I know you cannot feel your toes! And that your fingers feel as if they will fall off even when tucked into your furs!” You’re peering at him through snow-crusted lashes, “There is a cave, in that part of the mountainside! I have rested there before, come!”

You don’t allow him to protest, directing Wi’tsin towards the cave. The two of you needed to get out of the snow as soon as possible. Needed to start a fire, and regain circulation in your phalanges before you lost them. 

When you get to the deepest part of the cave Neteyam speaks up again. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have forced us to go deeper.”

“Do not apologize.” You begin sparking stones together to start a fire, “Eagerness is nothing to be ashamed of.”

The two of you do not speak much. Neteyam thinking about how difficult it would be to find the her’ang in the morning, how if it continued moving in the storm he would never see it again. You debating how long it would be before you could return home. 

As the night goes on the snow does not relent. It filters into the cave, resting softly in the mouth waiting to dissolve in the morning.

The chill in the air sends shivers up your spine. Even though you have experienced many overnight hunts, on most of them you had properly insulated shelters. If you did not, you at least did not have the snow blowing at you. 

The furs and the fire do nothing to quell the nip in the air. Nothing to soothe the ache in your chest from inhaling the frozen air. You shift, unfurling from the ball you curled yourself into before peering at where Wi’tsin is. 

Maybe you could curl up with him, allowing his furs to warm you along with your own. But you cannot bring yourself to call to him, he is huddled closely with Neteyam’s herwanpalu. The two of them sharing body heat to fight off the cold.

You suppose it was a good idea. That it could be a useful tool, especially if Eywa's creation was also partaking. So you call softly to Neteyam.

If he was asleep you did not wish to wake him, but you knew his sharp ears would pick up on your voice if he was still awake. 

It takes a few moments, but he slowly shifts to face you. “What is it? Are you alright?” 

“Are you cold?”

He laughs at the stupidity of your question, the breaths he heave fog up in front of you, “Yes. I am cold.”

“Would you like to…” Oh Eywa this was embarrassing. “Would you like to share body heat?”

“What?” Neteyam's disbelieved tone comes softly across the fire, the crackling nearly covering it completely. 

“We can rest on your fur, or mine, and rest the other above us so that we can trap all the heat together.”

He nods, “All right.” 

You shuffle over quickly. Ushering him to take off his fur as you toss yours on the stone ground of the cave. As he shrugs it off his shoulders you smooth out your fur and plant yourself on the left side.

As Neteyam settles on the right side he tosses his pelt over you, tugging it over himself until it rests comfortably over both of you.

He notices your distance. It's clear that despite being the one to suggest being close, you're trying to stay away from him.

Believing it to be because of him, he reassures you, “You can come closer. I do not mind.” 

“No, it is fine. Just give it a few minutes. The heat will accumulate soon.”

Then your eyes are closing. Dismissing him as the slightest bit of heat settles around you. 

It takes Neteyam a bit longer to fall asleep. He's been infatuated since the moment he first saw you after landing his ikran in the snowy plain. 

The misty blue tone your skin had, and the slate blue stripes that seemed to wrap around your body in more wispy patterns than he had ever seen on someone from the Omatikaya. 

The pattern your bioluminescent freckles made upon your face, some of them even gleaming brightly underneath the black paint you had plastered across your eyes. 

The tattoo you had on your chin. One line leading seemingly from your mouth, down the middle of your lip and chin to where it ended somewhere between your jawline and neck. Two dotted lines frame the one solid line, following its path down your chin.

And now he's getting to see it all up close. To stare at you unabashed. So Eywa forgive him if he resists sleep for a while to admire.

Eventually his eyelids drift close from exhaustion. But the chill in the air does not stop just because the two of you are under the same fur.

Unconsciously, the two of you drift closer together; moving towards the warmth the other is emanating. You turn from facing him, your back now pressing into his front.

You wake slowly. Eyes blinking languidly as they try to scrunch to remove the crust that has settled on your inner eyes.

You don't recognize the warmth at your back at first. Assuming it is just from your heat getting trapped between the pelts. Then there's a soft exhale on your cheek.

Your body stills completely, eyes widening in shock, while you try to slow your own breathing so as to not startle whatever beast is looming over you. When you slide your eyes up towards the ceiling of the cave and spot nothing, a confused look graces your features.

Upon turning slightly, you're met with Neteyam's neck. It's then that you realize he has a grip around your waist. That your legs are tangled with his. And that his chest is pressed tightly to your back.

What had happened while you were asleep? How did you end up all the way in his personal space? Or did he inch his way into yours?

You shift to leave. Slowly untangling your legs, then you try to remove his grasp on your waist. In your shifting Neteyam stirs, grip tightening until you clear your throat lightly.

“Oh. I am sorry.” An indigo tint rises to his cheeks in embarrassment. 

“It is fine. We must have shifted towards each other's warmth.” You want to sit, want to sling your fur back on and shrink back into yourself. But Neteyam is still lying down, still waking from his rest.

“You did not mind?” A slight upturn graces his lips.

A blush graces your cheeks now, “It was out of necessity.”

“Would you have minded if it had not been out of necessity?”

You huff. Sitting up despite the cold, allowing your skin to prickle at the temperature. “Focus on becoming one of the people, then you may ask me such questions.”

Neteyam moves as you do, quickly donning his fur and moving off of yours so that you may dress as well.

He hunts well that day. Tracks fast. Moving as one with the cold.

The bite in his lungs urging him to move swiftly, but not brashly.

When the two of you come close to the her'ang, you still. Using your mounts to become one with the trees.

Neteyam takes atypical aim, piercing through the beast's skull instead of its heart. But you whoop and yip all the same once the kill is made. Proud that he has accomplished such a task on his own.

Proud that he will soon claim his txawuk.

Proud that he will be one of your people soon.

When you finally return to the village the rest of the clan's people react the same. You usher Neteyam to them as you haul his kill to be skinned and broken down into all its pieces. 

Your favorite member of the family is Tuk. Children are the most impressionable, and she takes well to your customs. 

She adores your carvings made of bone. Nestles into the furs you’ve gifted her. Asks to go on rides on Wi’tsin whenever you have free time. And if you cannot take her, she runs to one of the many friends she's made in your clan.

But you make a special exception for Neteyam in your heart after waking up with him in the cave. The past months spent with him have a new look to them, a brighter hue as you see all his redeeming qualities.

It was an old tradition to have one of your most honored furs be that of the first her'ang you killed by your lonesome. You had not passed the knowledge to Neteyam, deciding it would make for a good surprise. One last gift before he joined your people as a warrior.

So you personally skin the beast. Tie it to the drying posts. Paste salts upon it. Then you wait.

Four days pass before the furs are ready.

Your patience almost wore thin, almost believing that they would not be ready before he took on his final rite. But thank Eywa, they were ready. 

Your stride is soft as you approach the Sully tent, not wanting to wake anyone still sleeping inside. You can hear murmurs whispering from inside, but pay them no mind. Most of the village has not risen yet and it would be rude to speak in loud tones.

A familiar name passes through the conversation though. Your name is sounded out by Lo’ak’s voice – it is then that you decide to listen instead of making your presence known. 

“I’m just sayin bro. You’ve got her sweet on you after your hunt.”

Neteyam laughs a bit boyishly, “It is not like that.”

“Yeah but even Tuk couldn’t get her to let up on us. Always nagging about the clan ways, and how we wouldn’t fit.”

Oh Eywa forbid you were skeptical that Na’vi that came from a tropical climate would have a hard time adjusting. 

“She likes Tuk. They do many things together.”

“Sure, but she still hounded us. You, me and Kiri had to learn so much. And she didn’t even give us compassion for the simple fact that we were here because of uturu!”

A sigh resonates in the space. You can hear some shuffling before Neteyams voice sounds again.

“She just worries for the future, Lo’ak. A heavy title rests on her shoulders.”

“Yeah but she didn’t have to be such an ass about it.”

You were brash, sure. Drilled your customs into their skulls. Made them practice the same tasks a hundred times. 

But they were things you had done thousands of times, things any person their age was well familiar with. And if they wanted to be sure members in your clan, then they needed to be able to complete the tasks without needing assistance. 

“Listen, I’m just saying thanks for working her so that we could catch a break, I knew you’d come around.”

Working you? This whole time Neteyam was just feeding into you, trying to receive your affections so his siblings would not have to hear from you?

You supposed you were tough on them. But you did not threaten to skin them, did not shy away from their jokes or their teasing. If they wanted to take things slower, or differentiate the skills they practiced, why not just say something?

Despite yourself, when a sinking feeling invades your chest, you realize that you did come to like them. That you enjoyed their company, and could even see yourself spending time with them after they had been properly integrated into the clan.

Clearly your sentiments were not returned. 

Lo’ak and Kiri were far enough in their rites that you did not have to deal with them anymore. Tuk could join the other young children at this point. And Neteyam would be finishing his final rite shortly, freeing you of his presence. 

You did not need to make a scene. Did not need to confront them for their hurtful words, you were never meant to hear them anyway.

You were meant to play into the role. Get strung along by Neteyam for Eywa knows how long. And to be cast aside when he chose someone else.

Turning on your heel you head back towards the village center. Tempat and Posma are there, waiting eagerly for Neteyam’s send off. 

“I am feeling unwell, perhaps some bad fruit at the cookfire last night.” Hastily, you thrust the furs from Neteyam’s kill into Posma’s arms, “Can one of you guide him today?”

Posma replies, a concerned glint in her eyes at your unusual behavior, “Of course! Go rest, you will not want to miss the celebration later.” 

Hours later after Neteyam has left on his journey Posma pokes her head into your kelku. She spots you curled up on your bed of furs and pelts, submerged to the point that she only notices from the uneven lump.

“I had Tempat lead Neteyam.”

You only glance at her from your heap. Eyes blinking slowly as acknowledgement. 

She sheds the furs that adorn her shoulders, then lifts the ones that rest on top of you. Climbing in and cradling your head to her chest she speaks again, “What has happened?”

“It does not matter.”

The rumble of laughter in her chest is comforting. If you closed your eyes and focused enough maybe it could lull you back to sleep.

“I think it does.” Her hand begins stroking through your braids, slightly scratching on their way down then smoothing again on the next pass. “You were very proud, very excited, to give Neteyam his furs.”

“He received them did he not?”

“He did. But he does not know the love and attention that was put into them.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting Posmas, “You did not sell me out?”

“Of course not! You are my tsmuke, blood or not, and he is just a boy.”

Your eyes begin to tear at that. If he would treat you so cruelly in private, while being so kind to your face, then he is just a boy. At some point, your few tears turn into sobs. The crashing weight of everything finally collapsing onto you. 

Your endless duties meant that you did not have time to form bonds outside of your few friends. That you did not have time to seek a mate, to ask for Eywa’s blessing. And it had seemed as if one was handed to you on a silver platter. 

Neteyam was well fit to be Olo’eyktan, he had spent his entire life training for it with the Omatikaya. And you had learned both the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik responsibilities – well prepared to lead on your own, or with someone standing by your side. 

He had listened. Had encouraged you to speak about your childhood eagerly, wanting to hear how the lesson for the day tied into Herwìslär culture. 

He made it a point to come and find you even after you had dismissed his siblings. You had thought it had been to spend time with you, under the guise of studying. 

Thought that his interest in your clans weaving techniques could have possibly meant him looking into your clans courting techniques.

Eywa. You even thought that some part of him deciding to complete the most dangerous rite was so that he could pick a mate in your people. That he could ask your father to court you and eventually take you as his mate.

Now you know that it all was so Lo’ak and Kiri could frolic around the village without you to guide them. 

Without you breathing down their necks, trying to ensure that they were completely set before you sent them off on their own.

But as you had thought earlier, the Sully kids did not need you anymore. You’re sure of it when your mother returns home and informs you of Neteyam returning with a txawuk. 

Good for him. Great for you. You could finally return to the way your life had been, to only completing your trainings and duties and spending your free time however you pleased.

You do not attend the gathering that night to celebrate Neteyam’s accomplishment. Still feigning illness.

You ignore the disappointment at not celebrating his achievement with him. However, it does not matter, the wound is still fresh. 

It remains fresh for weeks. You go from just avoiding Neteyam to no longer speaking to Kiri, even leaving your sessions with your mother when she decides to join. You avoid Lo’ak at all costs, his shouts of zusawkrr olo’eykte! go unanswered. When Tuk asks you to take her out for rides, you instead redirect her towards her siblings, and if they are busy you remind her that Posma or Tempat would take her if she truly desired to go.

Your new pattern is not difficult. In fact, you quite like it. Like the fact that you have time to focus on yourself again. That you can refocus on learning how to best lead your people.

Neteyam had expected you to guide him when he completed his last rite. That even if you said you could not interfere, that you could not catch him when he fell, that you would at least be there with him. Your presence enough to give him some calmness in his death-defying moment.

But you are not there when he arrives. Posma is there, Tempat too. They greet him excitedly, bestowing him a gift in the form of the furs of his first solo her’ang kill. 

It's only when Tempat ushers him forward that he questions where you are. Why they were leaving without his kayru. 

A sad smile graces their features when they tell him you are sick. That you went home to recover before the celebration that would be held in his honor tonight.

It gave him some peace. Knowing that you weren’t missing the event because you wanted to, but because of an illness. The peace fades as worry ebbs in, what had gotten you sick? It must have been bad if you couldn't at least see him off.

No matter, he could ask you all about it when he returned. Inquire about your illness, then talk your ear off about how the rite went. Afterwards he'd beg you to compare it to yours.

Always eager to learn about you. To learn about your people. To meld to your ways.

He wondered what age you were when you completed the rite. Who went with you? How many younglings were there to choose from? What drew you to the one you picked?

So many questions that he never got answers to. You never showed at the celebration. Lo'ak thought you just must have been missing each other; perfectly coasting around the gathering at exact opposite points. Neteyam knew better though. 

He saw Posma come by, share her joy for him, then stop and grab two food wraps before venturing off again. Neteyam would try to deny it, to refuse that she was bringing the second wrap for you, but he knew better.

Had you been consumed with your duties today? That wouldn't make sense, he was one of your duties so you should have been with him. But it would be fine, he would see you tomorrow and all would be well.

But then tomorrow comes and you do not greet the Sully children in the morning. Do not find them at their kelku, do not surprise them from behind as they meander towards the village center. There is nothing that even hints at your presence.

Neteyam’s able to find Tempat. Calling out to him and rushing to his side. “Is she still sick?”

Tempat smiles brightly at him, “Oh, no. You have completed your last rite, and your siblings are far enough that they can join the others their age!”

“So that is it?” 

Tempat nods, speaking something about them being able to do whatever they pleased when their duties were completed.

But Neteyam wanted to see you. That was what would please him. Yet he cannot seem to grasp a moment of your time.

It has now been a full moon cycle since Neteyam has spoken to you.

Something gnaws at his chest uncomfortably. He went from spending every moment with you, to now being lucky if he can catch a glimpse of your furs through the crowd.

Every hunt he attends, you miss. Every call of your name is ignored. Every trip Posma and Tempat take him and his siblings on, you do not attend.

He tries to sit near you at the cookfires, engage in your circle of friends. Anytime he gets close you politely excuse yourself, planting yourself firmly between your parents. He considers approaching, it may work in his favor. 

Your father had ordered you to speak to him and his siblings before, maybe it would be the same now. But he thinks back on how angry it had made you, how at first you only spent time with them because you were bound by duty to. He wanted you to talk with him because you wanted to; not because you were forced.

So he keeps trying his luck in other forms. 

He joins the women as they dry pelts and furs – ignores how when you see him you retreat.

He spends much time carving. Honing in on his ability to carve into bone, to make intricate patterns in it. 

He hunts and goes for flights, spending as much time as he's allowed away from the village. Trying to will his tropical skin to fade, for it to become well resistant to the cold of your home. 

After two moon cycles of not speaking with you he confronts Posma. 

“I just do not understand what happened. Did she really only tolerate our presence?” 

Posma purses her lips, “It is not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Please enlighten me.” Neteyam exasperates, he is tired of this.

“She is busy with her duties.”

“Do not patronize me. I see her spend time with the hunters, weavers, and carvers.” Neteyam huffs, biting his lip before continuing, “If we, if I, have done something I would like to apologize.”

“It is not my place to share if there is something to apologize for.” Posma crosses her arms, “Whatever answers you're looking for, I do not have.”

Neteyam nods, gnawing at his lip again. Posma moves to leave, assuming the conversation is over, but then he calls out to her again.

“Can you take us to the Hollow of S? Kiri would like to connect with Eywa.”

“You do not know the way?”

Neteyam allows a sheepish smile to grace his face, “We have only been once, and I do not wish to get lost.”

So Posma nods, tells him to meet her at the gates after their duties are done. Neteyam rushes to where Kiri is weaving, pleading with her to keep up his lie.

She had not asked to visit the Hollow. Had not complained and nagged her brother as he had made it seem, but she would not mind going. Naturally though, as a younger sibling, she needed to press.

“Why do you need to go?”

Netryam rolled his eyes, “It does not matter. Just do not expose me, alright?”

“It is for your little crush, isn't it?” Kiri laughs when Neteyam’s eyes widen a fraction, “What? Did you overhear that she would be there?”

“No. No, I did not. I just…” He huffs, unwilling to share something so deep when he is so unsure. But Kiri was not Lo'ak, she would not rat out his secret, “I just want to see if Eywa wills it.” 

At that Kiri stills, a grin overtaking her face. It has been a long time coming that her brother admitted his infatuation, so supposed she could keep up the lie for him.

It was clear along the Sullys that Neteyam had been taken with you since they had arrived. They noticed his staring, seeking you out in gatherings or meetings.

Tried to not tease him as he practiced traditional clan necessities of carving and weaving in his spare time.

His father was pleased. Not only was he adapting, but he was truly making it his home. Finding his home, in a place where they were safe.

His mother did not approve at first. It was not against you, it had absolutely nothing to do with you. She had hoped that they would return to her people, the Omatikaya, when the time was right. If Neteyam settled and built a life here, it would mean that she lost her firstborn.

She eventually came to terms with it. Her son would have to find a mate someday, why not be happy that it is someone so skilled? Someone held in high prestige and who reminded her much of herself when Jake had originally come to her people.

Kiri and Tuk were excited. Another sister was someone else to make adorable chest coverings for, someone else to share secrets with, someone else who could braid your hair in intricate patterns with pretty beads. Even if they ended up being able to go back to the Omatikaya, it only meant they had a secondary home here, with new friends, mounts and lifestyles.

Lo'ak liked you. Despite your temperament towards him and his family, you had been kind. You had stuck up for him when one of the warriors a little older than him called him a ‘half-breed’. A firm slap of your palm against the boys cheek paired with a hiss to ‘not disrespect your Olo'eyktan or Toruk Makto again’. 

From then on everyone knew it wasn't to be mentioned that they were related to even the idea of the sky people. It meant a lot to Lo'ak; his five fingers being something that even some Omatikaya people judged him for. 

He didn't mind that Neteyam had a thing for you. Hell, if anything he was shocked his brother liked someone so cold and cut off. But he slowly came to realize that his brother saw himself in you. That he found someone he could relate to, someone he could speak to of his pressures and they would know exactly how he felt.

One night after a particularly rough lesson, one that Lo'ak did not do well on, their dad asks you how they are progressing. You tell him that maybe Lo'ak could use a little bit more practice at the skill, maybe put some more focus into it, but other than that everyone did well.

That night Jake had called a family meeting. He laid into Lo'ak, as he frequently does, telling him he needed to do better. To focus more, and to wise up, before he ruined the uturu they had sought.

Lo'ak had stormed off, chest aching at his father's disappointment. But then the feeling turned angry, angry that his father never understood the stress he was under. Angry that no one stood up for him. 

Eventually it snowballs into anger at you. If you had never said anything, then this whole night would have never happened. So when Neteyam comes to comfort him Lo'ak asks him to warm you up a bit.

To get you to understand their struggle, specifically his, a bit more. Neteyam says no, that you do understand the struggles, and that it was just a stressful day for everyone.

So Lo'ak pushes a bit more. States that Neteyam is a ‘chicken’ as his dad would say, a coward for Na'vi. That he's refusing to warm you up because he's afraid you won't accept his advances.

Lo'ak doesn't think anything bad could come if it. Neteyam would get what he wanted, the rest of the family would be content with his choice.

Another advantage would be that hopefully some of Neteyam’s worrying would pass onto you, and allow him to get into some actual trouble with this new clan. To allow him to deepen the friendships he's made.

He pushes his older brother's buttons to the point of aggravation. Telling him it's okay big bro, we both know you couldn't get her anyway. And Neteyam's need to prove himself surfaces. He had already been trying to attract your view, what was the harm in helping out his baby bro?

And it had gone well for a while. He was slowly inching his way closer to you; aiding you in your duties after his lessons, sitting with you at the cookfires, helping you haul the kills in, sometimes even just bringing you a steaming beverage as you went over your Tsahik training. 

He truly believed that he was carving his way into your heart. Then right before his final rite, you dumped him and his siblings as if they were hot coals. Refusing to look at them, to speak to them, Eywa you barely acknowledged that they existed. 

So when Neteyam finally approaches the Hollow of Spirits he makes quickly towards the glowing ice stalactites. They’re cold, slippery to the touch, but from the moment Neteyam puts his fingers on one he can feel Eywa pulsing through them.

His opposite hand flies back, reaching for his kuru. He expects a jolt when he connects, for the iciness to freeze over his blood, but instead all he feels is warmth.

The Great Mother knows what he is here for and she confirms his beliefs. That you are the one for him. That you would come to your mantles well when the time came. 

A grin forces its way onto his face, an insurmountable amount of joy overcoming him. It was settled. He would craft the courting gift he had been thinking of for weeks now. 

It is one infused with both of your peoples. And when you see it, you will agree to courting him. Eywa has willed it after all. 

A few more days pass – Neteyam wanted the gift to be perfect. He briefly worries that him not approaching you may make you drift towards another. But his remembrance of Eywa's plans calms him. 

It is a beautiful necklace. 

When you wear it, it will sit right between your collarbones. He has used Omatikayan weaving patterns, but weaved Herwìslär beads on both sides. In the center rests a bead that he once wore in his hair, one that he searched hours for, wanting something the same shade as the outer edges of a tsawksyul. Finally, resting just below the bead he has weaved in a carving of bone, one shaped to be a tsawksyul; his favorite flower in the entire forest, one he hoped to show you one day. 

He tracks you down, pleased to see you’re sitting with Posma fiddling with your bowstring. He knows that Posma saw something in his demeanor change at the Hollow of Spirits, that she may even aid him in getting you to not be stubborn and to listen to him. 

“We must speak.” 

You glance up at him, before sliding your eyes to your friend. He must be speaking to her as he hasn’t had the chance to talk to you in weeks. When you stay silent he calls out your name, followed by a soft please.

“Will it be brief? I have much to do.” 

Neteyam’s lips purse in a tight smile, “I hope it does not.”

“Then speak, so it may move quickly.”

“I have thought of you for many moons – well, to be honest, since my family has arrived for uturu.” Eywa, Neteyam hopes you look at him at least once while he spills his guts, “You are like no one I have ever met. So similar to myself that I did not know how to handle it at first. I see you.”

You raise your head glancing at him with scrutiny swimming in your eyes. He does not mind the way you look at him, simply joyed at being able to look into your eyes finally, to restudy your features. So he continues, more sure now, “I’ve been taken by you; every thought is consumed by you. Every moment I have spent away from you was spent searching for you.” 

Neteyam ruffles through the satchel that rests under his furs, producing an intricately woven necklace, “I wish to court you. To eventually make you ma muntxate.” He presents the gift to you. His hands tremble a bit as he awaits your answer, even if Eywa has willed it he still has nerves.

You huff, turning your face away, leaning back into the bowstring you were previously toying with. “No.”

Neteyam is shocked. He had known you were not on the best of terms, even if he did not know why. But he was sure that the previous moments would be enough for you to at least be willing to try with him. 

He can see Posma is shocked too. Though he is not sure if it is from his admission, or yours.

“No?”

“I do not want it. If you wish to find a muntxate, I am sure that Selra is interested.”

“Selra? The singer?”

“Yes.” You nod along, “She tries to be discreet, but anyone can spot the way she looks at you over the cookfire.”

“I do not want Selra. We have not even had a conversation.” Neteyam refuses to bring his hands back, to allow your rejection of his courting, “I only desire you.”

“Ei’wen is also a good choice.” 

“I do not want–”

“She is a hunter. Assuming that is one of the similarities you see between yourself and I.”

Posma's eyes have not stopped darting between the two of you. She obviously should not be here for this conversation, all it does is make her curious over what she has missed, at what lead to this point in your relationship.

“I do not want them. I want you.” He once again jostles the jewelry in his palm, “I have come here to ask you, only after consulting with Eywa. The Great Mother has told me we are destined, you must believe me.”

You scoff, “I do not have to believe any words that spill from your tongue. You have spoken lies before to achieve what you want, there is nothing stopping you from doing so again.”

Neteyam has no idea what you are talking about. He has never lied to you before, never done anything deceitful to you. But before he can confess this you are up, snatching your bow from where you had rested it, and beginning to storm away from him.

When he moves to follow, to chase you down and prove his point, Posma presses a hand into his chest, halting his movement. He does not allow this to deter him, instead shouting after you, “Ask Eywa yourself! At the Hollow of Spirits, as I had! She will tell you the same thing she has told me!”

Your pace quickened after the words spilled past his lips. He never gets a response but he knows you heard him. Knows that it will fester and nag at your brain until you go to check yourself, so he turns to Posma.

“May I ask a favor?”

The hand on his chest retracts until just a single finger rests above his heart, “You are on thin ice. You do not get to ask for a favor.”

“I just wish to know if she listens. If she travels to the Hollow.”

Posma does not grant him an answer. She simply pushes into his chest with her finger and heads in the direction you went. Neteyam is uncertain that she will tell him, uncertain that you would even head remotely in the direction of the Hollows anytime soon. But he still had faith that Eywa was correct, that she had not led him astray.

Another week passes languidly. He goes through the motions; hunting, foraging, spending time with his siblings and newfound friends. The only change from the past two months is that you now let your eyes linger on him.

It is not fond, an intense glare that almost leaves him shrinking in on himself. He is not afraid of you; has never been and will never be. So he takes it in stride, smiling when he meets your gaze, allowing his tail to swish a little with curiosity. 

He hopes one of these days that instead of staring, you would approach. Even if you do not, he will take any improvement in your acknowledgement of him. Would be pleased if you were to lash out at him, if it meant he got to hear your voice. 

A sort of limbo passes over him. He hopes you would not reject him. That you would accept his advances. If you did not it would be okay, he is unsure of how long it would take him to recover from such a loss, but he would figure it out. He just hopes that you drag out the time before telling him, that you allow him to live in the fantasy where you accept for a little while longer.

Neteyam is on his way to take Tuk for a ride on his herwanpalu when Posma stops him. “I did not tell you anything, do you understand?” 

Oh.

He nods, yes he understands. He’s been waiting for this moment. Tuk is ordered to find something else to do, to go find her friends or her other older siblings. After she is moving with purpose back towards the village he runs to call his herwanpalu.

He mimics the grunts and calls you taught him. It would be smart to adorn her in a saddle, to have some supplies if something went wrong, but Neteyam is moving to make it as quickly as possible. His fingers grip tight onto the fur in front of him, before commanding his mount to speed in your direction. He did not need to see the realization on your face. Did not need to be there as you disconnected your kuru from the stalactite. He simply needed to arrive before you left. 

He walks into the Hollow, breathless as if he had personally ran the entire way here. From the silence he half expects you to be gone. The hopeful half of him assumes that you are still connected, still speaking to Eywa and searching out answers.

So he crawls softly and thoughtfully through the cave, he doesn’t want to startle you out of your conversation if you are not yet done. He does not spot you and his face falls, assuming you left.

He moves to the mouth of the cave, disappointed that he missed what he considered to be the best opportunity to change your mind. Before he can step towards the more surface levels of the hollow a voice calls after him. 

“Why did you lie?” 

Ah. So you were here. 

He whips around, amber eyes scanning his surroundings. They hone in on your figure, lower legs dipping into the freezing water that some stalactites rest above.

“I would never lie to you. Can you be more specific?”

Neteyam is moving closer now, unintentionally blocking you in. You see it as intentional, that he wants to force a conversation that does not need to be had. He sees it as his body refusing to be away from you anymore, especially in such a sacred place. 

“I overheard you before your final rite. Lo’ak said that you had been ‘working’ me so that I would take it easier on you and your siblings during your lessons.”

He laughs a breath through his nose, “It was not like that.” 

You hiss in return. If he thinks you to be stupid, then you would leave. Before you can stand Neteyam grabs your hand, planting it underneath his against the floor. 

“Lo’ak is a skxawng, but he does know how to get under my skin.” His free hand lifts to direct your face towards his, “He said that I could not get you to become infatuated with me as I had with you, said that I was a fnawe’tu.”

Your eyes trace his furs, recognizing it as the same ones you crafted specially for him, “You are not a fnawe’tu.”

“I am not. And Lo’ak knew I would be eager to prove him wrong, he simply wanted to get under my skin one last time before I came into my own in this clan.”

You begin to think it over. Lo’ak had always been teasing, always the one to try and use comedy even in situations they did not belong in. He was not cruel, simply wanting to find his place.

“What were you doing outside our kelku?”

“I came to deliver the furs from your first solo kill, as a final good luck.”

He smiles widely at you, “These are from you?”

You nod in agreement, not able to trust your voice. 

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes after that. Neteyam does not want to overwhelm you, and you have too much going on in your head to formulate a proper thought.

At some point you speak again, softly as to not disturb the peace the two of you have entered. “Do you still have the necklace?”

“Of course.” Neteyam begins digging into his furs, when he procures the necklace you stare at it longingly.

“I lied.” When his brow furrows in confusion you continue. “When I said I did not want it? I had lied, it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen a Na’vi create.”

“Then may I put it on the most beautiful Na’vi I have ever seen?”

Neteyam moves quickly when you agree. His fingers move deftly as he ties the necklace into place. Then he allows them to ghost down the weave, tracing over the beads before stopping to rest upon the centerpiece.

He nods in approval, eyes meeting yours when he glances up. A new emotion swims in them, one of hunger, of desire; something he has not seen you allow yourself to indulge in before. 

Oh Eywa, he had been waiting for this. If you wanted him, he would allow you to devour him whole. Send his spirit back to the ancestors and he would thank you. 

Instead he forces himself to hold his composure, allows his fingers to ghost back up your neck. Curves his palm so it rests on the back of your neck, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, subconsciously pursing them as you stare at his. 

So he takes the lead, lightly pressing his lips to yours. Neteyam soon finds that this is not enough, that after so many months of not being able to have you that it would take him forever to satiate the heat that began to pool in his stomach. 

You lick into his mouth and he realizes you must be just as hungry as he is. He does not fight you, allows you to have dominance, to take what you want with no resistance. It’s only when you pull back for breath that he revolts, hands moving to lift you to rest in his lap.

It gives him more places to put his hands, and makes it easier for you to take whatever you want. When you pull away again Neteyam chases, he knows that you’re not pulling away for air and he does not wish to halt.

“This is…” You’re huffing, needing to catch all the breaths that Neteyam stole from you, “We are moving fast.”

“We moved slow for many months.” When your brow creases in protest, he allows his thumbs to rub soothing circles into your waist where they’ve snuck under your fur, “But if you wish, we can continue to take it slow.”

You do not wish to take it slow. But you are still apprehensive with what he said about Lo’ak. If he was lying to you, and he really was playing you in the beginning you aren’t sure if you would be able to recover emotionally. 

Sensing your turmoil, Neteyam nuzzles his nose against yours, “What is it yawne?”

“I just worry that you are still playing me. That I am embarrassing myself with my actions.”

He smiles at you lovingly, “I am not. I have never been. But we can go ask Lo’ak if you would like to quell your worries.”

You do not respond, weighing your options. You could ask Lo’ak, could confront him and ask why he did not just speak to you directly. But if it was truly as Neteyam said it would only embarrass you. You’re shocked out of your stupor when pink, glowing tendrils emerge in front of your eyes.

“Or, because we both know you would not trust his words on a situation as serious as this anyway, I can prove it to you now.”

“We cannot take back tsaheylu, Neteyam. Be serious.”

He does not lower his kuru at your words, “I am being serious. What did Eywa show you?”

“That she has willed us to be together. It has been fated since we were children.”

He smiles, Eywa had shown him similar visions. “So why delay if it will happen eventually?”

Neteyam had a point. Your father may skin you, your mother would be disappointed that there were no pre-mating ceremonies completed. But if Eywa willed it to happen, and the two of you were ready, would it really be harmful?

Your hand reaches behind you to grasp your kuru, “You are sure?”

“I have never been more sure.”

So you press your kuru forward, allowing the tendrils to entangle themselves with his. 

Your pupils blow wide. The emotions bombard you like something you’ve never felt before, the feeling overwhelming all of your senses. 

The love, the nervousness, the way he pined for you for months. The way he admires his parents, and adores his siblings. How he misses the Omatikaya forest, but has made your forest one of his own too. 

Feel his desire to take you flying on his ikran, for you to claim your own ikran. To show you his forest, share all his knowledge of it with you. How he wants to feed you the delicacies of his people, to watch you in just simple loincloths instead of heavy furs.

Then the memories flow through you, ones that are not your own. A bright lush forest, roaring rivers, snowless floating mountains. Little hands holding a newborn baby. Hands being directed to aim properly at a fish.

When you finally come back to your senses you’re huffing a bit, body working to compensate for the immense things your brain is being flooded with. When you realize Neteyam has come to himself too, you lurch forward.

It’s messy at first, your teeth clashing with his, fangs accidentally catching his lips. But then you can feel everything from his perspective. The tug of the fang, the way he briefly thinks about how he would not mind you sinking them into him on purpose. 

Suddenly you’re overwhelmed all over again. You allow Neteyam to roll you onto your back, allow him to take control. He licks into your mouth again, eager to experience this while connected to you.

You know there will be repercussions when the two of you arrive home. That there will be questions. Important talks between your parents and yourselves. But as Neteyam begins to kiss down the side of your face, to your jaw, and eventually your jugular you cannot find any will to care about the repercussions. 

When he lifts the carved bone from where it rests just beneath your collarbones, and presses a kiss to the spot, you believe you could face public humiliation for this and not be upset. It must pass through the bond, as shortly after Neteyam laughs against your ribs. 

Whatever conspires from there is just for the two of you to know and everyone else to question.

At least it was.

Almost exactly twelve months after your night in the Hollow you welcome your first child, and everyone is more than aware of what you got up to.

Translations (had to make some of these up by mashing words together from the na’vi dictionary, so not everything is 100% correct): Her’ang - Snow beast Herwanpalu - Snow feline Herwìslär clan - Snow cave clan Uturu - refugee/sanctuary Nume nìwin - Learn quickly Kelku - home Tewng - Loincloth Zusawkrr olo’eykte - Future clan leader Txawuk - Giant flying mount Tsmuke - Sister Kayru - Teacher Ma muntxate - My mate Tsawksyul - Sun lily Skxawng - Moron/Idiot Fnawe’tu - Coward Yawne - Beloved

a/n: i adore this fic so please be nice to it.. i loosely wanted to mirror inuit culuture, so a bunch of inspiration for the way that the na'vi of the clan acted or things that they wore were based off of that. i also adore the snow, and the cold, and everything to do with winter so i naturally had to put two obsessions together. i put pictures that i based the creatures on below.

fun fact: i wrote about 3-4k of the words for this while actively shoveling snow for about 8 hours :p

Dividers by @cafekitsune and @cursed-carmine

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Credits to Edoardo Campagnolo and Antonio J. Manzanedo

[ssvbse]

Handle Your Load | 2

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader | 10.2k

Summary: Bucky's superpowered load knocks your IUD out of place resulting in him having to use a condom which, you find out, isn't as effective against his heavy load.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, hyperspermia, breeding kink (but like for real this time), oral (f receiving—next part guys I swear), p in v, wrap it before you tap it folks, on that note Bucky does break a condom, on that note creampie, mentions of blood, reader is implied to have a consistent period, IUD out of place, the IUD indeed could not handle his load, IUD removal, John Walker warning, he's being encouraged to learn about women's health by Ava, listen there's gotta be plot or what's the purpose of writing it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Inspired by THIS POST by superbassbuck, kudos to you!

As I was writing the draft for this part, superbassbuck came out with a follow up to their hyperspermia drabble (yes it does take that long) that had a lot of similarities to this parts plot, so go check out “super-soldier problems” first if you haven't :)

And for the following weeks, Bucky didn't stop—he couldn't.

Without a measurable meter of stamina, night after night, day after day, he fucked you full. Gone was the reluctance behind his deep strokes inside you; he shoved his dick as deep as your body would let it go and dumped every last bit of his seed within your womb until you were thoroughly and effectively filled.

Night after night.

Day after day.

And you loved it.

"Bucky," you groaned, digging your fingernails into his rippling delts as you clung onto him for dear life. "I feel so full already, Buck."

His pistoning hips did not relent despite your mewls for mercy, and he buried his hands deep in the sheets besides your head. The tip of his pulsing dick was already spilling inside of you regardless of its short stint of residence, spitting into your wallowing, welcoming cervix with every deep thrust.

"Do you... want me to stop?" he huffed, panting as he sunk his fingers into your thigh and heaved your calf over his shoulder. His hips harshly collided with yours at the new angle and slapped against multiple already existing pleasurable bruises littering your skin. You almost swallowed your tongue at his brutal pace, and your eyes rolled back into your head as you arched into every slap of his balls against your soaked pussy.

"No," you managed to mumble. The stretch in your lifted leg was delicious as his chest rhythmically pressed into the vulnerable joint, and he tugged you closer to him, insisting you farther down onto his dick with every rough hitch of his hips. "No, please don't stop."

Bucky hummed in agreement, and his thrusts grew shorter as he lowered himself to an elbow, his heaving chest rubbing against yours with every jerk of his body. You whimpered, and the friction of his grinding, pumpeling hips easily sent you over the edge as your exhausted body bobbed to the rhythm of his faltering pace.

A visible shiver overwhelmed the entirety of his body, and his grip around your thigh tightened as he simultaneously thrusted up inside you while spearing you down onto his pulsating cock. The tip of his dick rammed itself against your cervix and squirted his cum inside of you, the mere pressure of his excitement producing a twinge of pain deep within you as he dumped his hot seed directly into your awaiting womb.

Bucky's entire body trembled over top of yours, and you watched his eyes roll back into his head as a shudder of pleasure overwhelmed him. His hips instinctively continued thrusting into you, chasing the suction at the entrance of your cervix as he fucked his seed farther inside. You could feel the beat of heart pounding in your pussy with every warm load released, and your grip around his delts began to slip. The feeling in your fingers faded as his dick swelled and another spurt of cum splattered your insides.

"Fuck," you breathed, your four limbs falling flat on the bed, thoroughly spent. He whimpered, baring his teeth as he ground his hips into yours as gently as he could manage until his cock twitched and emptied the last of his load. "Fuck."

"That sums it up pretty good," Bucky wheezed, hanging his head as he tried to catch his breath. You could feel him still subtly rocking his dick inside of you, and the last of his dribbling load trailed after his gushing tip as he slowly pulled out. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," you murmured, still unable to feel your fingers as he rested beside you.

"'m sorry, I lost it a little there," he murmured and reached over to trail his fingers over your stomach. "You're sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Buck," you reassured him, overlapping his hand when it finally settled, fingers splayed out across your belly. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried; I'm practically indestructible."

"Is that right?" he asked, cocking an amused brow.

"Totally," you said. "You should do that all again just so I can prove it."

His chuckle shook the whole bed, and he nodded.

"Be careful," he said lowly, leaning down and pressing a teasing kiss to the underside of your jaw. "I might just take you up on that offer."

You moved to reposition yourself on the bed as you hummed, but a sharp stab of pain deep within your gut sent you wincing back to your original position.

"Oh, shit," you grunted, reaching down and cupping the area of internal tenderness.

"What is it?" Bucky asked, immediately sitting up. His face contorted in concern, and he looked you over for the source of your discomfort. "What's wrong?"

You did your best to quell his worries, brushing his hand off of you as you managed to sit up, but you wore the evidence of your wince plainly across your face, your eyes betraying you as they burned at the searing sensation in your abdomen.

"It's nothing," you promised, waving off his distress. "I'm okay," you added, offering him a shaky, reassuring smile as you dug your fingers into the flesh of your stomach. "I think it's just a bad cramp; I must've forgot my period was coming soon."

The excuse was poor, and you could tell Bucky wasn't convinced as he studied your tight face. His lips pressed together in a flat, dissatisfied line.

"Do you think it's from me?" he asked, his hot palm swallowing the entirety of your hand and providing a soothing warmth to the sore sight. "You'd tell me if I was being too rough, right?"

"It wasn't you, Bucky—"

"Would you tell me?" he pushed more firmly. The bags beneath his eyes were crinkled as he looked between your eyes for an answer.

"Of course I would, Buck," you said, reaching up at smoothing the wrinkle between his brows, "I promise," you assured him as you shifted to the edge of the bed, "so can you please at least pause your worrying and help me get cleaned up before Valentina kills us both for being late?"

And though he didn't look happy about it—his brows still furrowed in unfaltering agitation—Bucky helped you up from the bed and into the bathroom.

You thought the pain would ease as the day went on; maybe fucking like bunnies everyday was not as great for your vagina as it felt like it was, maybe you had been too rough, or maybe you were just genuinely approaching that time of the month.

But this didn't feel like cramps.

No, this felt deeper—more precise.

Every step you took produced a painful cringe, every bend and pivot creating discomfort in the same place, and you found yourself fearing any sudden movements that had the potential to cause a painful reaction.

Ava and Yelena noticed your stiffness immediately.

"So," Ava murmured, trailing after you as you made a swift exit of the concluded team meeting, "you and Barnes had a bit too much fun last night then?"

"Ava," you hissed, head on a swivel for any innocent bystanders. "Jesus, be quiet."

"Everyone knows it," she said. "You look like you're afraid to move."

"You look like walking wood board," Yelena added, looking you up and down as you angrily fought the red flush rising to your neck. "Stiff like statue."

"Alright, I get it—just stop, please," you groaned, and you wrapped your arms around your midsection as you purposefully steered them away from where Bucky was lingering, unable to bare his concerned gaze burning into the side of your head any longer.

"Don't get me wrong," Ava began again, voice raised to its highest potential as she crossed her arms, "I've been fucked near the brink of death before, but I don't remember looking quite so... unstable," she settled on, eyes raking up your teetering stature in concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

The question barely left her mouth before your entire body crumbled the moment you were out of Bucky's eyeline. Both her and Yelena's arms managed to grasp your falling figure before you ate shit, Yelena's Russian curse searing your ear.

"Okay, yeah, no, not okay," Ava decided as you grasped your midsection and leaned the entirety of your weight onto the wall they led you to, your legs shaking beneath you.

"I think Bucky broke something in me," you whined, pressing your back to the marble and slowly sliding down it until you landed safely onto the tile floor. You hid your trembling lips between your knees and struggled to swallow the lump of pained emotion scraping at your throat. "Something really hurts inside."

Ava clearly heard the uncharacteristic wobble in your voice, and an irritated frown stained her expression.

"Barnes," she grunted. "I should have told that son of a bitch to be more careful. God knows he doesn't know how to control his raging boner."

"How do you know it was his angry boner that did this?" Yelena asked. "It could be variety of things; sore from mission, monthly bleeding—" she said, snapping her fingers as her eyes popped open with another point. "Kate also complains of pain after fun night with me, and—" she said, shrugging as she gestured down to her midsection, "no dick here."

"It was definitely his dick," you mewled, "but it wasn't his fault—God, I didn't mean to make him worry," you cried, your brows drawing together at the idea. "I don't want him to think it was his fault; he'll never fuck me again if he thinks he hurt me!"

You hung your head in defeat, and Ava scoffed.

"Good," she decided, crossing her arms. "Seeing you both practically glowing every morning has made me want to vomit."

That comment earned her an elbow from Yelena as she brushed passed Ava to squat down to your eye level and offer you a reassuring pat to the shoulder.

"Do not give up hope yet," she said, her face warming with a soft smile as she considered your tight expression. "Try again, and if your belly still aches, then you take break. Kate's muscles feel much better after few days time and abuse of heating pad," she said, standing back up. "And then back to business!"

You heaved a sigh, and rubbed your face.

"You're probably right," you murmured, nodding into your palm. "I don't even know if it's serious."

"That is spirit!" Yelena said, patting your back and helping you up from the floor. "Strong woman to your weak and horny man."

"Seriously," Ava grumbled in agreement as the three of you moved to rejoin the gathered group. "Tell Bucky to get a hold of himself and take it easy, or I will," she threatened, casting you a look of lingering concern as she watched your attention stray to the man in question. "We don't need you getting hurt."

As Bucky's equally anxious gaze found yours through the heads of the crowd, you looked back to Ava and offered her a reassuring nod.

"I promise."

And you had meant it—at the time.

Bucky prodded your slick entrance with the tip of his dick, his hands flexing around the base, and he made a high-pitched noise of complaint as he restrained himself from entering. Still seeking some sort of stimulation, he slid his length through your soaked folds, smearing his drooling cum all across your slit as he let out another low, inadvertent whine.

"Bucky, please—" you whispered, reaching down and wrapping your hand around his pulsing cock to lead him to your twitching hole. But he quickly shook his head, and a permanent wince overwhelmed his face as he struggled to control himself.

"You're hurting," he almost pleaded, his voice pained. "I shouldn't."

"You should," you argued, managing to lift your hips. His tip dipped inside of you, and he hissed, violently grabbing your hips and sinking his fingers into the naked flesh. His stiff cock popped out of you, hitting his chest along with an excited spurt of precum. "You really, really should."

"Fuck," he groaned, working his trembling jaw as he stared at your face for a moment too long before you felt his tip prod at your entrance again. His fingers flexed around your sides, and you watched the external evidence of his internal conflict dissipate from his face as he made up his mind. "Fuck, I'll be gentle."

"I know you will," you heaved out in victory, writhing beneath the pressure of his drooling head. "I know you'll be nice, Buck," you repeated, your jaw falling open as his tip pushed inside of you, and he began gently rocking his hips. His hands spanned across the width of your waist, and his caressing thumbs moved to rub stimulating circles across the exposed hood of your clit. You mewled and loosely wrapped your legs around his pistoning pelvis. "So fucking nice."

His eye contact was unfaltering despite his ascending pace, and Bucky was sure to watch every hitch of your breath, every scribble of your brow, and every dip of your slacken jaw as your insides grew wet with his leaking seed.

And it felt good.

It felt so damn good.

God—until it didn't.

A sharp, shooting pain erupted deep inside of you, and the throbbing sensation was only heightened with every thrust of Bucky's dick. Every slap of his hips against yours had his cock nudging that exact, terribly aching spot. You bit your lips in a desperate attempt to hide your discomfort as he bottomed out, a muffled groan filling your ringing ears.

Digging crescents into his shoulders, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to adjust your hips to get a different angle. But no matter your squirming, his pounding hips managed to thrust his cock plenty deep every time, and the radiating pain stiffened every muscle in your body. The strangled cry you tried so hard to swallow managed to vibrate off of your iron-clad tongue.

"Bucky—" you whined, your voice wobbling and tight. He hummed in response, and his pace only quickened as the finish line neared. The building pressure in the repeatedly pummeled spot had tears welling in your eyes, and you couldn't take it anymore. "Bucky—god damnit—stop!"

His eyes popped open in confusion, and his thrusting, rhythm-bound hips struggled to pause their movements as he fumbled to pull himself out of you.

But it was too little, too late.

Hot ropes of heavy cum spilt into you before he could wrench his dick out of your used hole, his overstimulated cock slapping against his stomach and spitting its load across his chest.

"Fuck!" he snarled, cupping his spewing tip in an attempt to shield you from the mess, but there was just too much. Cum splattered across your contracted stomach, over your spread, quivering thighs, and onto the mess of sheets around you. Bucky whimpered as his entire body shivered and jerked, and his hands desperately squeezed the base of his spasming cock to try and stop the pressure of the flow. "Fuck—shit, I'm so fucking sorry—"

"It's alright, Bucky," you tried, wincing as you struggled to sit up. With your vision quickly clearing of tears, you finally noticed the genuine distress and panic on his face. He bit his lip, head falling back as his dick spewed another round onto your stomach and drooling pussy. "Bucky," you repeated, reaching for him. "It's okay, Buck. Just let it happen, alright?"

You gently insisted his squeezing hand off of his bobbing dick and replaced it with your own. He whimpered as you gently stroked him, the tense muscles in his body quivering with faltering restraint at the soothing sensation. Bucky's head lulled to the side, and his cock twitched as the ample amount of cum gushing from his wet tip poured down his shaft, the milky droplets riding the countless pulsating veins down his length before collecting within your grip.

"Good man," you murmured, leaning forward and pressing an open mouthed kiss to his twitching pec. He grunted, bucking up into your slick palm as you felt his dick swell before his final release soaked your chest. He doubled over and buried his face into your shoulder as the muscles in his back convulsed, surely covering his own chest with cum.

"God—fuck," he breathed, struggling to hump your hand as his tip drooled. "Fuck."

You smoothed your hand over his back and turned your head to press a soothing kiss to his temple.

When his hyperventilating breaths eventually fell into tempo with yours, he slowly sat up, and his trembling hand ghosted over your naked thigh.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he repeated, heavy eyes searching your face. "Are you okay?"

The knot in your gut twisted painfully, but you managed a smile and a shaky nod.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I think I'm still just a little sore 's all."

The lie was anything but seamless, and you could see the crease of disbelief between Bucky's brows.

"Don't lie to make me feel better," he grumbled, his caressing hands slowing out of ashamed reluctance. "I broke my promise; I got carried away again, and I hurt you."

Your smile swelled into something more genuine as you shook your head, and you looked down at your stomach, dipping a finger into the ropes of thick cum painting your skin.

"You do tend to get a bit carried away, don't you?" you asked, trying to fight the teasing smile twitching at the corner of your lips as you exhibited the stickiness to him.

His face burned red, and he groaned as he buried his face in his hands, his body finally seeming to relax.

"Please don't," he groaned. "I told you it was a mess."

"You did," you murmured, lips twitching wickedly as you sunk your two coated fingers into your mouth and watched Bucky's eyes widen behind his parted fingers. You lulled your tongue into every crease and crevice before tugging the digits from between your lips with an obscene pop, licking away the rest of the remnants. "Guess I'll just have to clean it up."

A feral groan rumbled from his chest, and he crawled on his hands and knees to kneel at your feet, looming over you with his broad, damp chest glistening beneath the lamp light.

"It'd be polite to help, you know," you whispered teasingly, swiping your finger through the droplets that had managed to reach the valley between your breasts. You studied your cream coated fingers, and as he shifted to lay over you, arm twitching beside your head, your eyes flicked up to his, an offering within them. "Especially when it's your mess."

His tongue swept over his bottom lip. "I am known for my chivalry," he added hoarsely, unable to stop his eyes from falling back to your extended fingers.

"You are," you breathed, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as a hot, shaky exhale parted his mouth. His used lips glistened with an overwhelming sense of want as they slowly swallowed the tips of your fingers, and he refused to break eye contact with you as he sunk farther down. Saliva collected in your mouth as his tongue dipped around your second knuckle, and you watched his throat work around a swallow as he sucked your digits clean.

His mouth eventually withdrew from your slick fingers, his tongue skimming his swollen lips. You hummed and opened your mouth to address him only for the seizing of his abdominal muscles to catch your attention. His stabilizing arms shook as he lowered himself, and his mouth closed over the flushed, filthy skin of your stomach.

Your toes instinctively clenched, and your thighs mustered what was left of their strength to lock around the sides of his body as he placed open mouthed, suckling kisses down the length of your torso to clean the mess he had made. You reached down and fisted his hair, whimpering at the sight of his shadowed eyes still staring up at you from down the quivering plane of your body.

As his lips skimmed your mound, peppering themselves around your hood, his lips twitched.

"You said you wanted clean," he murmured as if to warn you of his next move, the air intertwined with his words causing your aching clit to twitch.

"Don't you fucking joke right now you smug fuck," you gritted, and he chuckled, leaning down with his back arched and lulling his tongue through your folds. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately holding back a moan as his mouth gently eased the remnants of your ruined orgasm. The warmth of his breath caressed the bruises on the inside of your thighs, and his tongue soothed the damage done to your quivering hole, swallowing the seed dripping from the weakened muscle.

"Fuck," you groaned, trembling as he slowly coaxed an orgasm out of you. His hands squeezed your sore thighs, and he nuzzled his nose into the warmth of your folds before raising his head.

"Good?" he asked, heaving himself back over you.

Your fingers caged the upper part of your face, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Fuck you."

He grinned, and leaned down to press a messy kiss to your chin.

And despite his best attempts to divert your attention away from his current predicament, you still felt the familiar weight of his round-two-ready boner resting against your aching stomach. He followed your eyes, clearing his throat as he shook his head, his cheeks twinging pink.

"I've got it," he murmured, a teasing smile pulling at his puffy lips as he planted one last kiss to your forehead before moving to pull off of you. "I'll let you recover."

"Don't give yourself so much credit," you scoffed, managing to catch his hand and drag him back once more to slap a sloppy kiss to his wet lips, humming against them when all he could muster was a lazy smile. You broke apart and playfully shoved him away by the muscle of his pec. "You need to recover."

"What do you think I'm going to do?" he asked within a breathy laugh before finally retreating into the safety of the bathroom with the noticeable absence of the loud fan.

The moment the door closed behind him, you spread, your once starfished limbs recoiling into the position of an infant as you were overtaken by the outward evidence of your pain. Your gut burned with a horrific, throbbing tenderness, and an excruciating rubbing sensation filled every part of your innards. You had to bite into your palm to muffle a choked sob.

"It's just fucking cramps," you grunted to yourself, arm lodged around your midsection in a desperate, suffocating squeeze. "'Just fuckin' cramps."

It was not just cramps; It was also particularly painful and consistent convulsions that at one point you were convinced were fully on contractions along with an unusually bright shade of blood staining the bed sheets the following morning.

You tried to act normal when Bucky asked about the mess, but in reality, the signs of untimely internal bleeding was what sent you over the edge.

Or, rather, it sent you to the woman's clinic.

Biting the nails of your fingers as you frantically bounced your leg, your eyes darted between the front door of the clinic and the door leading further into the facility where the same nurse repetitively returned to fetch the next patient.

"What am I doing here?" you grumbled to yourself, burying your face into your hands. "Fuck, maybe I'm just overreacting."

"If you think you are overreacting," Yelena answered from beside you, "we should not be at very expensive American hospital," she murmured. She spared you a brief glance from her wide open newspaper, eyebrow cocked over the rim of her dim glasses. "You should have let me look inside your sore vagina: much cheaper alternative, and we do not lose money from desert budget for meaningless trip to fancy clinic."

"Apologies for not wanting my friend's face up close and personal with my actively bleeding vagina," you grumbled, but your following quip faltered as your scrunched face finally fully focused on her. "That's where Valentina took the deductible money from?"

Yelena shrugged.

"That is what Alexei told me."

"You told Alexei about this?" you hissed at her, grasping the armrest to her chair and violating her personal space.

She nodded and seemed confused by your irritation.

"He is father of two girls; do you think he knows not of these womanly complications?" she asked.

"That's not—" you tried and did your best to reel back your exasperation. "Did you tell anyone else?"

She rolled her tongue, and one of fingers performatively tapped her chin.

"I told Bob," she said and quickly tacked on "He was worried about you!" when she saw your entire face contort. "I told Valentina," she continued, squinting out of concentration as your attention wandered to the movement at the front entrance, "and maybe Mel, and—"

"—John Walker," you finished, staring at the pair emerging through the double doors with your jaw slack on the floor.

"I did not tell Walker," Yelena scoffed in offense, adjusting her newspaper at the mere concept. "I would never do this—do you think so lowly of me?"

A silence stretched, and she eventually followed your spiraling gaze to the two approaching familiars. John's hands were already raised in surrender as he watched your face twist into a number of expressions, and you managed to move your mouth but failed to form audible words.

"For the record," he said, "I don't want to be here either.”

Your lips scribbled into an incredulous shape as you moved to speak—to say anything—but the shock was just too egregious. You dragged your hand down your face and prayed John would disappear the next time you looked up. When his stiff, awkward posture remained, you turned to Ava who shuffled at his hip.

"Ava," you warned, voice shaking.

"I thought," she began, "that this could be a good learning opportunity for our team slut."

John's face scrunched.

"Ava," you repeated. "My whole fucking vagina is about to be exposed for the world to see," you said, struggling to keep your voice clear as you received a few glances from the other men squirming in their waiting seats, "and you thought it was a good idea to bring John "can't keep it in his pants" Walker with like this was some kind of educational school trip?"

"Alright, that's just not fair—" John began, only for his mouth to clamp under your glare.

Ava managed to fight off the flash of offense threatening to take hold of her expression and crossed her arms with a low grunt.

"It sounded better in my head."

Before you could fully unleash your irritation, the same bubbly nurse returned to the door and called your name.

Your legs wobbled beneath you as you managed to get to your feet with assistance from Yelena, your glare shifting to Ava's eyeline.

"He can't come with."

"What do you want me to do with him?" she hissed under her breath, waving to the rest of the room. "If he stays out here, he's going to kill someone."

"Or himself," Yelena added under her breath, giving John a long up-down as she got to her feet.

"You do know I am standing right here," John deadpanned.

You slapped a hand to your face as anxiety burned your throat and forced your feet to flea the series of unfortunate events currently fucking you in the ass.

"Good evening, dearie," the nurse said as you approached, three pairs of feet hot on your heels. Her crinkled eyes did their best to remain focused on you though they inevitably wandered to the group of unwanted spectators as she encouraged your full party through the door. "It looks as though you have been experiencing some womanly issues lately?"

Afraid of your anxiety pouring out of you, hot and fresh, you offered her a nod.

"That is no problem—nothing to be embarrassed about," she said, offering you a warm smile as she led you down the narrow hallway. "I'm sure everything is perfectly healthy, but—" she murmured, thumbing at the corner of the packet of papers in her arms, "—would you be comfortable with receiving an oral exam today?"

"Unfortunately," you grumbled. She nodded, welcoming you inside the examination room and once again eyeing the three guests as they filed in behind you. You were instructed to sit on the paper-lined table, and you felt your body already growing squeamish in the overlit setting.

The presence of John Walker awkwardly leaning against the only exit to the room did little to soothe those nerves.

"So," the nurse began, breaking the silence with the chirp of her voice and the crackling keys of the computer keyboard, "are you all friends?"

As Yelena and Ava responded with a simultaneous, accent diverse "yes", you and John passionately went with the latter.

Seeming to prefer the silence after all, the nurse finished the rest of her questions with diminishing enthusiasm before making a swift exit.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands and drawing your knees to your chest.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," you grumbled, shaking your head.

"You have never received oral exam?" Yelena asked.

"I have, it's just—" you murmured, brushing your nose against your forearm as you turned your head. "This is going to be worse," you said, glare finding John. "So much worse," you emphasized, and John's gaze retreated, his swallow audible. You looked back forward, blinking the burn from your eyes. "This time there might be something wrong—something serious," you said, looking up to Yelena and Ava. "What do I do if something's really broken?"

"Everything's broken down there," Ava said. "That's kind of the point."

"But this isn't normal," you whispered, your voice shaking. "It hurts so bad, and there's just so much blood—"

"Isn't that normal?" John tried to put in only to get hit with a chorus of feminine groans.

"I don't want to even feel you speak again, John—" you grunted, rubbing your temples.

"You have no voice in this room," Yelena added, gesturing widely to the area. "Women voices only."

He opened his mouth to argue, and his eyes looked to Ava for support. When she simply shook her head, he snapped his jaw shut, the muscles there ticking as he adjusted his position over the door only to be shoved to the side once it opened.

Every muscle in your body stiffened as a woman wrapped in white stepped inside, and her customer friendly expression faltered as her eyes bounced to each additional party member present.

"Wow," she said, recovering as closed the door. "Big audience today."

"More pressure for you," Yelena murmured, and the doctor managed a laugh, but you had the feeling she wasn't kidding.

"Well," she murmured, finding her place on the rolling chair in front of you and flipping through another clipboard of papers, "it sounds like you've been having some discomfort," she noted, glancing up at you. "Bleeding and pain, is that right?"

You nodded, and your chin twitched.

"And you've had an IUD inserted," she read, "about a year ago, correct?"

"I thought those could only be in for a day," John murmured only to double over after receiving a hit to the gut from Ava.

You bobbed your head to confirm.

"Well, I think based off your information a pelvic exam would be best to confirm that everything is working as it is supposed to, and if anything is off we can go from there," she decided, the pile of papers fluttering back flat as she looked up at you, her smile reassuring. "Sound like a plan?"

You nodded, and she mirrored you before moving to set up her station; she secured the foot stirrups on either side of the table, slapped a pair of latex gloves over her freshly washed hands, and placed a protective mask over her face. The disturbed view of her unfamiliar face almost made you feel better, but you could still feel a flush of embarrassment flare across your cheeks as you shrugged your pants and underwear off.

"Eyes up here, Walker," you warned as you shuffled back onto the paper, noticing his gaze darting around as if unsure of where to settled.

He tossed his hands up in exasperation. "What am I even doing here then?"

"Look like a student, not like a man," Ava grunted.

You felt the speculum brush your exposed thigh, and the doctor waited for your verbal confirmation before prodding the metal inside. You felt your legs instinctively squirm in the foot holds as the foreign object sunk inside you.

And though John's presence in the room felt wrong on so many levels, the absolutely horrified expression on his face provided a brief moment of joy as your vision hazed in anxiety.

"Jesus Christ," he grunted, covering his mouth with his hand as the medical device whined and opened wider. "Does that not hurt?"

"No, John," you grunted, palms sweating around the edge of the table, "it feels absolutely fantastic."

Yelena poked him in the side and grinned as he teetered on his feet. "Has Walker fallen ill?" she teased, watching him turn away.

The speculum finally stilled, and you had to physically contain the urge to close your legs under the prying eyes of the doctor as she began assessing your insides.

"Do you see that part there?" Ava asked John, and you could vaguely see her outstretched finger pointing in the direction of your exposed vagina. "That's the part that gives a woman pleasure."

"Can we please not talk about sex right now?" you heaved, every muscle in your body trembling with exhaustion despite not moving an inch.

"You do not know how to please a woman?" Yelena asked, turning to look up at John's slack jaw with a cocked brow. "It is very sad you need to learn this in doctor's office."

"I know how to pleasure a woman," John immediately countered out of an immature need to defend himself, completely disregarding your request. When he noticed the remaining disbelief in the girls' expressions, he desperately added "I do!"

"You could have fooled me," Ava grumbled, crossing her arms.

"It appears your IUD is out of place," the doctor broke in, quieting their childish chatter. "I can't see one of the strings, so I think we can safely assume it shifted," she said, withdrawing her head and tucking the mask below her chin. "A number of things could have caused the adjustment: a particularly difficult menstruation period, a poor initial insertion, physical exertion—"

"—a big dick," Ava coughed into her arm, and she fell into uncontrollable giggles with Yelena.

"Jesus," you groaned, covering your hot face with your hands.

The doctor clear her throat, though you could see her lips twitch in amusement.

"—physical exertion which could include rough sexual activity as well," she continued. "My point is that this is completely normal," she said, and your entire body jerked at the sensation of her long, metal tweezers brushing the irritated part inside of you. "However, the inflammation around the tampered insertion sight is most likely causing your discomfort, so I would recommend having the IUD completely removed."

The panic on your face must have been obvious because the girls broke into another round of muffled laughter, and you refrained from glaring at them.

"I can't have it removed," you said. "I don't have any other kind of birth control."

"Condoms are always a cheap option," she said, "or you may just have to practice abstinence until you are able to get on another hormonal option."

The word sounded like a slur to you, and another series of laughter followed the simplest suggestion.

"Abstinence," Ava murmured, wiping the amused tear from her eye. "I don't think that will be a sustainable option for her partner."

"Well, then I would recommend the man who did this to you," the doctor said, gesturing to the mess between your parted legs, "to wear a condom," she said with a shrug. "It's the least he can do."

You hated every second of it, but you consented to the removal. As she worked between your legs, cold metal stinging your insides, you rested your twitching hands over your stomach and questioned whether you were losing or gaining something at the loss of the birth control.

The doctor slowly extracted the small medical device from inside you and held it up for the ogling audience to see.

"'Want a souvenir to remember your visit by, Walker?" you asked, finally able to breathe normal again as she finally withdrew the speculum.

"It would make for pretty necklace," Yelena added. "Make all the women know you have seen pussy before."

John's entire face burned bright red, and he struggled to grasp the handle of the door before he ripped it open and made a desperate, stumbling dash for the lobby.

"You may feel some soreness," the doctor warned, disposing of the device before removing the rest of her cautionaries and moving to the sink to wash her hands. "But the most important thing to remember is that you are no longer on birth control, so if abstinence nor pregnancy interests you and your partner, you will need to find another type of safe contraceptive."

"How many times has this happened?" Yelena asked. "Women forgetting they can become pregnant with child?"

"Enough," the doctor said simply, a gentle smile on her face as she dragged her hands out of the sink, "so don't forget."

With options like those, you definitely wouldn't.

You stared down at the box of pills in your hands, glaring at the map of side effects written out within their instructions.

"Jesus," you grumbled, barely able to scan the miniscule, double sided text. "I 'spose I won't be able to get pregnant if I'm dead."

Despite your fingers trembling around the first pill, you managed to force the medication down your throat just before the door to the bathroom creaked. Out of instinct, you tucked the pack of birth control behind your back as you whipped around and found a blue eye peering through the subtly parted doorway.

"Bucky," you breathed, body sagging as the rest of his familiar face came into view. He opened the door a bit wider, his broad, naked shoulders easily filling out the frame.

"Everything alright?" he asked, stepping further inside and taking your waist into his warm, open palms. You hummed as he gently backed you up against the counter of the bathroom, closing your eyes and letting the size of him fully enveloped you. "You've been in here for a while; I was starting to get worried."

He leaned down and pressed a warm kiss between your brows.

"My stomach's just being stubborn again," you murmured, forcing yourself to meet Bucky's gaze as your fingers began to sweat around the plastic birth control packaging. He slid his hands beneath your shirt and smoothed his thumbs over your aching abdomen, stroking a soothing rhythm as his eyes flicked up to yours.

"Should I be worried?" he asked. You quickly shook your head, cupping the nape of his neck as he hummed and leaned down to trail kisses down your throat.

"It's nothing serious," you promised. "No need for concern."

"Are you sure?" he asked, one of his hands sliding around to press pressure into your mid back, arching your spine around the edge of the counter. "Because the way you've been avoiding me makes me think I should be."

"Avoiding you?" you whispered, only for your breath to hitch as he nudged his knee between your legs, the rough material of his work pants digging into the flesh of your inner thighs. You bit your lip to refrain from moaning as he encouraged you to rest all of your weight onto his thick, tense thigh. "Bucky—"

"After the meeting yesterday?" he murmured, teasingly trying to jog your memory as you grasped his shoulder to stabilize yourself. An opaque, horny fog threatened to white out your vision entirely as your panties bunched deliciously against your fluttering folds. "And you barely said a word to me last night."

You winced, and your jaw fell slack as he gently led your hips in a rhythmic circle over the surface of his strained thigh.

"I was... tired," you tried to lie.

"Maybe," he murmured, leaning down and ghosting the tip of his nose across the apple of your cheek, "or you're hiding something."

"H-Hiding?" you whispered, the feeling in your fingers faltering around the burning plastic. The open packaging of the contraceptives fell free from your hand pinned between your back and the bathroom counter—directly into the awaiting hand of Bucky Barnes.

Your cunt went cold.

"Jesus, Bucky, give it back!" you cried, frantically lunging for the forbidden substance in an attempt to take it back before he had the chance to realize what he was holding. He easily caught your flailing hands, trapping your wrists within a single hand as he flipped the packaging over. "Please, it's not what it looks like—" you whispered, watching his gaze rake over the planned weekly schedule.

"Birth control?" he asked, attention flicking up to your tight face. "That's what you're hiding?"

You insisted his thigh down from between your legs, and your pulsing pussy momentarily prevented you from propping yourself up on your own accord, your slick forearms slipping along the edge of the vanity counter.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," you whined. "I didn't think it'd all happen this fast, but I went to the doctor, and she insisted—" you whispered, barely able to find the words under Bucky's stare. "She said the pain was because my IUD was out of place, and so—"

"—they took it out," he murmured softly, his expression lacking the disappointment you had been expecting to see.

"How did you—?"

"John already gave me all the traumatizing details," he said, a smile cracking over his face. "He broke like an egg the second I asked him where you'd run off to," he murmured, his shoulders rolling forward as he severed your space again. "I am a little hurt you invited him and not me."

"I did not invite him," you said sharply. "I just..." you tried again, but your lips scribbled above a trembling chin. "I didn't want you to be disappointed."

His hand stroked a soothing pattern across your naked hip. "Why would I be disappointed?"

You frowned as you plucked the packet of pills from him and ducked down to grab the instructions you had managed to bury deep inside the cabinet before his untimely entrance. "The pills don't take effect until I take a week's worth of them, and with you're..." You glanced up to his eyes and then down to the growing bulge in his pants, "...hefty load," you finished with a twitch of a smile as a twinge of pink dusted his cheeks, "the only effective option left is a condom."

At the mention of the specific contraceptive method, the reassuring movements of his hand faltered, and you watched a sense of awkwardness wash over him.

"Is a condom that scary?" you gently teased to hide the hurt welling in your chest.

"No!" he quickly said, setting the pills on the counter and grasping your waist with his other hand. "No, it's not that I wouldn't be willing—I would be—I am. It's just..." he said, but he trailed off. You looked between his eyes as he struggled to find the words, and he winced within his silence. Accepting his hesitancy, you reassuringly patted his fluttering chest.

"It's alright, Buck," you promised.

"No, it's not," he said. "I'm just... I'm afraid," he said, finally meeting your eyes. "I'm afraid a condom won't be enough to..." He bit his lip. "...do the job."

You cocked a brow, expression clearly riddled with disbelief as you chuckled and brushed past him into the bedroom.

"Don't get too cocky," you called.

"I'm serious," he said, turning out the lights of the bathroom as he followed you out.

"What happens when you use one? It gets too full and falls off?" you asked, shooting him a lopsided smile over your shoulder as you shrugged his oversized t-shirt off over your shoulders.

"They have worked before," he said slowly, and you felt your face pinch in confusion, "but it's different when I'm with you," he said. You listened as his heavy footsteps approached you from behind, his trembling fingers ghosting the exposed muscles of your upper body. "I don't understand why it happens either, but..." he murmured as he finally wrapped his arms around you, stubble rough on your cheeks and words hot in your ear, "I think there's more of it when I'm with you."

You hung your shaking head.

"Jesus, Buck," you breathed, reaching down and overlapping his hands splayed across your stomach. "I don't think that's how it works."

He swallowed around your pulse point and trailed wet, sloppy kisses down your neck as he hummed a tone of disagreement.

"I know you don't believe me," he murmured, "so I'll just have to prove it—just have to show you."

You settled your head back into the pocket of his shoulder and felt the tip of his nose caress your jaw, his blown pupils skimming across your eyes as the corners of your mouth twitched.

"Then show me what you've got, Barnes."

Bucky groaned into your ear, and his hips instinctively twitched against the panties cupping your ass as he insisted your forward until you were folded over the edge of the mattress. He shoved your legs apart and scrambled to swipe a finger across your clothed cunt as he fumbled with the function of his fly, the pulsing pressure on the iron track causing the zipper to struggle.

A whine fell from your mouth as his ripped his stimulating fingers from your damp panties and left the cool air of the bedroom to nip at the spoiled undergarment as his chorus of frantic and desperate grunts grew more prominent. You squirmed at the lack of contact, moving to flip over only for your Bucky to plant his metal hand between your naked shoulders blades and push you back into the sheets. His hot, wet tip pressed against your clad hole, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the heat of his body as he fisted the sheets on either side of your head, his chest brushing your naked back.

"Fuck," he groaned, restraining himself. His hips twitched despite his best efforts, and one of his stabilizing hands moved to fiddle with the waistband of your underwear. A sharp friction of pain erupted over your bikini line, and it was only when you felt the full slop of his tip slide through your exposed folds that you realized he had ripped the fabric straight off.

"Bucky!" you whined in complaint, watching from over the waves of sheets as he flung your panties away from the bed. Despite your audible dismay, he was unbothered by the destruction of your clothing and was instead focused on squeezing the base of his dick, his eagerness clear by the mess he had already managed to make between your thighs. The precursor to his pent-up release coated your outer folds, and you felt his leaking cock jerk as its tip caught your drooling entrance on a particularly deep but still superficial stroke. Your fingers tug into the sheets as his breathing stuttered, and he withdrew his hips in preparation to enter.

"Fuck, Buck," you grunted, reaching back and slapping the hand that had you pinned to the mattress. "Condom."

His strokes didn't cease, and a particularly violent pulse of his cock doubled him over you, his chest brushing your arched back as his tip bobbed in and out of your needy hole.

"It won't make a difference," he whispered. "I swear, it won't."

"Bucky," you groaned, a whimper of need falling from your parted mouth as he reached between your thighs and strummed your aching clit. "It's...you said—you said you had to prove it," you whispered, lips brushing the linen. "You..." Your eyes rolled back as his thumb smothered your nub, and your hips jerked. "You need to wear a condom."

He groaned and slowly withdrew his tip from you, a squirt of precum painting your slit as he lifted himself off of you. The chilled air filled his absence, and you watched through blurry vision as Bucky rifled through the bedside drawer, his fully erect dick spitting all over his stomach while papers and other items flew out in his haste.

And, as the mattress dipped with his weight, you rolled to your back to witness him kneeling on the mattress in all his glory: strong thighs quivering and glistening with precum, chest exposed and clenched with a barely contained desperation, and his cock eagerly bobbing as he struggled to open the wrapper to the condom.

Stomach clenching as you sat up, you took the condom from his fumbling hands, ripping the wrapper open with ease. He watched, eyes unable to sit still as you shifted to your knees in front of him. The latex easily rolled over his slick dick, tight and unmoving.

Bucky let out a slow, controlled exhale.

"I'm warning you now," he said shakily. "It won't work."

Without hesitation, you gave his cock a testing stroke that milked a grunt from his slackened jaw and a twitch from his trembling hips as he settled on top of you.

"It seems pretty tight to me," you said, lips sinking into your bottom lip. "I don't think it's going anywhere."

"That won't be the problem," he murmured, smothering your twitching clit with his tip before dragging it down your slit and thrusting himself inside your soaked hole. You watched through squinted eyes as tension tugged at the tendons in Bucky's neck at the sudden movement, and blown wide pupils flickered down to yours with a silent question.

"I'm good," you whispered, your legs clamped around his body as he tested another thrust, the coarse hair at his base brushing your hips. Your lashes fluttered on heavy lids, and your vision pulsed as you struggled to get the reassurance off your numbing tongue: "I'm really good."

His lips twitched, and he eased himself farther inside you with the following thrust. Your hands instinctively grasped his bulging delts, desperate to ground yourself as he found his pace. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, his grunts and whines of premature overstimulation giving you strength to join his rhythm.

And, when his hips stuttered and you felt a new, uncanny weight deep inside of you dragging with every piston of his hips, you had to wrap your arms around his neck, the sensation almost causing your eyes to roll back into their sockets.

"I can feel it," you whispered, mouth falling open. "I can feel the goddamn condom," you said, almost unable to believe your impossibly filthy words. "You're filling it already."

Bucky's dilated pupils were shadowed under weighted lashes, low, repetitive moans falling from his lips at the same rhythm of his hips. He managed a frantic nod, and you felt a coil of nervousness wind itself in your gut at his confirmation.

But just beyond the anxiety, you felt the fluttering sensation of excitement.

The idea of his warning coming true—taking his seed head on, without barriers, without backups, just straight inside of you—had your walls clenching around his pulsing cock, and you knew Bucky could feel the evidence of your buried elation.

His chin fell to his sternum, heavy head bobbing in tandem with each of his fluid thrusts, and you watched his loose lips twitch with unspoken words.

"What?" you whispered, following his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. "What is it?"

But his head jerked with an aggressive shake as if to throw the persistent thought from his mind.

"I can't—" he whined, one of his arms crumbling. The weight of his chest rested on top of you, his hot, naked skin rubbing sensually against yours, and you felt the rapid pounding of his heartbeat against your own ribs, feeling as though it was about to burst through his own cage. He whined into your throat. "I can't say it—God, you'll fucking hate me."

You arched your back, winding your arms around his neck and spreading your clinging fingers across the rolling muscles of his shoulder blades in an attempt to pull him closer.

"I couldn't hate you Buck," you whispered, "even if I wanted to." You inhaled sharply as he sunk his hands into your ass and hitched your hips up to meet his, his throat vibrating with a moan. "Especially with your cock inside of me."

Something that sounded close to "fuck me" was grumbled under his breath as he buried his face into your shoulder and sheathed the remaining length of his dick inside of you with one quick and effective thrust.

"I hate myself," he whispered, desperately grinding his hips into yours. "I fucking hate myself for how goddamn happy I am," he groaned, nuzzling his nose into your neck as he hummed. "'So happy you got that stupid—" Another violent thrust, and the tip of his dick squished against the entrance of your cervix, giving it a nasty, obscene kiss before popping off, "—fuckin'—" he grunted, furrowing his brows as he slammed his hips against yours again, and you felt the weight of the rapidly filling condom bloat inside you "—piece of goddamn sheet metal taken out."

Your eyes fluttered, your mind fogging at the sensation of his balls slapping your pulsing slit, but the grip of your sweating arm around his neck faltered.

"What?" you managed to sputter, but you knew the question was rhetorical—you knew what he had meant. "You—you're happy I got my IUD out?"

He whined, mouthing at your shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he mewled, and you felt his back arch alongside a desperate moan. "I tried not to be—'tried to fight it," he insisted, raising his head with exhibited effort. Your wide eyes flicked across his desperation-taunt expression as he leaned down, and his sweat-tinged hair brushed the edges of your face as his eyes lulled between yours beneath weary lids. "But I just want to fucking fill you."

Your caressing hands stilled at the nape of his neck, and your spent eyes widened in shock.

"Buck, what—" The weight at the tip of the condom plugged the entrance of your cervix before popping off with a salacious, suctioning sensation. "What are you talking about?"

"I need to fuck my baby inside you," he breathed, the words obscene and raw out of his throat.

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.

A unrestrained moan of surprise left your lax lips as Bucky ran his shaking hand down the side of your body before cupping the small of your back and arching you off the bed, the weight of your spasming lower body settling on top of his wet, pistoning hips. "Please," he said. "Please, let me."

Your eyes rolled back as you felt the latex protection inside you expand with evidence of his want—his need. His wet whimpers were music to your ears as he desperately held back, awaiting your final verdict as he gnawed at his bottom lip in a silent plea.

"God—Bucky we can't," you mewled, but your hands tightened around his back, dragging red trails across his sweaty skin. "You can't just say things like that while I'm—"

His thumb buried itself between your folds, and you cried out, walls clenching around his plastic-wrapped dick.

"You gotta push me away then," he whined, his rhythm growing sloppy as you felt his body tense with his approaching peak. "Can't pull out—I just can't—"

"It's okay, Bucky," you tried to reassure him through tight lips. "You... you can stay inside; You've got the condom on, remember?"

Through the horny haze in your mind a cloud of confusion settled over your blurry vision as you watched him frantically shake his head, continue to insist that he needed to pull out as he approached the end. And yet, despite his persistent pleas, Bucky's grip around your back squeezed, and he shoved you as far down onto his cock as possible. You cried out as the latex-covered tip of his dick shoved itself into your cervix before you felt the condom balloon inside your womb, flooded with his hot, awaiting seed. He rolled his hips through his overwhelming orgasm, and his expression tightened in distress as he doubled over and buried his face into the sheets, the iron grip he held around your waist ensuring you remained impaled on his dick for his ensuing release.

Bucky mumbled something into the bedding beside your ear, incoherent behind the roar of your pulse in your ear as his body grimaced and stiffened with his final load. He rocked his hips into your own as if forgetting his efforts would be in vain as the heavy, stuffed condom trailed behind his slowly withdrawing dick.

As you came down from your high, your quivering body relaxed at the moment of emptiness only for every muscle to immediately seize around the entire length of him thrusting fully inside you again. You squealed in surprise, arms flying to cling onto his trembling arms on either side of your quaking body.

And then you felt it.

With every punctuated piston of his hips, you could feel the artificial bulge inside you swell until his balls slapped your pussy with a final thrust and a warm sensation flourished in the pit of your stomach. The pressure felt familiar, and you watched through palpitating eyes as goosebumps erupted over Bucky's arms. He shuddered over top of you, and his lips parted with ultimate satisfaction.

His hips hitched against yours, the audibly sopping squelch forcing a mewl from you, and he mumbled more clearly this time, "until it takes."

You felt lightheaded, and the entire room felt like it was spinning.

Bucky languidly rocked his cock inside of you, the fronts of his thighs glistening with your shared filth as he kept you pinned to the mattress with a large, splayed out hand. Your entire body felt numb, and you couldn't take your eyes off the unfamiliar expression crossing his face; it was almost dark—stoic—as he stared down at your naked chest, watching your breaths come in slow beats.

He sluggishly sat up, thighs quivering as he brushed the hair from his face, and you whined as he slowly withdrew his cock and confirmed your fears; the latex around his dick was not only doused in your fluids but his own as well, the plastic protection busted around the tip and dribbling with the consequence of the damage.

"Well," you murmured, trying to catch your fleeting breath as you watched stars circle your plane of vision, "fuck."

"Shit," he groaned in tandem, staring down at the actively occurring mistake. "Fuck, what did I do?"

"It's okay, Bucky," you tried to reassure him even though it very much was not. You sat up as far as your body would let you and reached for him. "I promise it's okay."

"God—fuck," he groaned, pulling his arm away from you as he climbed out of the bed. "I need to—" he tried, practically tripping over his own feet as he hurried to find clothes. "I need to run to the drug store and get you a pack of Plan B—Jesus Christ I can't believe I just did that to you."

"It's really not your fault," you said, hoping your words would calm his frantic state as you watched him stumble around the room. "I should have learned to not underestimate you and your..." You paused, eyes falling to the dick swaying between his naked thighs, "...condition."

He groaned, managing to clean himself up enough to tug on a pair of briefs.

"Please don't talk about this like it's funny," he said.

Your nose scrunched in coping amusement.

"It is just a little bit though, don't you think?" you asked, a smile rising to your face. "You just broke a condom, Bucky. That feels like something that needs to be celebrated."

And despite your best attempts at lighthearted chatter, you could see the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders.

"Bucky," you murmured a bit softer.

"I'm sorry," he said, not looking at you as he paused his fumbling fingers as they failed to find the neckline of a shirt. You heard the fabric squeak within his trembling grip. "Just... just let me try to fix this, please."

"Bucky," you repeated, forcing your voice to be louder—steadier. He finally met your eyes from across the room. You pinched your lips together and briefly glanced down at your stomach before looking back up to him. "Stay?"

He narrowed his eyes and quietly echoed your question, his lips barely moving around the loaded word.

"But..." he tried, already falling in step in the direction of the bed. "But what if—?"

"It's okay," you murmured, taking him by the metal arm as the mattress squeaked beneath his weight.

He stared at you, searching your eyes for a tell.

"Yeah?"

You nodded.

"Yeah."

[drgnflyteabox]

Sandor Clegane x fem reader // you're a maid: misogyny, sexual content 18+, westeros typical attitudes and language, painful sex + size kink, breeding kink, dubcon-ish, abrupt ending

Sandor is used to being given a wide berth.

The maids scurry around him like mice, back and forth and around, most of them used to him if not used to looking at their feet when he’s around. Sheep parting for a sharpeyed herding dog, nervous fillies tensing and changing course as they sense danger— it’s fine.

He prefers it that way, doesn’t want to have to bark all day to unstick the innumerable tittering servants that populate the keep from his sides.

Part of it is his size, the other his burns, the gnarled skin that makes most of the barrage turn their eyes away for fear of finding his eyes and thus finding his anger. Joffrey knows well enough how to use it to his advantage, knew when he chose the Hound for his personal protector.

He’s got no issue with the coin, with the status. Mostly he takes two steps forward and whoever’s got any issue with the king or otherwise takes three steps back. When he’s dismissed from duty he drinks or fucks or takes Stranger out for exercise, anything to numb his mind and shake the energy from his muscles which leaves him feeling like a beehive.

The kennel master makes the dogs run at the shallow edge of the Kingswood if they get too rowdy. He laughs a great laugh when he sees Sandor return sweaty from the same woods atop Stranger for the same purpose, the only man not afraid to.

You’re a nuisance at first. Clumsy for a maid, new— you won’t last long.

He sees you spill three goblets of the good stuff trying to take it up the stairs on a tray, then the next night at dinner a whole roasted quail and all the golden potatoes made special for the queen regent. A splatter of juice at your feet, tears in your eyes, you brush by his shoulder to beg the kitchens for another.

Sandor knows the population of labourers swells and abates nearer to and further from grand events, but he wonders if they’re really so desperate they haven’t thrown you out or let king at you for all the trouble you've caused.

The tourney for the nameday of the golden princess grows nearer, amplifying the chaos behind the velvet curtains where the bluebloods can’t see. The kitchens smell perpetually of bread and meat and herbs, of sweat and toil. You hide there when you can, thinking no one will notice, that nobody can see. His eyes flit to you when he walks by or through, where you’re begging to just be made to peel potatoes or stir a great pot of sweet smelling broth.

“Please, they’re already cross with me,” you whine, soft and insistent, fingers twisted in your cream coloured skirts.

Sylvanna the old kitchen maid always takes pity, always negotiates with the stewards to let you be useful here rather than disruptive in the hall or gods forbid serving a noble. Three of her now grown children work in the keep, and you seem to have weaseled your way into her maternal old heart.

He tries to pay no mind, knows you’ll likely be gone soon after the festivities are over and therefore he doesn’t feel the need to do much more than snap at you when you bump into him and then watch your ass in those skirts move as you scurry away.

Sandor would never force a woman, but he won't keep himself from looking and lusting, of thinking of the way your voice goes high when you've gotten in trouble yet again and how it might sound when you're full of his cock, the way you might look with your dress pulled down and those sweet tits dangling in his face. He's no more than a man, and he'll honor his urges by fisting his cock to the thought of lapping at your cunt if he wants.

He finds you smeared in mud after a smattering of rain one morning, herbs tucked into the apron of your uniform, hands full of leaves, the unnecessary shit nobles need to eat their food. You're rushing, flustered again, hands making a mess of the gardens.

“They'll whip you for that,” he grunts, “looks like a rabbit's been at it.”

You look up, eyes wide with a familiar fear. It makes him sneer.

“I'm to take all the rosemary to–”

“Are you supposed to tear up the roots, too, little rabbit?”

You pause, and your mouth works for a moment. The garden bed is a mess, and half the rosemary you've got is the woody ends, the roots pulled right from the ground.

The realization dawns on you at the same moment he steps forward, and you lean back, whispering, “that's why it was so tough…”

He laughs, neither cruel nor kind. When his leather clad hand curls around the pommel of his shorter blade, your eyes widen and you fall back onto your bum as he draws the steel out.

“I didn't mean to–” you squeak, poor little rabbit. He cuts the remaining herbs and leaves the stump to grow back again, tossing the plants to the ground. You sag in relief.

“Are you simple?” He knows you aren't, he only wants to be abrasive, wants to punish the fear you felt, make you feel silly for thinking he'd cut you down over some rosemary.

He's a dog, not a monster. Though he benefits from his reputation, he isn't Gregor.

“No, I'm not- I'm sorry, I thought…” you look away, standing, mud on your skirt.

“That the castle dog would maul your pretty neck?”

“I'm not used to seeing steel!” You insist. He can't tell if you're truthful. “I was just startled is all.”

He straightens fully, towers above you, feels acutely aware of his face and his stature as he grunts, “no? That was the smaller one.”

You step around him on the soggy garden ground and, like prey, your eyes follow him from the side. He finds it both tired and endearing.

He wonders how you'd look at him should he reveal he's got no sword for you but instead a long hard cock.

“Thank you for your help,” you say quickly, before disappearing.

The next time he sees you is in the stables. Stranger has been snuffling around a ripe new mare, and now nobody but Sandor can brush him down and put him away for the night. Too rowdy, his boy. Too like his rider.

It isn't until the padlock is shut that he hears you again with your tears. Soft, weeping just behind the wall. He pauses.

“I haven't got the coin,” your voice is quiet, miserable, “they haven't paid us yet.”

The low murmur of another voice, something he can’t make out, sounds angry, pointy. He hears you sniffle loudly, hears the shuffle of feet.

The conversation peters off, until he hears you walk around the stable and back towards the keep.

Sandor steps into your path—he can be quiet when he wants.

It’s not the first time he’s startled you (he hopes not the last), and that little squeaky gasp is enough to rush blood to his cock, straining against armor, trying to get at you. Down, boy.

“What’s that you’re weeping about?” he looms, “poor little rabbit. Not enough coin?”

The immediate scrunch of your nose and the pull of your lips makes him pulsate.

“That wasn’t any of your business, Ser.”

“No?” he looks you up and down, lecherous, but not threatening. He stands still, lets you squirm, “not a Ser.”

You return the look, only your eyes are far away, sad and frightened. The anxious expression on your face doesn’t flag his cock, but it does make him curious.

“Someone hurting you?”

That makes you pause, frown. You look up at him and your eyes are more focused, yet no less distrusting.

“Want me to kill them?”

The evening air is all he can feel for a moment, trapped so in your wide eyes, little rabbit girl and the sweet smell of her hair, her wet face, eyes lashes clinging together. You don’t understand— why should he offer such a thing? A beast like him.

“Nothing so sweet as killing someone that deserves it,” he presses, “who is it? Some ugly little whelp you took for a husband? That sorry fuck hit you?”

His eyes search for marks, knowing all too well the kinds of abuses women can suffer, especially in this godsforsaken castle. The image of his brother knighted still haunts him worse than the smell of his own skin charring.

Your mouth opens, moving again—cute— and you shake your head, “no, no. I’m not married. Nobody’s hurting me.”

“Then what?” he presses, reaching out quicker than you can anticipate and cupping his huge hand to your soft cheek. Not married. He looks down at your body, wants to see it swollen, trapped by a babe.

You look up at him, sucking in a soft breath, then rush, “I just need— I need my coin from the steward, because,” you pause for a breath, “because I’m in debt. It’s stupid, it's all my fault. I just need to pay or they said they’ll burn my home down.”

Burn. That makes him freeze. Who’d threaten such a thing against you? You’re a silly, clumsy woman, what kind of trouble could you possibly be in— he isn’t naive enough anymore to believe in appearances anymore, but his gut tells him you’re as sweet as you look.

“What kind of fucking debt?”

“The— they wanted my house. But I grew up there! I was born in it, I wanted to have children there too, and who else has a house? I’m fortunate to have—” he stops you with a hand over your mouth. Littlefinger, that rodent had been buying up property, god knows for what. Sandor can picture it now, men at your door, demanding some kind of tax, punishing you until you're destitute, all for some fucking house he’s sure is smaller than Baelish’s room in the Keep.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Your eyes, impossibly wide. You bravely pull his hand away from your mouth, holding his thick fingers with yours, “no! But how? I can pay, I think, I just need my salary.”

“You think some fucking maids salary is going to satisfy that greedy bastard? I thought you said you weren’t simple.”

It takes nine days to corner that smarmy cunt and make him accept Sandor’s coin, to back down to a threat and the promise that should Littlefinger not turn his sights to another place, then who’s to stop the Hound from separating his head from that scrawny throat?

You find him in less than an hour after he leaves Baelish. You’re panting, sweating, eyes wide and in awe as you see him, “Ser!”

“Not a Ser,” he says, muscle memory.

“How did you do it?” you step close, too close. All your fear is gone, all that weight. He feels a smidge of something warm in his belly.

He tells you the truth—

You touch his armor and look up, wide eyes and sweet face, “how can I repay you?”

Sandor brings you to his preferred inn. Far, but worth the ride for its privacy. The innkeep isn’t afraid of him and the tavern girls are getting there, too. They know he’s there to drink and sleep, sometimes to bring a whore for the night. They know he won’t hurt them.

You lean back against his chest the entire way, watching as the city thins enough to relax, as the smells abate. You’d kissed his cheek and smiled when he asked to take you to bed, naive girl. He wants to marry you, but he won't say it yet. Wants to pump you full of brats and fill that empty house of yours just to see you smile again.

There’s no need for drinks, though he offers anyway— wine? Ale? You shake your head to both, insisting on seeing the room first. I’ve never been in an inn you say, like it's fancy. He supposes you’d have no need to, no extra coin to. It was stupid and brave to try and pay Littlefinger with a maids salary, now you can keep it all.

He pulls your dress down to see what he’s been waiting for for weeks, exposing your tits to the air, hunching down and bringing one to his mouth so he can suck on your tight nipple.

His mouth lavishes them, enjoys the feeling of soft skin in his mouth and the smell of your soap, the breaths form your lips.

When you see him, that angry red bobbing cock springing free from his britches, you swallow, “that— it’s way too big.”

“A maid, then?” he says against the skin of your soft breast, fingers hiking your dress up, finding the wet seam of your cunt. No underclothes. You’re soft there, too, skin and hair caressing his hand, sweet little pussy.

“No,” you shake your head, “I almost got married once. But you're much bigger than he was.”

He laughs, hitches you further up the bed by cupping your lady’s place and pulling, making you squeak. Sandor has always known he’s bigger than most, but he loves to hear it. Especially from a pretty woman, in bed with him without the promise of coin.

“I’ll lick you first,” he bunches your skirts up and pushes them up to your stomach, laying down to reach your pussy.

He’s only a man, and this is just the sweetest sight. You’re damp for him between the thighs, plush and pretty. His thumb finds the junction between your thigh and groin and presses there, fingers curling around your asscheck, as he leans forward and sniffs.

“Oh, don’t!” you cry out, bending so as to pull away.

“You’re in bed with a fucking hound,” he presses his nose to the slit of you, breathing in your sweet musk. You lay back down. Sandor puts his tongue on you, splits you with it, sliding through your folds like tasting the most decadent meal. He pushes it inside, tasting your hole, making an introduction before his cock arrives.

You keen, high, as loud as you want— who’s going to interrupt Clegane in bed? Nobody who wants to keep their head. When he comes up to suck on your swollen clit, you shout your pleasure into the air.

It’s only when he can fit four thick fingers inside you that he sits back up and presses the head of his cock to you, an angry ram battering down the door. You tense for a moment as he pushes in, holding your breath.

“You can take it,” he slides further, “feel that?”

Your pussy squeezes him, involunterarily or not, he snarls with how tight you are around him, “sweetest fucking cunt I’ve ever had. Grateful fucking cunt.”

You make a pained little sound as he pushes in another inch or so, a squeak, your pussy squeezing around him like a vice. He knows he’s a big man, shushes you by rubbing your flank like a horse, “hush, girl.”

“It’s hurting,” you complain, bottom lip pushed out, hips wiggling to try and make space, “just wait—”

“You’re almost there,” he’s not lying, there’s only half an inch or so until he’ll be buried all the way up your snug cunt, but he doesn’t want to make you suffer. No, he just needs you a little wetter, so he waits right there and swipes a tough thumb over your begging clit. You gasp, and whine again.

“San- Sandor,” your hand goes trying to grasp his wooly forearm, but you’re overwhelmed and uncoordinated, eyes glassy, fingers wiggling in the air, “stop, or I’ll come.”

“Come,” he doesn’t stop, pulls back the delicate skin covering your precious clit and presses until he feels it jump and flex against his thumb, “wet my cock.”

A comet in the sky, a star bursting open— you’re amazing to see, so open, shaking and squeezing on him, his cock sliding through the gush of your orgasm to bottom out.

“That’s a good girl,” he encourages, not letting up, sliding back out through your soaked hole and back in. He abandons your clit and instead pulls back the wet lips of your pussy so he can watch himself disappear all the better inside you.

“Look.”

You do, head coming up, unfocused eyes searching for where he's connected to you. You’re so full, he can tell by the way you’re gasping for every breath, fingers gripping your skirts now to hang onto anything, to pull them up so you can see too.

Sandor regrets not tearing the dress from your body when he could, laments that he can’t see your belly so that he can picture what it might look like swollen up with his babe. He gives the fabric you're holding the stink eye, palms itching to hold your middle as he ploughs you like a ripe field.

“How’s that big cock feel in your guts, little rabbit?” he pants, damp with sweat, the room hot. Wonders if his callouses and scars and body hair hurts your soft skin, “gonna be even more full when I give you my load.”

“Mmhn,” you lift your eyes to him, mouth wide and open, “you’ll put a babe in me.”

“Yeah?” he pumps you harder, watching himself disappear, fingers moving to your knees so he can push your legs back further, “can feel how wet you are, doesn’t sound like an issue. You want me to make you a mother?”

“Please,” you nod slowly, rocked up the mattress by his thrusts, “oh, please.”

“Pretty little rabbit,” he grunts, mouth curling into a snarl as he really starts to focus, “don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

The veins in his neck pop, throbbing in time with his cock, back aching from how frenzied he’s becoming. You begin to shout again when you can breathe, fingers clenched, pressed so against the mattress so that you can’t move. He’s going to pump you full, breed you, make you his.

“That’s right,” he snarls, “I’m going to fill you up, rabbit, you hear? Best cunt I ever felt.”

That expression— she must have been made in the image of the Mother— he’s heard it a thousand times, praise for delicate princesses full with the next heir, for the peasant girls that visit the king for him to bless their babies or swollen stomachs. He’s tuned it all out, only ever interested in spilling outside or watching the woman he’s bedded drink her contraceptive.

Sandor understands, now, looking down at you. His muscles tighten, balls drawing up to his body as he fucks you hard with the singular goal of making you withchild. Of planting himself inside you and watching you grow and grow.

He lowers his face to yours and scratches your delicate neck with his stubble, growling promises threats in your ear about the way you’ll need to depend on him after, about how he’s going to marry you after this. He watches the way your tits bounce, wants to see them leak with the evidence of this union.

His pace stays consistent even as he swipes over your clit again, demanding one more time for your surrender, waiting to come until you’ve begun to shake again, begun to cry with the sensitivity.

He pulses inside of you, pressing all his weight down for a moment, snarling like an animal as he makes a mess.

Just as you begin to push weakly at his shoulders, he sits up, gingerly pulling his cock out. You’re wide, swollen, leaking. He pushes a pillow under your hips and lays beside your exhausted body, murmuring, “they make the royal ladies do this to make sure the seed took.”

You turn to him, pressing your forehead to his hairy chest.

“That’s right, bunny,” he grunts, “hows it feel, hm? Nice and bred.”

[cookiescribble]

Hellfire’s Sweetheart

(gif source)

A/N: the last flufftober fic is coming guys i promise. but this has been in my head for a while and i had to write it to get it out of my head so i could focus on other things 😅 anyway this is based on both how i am often the only girl in a group and how my dice bag looks with several stranger things dice sets amongst my own dice set -mod angel

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The freshman boys are surprised by someone they meet in Hellfire. 

~~

Joining a new club was always intimidating, but Dustin, Mike, and Lucas were no strangers to Dungeons & Dragons, so they weren’t as nervous as they could’ve been. They had already met Eddie, who had basically recruited them in the cafeteria a couple weeks before the campaign started. That was the scary part; nothing after that could really surprise them. 

When they walked into the club room for Hellfire, they were met with basically an empty room besides Eddie, who was setting up. Various notebooks and dice sets were scattered around the table, indicating that people dropped their stuff off here. 

When Eddie heard the door open, he grinned and held his arms open dramatically. “Welcome to Hellfire, boys.”

Lucas and Mike tried to play it cool and not make it seem like they were the only newbies at the club, but Dustin responded with a bright, excited smile. He looked over at them enthusiastically before bounding towards the table as they followed more cautiously behind him. 

“Are we early?” Mike asked, noting the lack of people in the room. He scanned over the table at everyone’s dice sets, noticing one that was a soft pink color, embellished by sparkles, that Eddie had to push out of the way to set up his DM screen since they were right next to him. Mike made a face of confusion, picking up one of the dice. “Whose-“

“Nah, you’re not early,” Eddie shrugged, cutting him off. “Everyone’s made a sort of ritual of going to the bathroom before every session. Say they don’t want to ruin the momentum once they get going, which I appreciate,” he explains, putting a hand over his heart after the last part. 

The other boys were also now peeking at the sparkly dice, which is something they had never seen before. They were obviously wondering which one of the guys they had already met used that one. Mike put the die down, looking at them as if in silent conversation. 

Just then, the doors to the club room were shoved open, and a girl came practically bouncing through it. “I still say we should move the club room,” she spoke, presumably to Eddie but really just to the room in general. “The bathrooms near here are disgusting.”

Eddie smiled at her, waving her off. “And I say again, this is the only room we can use.”

She came prancing over to him, a slight pouty look on her face. “You never listen to my great ideas,” she said, her voice a playful whine but clearly not serious. She was met with only an eye roll from Eddie. 

The freshman boys were staring at her so hard they were practically boring holes into her. They had never considered a girl being in Hellfire, having never really seen a girl playing D&D before (other than Nancy playing with them when they were younger, but that didn’t count). But there she was, her Hellfire shirt tucked into a pink pleated skirt that definitely did not match the shirt or the thick ring that she was wearing as a necklace that bounced whenever she walked. 

She noticed them now, smiling brightly at them. “Oh, it’s always so exciting when new people join the campaign!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together before skipping over to them and introducing herself. The boys introduced themselves hesitantly. 

“Right!” She clapped her hands, turning towards Eddie again and making her way back to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I left one of my textbooks in my last class. Don’t start without me.”

“What do you take me for?” He asked in faux-offense, ruffling her hair. “I’d never start without you. Hurry up, though. You know how cranky the guys get if we start late.”

She gave his shoulder a pat before leaving the room in a rush, her hair bouncing inside her sparkly scrunchie with every stride she took. All of the freshman boys just stood there for a moment, stunned. 

Dustin was the first to break the silence. “… You have a Disney Princess in this club?” He asked Eddie in a joking tone. 

Eddie snorted a laugh. “Yeah, you won’t think that when you’re playing with her,” he assured them, assuming his position at the head of the table. “Don’t count her out just because she’s a girl. She’s ruthless.”

Any further prodding was cut off by the rest of the club members entering. They scanned the room, waving to the mostly-new faces before turning to Eddie. “Where’s-“

“She forgot something in her last class,” Eddie explained immediately. When he heard the groans that immediately left their mouths, Eddie shook his head. “She’ll be back any minute, and if you complain I won’t be half as nice if you have to leave the room before our session.”

“You wouldn’t be half as nice to us anyway,” one of the boys grumbled, sitting down at his spot at the table. “We’re not your favorites.”

“Hey,” Eddie pointed a finger at him. “I don’t play favorites. I’m very fair.” His comment was just met with an eye roll before the doors opened again, almost as if on cue. 

“Sorry, guys!” The girl came bounding over to the table, reaching for her bag and shoving her newly acquired textbook into it. “I’m good now. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“Not at all,” Eddie assured her, patting her on the shoulder as she took the seat closest to him. “Everyone else just got here a minute ago,” he continued, giving them a pointed look. They just shrugged back at the two of them; they couldn’t say anything because he wasn’t wrong. 

When everyone took their seats, the new boys sat at the unclaimed chairs. Eddie dimmed the lights to set the mood, crouching on his chair when he came back over, starting his theatrical introduction to the campaign. 

Any anxiety about being the newbies of the group faded away as the session went on. The familiarity of the game overtook everything, and they weren’t treated any different than everyone else. Eddie wasn’t kidding about the girl they were wary about before; the sweet, cheerful girl turned into something else entirely, assuming the persona of her chaotic magic-user. They couldn’t even tell her alignment, which kind of scared them. 

After the session, everyone talked excitedly, the new campaign sparking a passionate discussion between everyone. Eddie smiled to himself as he was packing everything up, obviously feeling a bit proud. 

After a while, everyone started to disperse, and the three freshman boys all checked the clock, saying to Eddie that they couldn’t be late for their rides. He shrugged his shoulders, everything finally packed away. “If you ever have a problem, I can drive you home.”

“My sister stays here for the newspaper anyway,” Mike explained, inching towards the door. “So she might as well drive me. But she gets pissed if I’m late, so…” he trailed off with a wave as he backed out of the door. 

“I actually have a basketball thing…” Lucas said awkwardly, as if bringing up a sport in a D&D club was a sin. “I have a friend that helps me practice for tryouts. But, yeah, I’m also late,” he slung his bag over his shoulder, throwing a “see you later” towards the room as he also left. 

Eddie looked at Dustin, asking him a silent question. “Oh, no,” he shook his head. “I made Steve promise to pick me up after his shift.”

The girl looked up at him, a puzzled look on her face that mimicked Eddie’s as they looked at each other before she went back to shoving books in her backpack. “Well, offer’s always on the table if you need it,” Eddie assured him. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dustin nodded, walking out with the only two people left in the room. When they got outside, they waved goodbye. Eddie started heading towards his van, with the girl following closely behind him. 

Two of the boys from the club were still talking in the front of the parking lot, and Dustin walked over to them as he waited for Steve. He still eyed the girl as she was walking away. “Isn’t it weird to have a girl here?” He asked them. 

One of them snorted. “Don’t let Eddie hear you say that. He gets mad.”

“He’s very protective of her,” the other boy agreed. “Plus, she’s been here long enough that it doesn’t feel weird anymore,” he added with a shrug.

Dustin looked over at where the two were still walking together, the thought that she had just parked near him seeming less likely of a possibility. “I guess he takes her home?”

“Well, yeah…” The boys both look at each other as if hesitant to say something before adding, “They are dating.”

Dustin’s head whipped around. “Wait, really?” He asked as he was met with nods. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

“He never tells new members at first. She gets cautious looks by new people,” one of them explained, gesturing to Dustin as an example. “He lets them get to know her first so they know that she’s not just here because she’s his girlfriend. She loves to play, and he doesn’t give her any special treatment.”

Dustin nodded in thought as Steve finally pulled up to him, seeming to remind the other boys that they needed to leave too. They waved goodbye as Dustin got in Steve’s car, noticing now that Eddie and the girl were stopped by his van, smiling at each other as they put their things in the trunk. 

Steve noticed Dustin looking somewhere, his head turning to follow his eyes. He saw this girl with Eddie, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss, laughing as he picked her up and spun her around. 

 “Huh,” Steve said in slight surprise. “I’ve never seen her before.”

Dustin faced forward again, speaking sarcastically to him. “There’s a girl in this school you didn’t try to ask out?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t know everybody. Just… most people,” he shrugged. 

“Are you mad because someone you called ‘the freak’ has a steady girlfriend who shares his interests while you’re still hopping from girl to girl and not finding anything of substance?” Dustin asked, his voice slightly teasing in a way that almost sounded condescending. 

Steve put the car into drive, looking out the windshield as he sighed. “I don’t have to drive you home. I could leave you here,” he deadpanned, even though he was already driving away. 

That first session was the only one that had any kind of uneasy feelings. The boys soon fit in perfectly with the rest of the club, talking with them easily every day now. They were very lucky to find friends that were so accepting when they just started high school, and a club they could look forward to every week.

[sweartochangetheworld]

Casual.

One shot.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 16.7k

Summary: You and Eddie had been best friends since the start of your high school career. When suddenly one night he asks you to be casual, friends with benefits. How could you say no when the man you love is offering you to be with him? Even if it’s temporary.

Warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, reader is AFAB, vague descriptions of reader, reader and eddie are bestfriends, friends with benefits, tons of yearning, eddie being toxic (briefly), jealousy, drinking alcohol, smoking pot, smut, pussy eating, brief dirty talk, unprotected p in v, reader on birth control(not mentioned though) happy ending.

Authors note: So honestly, I’m just obsessed. Listening to Casual by Chappel Roan had me wanting an Eddie one shot. This is my first one shot. (I’m a multi-chapter type of person) Also, formatting is alittle weird cause tumblr wouldn’t let me use as many lines as I needed when posting.

—————-

Your fingers tightened around his knotted curls, feeling the sweat and heat radiate off of his scalp. The new mixtape he made and wanted to show you, was long forgotten, getting drowned out by lewd noises.

A moan or maybe a scream caught in your throat as his head was deep between your legs, his tongue exploring every intimate inch with a skill that left you breathless and almost begging for more. Each stroke was deliberate, designed just to drive you closer and closer to your orgasm. The noises you were making had him smiling and almost laughing into you.

One hand gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as if he knew exactly what you needed, his fingers digging into your plush flesh with a possessive urgency. The other hand? Both middle and ring finger deep inside, making your toes curl behind his head. The world around you dissolved, leaving only the sensation of his mouth and the sound of your own ragged breathing.

You could feel the pressure building. That rubber band stretched so thin, it was only a matter of seconds before it snapped. Your body arched against him. The room spun with a dizzying intensity, and you were on the brink, teetering on the edge of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

—————-

“Hellooooo.”

Gareth’s hand drifted into your line of sight, fingers wagging dramatically, dragging you back to reality like someone yanking open a blackout curtain at high noon.

“Earth to—”

“What do you want?” You cut him off, a little sharper than you meant to, blinking hard as the cafeteria snapped back into focus. Plastic chairs, the smell of fried potatoes, the hum of a hundred conversation. Not the close quarters of his dingy Chevy van.

Gareth raised his brows but didn’t flinch. “I asked if I could have your fries. You’re not eating them anyway. Why let them go to waste?”

“Oh.” You felt heat creep up your neck. Embarrassment making itself known. “Yeah. Sorry. I spaced out. Sure. Have them.”

You nudged your tray toward him, letting it scrape across the table until it settled in front of his hoodie-clad chest. He shot you a quick, grateful grin before shoving a handful of fries into his mouth like he’d been dying of starvation.

You tried to let the noise of the cafeteria sweep you back into the present. The metallic clang of trays, the squeak of sneakers and chair legs on linoleum, bursts of laughter bouncing off the cinderblock walls. It was so loud sometimes. So overwhelming.

To your right, the freshmen discussed loudly about their girlfriends and what plans they had for spring break, like any of them were actually gonna do more than the typical D&D one shot in Mike's basement or go to the arcade.

To your left, the upperclassmen were half-shouting over each other about their late-night gigs, already basking in the imagined glow of being past curfew and untouchable.

“Oh! And don’t forget! Tomorrow we have that bonfire party at Lover’s Lake. So, that’ll be fun too.”

Your head gave a dull, traitorous throb, and you pushed your chair back with a sigh, slinging your backpack over one shoulder as you stood.

“Hey! Where you going?” Gareth called out through a mouthful of fries, watching you weave between tables like he expected you to sit back down.

“I forgot I had a test today,” you lied without hesitation. “Gonna cram a little. Library.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t want one.

You hit the hallway and the silence swallowed you whole. Lockers stretched in both directions, the overhead lights humming quietly, and you finally let the truth you’d been dodging crawl up your spine.

The guy who sat at the head of the table, the one running the show with his loud voice and louder laugh, He’s the one you called your best friend.

Or at least, you used to.

You wanted to call him something more. But lately you weren’t even sure you could even claim best friend anymore.

He was like whiplash. One day, things are normal. You’re in his van, windows down, screaming along to music. Making a pit stop at the convenient store for slurpees and snacks before you start to bullshit the day away together. Whether it’s watching movies, playing guitar, finding local music shows to see, going out to the roller rink—which he definitely hates but still does just for you.

Then the next he’s distant, you touch his shoulder and he shrugs you off. Makes plans with your friends right in front of you and doesn’t think to invite you along, keeps things short. He’s not necessarily cruel about it, but it still makes your heart feel like it’s in pieces around your feet.

Until suddenly, he’s banging on your door while your parents are at work. As soon as you open it, his hands are on your face and he’s kissing you. So aggressively that you would’ve definitely fallen back, had he not been holding you upright.

You brought that on yourself. You knew that.Smoked too much. Drank too much. Let things blur too far.Climbed into his lap like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. And you had let that happen again and again.

All you had to do was tell him no. Maybe even been honest with him.

You had pushed all your feelings for him to the side just to be with him any way that he’d have you. And he doesn’t even care that every time you guys finish, he takes another piece of you when he walks out that door.

He doesn’t care that when he smiles at you, your heartbeat slows down and somehow beats faster at the same time. He doesn’t care about the flowers that bloom behind your ribs when he touches you. Doesn’t care about the way his kisses shoot electricity through your body, leaving you buzzing and breathless

And you hate it. How he could continue on like nothing is wrong. Like his friendship with you wasn’t worth fucking up. How could he not know how you feel?

Or worse, what if he knew and just didn’t think it was worth the effort? Or just using it to his advantage?

How could you mean so little to him? After all this time?

—————-

The two little clear glasses slammed on the counter, the clink echoing in the cramped kitchen. You and Eddie grinned at each other, loose and warm. The kind of smile you’d only ever let him pull out of you. All walls down. Not having to put on a show for anyone.

He grabbed your hand and raised it above your head, beginning to slowly dance in front of you. You laughed, trying to hear the soft music above your heartbeat.

Lita Ford and Ozzy.

You joined in for a moment before he twirled you. His smile was so wide, dimples and sharp canines on display.

He didn’t even realize what it did to you, the way he smiled like that. He never did.

You stayed like that for the rest of the song, easily dancing with him. It was second nature. You both don’t care if you step on each other, or fumble and end up bumping shoulders. You just laugh and continue.

Finally, he turned away, disappearing down the hall toward his room. A few seconds later, he reappeared, shoulder braced casually against the doorway, a joint pinched between his fingers.

“Care to join?” he asked, lifting it slightly.

“Always.”

He jerked his head toward the front door. You followed him out onto the tiny porch, really just a concrete slab with an ashtray overflowing with half-smoked cigarettes. The night air was cooler outside, brushing against your warm skin, sobering you just enough to feel the tension stretch thin between you.

Eddie flicked the lighter, cupping his hand from the wind. The flame caught, illuminating his face, the curve of his nose, the lazy concentration in his eyes as he took the first hit. Smoke curled from his mouth and back into his nose before he passed the joint to you, fingers brushing yours longer than necessary.

You inhaled, slow, heart beating somewhere too loud, the joint shaking almost imperceptibly between your fingertips.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard.” He said softly.

“Says the guy staring at me like he’s waiting for me to do something other than hit this joint.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look away. He just stepped closer, close enough that your feet were now touching, close enough that you could smell the mix of smoke and whiskey on his breath. You took another hit.

“Maybe I am.” He whispered.

The joint dangled forgotten between your fingers. Your pulse was too loud, too frantic. You exhaled shakily and he leaned in, dipping his head like he was about to kiss you, breathing in the smoke deeply. He smiled and slightly angled his lips to the side to blow out his impromptu shotgun hit. Eyes never leaving yours.

But then he leaned in again, close enough that your lips parted on instinct, close enough his breath warmed your cheek. Your heart tripped over itself. This is it. You felt it like a spark in your chest. Hope rising too fast, too bright.

You couldn’t help it. A smile tugged at your mouth, equal parts disbelief and relief. For a split second, you let yourself think he was finally admitting it—finally seeing you the way you’d always seen him.

Then his lips touched yours. Immediate sparks.

The kiss was slow. Trembling. A hesitant brush that deepened just enough to make your knees weaken so violently you had to grab onto his sides for stability. His mouth tasted like the shared whiskey and smoke, warm and soft and devastating. His fingers curled around your jaw like you were something breakable, his thumb brushing your cheek in a way that felt intimate, purposeful, and dangerously close to tender.

You melted into him without meaning to. God, he kissed like he’d been waiting for this. Like he’d thought about it. Like he liked the taste of you more than he expected to.

Your stomach flipped, everything inside you tightening at once, and you kissed him back because you’d replayed this moment in your head so many times you could’ve sworn you dreamed it into existence.

He pulled back a breath too soon, eyes still half-lidded, lips slightly parted.

And you smiled, because now? You finally had him. Your best friend is finally admitting to being on the same page as you. So stupidly in love, but always too scared to admit.

But this was it, he was finally choosing you.

Then his expression shifted as he leaned away, something softer becoming something guarded. Calculated. He dragged a thumb across his bottom lip, trying to look casual even though his chest rose and fell a little too quickly.

“Fuck” you whispered, almost in disbelief he finally made the first move.

“Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks tinged pink beneath the porch light.

“That, uh… probably shouldn’t’ve happened.” He continued.

The words hit you like a slap you never saw coming. Small. Quiet. Almost gentle. But still a slap. Silence. Awkward. Thick. Hot.

Shouldn’t have? But God, you wanted it to.

Your heart, which had been buoyant and stupidly soaring just seconds ago, plummeted so fast it made you dizzy. You felt it—felt the crack form right down the center of it, delicate and sharp like thin glass splitting under pressure.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came. Every word dying before it made its way to your throat. All that spilled through you was a familiar ache, the one you’d been drowning in since the first night you realized you loved him in a way he would never return.

Eddie cleared his throat as he took a step back to lean on the railing.

“Look… it doesn’t have to be weird.”

You blinked. Hard. “Huh?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, shrugging like this meant nothing to him. “Why can’t friends help friends out? Y’know.” He gestured vaguely, eyes sliding to your lips again. “Blow off some steam. Relieve some stress.”

He said it lightly, like it wasn’t the biggest deal ever. But there was something hungry behind it. Something he didn’t want to name.

Your chest tightened. He had no idea he was offering the exact thing you wanted. Just stripped of everything you needed. A hollow gift wrapped in the exact shape of your longing.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said, voice dipping, like he was doing both of you some kind of favor. Like he wasn’t twisting the knife with a smile.

Your stomach dropped—hope plummeting straight through the floor. He didn’t even notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t want to.

You swallowed, the motion thick and unsteady, your heart battering itself against your ribs like it wanted out, wanted him, wanted something you couldn’t even name without breaking in half.

Eddie watched you patiently. Too patiently. Pretending he wasn’t waiting for your answer like it mattered. Pretending he wasn’t hoping for the version of you that didn’t feel things, the version he thought you were. Pretending you weren’t already his, and hadnt been for longer than you’d ever admit out loud.

“What do you mean?” you managed, though your voice sounded small, scraped thin and hollow.

He smiled that easy, oblivious smile, taking the joint from your hand and shaking his hair out of his face. He inhaled slow, cheeks hollowing, smoke curling up between you before he blew it in your direction, playful and soft and completely unaware of how close you were to shattering.

“I mean let’s be friends with benefits.” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been my best friend for the last four years. Why not?”

You froze. There it was. The twist.

The part where your perfect, knee-buckling kiss was—to him—just convenience.

Your lips still tingled from him. Your heart still thudded out of rhythm. And all he wanted… was casual? But the way he had kissed you? The way his hand trembled against your jaw? That had not felt casual at all.

Why not?

Fuck. Because you loved him. Because it meant everything to you and would mean nothing to him.

Because being close to him without actually having him was the exact kind of pain you’d spent pretending didn’t gut you.

But the alcohol in your veins was warm and stupid and reckless. The weed rolling in your lungs made everything feel a little softer around the edges, a little less sharp.

And then there was the fact that you had wanted him for so long that the idea of being with him in any way he’d allow felt like stepping to the edge of a cliff and willingly stepping off into that free fall.

A part of you hurt. That deep, quiet, bone-deep hurt. Because he didn’t want more. Didn’t even think to want more. Didn’t think to ask.

But another part, that louder, hazier, selfish part, jumped at the chance to touch him again. To kiss him again. To pretend, even for a night, that he was yours in some temporary, fragile, doomed way.

You felt the sadness settle in you. In your heart, in your bones, filling every inch. Heavy and familiar. But it didn’t stop the heat that coiled right next to it.

“So…” he said, watching you closely now.

“What do you say? No strings attached. Just casual?”

—————-

You scrubbed a hand through your hair, your fingers catching in a knot as you reached your locker.

“Fuck it.”

You changed directions and headed to the parking lot. Right past that stupid beat-up Chevy van, straight to your black ’77 Ford Pinto.

You tossed your bag through the open passenger-side window, the strap catching for a second before dropping onto the ripped vinyl seat, and rounded the hood toward the driver’s side.

“You cutting class, Bean?”

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. You rolled your eyes at the stupid nickname.

“You really have to come up with something better than that, Munson.”

“You’re the one driving a pinto bean, sooo…” He drew the word out, grinning around it. “Get a cooler car and you’ll get a cooler name.”

He pushed off from where he’d been lingering near the Chevy, sauntering over like he had all the time in the world. Eddie leaned his hip against your passenger door, the metal of his chains clanking against it. His rings clicked softly as he dug into the front pocket of his jeans for his pack of Marlboro Reds.

He looked annoyingly good doing it, too. Messy curls spilling around his neck and over his shoulders, dark strands escaping to brush his cheekbones. His bangs were too long again, skimming his lashes every time he blinked. He wore that battered leather jacket, the one with the stressed seams and the cigarette burn near the pocket, a few chains to keep the cuff from flying wide open, over a faded Motörhead tee.

He pulled a cigarette free with a practiced flick, held it between his lips, and cupped his hand around the lighter as he sparked it. When he inhaled, his cheeks hollowed just enough to make your stomach flutter in a way you refused to acknowledge.

He exhaled a line of smoke, then turned his head to look at you fully.

“So,” he said, voice dropping into that low, curious drawl he used when he actually cared what the answer was. “What’s up?”

You yanked open the Pinto’s door, the metal protesting with a loud squealing groan.

“I’m going home, Eds. I feel like shit, okay?”

He stepped around the car, eyebrows lifting. “I wouldn’t mind skipping and following you back to yours. I know your parents aren’t home until—”

“No. Thanks.”

He blinked, big brown eyes going wide as his smile faltered like someone had flicked a switch inside him.

“Why not?”

You swallowed, jaw tightening, already regretting how sharp you’d sounded.

“Sorry, Eds. I’m just… not feeling up for it today. I’m probably gonna go home and sleep it off.”

He stared at you for a beat, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. Then his face softened, the tension slipping away.

“That’s fine,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder as he finally took another hit. “I’m still coming home with you. We’ll throw on a movie, maybe smoke, and just lay around until you feel better.”

It was so him. That stubborn, casual devotion he didn’t even seem aware of, that you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your mouth.

“Okay,” you sighed, giving in. “But I’m picking the movie.”

“Please,” he scoffed, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Like I ever win that battle.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile grew. “You never do.”

He smiled, bright and boyish and ridiculously Eddie.

“C’mon then, Bean,” he teased, nudging your shoulder with his. “Race you home.”

“You’ll lose.” you declared, sliding into the Pinto.

“Only cause I let you win.” he yelled over his shoulder, heading toward his van.

You laughed and it felt good. Felt like something inside you loosened.

You pulled out of the lot first, Eddie’s van rumbling behind you. He honked in rapid bursts, which made you shake your head and grin like an idiot.

Every time you hit a stoplight, he pulled up next to you, revving his engine dramatically until the old van wheezed in protest. You snorted, holding up your middle finger.

He flipped you off with both hands. You yelled, grow up. He retorted with a make me, before turning the knob and blaring whatever tape was shoved in his radio, obnoxiously headbanging until the light turned green. Despite everything—everything messy and confusing and unspoken—this part was easy. This part was home. This is why you loved him.

You parked in your driveway, Eddie pulling in right behind you like he lived there.

The minute you climbed out of your car, he was already walking over, hands shoved in his pockets, curls bouncing as he moved.

“Alright,” he announced, “get inside, change into something comfy, and I’ll start setting up the movie.”

“What movie?” you challenged.

“Whatever you tell me to put on,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Because I’m spineless and at your mercy, Sweetheart.”

You laughed out a “that’s how I like it” as you shoved his shoulder before unlocking the door.

He stumbled exaggeratedly, arms flailing.

“Abuse!” he shouted.

“Drama queen.” you shot back.

Inside, it was simple. Warm. Familiar. You dropped your keys on the small table by the door. He kicked off his shoes without being asked.

Both of you made a beeline to your room, tossing your bags to the floor and grabbing whatever soft, mismatched clothes your hands first touched from your closet. Eddie grabbed one of his many shirts you’ve stolen, along with his sweat pants he leaves here just in case.

You changed with your backs turned to each other, like you always had. It was a habit, natural. No one called attention to how silly it seemed now that you’ve both laid yourself bare to each other. Then you wasted the rest of the evening exactly the way the two of you always did. Half-watching shitty movies you’d both memorized, trading commentary, quoting lines, laughing as you both laid comfortably against one another.

The room was quiet except for the sound coming from the TV—some scene you weren’t even pretending to follow anymore. Eddie’s fingers kept tracing slow, absentminded shapes on your arm, drifting up to your shoulder, then back down again like he was memorizing you by touch. The soft and warm pads of his fingers were leaving blazing trails in their wake, your nerve endings reacting dramatically to such a casual touch.

Every so often, his thumb would sweep over a spot that made your breath catch. He leaned in and you felt him smile against your neck like he heard it, like he liked it.

His lips brushed your skin again, barely there. A question, almost.

When you didn’t pull away, when you tilted your head just enough, he took that as an answer enough with another soft kiss, then another, each one lingering a little longer, a little warmer. Your pulse jumped under his mouth.

You didn’t mean to make a sound, but a quiet, involuntary moan slipped out—and that was it. You felt the shift in him instantly. The way his hand slid from your arm to your waist, pulling you fractionally closer. The way his breath warmed your skin before he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss just under your jaw.

This time it was a slow open mouth kiss, that his teeth lightly nipped in before his tongue soothed away any type of pain it could’ve caused.

You turned toward him, your nose brushing his cheek. And suddenly everything felt electric, suspended.

His pulled away from a moment, eyes flicked down to your mouth, then up to your eyes, checking, waiting, swallowing hard like he wasn’t sure if he should cross that tiny space between you. As if he hadn’t done it already. Plenty of times.

You closed it for him. Your lips met his in a soft, searching kiss, the kind that started tentative but deepened fast. Eddie’s hand slid up to your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone with surprising gentleness as he kissed you again—slower, deeper, like he’d been wanting to do that for longer than he’d ever admit.

You could only hope…

You felt his heartbeat through his chest where it pressed to yours, steady at first… then stumbling in a way that strangely mirrored your own. Beating a little too fast. He pushed again, laying you completely on your back with him practically ontop of you.

He pulled back just a fraction, foreheads nearly touching, breaths mingling in the dim light.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low, warm, full of confidence. Just like he always was.

You brushed your nose against his. “Hey.”

His hand trailed down to your waist again, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to feel your warmth but not enough to push boundaries. Not yet.

“You sure?” he murmured, his lips hovering over yours, his voice so gentle it made your chest ache. He always asked this, as if you were ever going to change your mind about him.

And your truth rose up like a tide you couldn’t fight. You weren’t sure about a lot of things. But you were painfully, undeniably sure about the way you felt when he touched you like this.

You nodded, small but certain.

His breath hitched, just barely but still noticeable, and the way he kissed you then was different. As if this suddenly meant something to him too… even if neither of you dared to say it out loud.

His hands moved with a newfound confidence, exploring your body with a tenderness that made you feel cherished. You could feel the heat building between you, a slow, sensual burn that pooled low and left you breathless, wanting more.

You pulled him closer, your body arching against his, and he responded with a low, approving moan that vibrated through you. His kisses trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping gently at your collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

Your hands found their way under his shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin. He shivered under your touch as you explored him with a boldness that surprised even you before you pulled it over his head.

When his eyes met yours again, his pupils were blown wide. He slowly trailed his hands up your sides, bunching your shirt up with them until he slowly pulled it off of you and tossed it to the side.

His hands roamed over your body. You arched toward him without thinking, your body answering him even while your mind spun with a dizzy mixture of want and fear and longing. He made quick work of the clasp behind your back, his fingers steady while yours trembled, and when the fabric slipped away, his breath caught.

There was so much hunger in his eyes. That alone nearly broke you. Almost did every time.

Then he leaned down, his mouth finding your breast, his tongue circling your nipple with a skill that left you gasping.

You fumbled with his waistband, your hands shaking with anticipation, and he helped you. His pants fell to the floor, and he kicked them aside, leaving him in just his boxers.

He settled between your thighs, slowly grinding himself against your clothed heat, his eyes never leaving yours. It only served to heighten your arousal. You gasped as he lifted you slightly, allowing him to grind against you more intimately. You couldn't help but arch into him, wanting more friction.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice rough at the edges.

You nodded, but the truth pulsed louder beneath your ribs. I’m not okay. I’m in love with you, and you don’t even know you’re breaking me.

But your body leaned up anyway, your hands sliding over his shoulders, pulling him down until your foreheads touched. He exhaled shakily, his nose brushing yours.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he murmured, thumb stroking your hip with a tenderness that didn’t match the casual arrangement that you both had agreed on.

You swallowed hard. “Don’t stop.” you breathed.

Something flickered across his expression. Maybe surprise, relief, maybe something deeper you didn't let yourself examine. And then he kissed you again, slower this time, like he needed the reassurance as much as you did.

He slowly pulled down your panties, his fingers brushing against your skin, making you shiver. You helped him remove his boxers, your hands trembling slightly. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or anticipation. His cock sprung free, the pink tip already leaking a bead of precum. He lifted you effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his length against you.

He looked down between the two of you and wrapped his hand around his cock before running it up and down your wet folds. Your mouth fell open with a loud moan as it grazed your clit. Only for a moment before he lined himself up and entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch before filling you completely. You both moaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He began to move, not pulling out, just rolling his hips against you.

“You take my cock so perfectly, baby.”

You couldn’t respond with anything more than a moan as you threw your head back on the pillow. He started his slow thrusts in a steady rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you met his every thrust.

His lips found yours again, and you kissed deeply, your tongues dancing with each other, moaning into each other's mouths. The room spun around you, and all you could focus on was the feel of him inside you, the taste of him on your lips, and the sound of your combined moans filling the air.

He increased his pace, his body slamming into yours with a force that had you crying out his name. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the coiled tension ready to explode. He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit.

“That’s right, baby. This pussy is all mine.”

“Fuck! Yes! It’s all yours, Eddie!”

He continued to circle your clit, thrusting relentlessly into you. Watching you as your jaw went slack and you squeezed your eyes shut. Focusing on the sensation of your orgasm building. His free hand suddenly came up to your face, grabbed it and angled it towards him.

“No, don’t do that. You look at me when I’m fucking you.”

You couldn’t help but listen. Your eyes meeting his, the iris almost completely gone with how wide his pupils were. You’d never thought Eddie would be like this in the bedroom, not that you hadn’t thought about it before, late at night with your hand shoved in your panties. It practically had you like putty in his hands.

But there were times he’d be inside of you, whispering absolute filth, it had you blushing the next day when your mind would drift back. Sometimes you questioned how he was able to look at you the same after the things he’d say to you. The things he’d done to you.

“You’re mine. You got that? You and this pussy.”

The words hit you like heat, sharp and overwhelming. Something inside your chest ached, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t even think past the rush of electricity running through your veins.

The possessiveness in his voice—raw, unfiltered, unguarded—tore through every boundary you tried to believe you had set with him. He didn’t say it lightly. He didn’t say it playfully. He meant it. At least, in this moment.

Your lips parted, a small, helpless sound slipping out before you could stop it. Your whole body reacted before your mind caught up—legs shaking, stomach tight, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your fingertips.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a way that contradicted the rough edge in his voice, as if he knew exactly what that moment was doing to you.

“Baby,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “Answer me.”

Heat rushed through your chest, your face, everywhere. You tried to nod, tried to breathe, tried not to fall apart under the weight of how badly you wanted those words to mean more than he intended.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice unsteady. You tried to nod as best you could with him still holding your face in place. “I’m yours.”

He smiled at that answer and slowed down his thrusts, making sure to focus on the force of them, turning it to a slow hard pace. Thumb never leaving your clit.

Then suddenly, you shattered, he had finally pushed you over that edge. Your orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you screaming out his name.

“Fuuuuck. Such a good girl and cumming for me.”

He gave a few more sloppy thrust before following soon after, his body tensing as he spilled into you, your name a whispered plea on his lips. You held each other tightly, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

—————-

You slowly blinked your eyes open. Welcoming the morning sun rays in. You tried to roll over and stretch, but something held you in place. Eddie’s arm.

It was slung lazily around your waist. His fingers were curled into the plush of your stomach like he’d fallen asleep holding on. His breath warmed the back of your neck in slow, even waves. Somewhere after the sex, between the third bad movie and the few joints he insisted on rolling, the two of you had knocked out. Him flat on his stomach, you curled on your side, your legs tangled together like you’d forgotten where you ended and he began.

You blinked blearily at the soft morning light coming through your curtains. The room smelled like weed, deodorant, and Eddie’s cologne he sprayed, swearing it would get rid of the skunky smell. His hair was sprawled across your pillow, curls tickling your cheek.

Carefully, you lifted his arm and slid out from under him. He made a low sound—half-groan, half-whine—but didn’t wake, just flopped onto his back and spread out like a starfish.

“Idiot.” you whispered, not sure if it sounded annoyed or fond.

Probably both. You quickly got dressed then made your way downstairs.

Your mom was in the kitchen already dressed for work, hair done, coffee mug in hand. She looked up as soon as she heard you on the stairs.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she said brightly. “Eddie awake yet?”

You cocked an eyebrow, silently asking how she knew.

“His van was in my spot.”

You nodded, mumbling out a still asleep, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring yourself a cup of coffee, flavoring it to your liking with milk and sugar.

Your mom sighed happily. “I like having him around. He’s sweet. And he makes you laugh.” She paused, giving you a pointed look. “You should keep him.”

You almost choked on your coffee.

“Mom.”

“What? I’m just saying.” She shrugged, stirring her own with way too much enthusiasm for the hour.

“He’s adorable. And polite. And he says ‘thank you’ every time I hand him a plate like I’m giving him a bar of gold.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

“He’s just… Eddie.”

She leaned against the counter. “Is just Eddie staying for breakfast?”

You shrugged. “I’ll wake him in a minute. You know he doesn’t like turning down free food.”

Your mom beamed. “Good. Tell him I made muffins. I’ll pack you guys some to take to school.”

You snorted. “You’re spoiling him.”

“I’m spoiling you,” she corrected. “He’s just a bonus.”

You shook your head, unable to stop the small laugh that escaped. “Alright, alright. I’m pretty sure you love him more than me at this point.”

“You said it, not me.” She laughed.

You turned to head upstairs again, already knowing Eddie would still be spread across your mattress, snoring softly, dead to the world.

Your mom called after you, teasing. “Tell him to brush his hair this time!”

“I’m not his mother!”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t do exactly what you tell him to!” She called after you.

You froze for half a second, heat rushing to your cheeks. Then you fled up the stairs before she could see you blush, heart thumping way too fast for seven in the morning.

You padded back up the stairs, the old wood creaking under your feet. Your room was dim minus the one single sun ray that found its way between your half-closed curtains. The soft orange glow of morning settling over everything Eddie had left scattered around. His socks, his rings on your nightstand, his shirt lazily thrown over your desk chair like he lived here.

He was exactly where you’d left him, exactly how you knew you’d find him. On his back, sprawled diagonally across your bed like a menace, mouth slightly open, hair a wild halo.

He always told you his best night's rest was in your bed. His mattress could never compare. You climbed onto your mattress gently, knee sinking into the sheets beside him.

“Eds,” you whispered, rubbing a gentle hand on his chest.

A groan.

You leaned closer. “Wake up. My mom made muffins.”

His eyes cracked open—just barely, then shut again dramatically. “Five more minutes.” He mumbled.

“No,” you said, stretching out beside him. “We have school.”

He made a sound that was definitely a complaint and definitely not a word. Then before you could react, his arms looped around your waist and he yanked you down against him.

You squeaked as you toppled into his chest, your face pressed into his warm body.

“Eddie!”

He grinned sleepily, eyes still half-closed. “Why doesn’t this alarm clock have a snooze button?”

That drew a small giggle out of you, but before you had a chance to retort, he rolled. Suddenly you were pinned beneath him, and he started kissing you—everywhere except the mouth. Your forehead, your cheek, the side of your nose, your jaw, your collarbone. Quick, playful, affectionate little pecks, each one punctuated with a muffled “mwah.”

You burst into laughter, wriggling under him. “Stop! Eddie!”

“Nope,” he said, kissing your cheek again. “I’m awake now. This is your fault.”

You shoved at him, giggling, but he only flopped more of his weight onto you, warm and heavy and annoyingly comfortable.

“Come on,” he murmured into your neck. “Let’s skip today. Again. One more won’t kill us.”

“We skipped yesterday.”

“Barely.” He kissed under your ear. “C’mon. Let’s just stay here. Sleep. Eat muffins. Watch movies. Smoke a little. Nap some more. You love napping with me.”

You did. Too much.

But if you stayed here with him warm and lazy and kissing you like this, you were going to do something reckless. Or stupid. Or both. And at this point, you weren’t sure how much more your heart could take.

Eddie was an affectionate person. No matter who it was, he liked hugging, throwing his arms around his friends, holding hands. Get him drunk enough and he’s trying to give everyone pecks on the lips. He craved the physical touch. But he had never been this physical with you. Up until you agreed to his stupid request.

You put your hands on his cheeks then ran them down his body until they landed on his waist. With all of your tired strength, you pushed him to the side, rolling you both over until you were on top.

He cocked an eyebrow, definitely thinking he had won as he hands moved to lazily rest on your thighs that straddled him.

“Nope. No. We are going to school.”

His eyes were wide as he frowned at you dramatically like you’d betrayed him. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m realistic. Buuut,” you drug the word out as you pushed off of his chest and stood up. “We have that bonfire. Get through today and it’s like a reward.”

He rolled his eyes then watched as you made your way around the room. You grabbed the pair of jeans he’d left on your floor yesterday and tossed them at his face. He caught them with one hand, barely.

“Now, get dressed.”

He sat up, hair a mess, smirking at you like you didn’t just manhandle him. Like he didn’t enjoy every second of it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, voice low and teasing.

You huffed, trying not to smile. “Shut up and put your pants on.”

—————-

You stood in front of the mirror, leaning in close as you dragged the last sweep of liner across your upper lash line. The bedroom was warm from the late-afternoon sun, your stereo playing low in the background, something upbeat to keep your nerves from chewing holes in your stomach.

You told yourself you were getting dolled up because all of your friends were going to be at the Lover’s Lake bonfire tonight.

Not because Eddie would be there.

Definitely not because you’d picked out your nicest outfit—the one that made you feel confident and soft and just a little dangerous. Definitely not because you wanted him to notice.

You fluffed your hair, tugged your shirt into place allowing for more cleavage to be shown, and brushed a thumb across your lips to clean up a smudge of color.

A honk blared from outside. Short, sharp, impatient. You felt your stomach drop and flutter at the same time.

“Show time.” you muttered to your reflection, like you hadn’t been listening for that exact sound for the last ten minutes. You grabbed your jacket, spritzed perfume on your neck, and headed downstairs.

Outside, Eddie’s van was crooked in your driveway. He slouched behind the wheel, hair wild, one ringed hand hanging out the window as he drummed his fingers against the metal. When he saw you, he sat up a little straighter.

“Hello, Miss lady.” he called, before eyeing you as you made your way to the passenger side. “Look at you.”

Your face warmed, but you rolled your eyes so he wouldn’t see just how much that one look affected you.

“Shut up.” you said lightly as you climbed in.

“Not a chance,” Eddie said, eyes sweeping over you once more, quick but too meaningful to be accidental. “You look good.”

He put the van in gear before you could decide whether to thank him or shove him.

The drive to Lovers Lake was loud windows-down music, lots of breeze, and Eddie drumming the beat against the steering wheel. Every time he glanced at you, your chest tightened.

When you pulled onto the dirt clearing near the lake, the sky was already tinted orange. A big bonfire roared at the center, people gathered around it, laughing, drinking, leaning against cars.

Eddie parked and hopped out, stretching his arms like he’d been crammed in the van for hours.

His shirt lifted just enough to expose a thin strip of stomach—pale skin marked faintly by the waistband of his black jeans. His rings caught the dying sunlight, glinting as he ran both hands through his messy curls. They fell right back into that wild, chaotic halo he always wore, soft around his jaw and brushing his collarbones.

His red and black flannel shirt was completely unbuttoned, the edges frayed from years of wear, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A chain hung from his belt loop, clinking lightly as he shifted his weight. There was a smudge of grease on his forearm—probably from messing with the van again. Damn thing is always giving him problems.

He grinned when he saw you looking, dimples flashing, eyes warm beneath dark lashes.

“Come on,” he said, nodding for you to follow, the corners of his mouth tugging higher. “We drink first, socialize later.”

He made a beeline toward a cooler by the fire. The moment he reached it, he dug inside and handed you something cold.

He clinked his own can lightly against yours.

“To bad decisions.” he announced proudly as he leaned forward to open your can for you.

You laughed. “To the worst.”

But secretly? You hoped tonight brought something you could keep.

—————-

The night drifted on in that lazy, buzzing way only bonfires, teenagers and cheap liquor could create. Music thumped from someone’s boombox, beer cans clattered, people laughed too loud. You and Eddie slipped into your usual rhythm—shoulders bumping, inside jokes, him stealing sips from your drink like he didn’t have one in his own hand, dancing with each other until your legs felt like they’d give out at any second.

But the more alcohol that slid down your throat, the more unsteady everything became.

At some point, your head warm and your body pleasantly loose from the alcohol in your system, you lost track of him. One minute he was beside you, rolling his eyes at a guys-vs-girls argument happening nearby… and the next, he was on the other side of the fire, leaning in close to some girl whose name you didn’t care enough about to remember. She laughed at something he said, tossing her hair, fingers slipping down his arm before he wrapped it around her.

Your stomach dropped. Hard. You stared, you told yourself not to, and then you stared harder.

You knew he was an attractive guy. Attractive enough that other people noticed. You knew when certain girls got enough of anything in their system, they didn’t care that he was the freak of Hawkins. They just saw a metalhead who played guitar, smoked pot, and would definitely piss off their parents if they were to bring him home. He was a way for people to rebel.

It made your insides twist into knots that almost had bile rising in your throat.

“Yikes,” someone said as they plopped down beside you.

You blinked and turned. Steve Harrington. Perfect hair, perfectly relaxed expression, beer in hand. He followed your line of sight, then whistled low.

“Damn. Didn’t expect to see Munson with anyone other than you.”

You said nothing, jaw tight. Steve’s eyes shifted back to you, softening like he already knew more than you wanted him to.

“You want to make him jealous?” he asked casually, taking a sip from his drink. “’Cause I’m game.”

You snorted. “Please. That’s dumb.”

“So… is that a no?”

You hesitated. Just a second. Just enough for the ache in your chest to pulse through you.

“Well, let’s play then.” you muttered.

Steve grinned like he’d been waiting for that. He slid his arm over your shoulder—warm, confident, not subtle at all—and tugged you in against him.

“Atta girl,” he murmured.

You laughed, even if it sounded a little uneven. It was easy with Steve. It had always been easy.

You’d known him practically your whole life. Not through school, not through Eddie or Robin or the party scene, but because your parents had worked together for years. You’d spent half your childhood in the Harringtons’ backyard pool, throwing water balloons at him until Mrs. Harrington yelled from the kitchen window.

He was the first boy you ever practiced slow dancing with, both of you standing on his parents’ polished floors at age thirteen, his hands awkwardly on your waist while you tried not to step on his toes. A year later, he was your first kiss. Both of you immediately agreed it was weird and awkward, like kissing a sibling.

He’d always been there. Birthday parties, holidays when your parents were working late, crappy middle school dances where the two of you hid in the corner and mocked everyone else’s outfits.

He wasn’t the version of himself everyone at school liked to talk about. The king of Hawkins High, the flirt, the heartbreaker. You knew the other parts. The softer ones. The loyal ones. The ones that made him show up at your front door with milkshakes after your worst days, or call you at midnight asking which sweater to wear because he “needed an opinion that didn’t suck” for his date tomorrow.

And even though you ran in different crowds, minus a few mutual friends, you guys never let that impact the way you loved each other. Robin likes to say “Platonic with a capital P” when referring to friendships like this.

Which made him the perfect shield tonight.

You leaned into his side just a little more, enough to sell the act, not enough to mean anything, and he squeezed your shoulder in silent understanding.

Across the fire, Eddie’s stare sharpened like a blade catching firelight. And Steve, without looking, smirked like he could feel it. Eddie wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t even pretending. He was staring. Directly at Steve’s arm around you.

His expression was dark with his mouth set in a hard line. He looked like he wanted to rip Steve’s arm off and throw it into the flames. You looked away first, heart hammering, pretending you didn’t notice.

But the heat of his gaze stayed on you long after, each glance from him hitting you like sparks from the fire, hot and impossible to ignore.

Steve kept talking, something about how someone from chemistry had already fallen into the lake twice. He kept selling the act. As he spoke, he’d lean close, brushing your hair away from your face. Glancing at your lips a few times. But his voice faded into background noise. Because Eddie was still staring.

The fire cracked loudly between you, flames curling upward like they were trying to swallow the tension whole. People laughed, music thumped, someone shouted about needing more wood—but all you could see was Eddie’s eyes locked on you, lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a scowl but definitely wasn’t a smile.

Finally, he pushed off the log he’d been sitting on, muttered something to the girl beside him, and stalked toward you. Steve’s hand on your shoulder tightened.

“Oh boy,” he murmured, then leaned in to whisper in your ear, as if to sell the scene one final time. “Get ready.”

Eddie didn’t slow, boots crunching over gravel until he stood right in front of you—close enough that you could smell the cigarette smoke in his clothes and the faint bite of beer on his breath.

His gaze flicked to Steve’s arm still draped around you, then back to your face.

“You look cozy.” Eddie said, voice light. Too light. Like a joke he couldn’t quite land.

“Yeah,” you replied, matching the tone even though your pulse jumped. “Steve’s great company.”

Steve gave Eddie a sunny, borderline antagonistic smile. “Munson, take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Eddie didn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes on you, expression unreadable except for that spark, burning through every defense you had.

“You gonna come talk to me,” he asked softly, “or you sticking with Harrington all night?”

Steve shrugged. “Don’t mind me. I can share.”

You slapped Steve’s thigh, but he only grinned. Eddie’s nostrils flared, just barely. Then he leaned closer, speaking low enough that only you could hear.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Your breath hitched. Steve heard it, apparently, because he let his arm fall away from your shoulders and patted your knee.

“Go on,” he said with a wink. “before he combusts. I’ll be here when you get back, babe.”

You heard Eddie scoff as you stood. Eddie stepped back to give you space, but not much. His fingers brushing yours as you passed him, a fleeting touch that felt intentional.

You walked with him toward the tree line, the fire lighting his silhouette in flickering orange. His curls blew in the faint breeze, and every few steps he glanced at you like he couldn’t help it, like he needed to make sure you were still beside him.

When the noise of the party finally faded enough to think, he stopped, turned, and looked at you fully.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice low, breath uneven.

And you realized—he wasn’t angry. He was jealous. Jealous and confused and maybe a little hurt? Which might’ve been worse.

“You tell me.” you said quietly.

His eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable for just a second before he blinked it away.

“Why him?” Eddie asked. “Why’d you go to him?”

You swallowed, heart thudding loud enough you were sure he could hear it.

“Why do you care?” you murmured.

Eddie stared at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. Then he stepped closer. Close enough that your shoulders grazed. Close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, “but I do.”

You crossed your arms, partly because the night air had cooled and you were no longer warmed by the blazing fire, mostly because his sudden possessiveness was stirring up every emotion you’d been trying to drown in cheap beer.

“Eddie,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “we’re casual. Remember?”

He blinked, thrown.

“We never said we couldn’t see other people. You made that part pretty damn clear.”

His jaw flexed. “That’s not— I wasn’t—”

You huffed a laugh, sharp and humorless, and looked away toward the fire, where Steve was talking with Robin, perfectly unbothered.

“Don’t act like you get to be jealous,” you said. “You were flirting with someone.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

You shot him a look.

He winced. “Okay, maybe I was a little. But that’s different.”

“How?” you demanded, heat rising in your chest. “Because you were doing it?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, looking genuinely frustrated—like the words were there but tangled up.

“You and Harrington just looked—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “Too close.”

“Okay, and?”

“And he had his arm around you.”

“So what? You say that like you weren’t doing the exact same thing.”

Eddie froze. Like he hadn’t expected you to have seen him. Like he didn’t know how to handle the weight of it.

The wind rustled the trees around you. A distant laugh echoed from the main group. And Eddie stared at you, something fierce and conflicted twisting through his expression.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, voice rougher now. “We are casual.”

You felt something in your chest restrict. You should’ve known this would’ve gotten messy. Friends with benefits never works out. Especially when someone is already head over heels for the person propositioning it.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t care who touches you,” he went on, taking a step closer. “Or who puts their hands on you. Or who looks at you like they have any right to.”

Your breath stuttered. “Eddie…”

“And for the record?” he said, eyes darkening as they flicked over your face. “That whole casual thing? That was supposed to make this easier, not make me feel like I’m losing my mind watching you with someone else.”

Your heart thudded painfully. “I thought you didn’t want more.” You whispered.

He exhaled, slow and shaky. Eddie dragged a hand across his mouth, eyes darting everywhere but your face now—like looking at you made the whole thing worse.

“Forget it,” he muttered, backing up a step. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“Eddie—”

“No.” He shook his head, curls falling forward. “I’m gonna go home. It’s fine. I just… need air or space or—whatever.”

The words stung more than you expected. Especially when he forced a crooked, fake smile.

“You should stay. Have fun. Seriously.” He pointed vaguely toward the fire. “Harrington’s here, Robin too. The hellfire gang. You’ll be fine.”

You took a step toward him, reaching out to grab his hand. He took a step back to dodge it.

“Really,” he said, softer, but firm. “Stay.”

And then he turned and walked away. No dramatic exit. Just Eddie, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight as he disappeared into the line of parked cars and then out of sight down the dirt road.

You stood there for a moment, fire crackling behind you, stomach twisting like you’d swallowed a stone.

Fine. If he wanted you to stay, you would stay.

You forced your legs to move and wandered back toward the crowd. Steve spotted you first, raising an eyebrow like he already knew the answer and didn’t need to ask the question.

“Everything cool?” he said lightly.

“Totally,” you lied.

He didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nudged your shoulder and pointed you toward Robin, who was ranting loudly about her part time job and the stupid customers.

You slipped into her orbit easily. Laughing. Chatting. Pretending your heart wasn’t in the pocket of Eddie's leather jacket as he drove home.

Steve kept an eye on you—not hovering, but close enough that you felt grounded. The theatrics of him pretending to hit on you ended as soon as Eddie left. Robin tried to pull you into a ridiculous dance circle, offering you a beer you hesitantly took. Someone offered you another drink after that, you took that one too. You chatted and joked with Jeff and Gareth. Tried to sing with them when Jeff pulled his guitar from Gareth’s mom’s station wagon.

You tried. You really did.

But every time someone laughed, you glanced in their direction. Every time a car door slammed, your pulse jumped. Every time someone with long curls walked by, your breath caught—only to fall when it wasn’t him.

By the end of the night, it wasn’t fun anymore.

Steve noticed your silence, your staring, your sudden inability to pretend this wasn’t killing you.

“You ready to go?” he asked gently.

You nodded.

The drive back was quiet, headlights cutting through the dark trees as you twisted your fingers in your lap. Steve didn’t comment when you directed him past your house.

He didn’t comment when you told him to turn left. Then right. Then down a familiar gravel drive. He parked outside Eddie’s trailer and let the engine idle.

“You sure you wanna talk to him drunk?” he asked softly.

You nodded again.

“I’m not that drunk.”

Steve sighed, but not in a judgmental way—more like he was rooting for you, even if he didn’t know what the hell was happening.

Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew you like the back of his hand. Knew within the first few months when you wouldn’t stop talking about the stupid metalhead, that you were too gone.

“Call me if you need a ride home,” he said. “Or if you need to escape. Or if Munson’s being Munson.”

You managed a small smile. “When is he not? But thanks, Steve.”

You stepped out into the cool night air, closing the door gently behind you. His car pulled away, tires crunching over gravel, until the sound and headlights faded.

The trailer was dark except for the faint glow of the living-room lamp through the blinds.

You swallowed hard, nerves and alcohol buzzing like electricity under your skin.

Then you walked up the steps and knocked. You stood on the small porch, arms wrapped around yourself as the cool night air lifted the hairs on the back of your neck. The porch light flickered and every second he didn’t answer made your heart pound harder.

Just when you were sure he was either asleep or ignoring you, the deadbolt scraped, then the door cracked open. Eddie blinked out at you, squinting like the porch light was too bright.

His hair was a complete disaster. Tangled, flattened on one side, sticking up wildly on the other like he’d been tossing in bed. A soft, faded pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, drawstring untied, the trail of hair down his stomach disappearing into the waistband.

He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, voice rough with sleep when he finally spoke.

“…You okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. I- did I wake you?”

He stepped aside, motioning you in without answering the question. “C’mere. It’s chilly out.”

You walked past him, your shoulder brushing his bare arm. He shut the door quietly, leaning back against it once it clicked. When he looked at you properly, confusion and something softer flickered across his face.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Shouldn’t you be at the party? With-” His jaw tensed briefly. “everyone else?”

You looked down at your shoes. “They’re probably still there.”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight. “So why aren’t you?”

You lifted your eyes to meet his. His hair fell across his cheek, his breathing still a little uneven from being woken up.

“I didn’t want to be there anymore, wasn’t having any fun.” you said honestly.

His brow softened, the line between his eyebrows easing. “So you came here?”

“Yeah.”

A slow exhale left him, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. He raked a hand through his chaotic curls, making them even worse.

“You shouldn’t have walked alone.” he murmured.

“I didn’t. Steve drove me.”

He blinked, caught off guard but not angry—just startled.

“…Oh.”

Silence settled between you. Eddie finally pushed off the door and stepped closer, stopping just a foot in front of you. You could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, and his voice dropped even lower

“I’m, uh…” His eyes trailed over your outfit—the one you’d picked with him in mind. “glad you came.”

You let out a small chuckle. “I didn’t want to go home alone.”

Eddie nodded, like he understood exactly what you meant and all the things you weren’t saying. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me neither.”

And then he reached out, fingers brushing yours, hesitant but hopeful, waiting to see if you’d pull away Eddie’s fingers barely ghosted over yours before he pulled in a shaky breath and stepped back—not far, just enough to brace a hand on the counter behind him like he needed something solid to hold onto.

His eyes stayed on the floor for a moment, curls falling forward. He looked younger like this—unguarded, tired, still carrying the leftover heat of irritation and jealousy.

“I should say something…” he murmured.

You waited, heart tightening. This was the moment you wanted—the moment you hoped he’d finally admit something real. But when he looked up, his expression made your stomach drop.

He lifted his hands before falling uselessly at his sides. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you asked, even though you already knew.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “For tonight. For getting jealous like an idiot. For-” His mouth twisted. “for flirting in front of you. It was shitty.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, nodding once. “Right.”

Not the right kind of sorry. Not the one you needed. He didn’t notice the way your chest caved, too busy shaking his head like he was scolding himself.

“I won’t… do that again,” he continued, voice low and earnest. “Not in front of you. Not like that.”

There it was. The apology that fixed absolutely nothing.

You forced air into your lungs and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He stepped closer again, just enough that his bare chest brushed your sleeve. His voice softened, like he thought he was giving you reassurance.

“It won’t happen anymore.”

For a moment, you almost broke. Told him he was apologizing for the wrong thing. Told him you weren’t hurt because he flirted—you were hurt because he cared only when he saw you with someone else. Because he wanted ownership without wanting you. But you couldn’t. Not while he was looking at you like this. Not while the smell of his skin and the warmth of the trailer made your feelings too loud to control.

“Okay,” you repeated quietly.

Eddie let out a breath of relief, stepping even closer, his knuckles brushing your hip.

“I just… I don’t want to mess things up with you,” he said. “I like what we have.”

Your heart cracked because what we have was the exact problem. Not enough. Never enough. But he was looking at you with those wide, soft brown eyes, hair a mess, chest bare, voice hoarse from sleep, and god, it hurt how much you loved him.

So you smiled. Small. Careful. A lie he needed.

“Yeah, Eds,” you whispered. “We’re fine.”

His shoulders relaxed instantly. And that killed you most of all. You took a slow step back, needing distance before the ache in your chest swallowed you whole.

“I should probably… get going,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Eddie’s face fell instantly. So fast that you had to look away before it broke you.

“What? Why?” he asked, already stepping toward you again. “It’s late. You can crash here. You always crash here.”

“I know,” you said gently. “but I’m just… tired. I think I should go home.”

He blinked at you, confused and a little hurt. “Sweetheart, you didn’t walk all the way over here just to leave.”

“I had Steve drive me,” you corrected quietly.

He winced. “Right, yeah. Still. You don’t have to go.”

He moved in, instinctively reaching for you. His hands settling at your waist like muscle memory. The warmth of him hit you all at once. His bare chest, the faint heat of sleep still clinging to his skin, the smell of him, that soft mix of bonfire and cigarette smoke, detergent, and Eddie.

“Stay,” he murmured, leaning in, forehead nearly brushing yours. “Just… stay here tonight.”

Your breath stuttered. God, you wanted to. Your whole body leaned toward him like gravity was pulling you in.

His arms tightened, pulling you against him, his lips brushing your cheek before trailing toward your mouth. And that was exactly why you had to stop.

“Eddie,” you whispered, hands pressing lightly to his chest. “Stop.”

He froze. Right there—lips inches from yours, arms warm around you—he froze. You eased out of his hold, every inch you stepped back feeling like ripping Velcro off your own heart. His brows knitted, hurt and confusion twisting through his expression.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

“No.” You shook your head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what-?”

“Eds…” Your voice cracked. You cleared your throat. “I just need to go home. Okay?”

He swallowed, jaw working like he was trying to understand something he didn’t have the pieces for.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay. I can drive-“

“No. It’s not that far anyway. It’ll give me time to sober up before having to sneak in.”

He moved toward you like he couldn’t help it, stopping just shy of touching. “Will I-” He swallowed again. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

You looked up at him and somehow managed to nod “Yeah,” you said softly. “You’ll see me later.”

He nodded once, slow, like he wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a goodbye.

You opened the door, the cool night air spilling in. Before you stepped out, you heard him say—quiet, vulnerable, not meant to reach you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You closed the door gently behind you. And carried the crack in your chest all the way home.

—————-

The moment you got home, you barely made it to your room before the first sob hit. Ugly and way too honest. You shut the door with shaking hands, stumbled to your bed, and collapsed face-first into your pillow.

You cried like something inside you had snapped. Because something had. All this time, you thought you were being subtle. You thought you could be close to him without being close to him.

You thought you could handle the little pieces he offered, even if they didn’t add up to anything real. You tried to be what he wanted. Letting him get away with whatever bullshit, giving him space when needed.

Friends with benefits. God, how stupid. How fucking stupid.

You dragged your palms over your face, trying to muffle the next sob, but it still tore out of you.

You didn’t get to love him. Not like that. Not out loud. You didn’t get to want the future he didn’t want. But you let him hold you like he did. You let him kiss you like he meant it. You let him kiss you like he meant it.

You let yourself believe, even for a second, that maybe—just maybe—your heart wasn’t delusional.

And tonight proved exactly how wrong you were.

You curled onto your side, knees to your chest, breath breaking in uneven gasps as tears soaked the fabric beneath you.

You replayed it all in brutal detail. The flirting. The way he lit up when someone else touched his arm. The way he looked at you across the fire. He was jealous, but not jealous enough to choose you.His apology that wasn’t an apology. The way he tried to kiss you like it meant nothing. The way you almost let him.

You pressed a fist to your sternum, as if you could physically hold your heart together.

You couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t keep letting him halfway love you. You couldn’t keep letting him act like you were his only when it was convenient. You couldn’t keep pretending your feelings weren’t swallowing you whole.

You sniffed hard, wiping your face with your sleeve.

You had to distance yourself. You had to stop the friends-with-benefits thing before it killed you from the inside out. You had to protect the tiny piece of your heart that wasn’t already bruised purple from his grip

He would get over it. He’d be upset for a day, maybe two. He’d pout, he’d complain, he’d sulk—and then he’d go back to being fine.

And you?

You let out another shaky breath, fresh tears burning. You’d lie awake like this. Trying to pry your heart out of a place it had never been wanted.

You sobbed again until there was nothing left but the ache. One thing was clear now, clearer than it had ever been.

You couldn’t keep doing this. No matter how much you loved him. Because love shouldn’t be this messy. Love shouldn’t hurt this bad.

—————-

The first day back after spring break felt heavier than it should’ve.

The halls buzzed with everyone comparing their time off, hookups, where they went, what they did, stupid stories about stupid things. All of it slid right past you, muted under the steady thrum of anxiety sitting at the base of your spine.

Your backpack was too heavy. Your clothes felt wrong.

And every time you turned a corner you expected to see him. Expected to bump square into the middle of his chest.

You’d gotten good at avoiding Eddie over break—staying in your room, telling your mom you were “still sick,” cracking your door open just enough to tell him you weren’t up for visitors when he came by.

He’d frowned, offered to drop off movies or soup, lingered on your porch like he could will you into changing your mind.

But you held your ground. It hurt. But seeing him would’ve hurt more.

It would’ve led to stupid decision. Meaningless kisses. Meaningless touches.

More meaningless You’re mine’s.

That always seemed to be his go to when he had you wrapped around him. And you always felt so stupid in the wake of the aftermath how easily you let those two stupid words go straight to your heart.

Now you walked into the cafeteria with Robin chattering beside you, Steve trailing close behind, balancing a tray loaded with two extra juice boxes he insisted you drink because "They're your favorite and it’ll make you feel better.”

You forced a laugh.

“It’s just school, Harrington. I’ll get better when we graduate.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, giving you a once-over. “Humor me.”

Again, he wasn’t stupid. He knew what had been going on. Going to hang out with Eddie then the next day showing up with hickeys barely hidden by your poor makeup skills.

Robin nudged you toward your usual seat—well, your new usual seat. Away from the Hellfire table. Away from the boys arguing loudly over campaigns and dice rolls.

Away from him.

You slid into the spot between Robin and Steve, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. Trying to pretend your heart wasn’t kicking at your ribs every time someone with long dark curls crossed your peripheral vision.

Steve watched you for a moment before leaning on his elbow on the table.

“You okay?”

You nodded quickly. Too quickly.

Robin snorted. “That’s the I’m-fine-but-I’m-not-fine nod. Very iconic. Very suspicious.”

You opened your mouth to fire back some sarcastic retort—when the cafeteria noise dimmed in your ears, just for a second.

Because he walked in. Eddie.

Hair a little messier than usual, like he’d rushed out of bed. Eyes scanning the room in that casual, effortless way he always scanned for you. His graphic tee stretched over his chest, rings glinting as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

He looked tired.

He looked like he’d been looking for you.

Your stomach twisted painfully as you turned away, trying to hide yourself from him.

He hadn’t seen you yet—until Gareth nudged him and nodded toward your table.

When you turned just a little to catch a quick peak, you saw Eddie’s head turn, saw his eyes land on the three of you—

Saw the moment he realized you weren’t coming to him today. His expression flickered. Almost too fast to catch. But you caught it.

He tried to play it cool, tried to smile when Jeff said something beside him, but his gaze drifted back to you. You bit down on the inside of your cheek and forced your attention onto your tray.

Steve leaned closer, his voice low. “He keeps staring.”

You didn’t look up. “I don’t care.”

Robin raised a brow. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.”

You rolled your eyes. Everything inside you felt too full and too empty at the same time.

Across the room, you felt his gaze again, waiting for you to look back. To smile. To motion him over.

You didn’t.

For the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t give in. And when he realized that—when he realized you weren’t coming to him, weren’t going to let him pretend everything was normal—his shoulders tensed. His jaw tightened.

He turned back to the Hellfire table, dropping into his usual seat in a way that was too stiff, too deliberate.

Robin gave you a gentle nudge. “You gonna tell me what’s going on there?”

You swallowed, eyes on your untouched food.

“No,” you whispered. “Not today.”

Because if you started talking about Eddie Munson right now— in this loud fluorescent cafeteria with him sitting twenty feet away— you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop and no one needed to see you have a full blown mental breakdown over him.

—————-

The days blurred together. Robin and Steve finally got the full story of what was going on. They did their best to be a distraction for you. Inviting you out after school. Stopping by the house on their way to work. Taking you to the mall for retail therapy.

It only worked sometimes. Once you were alone though, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about him.

You avoided him in the halls. You avoided the Hellfire table. You avoided any path that might cross his.

And at first, Eddie tried. He really tried. He’d wave when he caught your eye. Call out your name when you pretended you didn’t hear him. Lean against your locker like he always used to—even when you hurried past without stopping.

But after a while, the light in his face dimmed. The calls turned into glances. The glances turned into nothing. And then came the irritation. The hurt he pretended not to feel. It started small.

You’d dropped a worksheet outside English class, papers scattering, and he’d been passing by. Normally he would’ve crouched down beside you, teasing you for being “a helpless little disaster.”

This time?

He just stepped over them. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t slow down. Just muttered, “Maybe pay attention,” under his breath.

It stung. But you let him go.

You tried to slip past unnoticed, but Gareth spotted you and waved enthusiastically.

“Hey! We haven’t seen you all week!”

Eddie turned at the sound of Gareth’s voice—turning just in time to see Gareth reaching for you, smiling.

And Eddie’s face changed. His expression shuttered. Jaw set. Something dark flickering behind his eyes.

You swallowed. “Hey, Gare. I’ve just been—busy.”

Eddie scoffed. Loud enough to make you flinch.

“Oh yeah? Too busy to even say hi now?”

You stiffened, heat crawling up your neck. “I said, I’ve been busy, Eddie.”

“Right,” he said flatly. “Because you’ve suddenly got this brand-new life that doesn’t involve any of us.”

You opened your mouth, but he lifted a hand.

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Not like I’m your fucking babysitter.”

Gareth looked between you two, confused and uncomfortable.

You took a breath, tried to stay calm. “I’m going to class. I’ll give you a call later today if you want, Gare.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Shocker,” Eddie muttered as you walked away. “She remembers we exist when it’s convenient.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. But you didn’t turn back.

By the end of the week, the tension was thick enough to choke on.

Whenever you were near him, even by accident, he went rigid. Short answers. Cold tone. Like he was punishing you for hurting him. It almost made you want to laugh.

And then came the moment that broke you a little more.

You were at your locker between periods when he passed by with Jeff. He wasn’t even talking—just walking, tired and quiet.

You almost didn’t notice him. Almost.

Then Jeff said something that made him huff a laugh, and his eyes flicked toward you.

Just for a fraction of a second. Enough to acknowledge you. Enough to see you. But instead of looking away like he normally did… Eddie shot you a glare. Cold. Sharp. Done.

“You got a problem?” he snapped when he realized you were staring.

You jerked back, startled. “The fuck, Munson?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

It hit harder than you expected. You opened your mouth, stunned, but nothing came out.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t soften.

He just walked off with Jeff, shaking his head as though you were the one being unreasonable.

And for the first time since this whole mess started… you felt something inside you break. Completely shattered with no pieces left to try to pick up.

Because this wasn’t the Eddie who’d held you through the night. Wasn’t the Eddie who kissed your forehead when you were falling asleep. Wasn’t the Eddie who once told you that you were his favorite person in the world.

This Eddie was tired. Frustrated. Wounded. And taking it out on you.

And still—some pathetic, traitorous part of you missed him.

—————-

The Hellfire boys had finally had enough. You didn’t know it but they’d been watching this slow-motion disaster unfold from both sides. Eddie moping and snapping at everyone. You avoiding them like they carried the plague.

And Hellfire, for all its chaos, was a family. A meddling one.

It happened on a Thursday after school. You were heading toward the parking lot, hoping to escape another day without bumping into Eddie, when Gareth caught your wrist.

“Hey-can you help us with something real quick?”

You blinked. “Um… help you with what?”

Dustin and Jeff appeared behind him, too quickly. Too smiley. Suspiciously smiley.

“It’s…uh…d&d.”

“Characters and whatnot!” Jeff added.

“We need your opinion.” Gareth said at the same time.

You raised a brow. “Since when do you need my opinion on your campaign?”

They ignored that, herding you down the hall like some awkward sheepdogs with an agenda.

“Guys, what is going on?”

Gareth opened the drama room door and pushed you gently inside. You stumbled forward, catching yourself. Just as the door clicked shut behind you. You spun around.

“Seriously? What-”

Locked.

You jiggled the knob. “Are you kidding me?! Guys, come on!!”

Silence. Then hurried footsteps. Then nothing.

“Oh my god,” you muttered. “Unbelievable.”

But before you could fully process the level of stupid you’d just been subjected to— A voice came from the back of the room.

“Well, fuck.”

Your heart lurched.

Eddie sat on the edge of the stage platform, hands braced behind him, expression caught between annoyance and disbelief.

“They locked me in, too,” he said, glaring toward the door. “Said they needed help painting a new Corroded Coffin banner. Said Jeff wanted one to hang in his room.”

You stared at him. He stared back. Both of you tense. Wounded. Waiting.

The silence stretched until he exhaled harshly and pushed off the stage.

“So what,” Eddie muttered, hopping off the stage and pacing a few steps, “this is some messed-up intervention?”

“I guess,” you said quietly. “They’re worried.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, well. They shouldn’t be.”

But there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion.

You crossed your arms, jaw tight. “You haven’t exactly been fun to be around lately. Heard all about it when I called Gareth.”

He stopped pacing. Slowly turned to you.

“Oh, I haven’t been fun?” he repeated, voice sharp. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You won’t talk to me, won’t look at me-what was I supposed to do, just smile and wave?”

“That doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole to everyone around you.” you snapped.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he shot back. “I’m painfully aware that I’m screwing up everything. That I already screwed shit up long ago.”

His voice cracked, barely there. That shut you up.

He raked a hand through his hair, pacing again, agitated. “You think I don’t notice when you’re gone? You think I don’t see you with Harrington and Buckley at lunch, pretending we never mattered? Pretending I never mattered?”

Your throat tightened. “Eddie, that’s not-”

“I miss you,” he blurted.

You froze. He froze. The words trembled in the air between you.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Shit. I didn’t mean to- well, I did, but not like-” He groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “Look, I’ve been an asshole. A huge one. The biggest. I know that. But I-I miss my best friend.”

Something inside you cracked, painfully and softly at the same time. You stared at him, heartbeat loud in your ears.

“I miss you too.” you whispered.

His eyes lifted. Hope flickered. Small and careful and afraid.

“But,” you continued, voice wavering, “I needed space.”

“I know,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “I get it now. I wasn’t giving you any. I was pushing. And I got jealous like a fucking child and…yeah-I deserve the silent treatment.”

He let out a breath, shaky and sincere.

“But I’m begging you- just talk to me. Yell at me. Hit me with a shoe. Anything. Just… don’t disappear on me again.”

You blinked fast, overwhelmed by the crack in his voice.

This wasn’t angry Eddie. Or defensive Eddie. Or casually cruel Eddie. This was your Eddie. Slowly, you stepped toward him. He stayed still, watching you like you were something fragile.

You swallowed. “It’s not that you got jealous, Eds. It was everything else.”

His brows pinched, the smallest shift, but you saw it— that flinch he tried to hide, like he was bracing for impact. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers twisting together.

“It wasn’t the jealousy that hurt. It was how you treated me. The things you said. Then the way you made it seem like I was… disposable.”

Eddie’s face crumpled, the bravado slipping right off him.

“I didn’t… shit.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean that. I swear to god, sweetheart, I never meant it like that.”

“Stop with the sweetheart shit, please…” you whispered.

“It felt like once we started… whatever we started… I stopped being your friend unless you wanted something.”

He closed his eyes like the words physically hit him. You kept going, because stopping meant chickening out.

“You’d pull me close one night, then ignore me the next morning. You’d tell me I was your favorite person but flirt with other girls in front of me. You’d kiss me and then act like I was some chore the next day.”

“Jesus… fuck,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head as if trying to shake the memories loose. “I know. I know. I was an idiot. I was scared and-and defensive and… I handled everything like a complete jackass.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

He hesitated before stepping a little closer—not touching, just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“When you started avoiding me,” Eddie said softly, “I panicked. I didn’t know what I did wrong. And instead of asking you, I got pissed.”

A humorless laugh escaped him. “Really mature, right?”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t ready to let him off the hook. Not yet.

He looked at you, really looked—eyes soft and wrecked in the way they got when he was telling the truth.

“You’re not disposable,” he said.

His voice was rough, low, like it hurt him to say it out loud.

“You’re… you’re the one person I care about more than I know how to explain. And I fucked everything up because I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

He took one tiny step closer—giving you every chance to step back.

You didn’t.

“Eds…” you whispered, unsure of where to go from here.

His jaw tightened, eyes shining with something like desperation.

“I miss you,” he said again, voice cracking on the last word. “Not because of the sex. Not because you make everything fun.”

His chest rose and fell, uneven.

“I miss you because you’re my best friend,” he finished, softer than a whisper.

“And because losing you, like actually losing you, felt worse than anything I’ve been through.”

Your Eddie. Right there. Heart in his hands, terrified you wouldn’t take it.

He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to the floor.

“If I ruined us and there’s no going back, tell me,” he said. “Tell me and I’ll let you go. It’ll hurt like hell, but- i’ll do it.”

Your heart squeezed so tight it hurt.

He looked up at you again, eyes wide and scared and full of hope he wouldn’t dare admit to.

“But if there’s a chance… even a small one… that we can fix this…”

He took a breath that shook.

“Just say the word.”

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself, because this—this was the part you’d been terrified to touch.

The part that would change everything.

“Eds,” you said softly, “I need to ask you something.”

He straightened, shoulders tense. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, then forced it out.

“How do you feel about me?”

For a heartbeat, he froze.

Then Eddie Munson did what Eddie Munson always did when backed into an emotional corner.

He deflected.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels like this was all casual, all easy. Like your futures didn’t hang on his next sentence.

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “you’re my best friend.”

You stared at him, unblinking.

“And?” you pushed.

He huffed a nervous laugh. “And you-uh…you feel like home, I guess. My safe place. The person I go to when shit sucks.” He gestured vaguely. “The person I wanna talk to when something cool happens or when I have a shitty day. That’s… that’s how I feel.”

You blinked. That was it?

He must’ve seen the disappointment cross your face, because he rushed on.

“I mean, that’s important, right? That’s-big.”

But you just shook your head, the hurt creeping back into your chest.

“That’s not what I meant,” you whispered. “That’s not what I’ve been asking.”

You turned away, the burn behind your eyes making everything blur. “Forget it.”

“Hey-no,” he said quickly, stepping forward. “Don’t do that. Don’t walk away from me again. Talk to me. Help me understand.”

“You’re still not answering me,” you said, voice shaking. “You’re dodging. Like always.”

“I’m not dodging.”

“You just said I’m your best friend,” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “You described a pet. Or a comfort blanket. You didn’t answer what I asked.”

Eddie’s mouth opened then closed. His eyes darted away, jaw clenching hard.

Your heart sank.

“Right,” you whispered, stepping back. “That’s what I thought.”

And when you turned toward the door, everything changed.

Because Eddie surged forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard, not enough to hurt, just enough to stop you from leaving and make you look at him.

His voice cracked and his eyes had started to get watery. “I’m in love with you.”

You froze. Every part of you. Every breath. Every heartbeat.

He swallowed hard, eyes locked on yours, desperate and terrified and done pretending.

“I am so goddamn in love with you it scares the shit out of me,” he said, words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for far too long. “That’s why I screwed everything up. That’s why I acted like a fucking idiot. Because every time I looked at you, I felt…more than I knew what to do with.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He stepped closer, still holding your wrist, lightly brushing his thumb against it.

“You wanted the truth?” he said, voice quiet but fierce. “That’s the truth.”

Your heart pounded in your ears.

“I freaked out,” he whispered. “I panicked. I wanted you so bad I couldn’t think straight. And instead of dealing with it like a normal fucking human, I ruined everything.”

His voice dropped to barely more than a breath. “I’m in love with you.”

His eyes shone, soft and pleading. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

Silence fell between you—thick, powerful, fragile. Your wrist still in his hand. Your heart still pounding like it was trying to break free and crawl into his ribcage, trying to make a home next to his own heart.

And Eddie. he was bare, terrified, hopeful. Just waiting for you to speak.

You stared at him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

His confession echoed in your head, too big, too impossible, too… everything.

Your voice came out small. Shaken.

“Are you…are you fucking with me?”

Eddie’s eyes widened immediately, almost offended. “What? No. No, I- why would I joke about that?”

“Because this doesn’t make sense,” you whispered. “Because you never said anything. Because you acted like-like everything but that.”

He let go of your wrist only to cup your face gently, palms warm against your cheeks.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know I handled everything wrong. But I’m not fucking with you.”

You held his gaze, searching for any sign of a lie, any hint of the old defensive Eddie.

Eddie’s expression softened—not nervous, not frantic anymore, but tender.

Almost painfully so.

“You remember that blackout?” he asked quietly.

“What?”“The first night you ever stayed at my house. The blackout.”

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion and you slowly nodded.

The storm.

The thunder that rattled the windows. Had you both worried it would tear down Wayne’s mug collection with how much the trailer shook from the wind.

The power going out mid-movie night.

You crawling into his bed because you were scared—and him pretending not to notice how tightly you clung to him.

“You fell asleep on me,” he said, eyes softening at the memory.

“Right here.” He touched his chest lightly. “Curled up like you belonged there.”

Your eyes quickly flashed to his balled up fist that rested on his chest before looking back into his gaze.

“And the storm kept getting worse,” he continued, voice warm, low, honest. “Every time thunder hit, you squeezed my shirt and mumbled something I couldn’t make out. And I just… I held you. Because it felt natural. It felt right.”

Your throat tightened.

He smiled faintly, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it.

“You were scared and all I wanted to do was protect you and make you feel safe. And you tucked your cold feet between my ankles, like you always do, like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

You blinked, lips parting.

You hadn’t even realized you’d done that.

“And I remember lying there,” he said, voice dropping to something more vulnerable, “in the dark, with your heartbeat against me, thinking… oh, shit.”

A soft, stunned laugh escaped you. “Oh shit?”

“Oh shit,” he repeated with a crooked, self-deprecating smile.

“Because I realized I didn’t want to fall asleep alone anymore. I realized I wanted you there every night. I wanted to be the person you came to when you were scared. Or sad. Or excited. Or bored. I just wanted to be your person.”

He exhaled, the confession pouring out of him like he’d been holding it back for far too long.

“And I realized I wasn’t just attracted to you. I wasn’t just… into the physical stuff. I wanted everything with you.”

Your chest ached but this type of ache was new. It had all those cracks he had created in you suddenly filling with warmth.

Eddie swallowed, eyes locked on yours.

“But it terrified me,” he said. “Because I’m me. And you…”

His voice cracked.

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. And the idea of losing you scared me so bad I messed everything up trying to ignore how I felt. So I slapped the casual label on it, ‘cause if it’s casual, you wouldn’t have to break my heart by rejecting me.”

You loosened, the tight coil of hurt and anger inside you unwinding. It wasn’t fully gone, not magically fixed, but softening. Like it was starting to fray and dissolve at the edges.

Dissolving because this was real. Because he meant it. Because he wasn’t just saying what you wanted to hear.

Your voice shook. “Eds…”

He stepped closer, forehead brushing yours, breath warm against your lips.

“I’m not messing with you,” he whispered.

“Not now. Not ever. But ever since that night, I used to pray for thunderstorms to happen while you were at my house.”

You stared at him—really stared—at the flushed cheeks, the trembling hands, the way he was trying so hard not to touch you unless you gave him permission.

And something inside you finally, finally snapped. Not in anger. In relief.

Before he could say anything else, you gave a light laugh at his last confession before you surged forward and grabbed the sides of his face, pulling his mouth to yours.

Eddie inhaled sharply against your lips, like he hadn’t dared dream you’d actually kiss him outside the confines of your homes. Then he melted into you, the way you had done with him so many times. His hands sliding to your waist as if he’d been holding himself back.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

It was weeks of hurting.

Months of wanting.

Years of being stupidly, hopelessly in love with each other.

When you finally broke away, both of you were breathless—your nose brushing his, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

His voice was wrecked. “Sweetheart…”

“You idiot,” you whispered, a tear slipping down even though you were smiling. “You never had to worry about me rejecting you.”

Eddie blinked, stunned. “W-what?”

“I’ve been in love with you too,” you admitted, cheeks burning, heart pounding. “For a long time. Longer than I should’ve let myself.”

He stared at you like the world had just tilted under his feet.

Then a shaky disbelieving laugh escaped him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder.

You laughed, wiping your cheeks. “Eds—”

But he pulled back, cupping your face as if he needed to see the truth written there. His brown eyes were glassy, wide, and so full of emotion it almost hurt to look at them.

“You mean it?” he breathed. “You’re in love with me?”

“I mean it.” you whispered.

A slow, awestruck smile spread across his face—soft at first, then growing into something radiant. Something he couldn’t have held back even if he’d tried. It was his best kind of smile. The one you always wanted him to wear.

“Holy shit,” he said, and before you could tease him for it, he kissed you again like he’d been starving for this. Like he’d been waiting forever.

You realized neither of you were worried anymore. Not about jealousy. Not about rejection. Not about ruining anything. Because you’d finally stopped running from the truth.

You’d been his. And he’d been yours. Long before either of you were brave enough to say it.

When you finally parted, he leaned his forehead against yours. Eyes still closed, dropping his arms between the two of your and finding your own.

“I didn’t have an ah-ha moment like you.” You admitted. Your voice was quiet, but it didn’t shake.

“I didn’t suddenly realize I was in love with you all at once.”

Eddie pulled back, finally opening his eyes to look at you, watching you like he was afraid whatever this spell was would suddenly break.

“It just… built,” you continued. “Little things. The way you’d make everything feel lighter, even when my whole world was going to shit. How you’d look at me during campaigns like you were making sure I was still having fun. How you always saved me the last cigarette. Or the middle seat on the couch. Or the warmest blanket.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tensing.

“And it didn’t feel dramatic or shocking,” you said, shaking your head. “It felt normal. It felt… like breathing. Like something I’d been doing forever without realizing it.”

Your laugh came out uneven.

“Honestly, Steve was the one that pointed it out to me. Asked if I was in love with you. By the time I actually stopped and thought about it, it was already true. So true it scared the hell out of me too.”

One of his hands rose slowly, cupping your cheek.

You leaned into the warmth before you could stop yourself.

“I kept waiting for you to figure it out first,” you whispered. “Because if you didn’t, that meant I’d ruin everything by saying it first.”

His thumb grazed your lower lip, and his eyes flicked down to your mouth like he couldn’t help it.

“I wish you would’ve. Just taken that leap. Or maybe me have enough balls to do it the proper way. So, I guess, million dollar question. Do you want to be my girlfriend? Officially. Fuck this casual shit.”

You shook your head lightly, overwhelmed, giddy, breathless in a way you hadn’t felt since the first time he ever smiled just for you.

“Eddie…” you said, but your voice was already cracking around the edges of a laugh.

He looked panicked for half a second—eyes widening, shoulders tensing like he thought you were about to turn him down.

“Hey—no, no, don’t laugh,” he rushed out as more panic built in his chest. “I’m being serious. Dead serious. I want you. I want us. No more pretending we’re just… whatever the hell we thought we were doing.”

You laid your head against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. His moved to wrap around your shoulders, holding you tight against him.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you said, smiling into him. “I’m laughing because… I’ve wanted you to ask me that for so god damn long, Eds.”

The relief that washed over his face was instant and obvious—like his whole body exhaled at once. His grip on you tightened, steadying himself like you were the one holding all the power now.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, half a laugh, half a disbelieving groan. “You’re gonna take years off my life, you know that? Make my hair go grey early.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was beating too hard, too fast.

He looked so happy. So open. So yours.

“So…” he tried again, lifting your face up to look at him, leaning in, noses brushing, “is that a yes? Before I keel over from suspense?”

You pretended to think for half a second, just to tease him, and he dropped his head and let out a dramatic whine into the curve of your neck.

“Yes, you idiot,” you finally said, looping your arms around his shoulders. “Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

He froze.

Then he scooped you up—literally lifted you off the ground—laughing into your neck like he couldn’t help himself.

You squealed, arms tightening around him as he spun you once before setting you back down, hands framing your face like he was making sure you were real.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, grinning wide and a little wild. “You’re mine. Like—for real.”

You nudged your forehead against his, smiling so big it almost hurt.

“And you’re mine.” You murmured.

He kissed you then. It was messy, eager, but this time, full of so much love. Every feeling you guys had swallowed for so long poured out all at once.

No hesitation. No pretending. Just Eddie. Your Eddie.

Finally.

Because fuck being casual.

[cruel-as-sin]

baby, am i your little secret? | logan howlett

pt. 1

↳ summary: well, logan did promise you he’d come again… but this time, you bring him home, and he’s going to take care of you

word count: 3.2k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/ very light plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), lingerie mentioned, size difference, oral (f!recieving), protected p in v, multiple orgasms (reader), praise kink, gentle sex, pet names (sweetheart, baby), aftercare, a little bit of fluff at the end, readers roommate makes a brief appearance, no use of y/n, mention/implication of a gun, the glasses still stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: woah i was not planning on writing a second part or expecting the first one to get as much love as it got… thank you so much to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged! i’ll probably write at least one more part to this at some point but for now, enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan tried to tell himself he shouldn’t go back, he really did.

He’s no good for people like you- sweet, gentle things. He’s no good for anyone.

But despite all the things he tells himself, he still ends up across the street from that damned club, feet carrying him against his better judgement, right up to your door.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s been a little over three weeks since the best fuck you’ve ever had stepped through your door.

You wondered if he really did plan on coming back. Maybe he was just offering a next time to be polite? But every time you remember the way he looked at you, his promise to return, the words he whispered in your ear, you disregard that theory.

He’s coming back- you know it. You just don’t know when.

Your ears perk up when you hear the bell, as they have every time it’s rung since you last saw him- but it’s not him. It never is, and the little ding that used to bring you hope now feels like it’s just taunting you.

So you continue on with your work, trying to forget about him, until that one fateful night when he finally shows.

It’s ten minutes before close when he comes in, a wary gaze searching the room behind those same cheap glasses. His eyes land on you, and you’re approaching him before you even process it, his mere presence magnetic.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says as you walk over.

“Hi.” You reach out and put a hand on his arm. “Coming back for more, hm?”

“You left quite an impression.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Can I have another night with you, pretty girl?”

You glance at the clock. Shit. Barely enough time for a dance- maybe. Or…

“Not here.”

His brow furrows in confusion, and you continue.

“This is very unprofessional of me.” You say in a soft, shameful tone that you know makes even the strongest men helpless. “But… I want to take you home.”

Despite the doe eyes you’re giving him, you do mean it- more than you’re letting on. Something feels special about him, like he’s more than just a customer passing through.

But you keep your cards close to your chest as you wait with baited breath for him to accept or decline your offer.

“Alright, pretty girl.” He says with a faint smile. “Lead the way.”

You finish closing up for the night, grabbing your clothes and throwing them on over your work outfit to protect you from the cold. He lingers there as you go, trying to ignore the curious glances from your coworkers.

“If we’re gonna do this, though, I’m gonna need to know your name.” You say casually, glancing back at him.

He contemplates for a moment, seeming to almost say something else before the word leaves his lips. “Logan.” Despite his near misstep, you believe him.

“Logan.” You repeat the name, then give him yours. When he says it back to you, you love the way it rolls off his tongue.

“You sure you’re alright going home with a stranger?” You tease.

“You’re no stranger, sweetheart.” His words make you smile, and you bring him out the back door to your car, a cautious eye on the parking lot as you do.

It’s not Logan you’re worried about. No, if that were the case, you wouldn’t have even considered bringing him home. It’s the others that frequent the establishment, your regulars who get a little too handsy, the extra bold ones that like to linger by the exit long after you close. But none of them are here tonight- it’s just you and him.

The drive back to your apartment is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional small chatter. When you arrive, you take the elevator up to your floor, pulling out your keys.

You fumble with your keys when you reach the door that signifies you and your roommate’s shared living space, eventually managing to get the door open. “Shoes go right there.” You gesture to a shoe rack next to the entryway, kicking off your own shoes as you struggle to pull the key out of the lock. You hang up your keys and watch him put up his blazer before you finally shut the door behind you.

He’s on you the moment the door closes, but you halt him with a gentle press against his chest. “Hang on. I need to tell my roommate that I’m gonna be busy.” You make sure he sees the glint in your eyes as you walk down the hall, opening the door to your room first.

He steps inside, his eyes roaming around before falling back on you. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, sweetheart.”

“I’ll just be a second.” You say with a smile, pulling the door closed before heading across the hall and knocking on your roommate’s door.

After a moment, you hear a brief “Yeah?” from the other side.

You open the door just a crack, poking your head in. Cas, your roommate, pauses the game on their computer and pulls their headphones off, spinning around in their chair to talk to you. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just letting you know I have company.” You say casually. “So I might be busy for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, yeah, mhm.” Cas says, pretending to be surprised by this revelation. “Is this normal company, or ‘I cover my ears and pray to god my noise cancelling headphones work while someone fucks your brains out’ company?”

You roll your eyes. “Hey, who said I was the one getting my brains fucked out instead of the other way around?”

To that, they just raise an eyebrow, as if to say really?

“Whatever.” You say, unable to hide the smile forming on your face.

“Mhm.” It’s more drawn out this time, punctuated by a tiny knowing smile. “Is this company of yours spending the night?”

“Hopefully. I don’t know.” You say with a shrug. “If you see a stranger in the kitchen, don’t shoot him.” Your tone is lighthearted, but you do mean it- you know Cas gets nervous around intruders, and your gaze flickers just briefly to the locked safe in the corner.

They nod. “No shooting your newest boytoy. Got it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, beginning to pull the door closed. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Night!” They call after you. “And remember, be safe-”

You close the door before they get to finish, laughing softly to yourself before returning to your own room.

You step inside, finding Logan sitting on the edge of your bed, illuminated by the soft light of the lamp on your nightstand. He stands when he sees you, walking over to you as you close the door.

“Hey.” You say softly, looking up at him, taking in his face.

To see a man, even an attractive one, at work is one thing. But here, in your home, your sanctuary, it feels different. Almost… open. Vulnerable. You find yourself noticing details you hadn’t picked up on before- the lines of his face, the way his hardened demeanor seems to become just a little gentler every time he looks at you.

"Hey." He replies in a quiet tone. Even now, outside of your domain, he looks for your guidance, waits for you to take the lead.

You lean in to kiss him- softer, gentler, slower than the last time, savoring the taste of whiskey on his tongue. Your hands trail up his chest, to the collar of his shirt, the edges of his tie. You begin to undo it, pulling apart the knot before his hands come up to grasp yours, stopping you halfway through.

He breaks the kiss to murmur in your ear. “I’m takin’ care of you tonight.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the suggestion. “You don’t have to-” You finish undoing his tie, pulling it away and letting it fall to the floor.

“I want to.” He cuts you off, his tone firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Please.” His voice lowers. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze for a moment, a little stunned to see that he truly does want to make you feel good. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised- it’s Logan, after all- but still, after most of the men you meet treating your pleasure as an afterthought, the idea alone that he wants tonight to be about you has arousal soaking through your panties.

Nodding, you lower your hands from his collar. “Okay.” You say softly.

He kisses you again, arms wrapping around you and lifting you up. Your legs lock around his waist as he carries you over to the bed, your tongue sliding across his own. He breaks the kiss for a moment to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth meets yours once more.

He lays you down on the bed, his hands moving to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra and pulling it off of you. He kisses a path down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, lips trailing down to your chest. He alternates between sucking on your nipples and kneading your breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back with a soft moan.

He kisses down your chest, large hands spreading your thighs open as he pulls your pants down. He nips at your thighs, earning a surprised gasp. He slowly pulls your lingerie aside, revealing your soaking cunt. He inhales slowly, trying to collect himself as he pulls your underwear the rest of the way off and out of his way.

He pushes his glasses up just a little before he leans in and licks a long stripe up your cunt. He groans against your pussy, sending vibrations shooting up through your core.

"Taste so sweet." He mumbles against you before diving in.

His tongue works magic- and you were right, his beard does feel heavenly against your thighs.

And oh, he takes his time with you. He takes his sweet, sweet fucking time with you.

You don't know how long it's been, nor do you think you care. You’re on cloud nine, feeling too good to even care about your orgasm while simultaneously needing it more than you’ve ever needed anything. Logan knows just how to please you, his tongue delving into your folds, worshipping you.

“Logan,” you eventually manage to whine, “Please.”

You meet his eyes, and he pulls away just enough to answer you. “You need me to make you cum, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, and that’s all the signal he needs. He dives back in, zeroing in on your clit and sucking in a way that has your peak rapidly approaching within seconds.

You unravel, not even bothering to try to quiet your moans (you're pretty sure it would be futile, anyway). Your eyes squeeze shut, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you, flooding through every part of your body as you reach your high. He keeps his mouth on you the whole time, riding out your orgasm until you begin to come down. His hands rest on your thighs, his steady grip grounding you, keeping your entire being from being washed away by the seemingly unending bliss.

When you can finally breathe again, you open your eyes to find him raising his head, his eyes meeting your own.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, letting out a small laugh.

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk. “Yeah?”

His beard glistens with your slick, and the sight makes you sit up a little, getting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him up towards you. You kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, once again reaching for the collar of his shirt. You unbutton it fully this time, eager to feel his muscular chest and disappointed to find an undershirt beneath.

He pulls away from the kiss. “Let me.” He takes off his shirt, letting you run your hands up and down his torso as he unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion. You feel your pussy clenching at the sight of his cock, hard and aching for you.

You sit up a little further, wanting to return the favor, but he gently pushes you back down. “Another time, sweetheart.” He says in response to the pout on your face, pulling a condom out of his back pocket before pushing his pants off the bed. “I said I’d take care of you, remember?”

You watch as he rolls on the condom, mesmerized by the sight of his veiny hands wrapping around his thick cock. “I’m pretty sure you just did.” You protest, any further arguments cut off by a whine as he brushes his tip against your folds.

He chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

He pushes into you slowly, moving inch by inch until he’s filling you completely. He starts to move, pulling most of the way out before thrusting back in, setting a slow but powerful rhythm that has high pitched whines leaving your lips within moments.

“Christ, you’re fuckin’ desperate.” He says, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet. “Look at you, just suckin’ me in. You like that, huh? You like being filled up by my cock?”

You’re too cock drunk to manage anything other than a “uh-huh” that turns to a whine as he thrusts harder.

“You’re doin’ so good, taking me so well.” He praises, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

He continues to murmur in your ear, your moans and his words a sweet chorus of bliss. You feel his hand slip between your thighs and rub at your clit, and your second orgasm hits you hard and fast with a scream of his name. Your vision goes white, the feeling of him thrusting sharply into all the right places taking over all your senses. You can faintly hear him talking you through it, his voice ragged as he approaches his own orgasm.

“Good girl, that’s it; good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is low in your ear, his breath stuttering as he cums with a loud groan, thrusting through both your peaks, your name leaving his lips.

You feel almost like you’re floating, the pleasure nearing the line of overwhelming. You're only brought back down by the feeling of him slipping out of you, the gentle kisses he leaves along your face- but even then, you don’t open your eyes, still trying to breathe as your pussy pulses with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You hear him get up, hear his footsteps fading away, the bedroom door closing behind him. A pang of hurt goes through you- you didn’t think he’d be the type to just leave. You can’t bring yourself to get up, too exhausted to move, so you just lay there, beginning to drift off. Then you feel a pair of strong arms wrapping around you, lifting you up against his chest and carrying you down the hallway.

You stir, looking up to find Logan half dressed, in only his undershirt and pants. His eyes meet yours, a faint smile forming on his face.

You want to ask where he’s taking you, but your question is quickly answered when he pushes open the door to the bathroom. He gently sets you down in the tub, the warm water enveloping you and making you even sleepier.

“You want me to help you clean up, or would you prefer to do it yourself?” His tone is gentle but firm, making it clear that your well-being is not up for negotiation.

“I can do it.” You force your limbs to move, reaching for a washcloth.

He nods. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

You don’t question where he’s going, solely focused on the task at hand, lest the heaviness in your eyes claim you before you’re finished.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned yourself up and wrapped a towel around your waist, feeling at least a little more awake. He gives a gentle knock at the door, and when you murmur a soft, “Come in,” he enters.

His expression turns to one of slight concern when he sees you. You are, admittedly, leaning on the counter for support- it’s not your fault your legs feel like jelly.

You don’t have to ask; you barely even have to look his way before he’s scooping you into his arms again, taking you back to your room. For a moment you wonder how he knew no one would be in the hallway, but you’re too worn out to care.

The soft feeling of your sheets has you practically melting into your bed when he lays you down. You’re almost out the moment your head hits the pillow, but Logan’s voice keeps you awake.

“Here.”

He holds out a glass of ice water and a string cheese.

“Figured you didn’t want to eat much this late, but I thought I’d get you something.”

The action is simple, but sweet. You reach out, taking both items from him and sipping the water as you tear open the string cheese. He lingers near the bed as you finish them both off, a careful gaze trained on you, ensuring you’re okay.

When you’re done, he takes the empty cup and wrapper from you, throwing the wrapper in the trash and setting the glass on your nightstand. At your request, he heads over to your dresser, and you direct him to a plainer pair of underwear, a comfy tank top, and your favorite pair of sleep shorts. He brings them over, taking the towel and folding it over the top of your desk chair as you change into your PJs.

You crawl under your covers, curling up in preparation for the rest your body desperately craves. Logan approaches the bed, smiling to himself as you mumble something half-coherent- a goodnight of some sort, at least, that was your intention. He pulls up the edge of your covers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before he retreats again.

His voice has a softer edge to it when he steps away, turning out your lamp as he goes. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Where are you going?” You murmur, already half asleep, eyes lidded, but still reaching for him.

His brow furrows slightly. “Goin’ home. Figured you didn’t want-”

“Do you want to leave?” You ask, sitting up slightly. Your eyes can be heavy all they like, but you’ll be damned if you let him just walk away again.

He hesitates, lips caught in the beginnings of a no before he corrects himself. “I don’t want to intrude-”

You shush him. “None of that. C’mere.”

He protests no further, rising from where he’d leaned down to pick up the rest of his discarded clothes. He makes his way over to the bed, ditching his work pants in favor of just his boxers before cautiously settling in beside you.

You find yourself drawn to him, hesitantly reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. When he turns to you, you scoot a little closer. After a moment, he shifts to face you, allowing you to nestle yourself within his arms. He pulls you close, his body warm against your skin, his arms wrapping tightly around you. His breath hits your neck, and you close your eyes, letting the smell of smoke and aftershave lull you to sleep.

tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @namikyento @gewrgia-black @r0ttedcherubim

[cruel-as-sin]

take the weight off his shoulders | logan howlett

pt. 2

↳ summary: you're a stripper and old man!logan comes into the club where you work- so you decide to show him a good time.

word count: 3k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/o plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), praise kink, gentle sex, striptease and lapdance hehe, size difference, protected p in v, grinding, handjob, lingerie mentioned, the glasses stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: ao3 saw this first and it took way too long for me to move it over to tumblr but. here it is lmao. as i said there old man logan does something CRAZY to me so it was only fitting i wrote about him, enjoy! also this is not proofread so apologies for any mistakes :’)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan's not sure why he goes into the club across the street.

Maybe he needs to feel young again. Maybe he's bored. Maybe the adamantium poisoning the rest of him has finally managed to get to his brain and turned his thoughts into some sort of horny, befuddled shit show.

Or maybe, just maybe, he really is just that fucking desperate.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It's past midnight when he walks through the door. You've been busy all night, but things are finally starting to wind down, the customers that frequent the small establishment slowly trickling out until only a few remain. None of them are your regulars, and given how empty the doorway has been, you're honestly considering calling it a night and going home early. The past few days have been hellish, full of people who didn't do a damn thing to turn you on, and you'd love nothing more than to sink into a warm, cozy bed and drift off to sleep. Tonight, you've been roaming the floor for the past hour without getting anything- everybody is either interested in another one of the workers or entirely fixated on the dancers.

It's not that you don't like your job- you do. Sure, being a stripper isn't the most flattering form of work, but the bills are paid. That's all that really counts these days. Your pride has long since been discarded in favor of earning hefty tips from the sleazy guys who are dumb enough to believe that you'd actually be into them. You put on a good show, of course, but if it weren't for the money? Not a fucking chance.

You like it that way. Hardly any of your clients go beyond the intimacy of a private dance, mainly because you don't let them, reserving that for your favorites. But you haven't met someone who turns you on in a long while, and without the occasional thrill of a real good time from a customer, you're starting to get bored. The days are blurring together, nothing separating the good days from the bad ones, if there even is such a thing anymore.

You're on your way to ask your boss if you can get off early when you hear the bell ring. You groan internally, realizing that you're the only one on the floor who isn't occupied, meaning if this client is interested, they're yours.

Damn it.

So much for an early night.

You're midway through praying to whatever God is out there that this client tips well when you turn and actually lay eyes on them. The moment you do, your mind goes blank, your prayers long forgotten as your thoughts become consumed by him.

He's older- much older. Pushing sixty, at least. It's not inherently a bad thing, but typically the older they are, the more entitled they become.

You're not usually into older men, finding them self-centered, greedy, unable to keep up with your desires; but you're not even ashamed to admit that this stranger could ask you to do just about anything and you'd probably agree in a heartbeat.

The man is tall, big, his muscular form obvious even underneath the suit and tie he wears. His salt and pepper hair is short, accompanied by a scruffy beard you're certain would feel like heaven against your thighs. His tie is loose, his top button undone, and he's got on a pair of dollar-store glasses that he hasn't even pulled the tag off of. There's a weight to him, an exhaustion that seems to have infiltrated the deepest parts of his soul, as if he's seen things you couldn't even begin to fathom- and yet, he's here, seeking some semblance of relief.

Lucky for him, you know exactly how to give it to him.

He looks around like he's lost, the colorful lights and sultry music overwhelming, the center stage where your coworkers get dollar bills thrown at their feet foreign to him. By the time you've made your way over, your legs moving of their own accord, he's turning to leave. "Hey." You call out, and he stops, turning back around to face you.

He's even bigger up close, and his eyes roam over your form almost shamefully before finally meeting your own. "I was just leaving." His voice is rough, a little scratchy, and while you're sure it's supposed to be intimidating, all it does is further fuel the heat pooling between your legs.

"So soon?" You look up at him with a doe-eyed gaze you're well aware makes men weak in the knees.

"I shouldn't be here." He says, but he doesn't walk away from you.

You move a little closer so your breath is fanning across his neck, your voice dripping with suggestion. "I could show you a good time."

"Listen, sweetheart, I've got-"

Sweetheart.

"Let me take care of you." You lean up to whisper in his ear. Your breath is hot against his skin, your mouth tantalizingly close, and you can feel the way he twitches slightly- an exercise of self-control.

A moment passes, two, and he lets out a long breath. "Fuck, darlin'." He reaches out, hesitant to touch, as if he's not sure how this works, doesn’t want to cross some invisible line he hasn’t learned exists. You take his hand, guiding it to your waist, reaching up to put one hand on the back of his neck. "You sure know how to get a guy wrapped around your finger."

In response, you give a coy smile, taking his tie in one hand and giving it a soft tug. He allows you to guide him, pulling him along by the tie you're sure he has a million ideas of what to do with.

You lead him into a private room, pulling the curtain closed behind you, letting his tie slip out of your grasp. His eyes dart around for a moment, but then you're in front of him again, reaching up and sliding his blazer off of his shoulders. You hang it up on the wall, then return, now slowly guiding him backwards and giving him a gentle shove into the leather chair near the wall. He raises an eyebrow as you circle him, leaning in from behind to whisper in his ear. "Just relax." You murmur, letting your lips graze his neck before pulling away. He leans back, eyes following your every move, a stare that feels like it could set you on fire.

You put on a good show for him- dancing, teasing, tantalizingly close, but never touching. Not yet. You can see the hunger in his gaze, the restraint it takes for him not to pull you down into his lap and keep you there. You give him a strip tease, taking off your bra and letting your breasts go free. His eyes roam over you, a murmured word, "Beautiful," leaving his lips, and that makes your already soaked panties drenched.

Then you give him a lap dance- and unlike most of the men you meet, he doesn't touch, doesn't paw at you. Instead he waits, lets you set the pace, doesn't do anything without your permission. Your hands go to his tie, undoing it at a speed you know is killing him, tossing it aside.

Finally, you rest yourself entirely on his lap, and whisper in his ear. "You can touch now, if you want to."

His hands immediately settle on your hips, like they belong there. You grind down against him, feeling him tense beneath you at the friction against his clothed cock. You repeat the motion, relishing in the groan it elicits from him. His grip on your hips tightens slightly, and he begins to guide your motions, pressing you down against his thigh in a way that makes you moan. It's a small, soft sound, but it still makes him smile. “Atta girl, that’s it.” He huffs approvingly. You keep going, feeling yourself almost get lost in the rhythmic movement before you come back to your senses.

Your hands move to the collar of his shirt, slowly beginning to undo the buttons, revealing his toned chest. You only get about halfway down before his hands are gripping your wrists, and your protest dies on your lips when he leans up and kisses you.

He tastes like cigar smoke and whiskey, a blend that should be uncomfortable but is somehow pleasant. His tongue slips into your mouth, tangling with yours as he pulls you closer. By the time he finally pulls away for air, you're dizzy, flushed.

A kiss- almost as personal as a name.

You've never met a man who could make you feel like this- and certainly not without getting all your clothes off first.

His words snap you out of your breathless haze. "Let me touch you, baby." His voice is both a plea and a demand, and who are you to deny him such a request?

A simple nod is all it takes before his hands are on you, roving over your breasts with an appreciative groan. You can't help the way your hips rock against him, and one of his hands goes down to your ass, encouraging you to grind against him again. His other hand rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, while his mouth leaves sloppy kisses along your neck, down to your breasts.

You bury your face in his neck, breathing him in. His head comes up from your chest to whisper in your ear as he keeps your hips moving back and forth, his other hand alternating between your breasts. His skin muffles your moans, but you know he won't let you hide those pretty sounds from him forever. "You're so perfect." His words don't exactly do you any favors in the 'keeping your composure' department. "Sweet, pretty thing like you..." He nips at your earlobe, making you gasp softly. "You got no idea what you do to me."

Those words snap you back a little, remind you of your promise to take care of him. You raise your head up, leaning back a little to meet his eyes. "Then show me." Your hands reach down towards his belt, and this time, he doesn't stop you. Instead, his gaze roams over you as you unbuckle it, slowly pull it out of the loops of his pants, toss it aside, letting it join the other discarded articles littering the floor. You undo the buttons, then pull his pants down.

Even through his boxers, you can clearly see the outline of his aching hardness. You gently take him in your palm, running your hand along him through the fabric, watching the way his eyes flutter. Then you adjust yourself so you're grinding on him again, thin layers of clothing the only thing separating the two of you.

You go on like that for a little while, keeping track of every little sound he makes, every hitch of his breath and shudder that goes through his body. Then you lean back, pulling his boxers down, freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Immediately, your mouth waters. He's huge, the biggest you've ever seen, and you find yourself wondering if you even can take him.

You push that thought aside for now, swiping your thumb across his tip, smiling to yourself at the groan that leaves him. You repeat the motion, letting precum gather on your fingers as you begin to move your hand up and down, up and down. You start slow, stroking him gently, then gradually increase your pace. Midway through, you grab a condom with your other hand, keeping eye contact as you open the wrapper with your teeth. You roll it onto him in one smooth motion, earning a startled grunt. His head falls back, his breaths coming unevenly, and it takes him a while before he can manage a coherent sentence.

"Fuck, you treat every guy like this?" Even with all the energy he can muster, the words are still a little short.

Your smile widens, and you lean in to press a kiss against the vein of his throat. "Only the good ones."

His mouth opens, as if to argue with the notion that he's anything good, but your ever-faster movements silence any protests that could have come from him.

You can tell he's getting close, and you slow down, letting him breathe a little slower as you whisper a soft question. "Where do you want me? You want my mouth, you want-"

Your words are cut off by his hand cupping your clothed mound, a gasp escaping you. "I want this." His voice is rough, and this time, it's not a plea. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as you unconsciously begin to move against his hand, chasing any friction he can give you. "I think it's a little unfair, seeing how I'm all out in the open and you've still got these," His thumb hooks in the waistband of your panties. "Separating me from you, hmm?

You don't even answer, just raise your hips up slightly so he can tug your lingerie down your legs until it falls and hits the floor. Immediately, his gaze lands on your exposed cunt. "Jesus, you're soaked." He murmurs, running his fingers through your slick. You whine as he brushes against your clit, and he chuckles. "Need me that bad, huh?"

"Need you." You whine. You can tell he wants to take it slow, to tease you, and by god do you want to let him- but you're impatient, your own teasing having riled you up too much to do anything but fuck him. Luckily, he picks up on your silent request, raising your hips to hover above his cock. His gaze searches yours, waiting for permission, and you nod. "Fuck me." You say softly, and it takes everything in him not to come completely fucking undone at that sweet tone of voice.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he lowers you down onto him. It burns, in a delicious way you've come to love in your years here. Even with the sheer amount of wetness coming from you, it's still a struggle to make him fit- but he does. When you've finally sank all the way down onto his cock, he lets you breathe for a moment. "You can take it, baby." He murmurs reassuringly- a support and a chance for you to back out. You close your eyes, breathing in and out, resting your face in the crook of his neck again.

Then you start to move.

It takes him by surprise, and you like the grunt that comes from him. For someone of his age, you're sure not much can catch him off guard anymore, so that makes it all the better when you lean back to see the look on his face. He catches your small smirk and returns it with one of his own, letting you move yourself up and down, over and over. Your pace slowly increases as the two of you adjust, and the room is soon filled with soft noises and the sound of flesh against flesh.

It's slow, almost sensual, but despite the circumstances that should have you turning this in another direction, you like it. You feel that familiar coil building in your stomach, your soft whimpers turning to moans now.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

All you can do is nod, and he rocks his hips up into yours. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, until you can't think of anything else but him and how fucking good he's making you feel, how badly you need to come undone on his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" Your voice takes on a sharp pitch as he thrusts up into you, and your vision goes white for a moment as your orgasm hits you, unending bliss shaking your whole body. He rides out your orgasm for as long as he can, but the tight feeling of your cunt clenching around him soon sends him over the edge too. You can feel him twitching inside you, only prolonging the aftershocks of your own pleasure.

Eventually, you both come down. You're breathing heavily, trying to scramble together any semblance of thought. He stands suddenly, picking you up like you weigh nothing and setting you down on the chair. His cock slips out of you at some point during the process, leaving you feeling empty. You sit there for a moment before opening your eyes, finding him pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He meets your gaze with a hint of a fond smile, bending over to grab his tie.

You stand up to retrieve your own clothes, pulling them back on while he shoves his arms through the sleeves of his blazer and rifles through his pockets, eventually pulling out his wallet. "Um, how much do I owe you?"

He looks almost embarrassed, and you find it kind of adorable. You flash him a smile, saying words you never thought you'd dare to let pass your lips. "Nothing. It's on me."

Immediately, his eyebrow shoots up. "No, I can't... I can't let you do that, pretty girl."

You shake your head. "I insist. Nobody's ever fucked me like that, and certainly not any of my clients." You see the way your words boost his ego- good. He deserves it. "Besides, if you hadn't showed up, I'd have gone home anyway." You say nonchalantly, taking a few steps over to him. You reach up and put a finger to his lips before he can continue to argue. "It's on the house."

Although he still looks conflicted, he reluctantly nods. "Okay. Next time, then."

Next time.

You feel a thrill run through your body as he brings up the prospect of a next time, and your smile widens. "Next time." You affirm. You step back, letting him be on his way.

He moves towards the curtain, pausing before he goes. "See you around, sweetheart."

And just like that, he's gone.

But you don't miss him- because you know he'll be back.

So when you finally make it home and climb into bed after that warm shower, there's still a fond smile on your face as you drift off to sleep, dreaming of the weary stranger and his wonderful words.

[buckytakethewheel]

first good thing

Prompt: After seven decades of being deprived of human touch, Bucky Barnes just doesn't know what to do with a good kiss. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word count: 1.1K Notes / warnings: established relationship; making out; reader kisses Bucky exactly like that one kiss from Endings, Beginnings; touch-starved bucky barnes; involuntary climax (bucky cums in his pants); emotional vulnerability; not proofread; no use of y/n Notes: just a small drabble that came to mind after @wintersoldiersgfie became obsessed with that ONE kiss from Frank in Endings, Beginnings. so this drabble is dedicated to her 💕

The quiet hum of the city outside your apartment window is a soft contrast to the rapid beat of Bucky’s heart beneath your palm. You can feel it, a frantic thrum against his ribs, as your fingers splay across the hard planes of his chest, the soft cotton of his black t-shirt a thin barrier. He’s all raw power and contained tension, but tonight, he’s yours in a way that feels intensely real.

You had been kissing for a while, a slow exploration that was steadily building into something more urgent. You have always been careful, Bucky—with the way you touched him, the way you kissed him—not because you thought you’d break him, but because you knew he deserved the respect. Allow him time to relearn things and grasp the ropes of intimacy in a way that isn’t rushed or pressured. Bucky Barnes is just a man in need of love, like everyone else; but loving him is different. Has to be.

His mouth is a revelation against yours—soft, never demanding, despite the desperate edge always under the surface. It’s present in his fingers clutching at your shirt (are you real?), in the soft whines he lets out when you pull back (don’t stop).

Your hands find purchase on the muscles of his back now, pulling him closer, molding your body against his until you can feel the impressive strength of him, the barely restrained power that always hums just beneath his skin.

The sheer novelty of it, for him, is palpable. Decades of forced isolation, of human touch that always came in the form of a violation or a command, have left him devoid of genuine intimacy. Dr. Raynor had once called it being touch starved. He hates the expression, every syllable of it, because starvation would mean he was being deprived of nourishment (or depriving himself), and that’s not true anymore. You are right here, in front of him, offering him everything. A heaven-sent gift to his life, dropped at his feet like he was deserving of it. Of you.

Every brush of your skin, every soft moan you let escape when his hands do something good on your body, is a jolt of overwhelming sensation he doesn’t quite know how to process. His body is a live wire, dangerously close to snapping, and you’re the never-ending flame.

You break the kiss for a breath, your forehead resting against his, eyes fluttering open to meet his own. They are dark and intense, a silent question lurking in their depths. “You okay?” you whisper, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

Bucky hates that you have to ask—but he doesn’t hate that you ask, because that’s just you being your perfect, caring self. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent, a shiver running through him that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. “Yeah,” he rasps, his voice rough. “‘m okay.”

You smile, then, before you curl your fingers in his hair and bring his face to meet yours so you can kiss him again.

This time, the kiss is heavier. More deliberate, like you’re willing to cross a line and see how far Bucky can handle it. You press your lips more firmly against his and then, a slow brush of your tongue. It’s soft at first, seeking invasion, intimacy that goes beyond simple desire.

For Bucky, it’s a rupture. The soft pressure, the warm probe of your tongue, the way it moves against his, mimicking a more primal act—it bypasses his conscious thought entirely. His breath stutters, and he clings harder to your shirt, leaning forward. You feel it, every movement, always on the lookout for any signs that he needs to stop or slow down, and you read it as a desire to keep going. To push forward.

Your tongue slides into his mouth, curling with his, wet and hot and open. It isn’t aggressive or threatening. But the full intimacy of it is too much—too overwhelming for a system starved for seven decades.

A wave of sensation that feels less sexual and more like an emotional lightning strike rips through him. He makes a choked sound—a sharp inhale that breaks the seal of the kiss—and his hands clench around you, one digging into your hair at the base of your skull, the other curled tight around the fabric of your shirt.

His body seizes, a violent tremor locking his muscles and racking through him.

Bucky pulls back, staggered, his eyes squeezed shut. His face was a mask of shock and searing mortification, the skin across his cheekbones flushing an angry red. He’s breathing in painful gasps, trying to force air into his lungs, but all he can register is the abrupt (and humiliating) wetness blossoming across the front of his trousers. No. Not now. Not like this.

Your eyes go wide with alarm at his reaction. "Bucky? What is it? Are you okay?"

He can’t speak. Just stares at you, his chest heaving, and then his eyes close briefly in utter defeat. The unmistakable warmth that spreads in his pants is the physical representation of the betrayal that screamed vulnerability. He’s supposed to be past this. He’s supposed to be fixed.

Bucky tries to turn his face, to pull away, but your hands are quicker and already resting on his cheeks, gently cupping them and holding him steady. Your eyes flicker between his face and his body, and the moment you understand, your gaze softens impossibly so.

“Hey,” you whisper with no judgment in your eyes, no disgust. Only warmth. Only ever warmth for him. “Buck. It’s okay.”

No explanation is needed. You know. You simply pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing his face into your shoulder. Bucky leans into the warmth of you, your steady heartbeat, the soft rustle of your hair against his ear. The fight leaves him. He’s a soldier, but also a man who has finally, involuntarily, found safety.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, the words thick with shame.

“Bucky, no apologizing.” You shake your head slowly. “This is just… feeling everything at once. But that’s good. It’s okay to feel good. To let go." You murmur into his ear, your fingers gently stroking the short hair at his nape. "I’m happy it’s me. That you feel safe with me.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Tentatively, his arms come up, wrapping around you, holding you with a trembling grip. The heat of shame still lingers, but your quiet acceptance, your unwavering touch, is painstakingly washing it away. He might be a wreck, but you’re holding him like he’s everything.

TAGLIST (WIP): @gremlin-girly @wherewinterblooms @sunday-bug @buckybarnes82 @sebs-babygirl @wint3rbarnes @overwintering-soldier @barnes-babydoll @miraclediviner @stanmarvelous

[myfictionaldreams]

⁀➷ Desk Duty // Jim Hopper x F!Reader

Summary: You're the sunshine of the Hawkins Police Station—always smiling and brightening everyone's day. Especially his. Chief Jim Hopper is gruff, intimidating, and far too old for you... But you've had a quiet crush on your boss since day one. The age gap, the power imbalance, and the rules make it impossible. Or at least, it should be—until one stormy night pushes everything past the point of no return.

A/N: I have been desperate to write for Hopper and I'm so glad I did... this man has me in a chokehold.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, age gap (reader: 20s, hopper: 40s), boss/secretary, forbidden romance, innocence kink, sunshine vs grumpy, protective Hopper, minor injuries, size kink/difference, squirting, praise kink, oral (f receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, Hopper is a tits guy

Words: 5.6k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The Hawkins Police Station wasn’t exactly known for its excitement. 

On most days, it was quiet enough to hear the tick of the wall clock and the squeak of Officer Callahan’s chair every time he leaned too far back.

But for you, the silence wasn’t a bad thing as it gave you room to breathe, to sort through case files and tidy up the endless stream of paperwork with your usual meticulous care.

You’d been working at the station for just over six months, and in that time, you’d managed to become something of a fixture behind the front desk. Bright eyes, organised, and hopelessly king. Too kind, according to Chief Jim Hopper.

You bought fresh coffee every morning, laid out pastries on the breakroom table before anyone arrived, and swapped out the vase of flowers on your desk weekly just to keep the place from feeling too grey. You remembered birthdays, wrote thank-you notes in tidy handwriting, and always had a soft smile for even the most irritable walk-ins.

You were the kind of sunshine that warmed everyone around you. And everyone in the office noticed.

“You’re too good for this dump,” Powell had said once, shaking his head as he grabbed a glazed donut from the box you brought in. “You should be working at some fancy law firm or greeting people at a spa.”

But you didn’t want that. You loved your job. Love the small-town rhythm, the creaky floorboards, the scent of strong coffee and old paper. And more than anything, you were drawn to the man at the heart of it all: Chief Jim Hopper.

It didn’t make sense, not really. He was gruff, older, chronically dishevelled, and wore a permanent scowl as if it were stitched into his skin. But somehow, he made your stomach flutter. He made your cheeks burn when he barked out your name or muttered under his breath in that deep, rough voice.

You had a crush. A big one. An all-consuming, ill-advised crush on the Chief of Police– your boss.

“You’re gonna burn out if you keep smiling at everyone like that,” he’d grumble, every other morning when he passed by your desk, coffee in one hand, permanent scowl on his face.

And every time, you’d just grin up at him and say, “Good morning, Chief.”

It had become your thing, teasing him as he pretends not to enjoy it, but you caught the way his mouth twitched sometimes, holding back a smile. Hopper was all sharp edges and shadows, tall and broad and imposing with that worn-out Sheriff’s uniform clinging to his hulking frame, but there was something else under the surface. A heaviness. A quiet sadness he never talked about.

You noticed it even when others didn’t. The way his shoulders dropped the moment he thought no one was looking. The way he lingered in his office long after everyone else had gone home.

And that was why you stayed.

You didn’t tell him that, of course. You just pretended to have too much filing to do. Pretended to be absorbed in some boring county report or half-finished inventory list. But every night, you waited until his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and out the front door before packing up your things.

It was just after nine when the phones finally stopped ringing. Powell and Callahan had already left, tossing casual goodnights over their shoulders/ The radio in the corner played soft static, and the overhead lights buzzed with that low, flickering hum. You rubbed your eyes, blinking at the glow of the desk lamp as you finished logging the last of the incident reports.

The door to Hopper’s office was still closed.

You bit your lip, glancing toward it. You could go home. No one would blame you, and you were officially meant to finish your shift an hour ago. But something about leaving while he was still here, alone, likely hunched over a bottle and an old case file, just didn’t sit right.

You stood up, walking softly to his door. You knocked gently.

“What?”

The bark made you smile. “Just me, Chief.”

A pause, then the sound of a chair creaking and heavy boots approaching. Jim opened the door with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowing beneath that wild mop of hair, “ Why are you still here?”

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile, “I had some filing to finish.”

His gaze lowered to your empty hands. “You’re lying.”

You frown at him, “Excuse me?”

“I know you, and You always finish by eight.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. You hadn’t realised he would notice that he paid enough attention to know your habits. Your cheeks warmed under his intense gaze as you absent-mindedly began to wring your fingers together.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe, one hand raking through his hair and pushing it back. “Why do you stay late?”

You hesitated. “Because you do.”

That shut him up. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing like he wasn't sure what to do with that. You stood your ground, fiddling with your fingers.

“I just… I don’t like thinking of you here alone, that’s all.”

He looked like he wanted to scold you. Maybe tell you it was none of your business. But instead, he signed again and stepped aside.

“Come in.”

You blinked, not expecting that response. “Really?”

“Might as well. I'm just going through old case files. Not confidential.”

You stepped inside his office for the first time, taking in the cluttered desk, the peeling maps on the wall, and the ashtray filled with crumpled cigarette butts. It smells like smoke, coffee, and something uniquely his– woodsy and warm, like cedar and old leather.

He dropped heavily into his chair with a grunt and gestured for you to sit in the battered chair across from him.

You sat down, smoothing a hand over your skirt nervously. “You live like a raccoon in here.”

He gave you a flat look. “You don't have to stay.”

“I want to.”

That got a reaction. His brows lifted, just slightly.

“You’re too nice,” he grumbled, grabbing a file. “It’ll get you hurt someday.”

You smiled softly. “Not with you around, Sheriff.”

He froze, just for a second. Then cleared his throat and focused hard on the paper in front of him. You didn't say anything else. The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable but thick with something else. An awareness that neither of you acknowledged.

You watched the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms. The way his fingers dwarfed the pen in his hand. The tiny twitch of his moustache when he was deep in thought.

“You shouldn't want me like that,” he said without looking up.

You jumped. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t know what it does.”

Your heart skipped. You swallowed, shuffling in the leather chair. “Maybe I do.”

That made him look up. His eyes were tired but sharp, focused entirely on you.

“You shouldn’t”, he said again, but his voice was softer this time, almost like he didn’t believe his own words.

You felt heat rise in your neck. “I should probably head home.”

He stood before you, towering as always. “I’ll walk you out.”

Outside, the air was cold. You shivered, arms wrapped tight around yourself. Without a word, he pulled off his flannel overshirt and draped it over your shoulders. His hands lingered, brushing your arms.

You looked up at him. “Thank you,” he held your gaze for a long moment. His expression was unreadable.

“Get home safe, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your chest ache. “You too, Chief.”

He waited until you got in your car and didn’t move until your headlights disappeared down the road. And still, long after you were gone, he stood outside in the cold, staring into the night, jaw clenched tight like he was holding something back. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The morning air in Hawkins had a crisp bite to it, and you hugged your coat tighter around your frame as you stepped into the police station. You were early again. Hopper would grumble about it if he noticed, but you didn’t care. It gave you time to set out the fresh box of doughnuts, refill the coffee pot, and tuck a sprig of sunflowers into the chipped vase on your desk.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Powell greeted, breezing past you with a grin.

You smiled back. “Morning. I brought your favourite today. Raspberry jelly.”

“You’re gonna spoil us rotten,” Callahan muttered as he grabbed a glazed one. “Still don't know how someone like you ended up stuck in this place.”

You laughed lightly, used to the comment. “Guess I have a thing for grumpy men with badges.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your eyes darted to Hopper’s office. The door was closed, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard. You busied yourself with rearranging the folders on your desk, cheeks warm and even just thinking about him made your stomach flip.

As if summoned, the door creaked open. Hopper emerged, looking as tired and dishevelled as ever, hair sticking up on one side, uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He grunted something that resembled a greeting and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Fresh,” you called softly.

He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “Course it is.”

You offered him a sweet smile. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just filled his mug and disappeared back into his office.

Mid-morning brought chaos. A loud ruckus at the front doors had you jerking your head up. Powell and Callahan rushed forward as two deputies dragged in a handcuffed man, thrashing and shouting.

“Get your hands off me! You think you can lock me up for nothing? Bunch of small-town bastards!”

You stood quickly, hands braced on your desk. The man was wiry and angry, eyes wild and red-rimmed, likely drunk or high, maybe both. Hopper stormed out of his office.

“What the hell is this?” he barked.

“Caught him breaking into Henderson’s garage,” one of the deputies said. “Resisted the whole way.”

The man snarled, thrashing again. “I didn’t do shit!”

It happened fast. The man jerked forward, headbutting the nearest officer. In the chaos, his elbow flew out and struck you. A blinding crack to the side of your face sent you stumbling backwards, crashing into the corner of your desk.

Everything tilted. Your vision swam.

“HEY!”

Hopper’s roar echoed like a gunshot. Chairs scraped. Officers shouted. Powell reached you first, hand on your shoulder, but Hopper was already moving like a freight train. He lunged.

In one fluid, furious motion, he slammed the man against the wall with a snarl. “You just hit her,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Big mistake.”

The station froze. No one dared move. No one dared breathe. The man whimpered under Hopper’s grip. The Chief didn’t let go until the deputies peeled him off. 

Still trembling, you had slumped back into your chair, dazed, with your face in your hands. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip. Everyone rushed around you, Callahan barking for an ice pack, Powell fumbling for tissues, but it was Hopper who reached you first. 

He lowered to a crouch, until eye-level with you, his hands reaching forward but then clenched tight with restraint.

“Let me see,” he gently coaxed, but you shook your head, blinking fast.

“I’m fine, just startled. It was an accident.”

“He hit you,” his voice was murderous.

You offered a weak smile, “You should see the other guy.”

He didn’t smile. He reached out, fingers ghosting along your jaw. The gentle contact made you flinch. Hopper flinched, too. Something burned behind his eyes. Anger. Guilt. Something more. And then he stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away, one hand fisting his hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “I need a minute.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out of the front doors. The others watched him go silent. Callahan eventually broke the tension. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll drive you home.”

You stood numbly, shaking your head as much as possible without it throbbing. “No, it’s ok. I just need a moment outside, I’ll be fine.” With a hand pressed to your aching jaw, you slipped outside.

The air was cold, biting. It made your cheeks sting and your eyes water, but you needed the solitude. You stumbled along the path at the edge of the station, disappearing into the trees. There, out of view, you leaned back against the rough bark and let yourself crumble.

Silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Your chest heaved with the emotion you hadn’t let them see inside.

You didn’t hear the footsteps. “You shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourself.”

You startled, turning to see Hopper, towering, jaw still tight. His eyes locked on yours, then immediately dropped to your swollen lip.

You quickly wiped at your face. “But I’m not by myself, and anyway, I just needed a moment.”

He said nothing at first. Just looked at you, really looked. Then he stepped close. Close enough that his chest almost brushed yours. His hand reached out, slow this time, warm and steady as it found your jaw again. He tilted your face toward the light. His thumb brushed your lip, and you winced.

“Damn it,” he grunted.

You saw it then, the way his whole body tensed, as if he wanted to hit something. Or scream. But instead, he exhaled, slow and deep, hand still cradling your cheek.

“I should’ve been faster and should’ve stepped in before it happened.”

“You did what you could,” you whispered. “You always do.”

His brows furrowed. “Doesn’t make it easier,”

There was silence then. The wind rustled the leaves overhead. You leaned further back against the tree, grounding yourself, but Hopper followed your movement, his hand still on your face, his other moving to your waist.

You gasped softly at the contact. His palm was heavy and warm on your hip, thumb grazing slowly over the fabric of your jumper. Your hand came up instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist where he cupped your cheek. The tension between you was suffocation.

“You scared me,” he said, voice low. “Thought he–shit, I don’t know what I thought. Just don’t ever do that again.”

“It wasn’t like I meant to,” you breathed. He let out a humourless laugh, his forehead almost brushing yours. His hand on your waist tightened slightly.

“You’re too good for this place,” his eyes dragged over your features. “Too soft. Too…good.”

“I belong where you are,” you said without any rational thought.

He froze. You felt his breath catch, his gaze dropping to your lips. His thumb moved again along your jaw, slow and aching.

“Don’t say things like that,” he rasped. “Not when you don’t know what they mean.”

“I do.” You tightened your grip on his wrist. “I know exactly what they mean.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. His head dipped, lips just inches from yours. So close you could feel the heat of him, your breath hitched, needing this.

Then, the station door creaked open. Footsteps. Voices calling.

He pulled back sharply, like the moment had never happened. The space between you is filled with cold air.

“Callahan’s gonna drive you home,” he finally said, stepping away. “You rest. Take tomorrow off.”

You nodded, your heart still hammering. He turned, walking away with fists clenched and shoulders rigid. But just before disappearing around the corner, he stopped. And looked back. His eyes held yours. Then he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were back at work the next morning, despite Hopper’s orders. Your lip was healing, and the faint discolouration from the bruise along your cheekbone had already begun to fade beneath a dusting of concealer.

You’d smiled when you passed his office, pretending not to see the way his brown furrowed or the way his eyes dropped immediately to your jaw.

“You’re gonna give him an ulcer,” Powell said around a mouthful of muffin.

You blink at him in confusion. “Who?”

Powell gave you a look. “Don’t play innocent. We all saw the way Hopper nearly murdered that guy yesterday. And now here you are with homemade blueberry scones and those little peppermint cream things he likes.”

Callahan leaned over the breakroom table. “He’s like twice your age, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not that old.”

Powell smirked. “You keep bringing in his favourite candy and talking to him like he doesn’t make your cheeks glow like a goddamn Christmas tree, you’re gonna get the whole department caught in a sexual harassment seminar.”

You flushed, turning away to rearrange the snack tray. “It’s nothing. He's my boss. We just talk sometimes.”

Callahan gave a low whistle. “Talk. Right. That's what you call it when you two vanish behind the trees for twenty minutes yesterday?”

Your hands stilled on the napkins. “I was upset,” you say offhandedly.

“He was upset,” Powell echoed, but gently now. “Just be careful, alright? We like having you around. You’re good for him. Maybe too good.”

You didn’t reply. I just offered a small, polite smile and returned to my desk. Hopper didn’t emerge from his office until nearly noon, eyes flicking to the new flower arrangement on your desk and the scones on the tray. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

You stayed late, again. Of course you did. And this time, it came back to bite you.

By the time you finally gathered your things and stepped outside, the lot was empty, and dusk had settled. You turned the key in the ignition of your car. 

Nothing.

You tried again—nothing but a weak sputter. The battery was dead.

You sighed, resting your forehead on the steering wheel. You didn’t want to call anyone. You didn’t want to explain why you were still there after hours. So you grabbed your coat and bag and started walking.

It wasn’t far. Just a mile and a half. Maybe two. But the wind had picked up, and you hadn’t dressed for the cold. You’d worn a sundress, one of your favourites, a soft yellow one with buttons down the front and a hem that swished around your knees. Pretty and light. Completely impractical now that the sun had dipped.

Your arms were already covered in goosebumps when you heard the familiar rumble of an engine behind you.

A beat-up Bronco pulled alongside. Hopper.

His window rolled down. “What the hell are you doing?”

You glanced at him, sheepishly raising a shoulder. “Walking home.”

“In that dress? In the dark?”

“My car wouldn’t start. It’s fine. I’m almost halfway.”

He swore under his breath and slammed the car into park. “Get in,” you hesitated. “Don’t argue, " he said, already pushing open the passenger door.

You climbed in, shivering. The heat blasted your face immediately, and the door thunked shut behind you. He didn’t speak at first. Just pulled back onto the road, jaw tight, eyes forward. You rubbed your hands together, trying to warm them.

Without a word, Hopper shrugged off his flannel shirt and handed it to you. “Put this on before you freeze to death.”

You slipped it on, grateful. It was huge, swallowing you whole. Warm and worn and smelling like him. The sleeves fell past your fingers. You hugged it close.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He grunted. You glanced down at your thighs, the dress having ridden up when you slid into the seat. It now rested dangerously high, just above the mid-thigh, where your bare skin brushed against the cold leather. 

You saw his gaze shift. He didn’t speak, but his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. His eyes flicked from the road to your legs and back again. His jaw flexed. You pressed your legs together, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

“Sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Hi voice came out gravelly, “You don't make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” You looked at him. He didn’t look back. “You make me…” he trailed off. Shook his head. “It’s not important.”

You turned more toward him, your knees angled in his direction. The trust was old and narrow. The space between you felt like nothing.

“Tell me,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked to you for just a second. Then they dropped to your bare legs, your hands folded in his flannel. “You’re too young,” he said finally. “Too sweet. Too good. I'm not the man you should be riding home with.”

“Then why do you always make sure I get there safe?

That did it. His jaw clenched. He pulled off to the side of the road and threw the truck in park. You both sat there for a long moment, listening to the engine tick.

“Because I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you,” he admitted. “Because you make me feel things I shouldn’t feel.”

Your heart thudded. “I’m not that innocent,” you whispered.

His eyes finally met yours. “Yes. You are.”

The air in the cab turned thick. Hot. You watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. Then, slowly, he reached across the seat and tucked the flannel tighter around your body. His hand lingered on your arm. Just for a second. Just long enough to burn.

Then he pulled back. “C’mon, let’s get you home,” he said at last, cutting through the stillness. But just before his eyes returned to the road, he gave you a look that you couldn’t quite interpret.

The next morning, you showed up at the station with Hopper’s flannel draped neatly over your arm. A part of you had wanted to hold on to it, but you reluctantly bought it, freshly washed.

As you stepped inside, Powell shot you a smirk. “That dress again? You always break it out when he’s on early shift,” he said, voice full of teasing. “What, couldn’t find one any shorter?”

“It’s not short,” you muttered, cheeks heating.

“Sure it’s not,” Callahan added with a wink. “Still cold out, sunshine. Maybe he oughta just buy you a jacket. Better yet, move you in.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach did that traitorous flutter all over again. Hopper hadn’t come in yet, but you could already feel the weight of him in the air, he way he occupied space even when he wasn’t present. It was maddening.

You set his flannel on the edge of his desk and smoothed it flat. A note accompanied it in your tidy handwriting: “Thanks for the rescue. And the warmth.”

He didn’t mention it when he arrived, just nodded once and carried it into his office without a word. But he lingered at your desk just a second longer than necessary. You swore you felt his fingers graze yours when he took the reports from your hand.

The day passed in a haze of tension and glances. Every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence like a shadow, tall and impossible to ignore. When you brought him his afternoon coffee, your fingers brushed again. You both paused, but neither said a word.

Late that evening, the station emptied slowly. Powell waved goodnight. Callahan teased you on his way out, but you were already lost in your paperwork. You hadn’t even realised Hopper was still inside until you heard his door creak open again.

He stood there, arms crossed, eyes soft.

“You working late again?”

“Guess so,” you smiled. “Didn't want to leave before you.”

He exhaled slowly, stepping closer. The room felt warmer when he was near. “You should stop doing that,” he said slowly.

“What?”

“Waiting on me.”

You tilted your head, eyes searching his. “Why?”

“Because I might start expecting it.”

The quiet between you stretched, heavy and charged, until his gaze dropped, first to your lips, then lower. His eyes lingered on the hem of your dress, which had crept up without you noticing.

Jim’s jaw ticked, and his voice came low. “You’re shivering, sweetheart.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer. He was already slipping off his jacket, settling it gently around your shoulders. But his hands didn’t move right away—his fingers stayed, pressing warm against your arms. You drew in a sharp breath, his touch sinking into your skin like heat.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Why do you keep doing that?” you asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“Taking care of me.”

His voice was low as he explained, “Because no one else does.”

You stood slowly, his jacket falling around you like armour. “That's not true, everyone here looks out for me.”

“Not the way I do,” he said, closer now. “Not like this.”

You were trembling, but not from the cold. From the heat in his eyes. From everything unsaid.

“Jim,” you whispered.

His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your cheek, the faintest stroke. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. He stepped closer. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he said again, voice cracking.

Your lips parted.

The office door slammed open. Callahan’s voice called out, too loud and jarring. You jumped back. Hopper swore under his breath, stepping away like he’d been caught red-handed.

Callahan poked his head in. “Oh. You’re both still here. Forgot my damn wallet.”

You busied yourself with your files, pretending your skin wasn’t burning. Hopper cleared his throat, face like stone. “See you tomorrow,” Callahan added, then slipped out.

Neither of you moved. After a long beat, Hopper finally exhaled.

“You should go home,” he said. “Before we do something we can’t take back.”

You didn’t argue. But as you left, his jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, you knew it was already too late. The line had been crossed. It was only a matter of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain came fast and had, sliding down in waves as you turned your car onto your street. Windshield wipers struggled against the downpour, and every crack of thunder made you flinch. By the time you pulled into your driveway and stepped out, the wind had already blown your umbrella inside out.

You were soaked within seconds.

Your dress clung to your skin, a sheet of heavy fabric. Your shoes squelched. Cold raindrops trickled down your spine as you fumbled with your keys and rushed inside.

The house was quiet, still. But the silence didn’t last long. With a loud crack, everything went black—power out.

You stood there in the dark, shivering, water dripping from your hair. The air in your home had already turned frigid without the heater.

You stripped out of your wet shoes and peeled off your soaked dress, shivering harder in your thin slip. Every room felt colder than the last. You pulled one of Hopper’s flannels from the laundry basket; you hadn’t returned it this time. You just couldn’t bring yourself to. It felt like safety. Like him.

After lighting all the candles that you owned, you were still rubbing your arms trying to warm up, when the knock came.

You froze.

Another knock. Harder this time. More urgent.

You padded barefoot to the door and opened it to find Hopper on your porch, drenched to the bone. 

“Jesus,” he grunted, looking you over. “You okay? I tried calling. Lines are down.”

You stared at him. “Y-You’ve driven through this?”

“You didn’t answer. I wanted to check on you.”

Your heart fluttered. He stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

“It’s freezing in here, power out?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself. His eyes trailed down your body, bare legs, soaked through slip, his flannel barely buttoned.

His throat worked visibly. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t have time to change,” you whispered.

He stepped closer, large hands cupping your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed over the fabric of the flannel, the only barrier between your skin and his palms.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold,” you said, though your voice trembled for other reasons, too.”

His eyes dropped to your lips. Then lower. The shape of your nipples was visible through the thin, soaked fabric. His hands flexed.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he suddenly doubted himself. “You’re half my age, and I'm your damn boss. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”

You stepped forward, your voice soft and innocent, “But you always take care of me.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, eyes still averted. “And I shouldn’t. It's not right. You deserve someone your age. Someone who doesn't want to drag you into something you’ll regret.”

You were close enough to touch him now. Slowly and gently, you reach out and place your hand on his chest, feeling the soaked fabric of his shirt and the solid heat beneath it.

“I don’t regret this,” you whispered. “Not any of it.”

He looked down at you then, and you bit your lip, eyes wide and full of want. That was all it took.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you against him, kissing you like he needed it to breathe.

His lips were rough and desperate against yours, the kiss tasting of tain and restraint finally shattered. His hands slid under the flannel, dragging it down your arms as his mouth devoured yours, his facial hair rough against your soft cheeks. 

“You’re so delicate,” he groaned against your skin. “So fucking sweet.” Next, he removed your shift until you’re nude. You couldn’t help but whimper as you gripped his soaked shirt desperately.

Jim’s body was warm beneath your fingers, and he didn’t waste a moment before sweeping your body into his arms. Once in your bed, he carefully laid you back on your bed and then kissed you with renewed urgency.

You were trembling beneath him, caught between anticipation and need as he hovered above you. His hands, big and rough, traced the length of your thighs, parting them gently.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he praised, voice thick with emotion. “Too good for me.”

Your fingers clutched his biceps. “I want you, Jim. I want this.”

He groaned like the words pained him, like he was trying to keep himself in check. “I should stop. Shouldn’t be touching you like this.”

You reached up, brushing your lips against his jaw, your voice sweet, almost pleading. “Then don’t stop.”

That broke him. He claimed your mouth again, tongue sliding against yours in a deep, consuming kiss. One hand trailed down your stomach and between your thighs, fingers teasing. 

“You’re so wet,” he rasped. “Fuck, sweetheart. I gotta stretch you first.”

You gasped as one thick finger slid into you slowly, the stretch already burning slightly. He moved carefully, watching your face, kissing your cheeks, your temple, your jaw until a second finger was able to slip beside the first.

“That okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, clutching at him as your hips rolled in time with his movements. “Feels so good.”

“Good girl,” he praised, curling his fingers until your back arched. “You take me so well.”

Your moans turned breathless, needy. When he added a third finger, your thighs trembled around his hand.

“God, you’re so tight,” he growled, biting your lower lip, voice rough with restraint. “You sure you can take me, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, I want to. I want all of you.”

Jim didn’t need telling twice as he carefully eased his fingers out of you so that he could remove his clothes. You watched his every movement, pussy clenching with need at seeing his body slowly being revealed to you.

“You’re so fucking handsome, Chief,” you say coyly, fingers gripping the sheets below.

With his clothes finally removed, he carefully lowered his body over yours, cradling your head as he kissed you soundly, his hips slotting against yours until you felt the heavy pulse of his cock against your thigh.

He lined himself up, kissing you once, hard and full of need, then pushed inside with a slow, careful thrust that stole your breath. 

Your nails scraped down his back as your legs circled his hip, crying out in desperation. “So big,” you gasped. “Oh my god.”

He grunted, trembling with the effort not to slam into you. “You’re gripping me so fucking right, sweetheart. Jesus.”

He rocked his hips slowly at first, letting you adjust. Every inch of him stretched you open, filled you so deeply it stole your breath with each thrust.

“You okay?” he asked against your ear.

“Y-Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

Once he knew you could take it, the pace changed. He thrust deep and hard, mouth on your neck, your chest, lavishing your breasts with licks, sucking on your nipple until your back arched.

“These tits,” he panted, sucking a nipple between his lips. “So perfect. I could stay here forever.”

You mewled beneath him, body jolting with every thrust. You were soaking, trembling, your noises high-pitched and utterly pathetic.

“I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, biting gently at your collarbone. “So fucking long.”

You came hard, a whimpering, gasping mess under him, and he never let up. He fucked you through the, murmuring praise as you sobbed against his shoulder.

“One more,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart.”

He flipped you over, pulling you into his lap, his cock still deep inside. His big hands gripping your hips and guiding your movements, helping you rock against him.

You were trembling, head thrown back, gasping his name.

“Too much,” you whimpered.

“You can do it,” he rasped, kissing your throat. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You broke with a scream, squirting over his thighs, your body convulsing with overstimulation.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled, eyes dark with awe. “You’re perfect.”

He pulled out at the last second, stroking himself fast and came with a loud groan across your chest, hot ropes streaking your tits as you panted beneath him.

You lay again him, trembling and dazed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling quickly.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, you were finally his.

[tsaheylutales]

You weren't supposed to know | Chapter 6

Pairing: Steve Harrrington X Henderson!Reader

Warnings: ANGST, stranger things level threats, reader is a softer girl so if you don't like that, scroll, Steve and Dustin are very ooc so...keep that in mind. Let me know if there are any more! each chapter will have more specific warnings <3

Summary: Steve wasn’t always like this, he used to be kind, and caring, and he used to call you every night. But now? He barely calls at all. Most of the time it’s you calling him. Or you visiting him…Or you planning dates…He’s just really busy at the moment…That’s it. That’s gotta be it…Right?

Series masterlist

a/n: i am so so so sorry about the wait i really hope you like this. also! happy stranger things day!! <33

some bits i haven't read since july so...i'll proofread and edit tomorrow i just really wanted to get this out today!

about 6.2k words.

“Steve!” You gasp, grabbing an old oar from the dried up floor of lovers lake. He’s being mauled by some bat-looking creatures, fangs sharp, wings wide. One of them has its tail wrapped around his neck, and he can’t breathe, bruises forming with blood and wounds covering his torso.

“Hey there.” Nancy breathes, grabbing her own oar, Robin and Eddie following suit. 

You and Nancy both lunge forward, swinging and whacking at the creature while Robin holds it down. The impacts echo across the lake, the bat shrieks and twists, but it doesn’t let up.

“Nancy, behind you! Watch out!”

Suddenly a second bat launches itself onto Nancy’s back, claws and teeth tearing through her sweater as it bites down. Robin shrieks. “Oh my God, Nance!”

“Robin, get it off me!”

“Got it, got it, got it!” She yanks it off her back, swinging it around to hit it on the floor. A wet crack fills the space as its wings flutter, then fall still. 

You continue to swing your oar, hitting other bats out the sky as they swarm around you. One lands on your shoulder, claws digging in, its teeth razor sharp, and it almost nips your face before Eddie pulls it off.  “You son of a bitch!” Eddie screams, swinging the bat back into the air. “I said come on! Let's go!”

You swing again, breath burning in your chest with your hair dripping down your back. The air is so thick and heavy, smelling of the metallic scent of blood mixed with a darker, damp smell. Bats screech in the distance, the sound so sharp it makes you wince. 

Robin slams her oar into the ground, crushing one that had been crawling toward her ankle. Eddie grabs another mid-flight, slamming it against the floor until it stops moving.

You wheeze as Steve stomps down on the last bat, tearing it in half beneath his foot with a vicious growl. He’s panting, head thrown back as he spits blood out onto the cracked, grimy floor. 

He winces, and looks down to his side.

You rush forward. “Steve!” You press a trembling hand to his shoulder. His skin is slick with blood and grime, and he looks up towards your face, brows furrowed with parted lips.

“Jesus Christ.” Someone says, and everyone rushes forwards. 

Eddie throws his oar. “Jesus H. Christ!”

Nancy moves around him, inspecting the raw grazes on his shoulder blades and the missing chunks of flesh along his sides “Are you okay?” She says, and you ignore the way he leans into her warmth.

“Well, they took about a pound of flesh.” Steve mutters. “But other than that, yeah, never better.”

She looks up at him, eyes soft and caring. His flick from side to side, taking in her presence like he’s trying to remember something he shouldn't.

You stare for a second too long, the air between them almost soft despite the blood and dirt. Nancy’s hand stays near his arm, steadying him as he breathes through the pain. He doesn’t pull away.

Something pangs in your chest and twists in your stomach and you look away, pretending to busy yourself with the oar still clutched in your hand. The sound of cracking thunder echoes across the lake, but it’s their silence that feels louder.

“Uh…” Robin pipes up, voice shaky. “Do you guys think these bats have, like, rabies?”

Steve blinks, and you all turn to her. “What?”

“It's just that rabies are, like, my number one greatest fear. And I think we should probably get you to a doctor, like, really soon, because once symptoms set in, it's too late. You're already like, dead.”

You turn your head at the sudden sound of more shrieking, and watch as more bats land in front of the gate. They land in a thrashing group in front of the gate, their wings snapping open and close, hissing and screeching as they crawl over one another, forming a wall of teeth and claws. It’s almost like they're protecting the gate.

You take a slow step back. Then another. The others follow, eyes wide, weapons raised but hands trembling.

“All right.” Steve breathes. “There's not that many. We can take 'em. Right?”

More bats streak across the red horizon, flapping toward you in a thick, vicious group. Faster, louder, meaner.

“You were saying?” Robin frowns.

Nancy whirls around, scanning the trees. “The woods. Come on!”

Robin groans. “Great. More running.”

“What exactly were you all doing at the lake?” Chief Powell asks, voice stern as he leans forwards in his chair. Your mom stands close by, with Mr and Mrs Wheeler sitting behind on the couch, while Mr and Mrs Sinclair stand on the other side of the room by the wall with Erica. Everyone's eyes flick between the kids sitting on the couch in front of them.

Lucas, Dustin, and Max glance at one another, silently pleading for someone else to speak first.

“Uh…” Dustin starts, his voice cracking.

“It’s comp-”

“We were…” Max interrupts, her words stumbling over themselves. “We were just going for a walk.”

“A walk?” Officer Callahan cuts in, raising a brow. “At nine o’clock at night?”

“To the lake!” Dustin adds quickly. “We were gonna take a little swim…Little night swim.”

Your mom frowns, voice shaky with fear. “Dusty. Someone was just murdered there.” 

“Yeah, we…we didn't realize that until we got there.” Dustin says, voice trembling with forced laughter.

“That’s why we didn’t swim.” Lucas adds, nodding eagerly.

“And Nancy, was she with you at this night swim?” Mrs Wheeler asks, leaning forwards from the couch with worry plastered all over her face.

“No.” “Yes.”

Both answers come at once. Everyone freezes.

“Uh…we’re not sure…” Lucas says hesitantly, shifting in his seat.

“She was there. Then she left.” Dustin blurts out, trying to recover. “It’s all a little confusing.”

“That’s when you guys came!” Lucas says, gesturing vaguely toward the officers.

“Right.” Max says, latching onto the thread. “Then they dared me to say what I said…About the killer.”

“Oh yeah.” Lucas says, forcing a laugh that sounds a little too brittle. Dustin joins in, the sound hollow and sharp around the edges. Both boys turn and point at each other, playing it off as one big joke.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.” Mr. Wheeler mutters, looking more annoyed than concerned.

Powell exhales through his nose. “Have you had any contact with Eddie?” He asks, watching their faces closely.

“That psycho freak killer?” Dustin scoffs, his voice just a little too loud. “God, no.”

“No.” Max says, shaking her head firmly.

“Nope. Absolutely not.” Dustin insists, leaning back in his chair.

“We haven’t heard from him.” Max repeats.

“We barely know the guy.” Lucas adds.

Your mom’s brows furrow, her lips parting with a shaky breath as she looks around the room. “What about your sister, Dustin? I told you to keep an eye on her.”

His forehead creases. “What? No you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did-I told you she’s not been feeling well.”

Mrs. Wheeler, who’d been half-listening while worrying about her own daughter, perks up, remembering your tear-streaked face from yesterday, her voice soft and worried. “Is she okay?”

“Yes-Yeah.” Your mom says quickly, too quickly. “She’s just started having these migraines, nosebleeds-”

Mrs. Wheeler’s eyes widen, and she places a hand on her chest. “Oh no. Poor thing. I hope she gets better.”

The air shifts and Dustin freezes mid-breath, the weight of those words almost winding him. His eyes snap to Max, who’s already staring back at him, face pale under the living room lights.

Dustin swallows hard, and he feels the blood drain from his face. “Oh…shit.”

His voice barely rises above a whisper, but it’s enough. The adults don’t catch it, too caught up in Erica's sudden outburst, “That’s a bunch of bull!”, yet everyone else on that couch knows exactly what that means. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.

You’re all huddled beneath Skull Rock, lungs heaving, hearts pounding. The screeching above fades into silence, a dreadful, eerie kind of quiet. Still, thunder and lightning crack above. The air smells like metal and decay, the taste of blood sharp on your tongue. You glance up through the cracks of rock and tree, watching the sky finally clear of bats. They’re gone, for now.

You’re shaking, with both adrenaline and something more. Something colder, heavier. It sits beneath your skin like ice water, tingles crawling up the back of your neck. 

For a moment no one moves. Robin’s breathing sounds too loud in the stillness, Eddie’s shoes scraping against the dirt as he shifts his weight. Then, slowly, you all begin to creep out from under the rock.

“Oh…okay.” Robin squeaks nervously, voice trembling. “That was close.”

“Yeah. Too close.” Eddie mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face, brushing off his jeans

Steve sways where he stands, mumbling. “Oh, sh…shit.” He looks down to his side, blood oozing. Lots of it.

“Steve?” Nancy’s voice cuts through the night. “Jesus.”

You take a step toward him. “Steve-” But he doesn’t even look at you. 

His hand shoots out, reaching for Nancy instead. He grips her shoulder, leaning into her steadiness, his weight pressing against her side. You freeze, mid-step, the word dying in your throat.

“I’m fine.” He breathes, voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”

Nancy’s brow furrows, her hand immediately going to his sides. “Steve-no. You’re not. You’re losing blood.” She slips under his arm, guiding him down gently. “Come on, sit. All right?”

He groans, obeying her. “All right. Oh…”

You stand there uselessly, watching the way his eyes find hers, how he doesn’t even flinch when she tears a strip from her shirt to bandage him. How she doesn’t hesitate, how natural it looks, them together.

Robin crouches beside them, trying to mask the panic in her voice. “Okay, so, good news. I’m pretty sure wooziness isn’t a symptom of rabies. But if you start hallucinating, or feeling like punching me, you should totally let me know”

“Robin.”

“Yeah?”

“I kinda wanna punch you.”

She exhales, forcing a smile. “Sense of humor’s still intact. That’s good.”

Nancy ties the fabric tighter, apologizing quietly. He whispers back, “It’s okay.” His voice is soft. softer than he ever uses with you anymore.

You can still hear him. His voice, his groans, the way he thanks her in that gentle, rasped tone. The same tone he used to use with you.

You glance back over your shoulder. He’s still sitting with Nancy, her hand on his side. He doesn’t look away from her. Not even once, eyes full of something that says more than ‘just friends.’

And for a moment, your chest aches with something new. You know Nancy would never do something like that to you. You don’t know her that well, but you know her well enough, the steady, loyal kind of girl who loves Jonathan. Who always does the right thing, who’d never cross someone like that.

But it’s not Nancy you’re worried about. 

You press your lips together, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. When Eddie says something about the upside down being like Hawkins, but with monsters and nasty shit, you nod blindly. You don’t know. You don’t know anything about The Upside Down, or Vecna, or any other creature mentioned in passing. No one has thought to give you a rundown over the past three years. Didn’t seem to matter, informing you.

“But everything from our world is still here, right? Except people?” Robin turns, and you look up. 

“As far as I understand it, yeah.” Nancy shrugs as she moves away from Steve. 

“So, theoretically, we could go to the police station and steal guns and grenades and whatever we need to blow up those bat things that are guarding the gate.” 

“I highly doubt the Hawkins PD has grenades, Robin.” Steve sighs. “But guns, yeah, sure.” He nods.

“Well, we don't have to go all the way downtown for guns.” Nancy turns, voice confident and sure. “I have guns in my bedroom.”

“You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns, plural, in your bedroom?” Eddie says, eyebrows raised.

Robin grins nervously. “Full of surprises, isn't she?”

“A Russian Makarov and a revolver.” 

“Yeah, you almost shot me with that one.” Steve mutters.

“You almost deserved it.” She grins.

You watch them, the easy back and forth between them that goes way back. It feels like you’re watching something you’re not supposed to, like you’re standing in the doorway of a room you don’t belong in, never belonged in. Your throat tightens, but you keep your face neutral, listening to the plan take shape.

Eddie interrupts their moment by shrugging off his denim vest and chucking it to Steve. “For your modesty, dude.” He says, eyes bored, flicking between the two. 

Suddenly, the ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep grumble echoing through the forest. Eddie grabs for Robin instinctively, yanking her into his chest as the tremor deepens. Steve’s arm shoots out for Nancy, steadying her against the nearest rock. They stay close, his arm wrapped around her waist.

No one reaches for you.

You stumble, your weight giving out, and then you’re falling. You hit the ground hard, your ankle twisting and a sharp pain running up your arm. Your palms sting from the scrape, and you let out a choked gasp, your chest heaving as you try to get your breath back. No one notices you trying to push yourself up. 

The silence after the quake feels heavier than the quake itself. Steve is making sure Nancy is steady on her feet, and Robin and Eddie are sitting on the floor, chests heaving, brushing dust and dirt off themselves, trying to catch their breath.

Then, a long, guttural roar, deep and primal, vibrates through the trunks of the trees and rattles your teeth. Screeches and flaps follow, sharp and frantic, echoing from every direction. The sound twists in your stomach, making it hard to breathe.

You all pause, looking around for the source. 

Eddie’s voice wavers, cracking in fear as he looks at you all. “So guns seem like a pretty good idea to me.”

“Yeah, me too.” Robin squeaks.

Soon, you’re all walking through the woods again, the flap of bats still faint above you. You keep your eyes down, feet squelching against the ground thick with mud and the sticky, black goop that coats everything in this place. Every breath burns a little, and you can still feel the heavy weight of the last few days pressing on your chest, getting tighter and tighter.

Eddie’s walking a few paces ahead of you, but when he glances back, his brow creases. He slows down until he’s beside you, his steps falling in sync with yours.

He nudges your arm, voice low, trying not to draw attention. “Is there something going on between Steve and Nancy?”

Your head snaps toward him. “Uh…no.” You try to laugh, but it comes out thin and weak, your heart sinking. “Why?”

“I mean…” He glances ahead, gesturing towards the rest of the group. “I know they used to date, but they haven’t gotten back together or anything?” His voice is careful and curious, his arms swinging loosely by his sides.

You swallow hard, the sound too loud in your own ears. “No…”

Eddie frowns. “Really? Wow. They should though, right? I mean, have you seen the way he looks at her? It’s-”

“I’m dating Steve.”

The words come out sharp, too fast, and your voice cracks. You can’t bear to hear him finish that sentence, you can’t take one more reminder of what everyone else can see so clearly.

Eddie freezes. His eyes go wide, guilt flooding his face. “Oh. Shit. I…I am so sorry, I didn’t-”

You shake your head, staring down at your shoes. They’re splattered with mud and that slick, gray Upside Down sludge. You focus on that instead, the way it squishes with every step. “It’s fine.” Your voice is too soft, too fragile.

No one says anything for a while. The silence stretches long enough for your heart to start aching in your throat.

Then, quieter, you murmur, “Does it not look like we’re dating?”

Eddie stumbles over his words. “Well, yeah? I mean-no! No, it’s just-I thought-well, he was-uh, I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

You glance up, your eyes tired, brows drawn tight. “You thought what?”

“I just…I thought he hated you.”

You flinch like he’s hit you. The breath you take in trembles on the way out. “Oh.”

Immediately, Eddie panics. “Not hated you! I just meant-at the boathouse, he kinda pushed you away. And you’re always…I dunno, on your own. He’s just been…cold. With you.” He lets out a heavy breath, words tumbling fast. “And Dustin? He doesn’t tell me these things! I didn’t even know he had a sister until, like, a few weeks ago!”

Your lips part, but your voice barely comes out. “He doesn’t talk about me? At all?”

Eddie winces. “...Sorry.”

You nod, blinking rapidly, forcing a tight smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “S’okay. I’m fine.” But your throat burns, and the tears threaten anyway. You look away quickly before he can see.

Eddie shakes his head, kicking at the dirt. “Seems pretty shitty to me.”

You let out a short, breathless laugh that sounds more like a sob. “This always…” You stop, wrapping your arms around yourself like it’ll hold you together. “I’m okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Yeah, um…I’m just gonna-you go ahead.” You gesture vaguely down the path, your voice cracking despite your best effort to steady it. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

He hesitates, frowning. “You sure?”

You nod quickly, throat too tight to speak. “Yeah.”

Eddie lingers for a second longer, but when you force another smile, he gives a small nod and walks ahead to rejoin the others. His footsteps fade with theirs, leaving you in the horrific silence of The Upside Down.

You stand there for a long moment, chest quivering, palms pressed against your face. You try to hold it in, to breathe through it, to be strong but, the tears come anyway, slipping through your fingers, hot and humiliating. You choke on a sound that isn’t quite a sob, shoulders shaking.

Because Eddie’s right. You know he is. You’ve known it for a while now, somewhere deep down where it hurts to look.

Steve doesn’t love you. Not anymore.

You drop your hands and drag your sleeve across your cheeks. No use. The sting is still there, your throat tight enough it hurts to swallow. You force a deep breath and start walking, trailing behind the others, your vision blurred and your heart heavy.

“Eddie. Hey, man. Uh…” Steve His voice comes out a little uneven, like he’s trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Listen, I just, uh…I just want to say thanks. For saving my ass back there.”

Eddie, still catching his breath, glances over at him. His mouth quirks into that lopsided grin. “Shit. You saved your own ass, man. I mean, that was a real Ozzy move you pulled back there.”

Steve blinks. “Ozzy?”

“Yeah, dude. When you took a bite out of that bat?..Ozzy Osbourne….Black Sabbath? He bit a bat’s head off onstage once.”

“I don’t-”

“You know? Doesn’t matter.” He says, shaking his head. “It’s very metal, what you did. That’s all I’m saying.”

Steve’s brows furrow, like he’s still not too sure what Eddie’s talking about but grateful for the compliment anyway. “Thanks.”

For a moment, they walk in silence. The air settles around them, quiet and calm, thick with appreciation and a little exhaustion.

Then Eddie sighs, glancing at the ground before jumping over a vine. “The only reason I came in here was ’cause those ladies came in straight after you. Now, I was too ashamed to be the one who stayed behind…But Henderson?” He jerks his head back in your direction. “She didn’t waste a second. Not one. She just dove right in.”

Steve doesn’t answer at first. He looks stunned, like he’s trying to come up with something that sounds right. His voice is low when he finally speaks, “Yeah…she’s…she’s brave like that.”

“Brave?” Eddie huffs a laugh that sounds more like disbelief. “Look, man, I don’t know what’s happening between you two, and I don’t wanna give you any unsolicited advice but, you need to fix it. Whatever it is.”

Steve’s flashlight wavers a little as they walk, the beam wobbling against the trees. “...Right…”

“I’m serious.” Eddie presses. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve got. And before you know it…It’ll be too late.”

There’s a beat of silence. Steve’s face shifts, but his voice comes quieter now, more defensive. “Did she say something?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Just…talk to her. Really talk to her, okay?”

“…Okay.” Steve’s voice is barely audible. “Thanks, man.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, and the silence that follows is thicker than before, filled with all the things left unsaid.

“This is Dustin. Where are you? We’ve been collared by the law. I repeat, we’ve been collared by the law. Do you copy? Is [Y/n] okay? Do you copy!? Shit!” Dustin hisses into his walkie, sat in the Wheelers downstairs bathroom. The walkie crackles, but no one replies. He pushes down the antennae, flushing the toilet to keep his cover. 

When he steps out, Lucas is leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed, face tense.

“Anything?” Lucas asks.

Dustin shakes his head, jaw tight. “Nothing.”

Lucas looks uneasy. “You don’t think she’s actually cursed, right?”

Dustin’s eyes snap up. “No. No, of course not. She’s been fine-”

“Fine?” Lucas presses, frowning. “Because she was pretty shaken up today in the woods, and at Victor Creel’s house…She didn’t look fine.”

“She’s always like that.” Dustin says quickly, defensive. “She just-she worries, okay? She overthinks.”

“Still…She looked really freaked out, like…really freaked out.”

They both sigh, thoughts running wild. Lucas swallows. “They wouldn’t have gone through Watergate, right?”

Dustin gives him a look. “Without a plan? Without weapons? They wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Yeah.” Lucas nods, but it’s a weak agreement. 

“They must just be laying low. You know. ’Cause the law got us.”

Before either can say more, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

“‘The law’? What is this, Gunsmoke?” Erica struts into the kitchen, arms crossed, sipping on a juice box. “What’s next, The Stupid and the Ugly? Should I round up the posse? Saddle the horses?”

Lucas groans and moves his hands in frustration. “Erica. Please. Just go away.”

“Here’s the deal. Either you tell me what’s happening, or I tell Dustin what I found under your bed.”

Lucas’s head snaps up. “Please, no.”

“Spill your guts, cowpuncher.”

Dustin blinks, head whipping to Lucas. “What’d she find?”

“Nothing!” 

You all step into Nancy’s house, well, the Upside Down version of it. Every surface, wall and floor, is covered in thick black goo and twisting vines with dust and spores drifting lazily through the air.

“Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.” Robin says, her voice wavering as she creeps inside.

“Come on.” Nancy doesn’t even turn around, her jaw set tight. “I don’t want to stay here longer than we have to.”

You follow her upstairs, shoes squelching on the rotted carpet, and Nancy pushes open her bedroom door. She walks straight to her wardrobe and reaches for a box on the top shelf. She moves to her dresser and sets it down, opening the box.

She stares.

Eddie peers over her shoulder. “Those aren’t guns.”

Inside are a pair of dusty high heels, soft pink and new-looking, a stark contrast to the rest of her room.

“Those heels are pointy, sure, but I was really hoping for something that shoots bullets.”

Nancy shakes her head, frowning. “I don’t understand.”

“Maybe you left them somewhere else?” Eddie offers, though his tone says he doesn’t believe it.

Nancy turns abruptly. “There’s a six-year-old in the house. I know where I keep my guns.” She frowns. “And also, I threw those shoes away years ago.”

You stay quiet, watching her as she scans the room with growing unease. Nancy looks along her dresser, and spots an old stack of yellowed flashcards. She picks them up, old memories flashing in her eyes

Robin steps closer. “I get that grades are important, but maybe the midterm can wait till after we get out of hell?”

Nancy flips through them, the corner of her mouth twitching. “These are from sophomore chemistry. And this…” She gestures to the wall. “This wallpaper, this is the pattern my mom replaced two summers ago. And that mirror, she sold it at a yard sale. And you…” She picks up an old stuffed toy from her bed. “You’re not supposed to be here. I gave you to my cousin Joanna two years ago.”

Nancy turns to her bedside table, hand trembling as she picks up her diary. She quickly flips through it and her brows knit together. The pages are mostly blank.

“What is it?” Eddie asks.

“Nancy?” Robin says carefully. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I think the reason that my guns aren't here is because they don't exist yet.”

“They don't…exist?”

Nancy swallows hard. “This diary should be full of entries, it’s not.” She flips to the last page. “The last entry is November 6th, 1983.” 

You swallow.

“The day Will went missing. The day the gate opened.” Her voice is quiet, trembling at the edges. She looks up, eyes wide and unfocused, like she’s just pieced together something horrifying.

“We’re in the past.”

You all come tumbling down the stairs, panicked after hearing Steve’s screams for your brother.

“Dustin! Dustin! Dustin!? Can you hear me? Dustin! Du-Hello? Hel…Hello?”

He’s standing in the center of the room, yelling at the empty air, flashlight beam jerking wildly across the walls. 

“Maybe he really does have rabies.” Robin says.

Steve continues to look around the room, still clutching the flashlight. “Hello! Hello!?”

Nancy furrows her brows, and steps closer. “What are you doing?”

He whirls towards you all, flashing the torch in your face. “He’s here!” Steve pants, eyes wide, chest rising and falling fast. “Henderson. That little shit, he’s here. He’s like… he’s in the walls or something. Just listen!” He points up toward the ceiling. “Dustin! Dustin! Dustin! Dustin! Can you hear me!?”

The four of you freeze. Then, his voice ripples through, muffled, and it drifts through the air like it’s bleeding through layers of honey.

“That brings us to the question you first raised. How and why is there a gate at Lover’s Lake? Let's analyze. What do Eleven and Vecna have in common?”

“Dustin!?” You gasp, stumbling forward.

“Dustin!” Nancy echoes.

“Dustin?” Eddie asks, looking behind the curtain.

“Dustin?” Robin adds, brow furrowed.

Steve drops his arms. “All right, either this kid can’t hear us or he’s being a total douchebag.”

Nancy’s eyes light up suddenly, something clicking behind them. “Will found a way.”

Steve turns. “What?”

“Will.” She says, moving toward the corner of the living room. “He found a way to speak to Joyce through the lights.”

His brows scrunch. “Lights?”

“Yeah.” Nancy’s voice is breathless. She finds the lamp and flicks the switch. Nothing.

“The switch,” Steve says quickly, stepping closer. “Try the switch again.” He points to the wall beside her.

“Okay.” She flicks it again. Still nothing.

Then Steve pauses, turning to the rest of the room. His flashlight beam catches something faint, tiny glowing particles surrounding the air near the ceiling light, shimmering like little stars. “Guys?” He murmurs. “You seeing this?”

You all look up. The glow swirls lazily, like golden dust caught in a current. It’s beautiful, somehow, in this awful dimension. You all approach it slowly, eyes full of awe. 

Nancy reaches up slowly, fingers trembling, and puts her hand into the glow. The particles swirl around her skin, sticking and then rippling away, as if alive.

“…to open a tear in time and space, just like the Mothergate.”

Dustin’s voice drifts faintly through the air again, distant, like he’s talking from underwater.

“Whoa.” Eddie whispers. His eyes dart between the glowing dust and Nancy’s hand.

“…are these like the Mothergate… but a gate nonetheless.”

You, Robin, Steve, and Eddie all reach up hesitantly, waving your hands through the shimmer. The air buzzes faintly against your skin, like static electricity and cold mist combined.

Steve lets out a breath. “It…tickles.”

Robin grins. “Kinda feels good, actually.”

Nancy lowers her hand slowly, her brow furrowed in thought. “Does anyone know Morse code?”

“No.” You all say.

Eddie looks over. “Wait…Does SOS count? Is that…good?”

“So our working theory…” Dustin says, pacing back and forth in the Wheeler’s kitchen. “is that Vecna makes remote contact from his attic. We don’t know why. We assume he can do it from anywhere. Are you even listening to me?”

He turns, mid-rant, to see Erica staring. Not at him, but up at the ceiling light.

“I’m listening…” She says slowly, her brow furrowing. “It’s just…you said you followed Vecna through lights, right?”

Dustin pauses. “Yeah, why?”

Erica points toward the light. The bulb is flickering, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Because I think he’s here.”

The flickering intensifies. Three short bursts, three long, three short again.

He stares up at the light, creeping closer and closer. “S…O…S…”

He stops.

“Hey, uh, remember when I said they wouldn’t be stupid enough to go through Watergate?”

Lucas looks at him. “Yeah?”

“I overestimated them.”

Lucas slowly walks into the living room. Holly’s lying on the carpet, humming softly as she clicks tiny colored pegs into her Lite-Brite. The glowing pattern of a bunny shines in front of her.

Lucas leans over the couch and yanks the cord out from the wall. The light dies.

“Hey!” Holly yells, frowning up at him.

Dustin comes barreling in a second later, wild-eyed. He grabs the Lite-Brite from right under Holly’s nose.

“I’m sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Lucas says quickly, scooping up the tray of colored pegs.

Erica then comes running in, acting like damage control. “For your understanding.” She says, handing her a bag of skittles.

They all burst into Nancy’s room, slam the door, and dump a pile of colorful plastic pegs all over her bedspread. They start filling every slot.

“Come on. Come on.” Steve mutters, his voice tight with panic as he shines his flashlight into the murky air.

“Okay, that’s it! Go, go, go!” Dustin says.

“Yeah, okay.” Lucas plugs it in. The Lite-Brite blinks to life.

“Okay, you guys seeing this?” Dustin yells.

In the Upside Down, those same glowing particles appear. Nancy waves her hand through them, and the glow pulses. You sit by Robin, watching in awe as the particles glimmer and swirl.

“Holy shit!” Erica gasps.

Dustin laughs, giddy. “Okay, we’re not moving it, but we’re gonna unplug it. Stand by.”

He looks at Lucas. “Yank it.”

Lucas pulls the plug.

“Okay, try it now,” Dustin says into the air.

His words echo faintly “Try it now.”

Nancy leans closer to the glowing dust. “Okay…um…” She starts tracing in the air with her finger.

“H…” Dustin reads aloud. “I. Hi.”

“Hi!” Erica grins.

“Hi!” Dustin laughs, his laugh bleeding through with joy.

“Hey! Hi,” Lucas says, grinning wide.

“That worked!” Dustin shouts.

“Yes! Yes!” Robin cheers on the other side.

“Hi!” Eddie echoes.

You giggle, smiling in relief at Robin as your brother’s laughter still filters through.

“Okay, um…” Nancy starts to spell again. “S… T…”

“U…”

“Stu…”

“Stupid?” Dustin guesses.

“…C… K.”

“Stuck.” Erica says.

“Stuck” Dustin repeats.

“Yes.” Steve nods.

“We are.” Robin adds.

“Okay, they’re stuck in the Upside Down.” Lucas confirms.

Dustin looks up towards the ceiling. “Uh, you can’t get back through Watergate?”

“What the hell’s Watergate?” Steve asks.

“’Cause it’s in water and it’s a gate.” Robin answers.

“Oh.” Steve pauses. “That’s cute.”

“Right?” Eddie smirks.

“Um, no, it’s…” Nancy starts, squinting at the lights.

“That a six?” Dustin asks.

“G?” Erica squints.

“No, G.”

“Yeah.”

“U… A… R.”

“Guar?” Lucas says.

“Guar…”

“Guar… Guar…”

“Guard…”

“Guarded.”

“Guarded?” Erica says.

“Okay. Uh, Watergate’s guarded,” Dustin says.

“Perfect. Yes. Yes. Yes.” Steve says.

“We think we have a theory that can help with that.” Dustin yells.

“Genius child,” Robin mutters.

“We think Watergate isn’t the only gate. That there’s a gate at every murder site.” Dustin says.

“…murder site.” You only catch the end of his words, your brow furrowing.

“Does anybody understand what he’s talking about?” Nancy asks.

“No.” you all say in unison.

“No idea.” Eddie adds.

Nancy frowns and draws a glowing question mark in the air.

“Okay, seriously?” Dustin says, exasperated. “How many times do I have to be right on the money before you guys just trust me?”

“Jesus Christ, this kid’s gotta get his ego in check.” Steve mutters.

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie says.

“I know.” Steve says.

“Okay, so…” Nancy turns to Eddie. “How far is your trailer?”

“Seven miles.” He says.

“Nancy? Uh…” Robin looks at Nancy. “I know your house here is, like, weirdly, creepily frozen in time and shit, but haven’t you always had bikes?”

“Right here.” Eddie calls out as you cycle through the entrance of the upside down version of The Forest Hills Trailer Park. You all skid to a stop outside his trailer, wheels crunching over the gritty, ashy dirt of the Upside Down.

“That’s gotta be a Guinness World Record. Most miles traveled interdimensionally.” Robin says, dismounting her bike and following Eddie into his trailer. 

Steve coughs, waving the air in front of his face. “Just inhaled a bunch of that crap. It’s stuck in my throat.” He rasps. You're the last to get off your bike, and you watch your feet as you creep up the front steps

You all step into the trailer, and then you look up.

There’s a gate, red and pulsing, vines twisting out and covering the rest of thin plywood. It creeks and groans, glowing with horror. 

“Goddamn.” Steve mutters.

“This is where Chrissy died…” Eddie says quietly. “Like, right where she died.”

Your breath catches. The gate hums with energy, deep with a slimy, throbbing membrane, covered in thick tendrils.

“I think there’s something in there.” Robin whispers.

A shadow shifts behind the red, a silhouette pressing closer and closer.

“What the hell is that?” Eddie breathes, taking a step back.

The shape pushes through, breaking through the tissue, and all of you flinch, yelping in surprise. After a few seconds, you all creep forward.

“No way.” Steve says, his eyes wide.

You step closer. Through the shimmer of the gate, shapes come into focus.

“Hi there.” Dustin says from the other side, laughing breathlessly.

“Hi.” Steve says, half-disbelieving.

“Hi.” Robin echoes. “Holy shit, this is trippy.” She says, blinking up at the hole in the ceiling.

“Bada-bada-boom!” Dustin grins.

He starts tying sheets together, looping them into a makeshift rope. Lucas and Max drag a mattress beneath the gate, letting it thud into place.

“Those stains are, uh…” Eddie looks up through the gate, squinting. “I dunno what those stains are.”

“Mmm.” Robin hums, unconvinced.

“Not quite sure how these physics work,” Dustin says, testing a knot, “but, uh…here goes nothing.”

He throws the bundled sheets upward, only for it to land on the other side of the portal, hanging there perfectly.

“There we go.” Dustin says. “And if my theory is correct…” He lets go. The rope stays, hanging weightless in the air. “Huh. Abracadabra.”

“Holy shit.” Max breathes.

“All right, pull on it! See if it holds!” Dustin shouts.

Robin tugs experimentally. The sheets don’t budge.

“This is the craziest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” Erica grins. “And I’ve seen some crazy shit.”

Robin steps forward, determination flashing in her eyes. “Guess I’m the guinea pig.” She grips the rope and starts to climb.

“Let’s clear the landing pad!” Dustin yells, and the others shove the mattress into place.

Robin disappears through the gate. And then flips and crashes onto the mattress below with a breathless laugh. “Oh my God!”

“Oh, thank God. That was fun.” She pants as Dustin helps her up.

“All right, guess I’ll go.” Eddie says.

“Easy, easy,” Steve warns as he starts to climb the rope with urgency. 

Eddie climbs, swings through, and lands flat on the mattress. “That was fun. Shit.” He wheezes.

Steve turns to Nancy, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “See you on the other side.”

“On the other side.” she says, her voice steady. She climbs up and drops through the gate, landing with a laugh. “That was fun.” she says, smiling up above at Steve.

Steve glances at you next. His expression softens. “Your turn.”

You hesitate, and he gives a small, encouraging nod, and just the ghost of a smile.

“Thanks.” You whisper, returning it weakly.

You grab the rope and begin to climb. Your hands sting, your arms shake, but you keep pulling, toward the light, toward the others.

But when you reach the middle, everything shifts. The red glow stops, the vines tighten. Your grip slips. The light flickers. And then:

You fall.

Not onto the mattress. Not anywhere. You just fall. Falling through a pitch-black void. There’s no sense of direction, no sense of time. You try to scream, but the sound dies before it leaves your throat.

“[Y/n]...”

Taglist: @answer-the-sirens @ashkuuuu @madaboutjoe @oatmealisweird @joeyugglakiller @teheabrams @criesinlies @lovers-111 @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @aleemendoza2425-blog @iraslore @hello-nah817 @blujaybirdy @vajjaa @anuglyidiot @alicejwebster @hnslchw @neighborhoodparker @yunnie-f1 @sunshinedaisy21 @frey-williams @miahslt91 @gayandbasic @bubblybizarre @kravitzwhore @keeryverse @sugarysc @buckysgrace @ottotheotter2 @cokewithcameron @danir2006 @casey1-2007 @steph1106 @humbug5 @sun-fiower-seed @v3lv3tf0x @ahead-fullofdreams @geeksareunique @haliastyless @ponyosmom35 @rollssas

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Show Me

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: you let it slip to your DEA flat-mate that you aren't as experienced. Javi thinks he can teach you a thing or two about pleasure, but is surprised to find you've got it all figured it out.

notes: for any of you that remember, I talked about a Javi x virgin reader roommate fic... almost 2 years ago. well. It has arrived. This may simultaneously be the best and worst fic I've ever written.

Warnings: virgin!reader, experienced just not penetrated, toys, masturbation, assisted masturbation, vaginal fingering, mentions of anal, voyuer, oral f! receiving, getting caught, possessive and jealous Javi, multiple orgasms, prostitution, many partners, preconceived judgement for virgins

18+ ONLY

- - - -

“Fuck-ahhh—Javier!” the woman cries in the other room.

A few thumps against the wall tells you it must be good if they can’t keep the bed from shaking so hard and ramming it into the wall.

Meanwhile, you’re brushing the excess clippings of toe nails from your sheets into the bin below. You were over due for a at-home spa moment since there weren’t exactly salons ready to take new customers around the block.

You hear the woman wail lowly, muffled by the plush surroundings of a pillow. A faint slapslapslaps making its way from below his closed door and into the entire apartment.

You study your feet. Tilting your head to the side trying to figure out if the big toe nail is lopsided or just needs a file. 

Another lurch bangs against the wall, more violent than the previous. You hear a final drawn out moan before silence fills the entire apartment.

On second thought, your feet do look good. A solid solo-pedicure on the Saturday evening in Bogota. After cleaning out the gunk from under your toe nails, you’re ready for top coat.

-

Five months into living in Columbia and you’ve still only learned a handful of things from your DEA agent apartment roommate. He’s out most of the night, and the day, and really only is here to sleep every few 72 hours. On occasion, there’s someone attached to his hip, and extending to his hand and tongue and dick, but you only catch a glimpse of the beautiful women that come to be pleased by him and the raucous of sexual desires spewing out of his closed bedroom door. You rarely see the same woman twice.

You learn from others around the bars, native and foreign alike, that he’s infamous for having thralls of like-minded women at his drove. Whether they are paid, supposed to be paid but get lost in the excitement of it all, or just seeking a good time, everyone wants a taste of Javier Peña.

Your situation? Mr-last-boyfriend, talking of marriage and kids before you even had really gotten physically intimate, wanted to have your first time be via anal since he hadn’t done that before. You immediately ran out of there—ran all the way to another country, actually. 

Nope: you’re super content where you are right now. No men. No sex. No problems.

Maybe a little perturbed by your seemingly unbothered roommate, who walks out shirtless into the open floor, barefoot and unbuttoned jeans hardly pulled up to his waist. The woman is in slightly better shape, dress at least tugged up to one shoulder as she holds her shoes in one hand. He kisses her on the cheek with a shared grin before he’s closing the front door on her without another word.

You roll your eyes just in time for Javi to turn at you. His chest glistens with sweat along with the shine of the tips of his curls. He carries no sense of shame for the obvious activities that just happened behind his door, yet he doesn’t go out of his way to make any remark to show off either. You slam your door close and set off your light. Its 2 in the morning and past due for some silence. You’re quite content not knowing any additional information about this man—knowing it could only be worse than his reputation.

-

As fate would have it , avoiding Javier Peña forever draws to a quick end.

You turn the key in the ignition slot, silently praying as the engine sputters with not-too-good sounding hiccups. Unable to rev to life despite your kicks to the dash and kisses to the wheel in subsequent apology.

The average rainy seasons in Columbia wouldn’t compare to the amount of downpour that happens to be flooding the streets tonight. Stinging water firing down upon any unlucky civilian caught outside at this late hour.

You turn the key once more, but your car grants you no such mercy. Pathetic grinding showing no indication of life any time soon. Your head slams back against the worn leather headrest in defeat. “Fuck.”

You’ve got only two contacts in your phone book so far since living hear: the landlord’s line, who’s only available every other Thursday from 2-4, and your roommate’s, the one that you swore you wouldn’t ever need to call and nearly tore out and tossed his number away the second week you had moved in.

It’s only luck tonight that you had forgotten to do just that so many months ago.

“H-hello—Hola?” You speak with uncertainty. He speaks English, right? 

“Who’s this?” His dark gruff voice speaks through the receiver. He sounds like he hasn’t gone to bed yet, though exhaustion still evident in his stone.

“Um—its—your flat mate—I’m sorry I wouldn’t normally call--I got your number from—well it doesn’t matter—I just—listen I was wondering if you could do a huge favor? Just this one time? I’ll owe you.”

-

Despite the heavy pour of rain and your breath fogging up the windows, you immediately recognize his dark Jeep pulling up along side your condemned car. He drapes his jacket over his head and runs towards you, his car lights on and blinking warningly in the storm.

You crack open your door, water and wind instantly slamming your body. “I’m sorry! It won’t—it won’t start!” You shout through the heavy fall of water.

“Forget it! Get in!” He offers his jacket over top you so that you can transition from your car to his passenger seat. Despite the gesture, neither of you make it in his car without completely being drenched head to toe.

When he finally closes the driver door, the two of you pant wiping your faces of the excess water that drips onto his seats and floor.

He doesn’t exactly seem angry to be here, though not quite pleased either. 

“I’m…really sorry I disrupted your night—“

“Don’t bother. I needed a reason out. It was good timing.” He brushes his thumb over his stash. “Besides, you’re usually back by this hour so when you didn’t show… I’m glad I got your call. Glad you’re safe now.”

You hide the warmth in your face. It’s not sentimental, just genuine concern. If the police were to question someone of your last whereabouts, Javi would be the first one to ask. That’s all. You’re grateful for his thinking.

You simply nod. Neither of you say anything. Just sitting still looking ahead as the car stalls. The windshield wipers occasionally bat away the heavy water, only to immediately glaze over again.

Javi seems worn, frustrated. Something in his posture tells you he’s stressed about something else, maybe something that happened earlier in the night. 

You take a breath in. “Home?”

He smiles and nods. “Seatbelt.” 

You buckle the clasp, though Javi just puts the car into gear and drives off without putting his own seatbelt on.

By the time the two of you are stumbling through the front door, having still been freshly wetted by the short walk from the car to the building, the two of you are giggling hysterically. Something about his partner’s car having broken down and the two of them getting wasted at a local inn, completely missing a delegates meeting the next day.

The apartment feels much warmer than before. Quiet now as droplets of water from your clothes pat against the floorboards. 

“I should—probably let ya clean up. Get some sleep.”

You purse your lips. “I’m not that tired.” Grinning, you slip out of your heels and waltz over to the fridge, your wet footprints marking the creaky wood boards. 

Javi shakes the water from his head like a wet dog. He raises his brows raise in curiosity when you flash 4 beers at him, a slight hunch in your stance. “Gonna join me?”

-

“You haven’t what?”

You tilt the bottle back and gulp the rest of it to the last drop. Its remnants swirling through your liver right now, though you don’t care as much as its effects soil your lazy brain.

This is the longest conversation you and Javi have had since meeting him.

“I just don’t see what the big deal is.” You shrug, leaning back against the couch. Your clothes were now brittle and wrinkled from the once drenching rain, hair regaining some life after resting in the warm apartment, hours after you two stumbled inside from his apparent rescue. “Sex. What’s the point if you are in pain, uncomfortable, and risking all kinds of shit for a guy to use you?”

Javi too was leaning against the small sofa chair across from you, his damp jacket splayed out on the back of the chair while the two of you drank to your hearts content. But your confession seemingly brought him out of a drunken stupor. His full undivided, and definitely unexpected, attention on you.

“It seems—fake. Women fake it.” You try to justify your totally valid reasoning best you can, but you don’t particularly care to indulge further. It never seemed like a big deal to you before. Why does everyone else care so much about your personal experiences?

He chuckles a bit, looking away and shaking his head.

“What? You think all the girls you bring here are moaning and screaming their head off because you’re battering them to death?”

“It’s not all battering. And trust me, Querida: it’s no fun if she’s not having fun too.”

That part was evident: you remember the scene earlier this week when Javi’s partner left on short notice, before either of them could clearly “finish”. The man came out of his room and escorted her out, a bit perturbed but understanding, and definitely unsatisfied. His shirt had been haphazardly thrown on, buttons mismatched and wrinkled, and the evident sweat of their activities still lingerings on his chest and back. He was frustrated too by the cut of their activities. He threw on his jacket and chucked a cigarette in his mouth before leaving for the night. Not returning until the late afternoon the next day. Whipped, drunk, and passed out on the couch. 

But now, having such an explicit topic being opened up like the 12 bottles of empty beer on the table in front of you, you’re starting to see him in a different light.

He was—charming. Not as disarming as he appeared, always scowling and seemingly untouchable. Right now he seemed lax, approachable, easy to talk to. You could see the roughness in his eyes for the first time, and a sense of understanding as to why he keeps to himself, and relieves his unknown horrors through sex.

The alcohol in your system also made it slip that you might—still—just a bit—be a virgin.

"So you don't know what it's like? To be stretched by cock. Pounded until you’re tingling all over from pleasure, cumming with your eyes rolled back?"

You don’t even flinch at his bold words, too drunk to care. “I didn’t say that.”

-

Javi’s eyelids feel heavy. He’s unknowingly stolen glances at you each time you’re in the room, hell, even when you don’t realize he’s in the room with you. You seem so relaxed now, so open. This odd barrier you two had built around the other falling away now to reveal—people. Just people. 

You take another open bottle on the coffee table and lean back with its head to your lips. Javi doesn’t blink as he watches your throat flex with each swallow, the way your breasts puff out of your shirt a bit, shining in the humidity of the quiet room, the low street lights from outside illuminating your soft features. He drags his thumb over his lower lip, entranced by this very new woman he’s meeting for the first time in front of him.

His cock in his pants had gone only half soft after Cara had left just shortly before you called. Seems one round was enough for her, but Javier felt frustrated he didn’t quite finish. Another failed bust, another stern lecture from his superiors, another woman lost in his bed that he couldn’t take his full fury out on. He needed a different distraction tonight.

And he had been avoiding the possibility of using you for a quick solution.

 The conscious thought to stay away from a good roommate, to not ruin a stable living situation feels foggy, unclear in his mind right now. Ground rules he set the moment he learned your name and your move-in date were starting to feel less important.

 But when you keep looking at him like that, he doesn’t know what it means. It’s the first time he doesn’t know what a woman is thinking through her eyes when they make contact with his. Were you just trying to throw him in for a loop? Too drunk to realize the meaning behind your faze? Confuse him with your virginity talk? It’s not like you “scream” virgin, and yes there are some women who do back in Texas. Maybe quiet, shy at first, but now opening up to him and probably more drunk than you realize, you radiate confident, you radiate control. Hunger and familiar, yet calm and centered. 

Javi is a man for challenge. The phrase tumbles out of his mouth before he could filter himself. “Prove it then.”

It should have been the wrong words. The cheesy shit that men say to manipulate easy women in bed. You weren’t an easy woman, that much was clear. He’s ready for you to scoff him and go to bed without another word. Returning to a silent exchange indefinitely.

Maybe it’s just the amount of alcohol churning in your system that makes you so docile. Instead, you stand up and grasp his hand, leading him to your bedroom. 

It confuses him. Javi’s slept with virgins before, and he prefers experienced whores. Virgins are delicate. They need tending. They need time. Calmness. Slow. Be able to stop on a dime at any given moment and not press for his pleasure. Normally he’d refuse, its been way too long since the last cherry he popped, but after fucking Cara earlier as hard and fast as he could and still not quite reaching the satisfying release, maybe he needed the kind of distraction that his full effort and focus.

When he comes to stand behind you, there’s very little intuition to stop his instinct. He lets his politeness go, seeking that relief that he couldn’t itch earlier with what’s-her-name—Cara. The desire for physical rawness that overcomes his senes. Like fire and ice licking along the inside of his empty mind. He’s calm now. Okay to take it slow, or fast, or rough, or however you want to lead. He wants a bit of structure tonight, just for a bit. To share some responsibility. Pour his attention in satisfying you so that maybe…he can satisfy himself.

His mustache tickles your shoulder as he plants a dry kiss on the skin, his hands creeping along your waist to unbutton your blouse—

“No.”

You pull away and face him.

He stops, panicked. His lips part, opening and closing like a puffer fish, but no words come out. He’s fucked up. Totally misread, misunderstood, like a fucking idiot—

But you don’t exactly seem angry, just more displeased.

“I’ll show you. But I’m not interested in being another one of your hook ups.”

He didn’t want you to think that, no of course not —! Though, as your words settling in his ears, it’s exactly what he would have done with you just now. 

“I wouldn’t treat you badly, cariño.”

You smile. “I know. I just wanted to show you something.”

He stays where he is while you go to rustle in your bedside drawer. It’s the first time he’s been in here. Your room is more lived in than his, and you put care into organizing your belongings. Shoes tucked neatly under the dresser, bed made with a little throw pillow for decorate, a small shelf for assorted books. So unlike his room: barren, sheets unmade because the next time he would be home would be to crawl back in and pass out, or find a new lover, but void of personality. No kindness. No love. 

He’s too engrossed in observing every inch of your room that he almost doesn’t notice the pink dildo you’re holding in your hand.

His eyes dilate. “No way, you use this?” 

You both laugh, his a bit more friendly and incredulous but yours with a hint of shyness. The dildo is not considerably large, but certainly not small either. Its girth was just smaller than Javi’s own cock when hard, and maybe around 5.5 inches in length. 

“How long did it take to—?”

“A few months. I don’t use it all the time. Just--some times it feels good… to stretch.” You’re struggling to find the words. The alcohol-induced confident-woman in the living room moments ago now starts to trickle away as you use such descriptions. 

“A few months…”

Your eyes widen at the correlation. You’d been living in Bogota for a few months, yes, but more so, you’d also only been living with Javi Peña for a ‘few months’. 

Javi felt … different.

“Not—not because— it was just new—new area and wanted to try—its not—“

“I’m only teasing you, hermosa.” He offers a warm smile, nothing sinister or suggestive. Even if your heart thumps erratically right now, while sharing something intimate with a man notorious for swindling women into bed, you don’t feel as intimidated by his soft brown eyes as before. Unlike so many men before, who were quick to either judge you, or ask if you wanted to hop in bed with them for a quickie to “change your mind”. 

He clears his throat, and the moment breaks. It dawns on you that you’re holding your dildo that is most likely still covered in your dried slick, you pull away. Desperate to put some space between the tension building like compressed clay. He doesn’t touch you, only leans in to follow your face, forcing your eyes back on his. It’s personal, intimate, but not invasive. 

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me anymore, sí? I… like you like this.” 

You nod. “I...still want to show you…”

With a deep breath, you hesitantly part your legs. It’s not like a man hasn’t seen you naked—sort of. You’d been in this position, legs spread or tits out and sent headless polaroids to your touch-less flings before.

But this isn’t the same as propping a little camera up and taking as many print out photos as you want until you got one right then sending it off in the mail never to really think about it again.

Javi sits across the room in one of your desk chairs, watching closing as you spread yourself on the bed, your bottoms taken off and tossed to the ground a moment ago. His eyes bore into your naked soul on full display right now. You had never been exposed like this, watched so intently for any twitch in movement, from a man right across your room, living and breathing and in real time, in this moment.  

You flinch because the dildo is cold. Javi stands up, grabs it with your own hand clasped around it, spits on it while holding contact, letting its warmth settle over your fingers. He guides you to pump it before letting you go.

“Take your time,” he coos, as if the subconscious pressure you’ve placed on yourself has seeped into the walls of the room that harbor the two of you. As if he didn’t just use his own spit to help you coat the toy you’re about to fuck yourself with. He settles back down to his spot.

There's something alluring about him. His attentive gaze, the way he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. Makes you wonder just how authentic all that talk is about the man when he's between your legs...

You avoid his strong gaze and instead focus on the sensation below: swirling the silicon object around your nub and teasing your folds, parting them gracefully. You were already wet. Drinking around handsome men who save you just has that effect on you, though whether or not that’s from the attention from Javi or the thrill of drunken masturbation, you didn’t want to conclude. Now having rubbed your messy clit for him minutes ago, your entrance twitches in anticipation to take something larger. 

You glance up again. Javi is studying closely, conveniently leaned forward and blocking any perception of his crotch. Maybe it’s intentional. He doesn’t want to pressure you or hurt your ego by showing off whether or not he’s got a hard-on watching you.

You swallow your apprehension and push the dildo in more. Your generous slick and his spit providing the right amount of lubrication as a moan slips from your lips. You don’t stop, pushing it deeper and deeper, then pulling only slightly before thrusting all the way to the hilt. You let out a vibrated moan, lips curling deliciously. 

Jesus, he whispers under his breath. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, clearing his throat.

You smirk just a bit. He didn’t seem to expect that. Confidence soars through your body. You experimentally spread your legs wider, giving him full view of your inner thighs and core on full display as you continue to thrust in and out. The first few times the tip smashes against your g spot, stretching your tight ring feel euphoric. It always does. Your eyes go hazy, head falling back a little as you get lost in the sensation. It’s hard to focus on what exactly you’re doing, the lazy pumps in and out of your squelching heat making your body tingle with warmth. 

What exactly were you trying to show him again?

You don’t know it, but Javi’s got blood in his mouth from his badly he’s been biting his tongue. 

He remembers when he had sex with virgins in high school and while training in his 20s. They were always shy and timid, like you. 

He expected you to struggle. Flinch. Maybe cry a little and force yourself. He doesn’t particularly prefer virgins because thats inevitably what it’s like. Instead, you slide it right in, one, two thrusts and the thick cock is buried to the hilt.  The pretties moan he’s ever heard leaves your wicked lips. You slowly pull out and push it all the way in, balls deep, and each time the tip nudged your g spot perfectly, you smile, and its anything but pure and innocent. You know what you’re doing, canting your hips back and forth with each rock inside, shoving it deeper, as deep as you can get it, slick and messy inside that tight wet heat that he’s quickly becoming obsessed with.

 You start masturbating with your dildo expertly, picking up pace so such little prep work. He's impressed, to say the least.  You knew exactly how to slick yourself up, and it didn’t take any restrained stretching at all. Just two pumps and it fully parted your tiny hole. A sense of jealously fills his gut at how your pussy sucks the toy back in each time, perfectly tight yet clearly familiar enough with your walls that your body responds with eager accommodation. 

Jesus, he wants to touch himself. Just put a palm over his groin and rub the ache that’s building there. But he knows better. Knows if you wanted him to, you would tell him. No, he doesn’t want to scare you. This is a demonstration. Not a mutual—

What were you proving to him again?

You shakily bring your other hand down to your clit. Fingertips pull up the hood and start rubbing up and down in a v-shaped sawing motion. A few grunts and moans are held down by your lips, but it’s getting difficult to be decent. 

Your high pitched keen takes him back to you. The way your hips rock slightly against the bed, brows drawn tight. You’re desperate. He knows that look and those sounds. You’re so close yet not there, and the frustration is leaking out. Despite the occasional return to your weariness, avoiding his gaze, your legs twitching inward like they want to close off from his insatiable view. Your voice is strained, lips pulled tight until your teeth to keep any heady sounds out.

“Don’t hold back,” he hums quietly. “Make yourself cum. Show me.” His pupils are wide, observing every second that passes like he’s etching this scene in his mind.

As if anything about this situation made you ‘decent.’ 

You shyly whimper again, voice caught in your throat. “I—“

“Do it.”

Rapid movements of your hands go by quickly before your entire body is seizing up, mouth agape as you arch backwards. The air hangs in the room for a solid moment before a painful moan rumbles out of your throat. Javi has to bite back his own groan as the muscles in your arms and chest, belly and legs strain. He can make out the delicious quivers of your orgasm washing over you, like endless waves of sweetness colliding all together, and the pulses of your sensitive clit. The dildo, pushed fully to the rounded sack, drips with your sticky fluids. 

Javi forces his steady breaths through his lips, trying to be quiet under your panting. He almost came in his pants, fuck. He hasn’t even touched you, hasn’t even touched himself. Yet he feels the sharp throb of his nails sunk into his chin, his cock pulsing madly in his tight jeans, trying to calm his body from jumping up and finishing the job with you. 

This is the point where he expects awkwardness to fall over the room—one person satisfied and sober-minded while the other is on the verge of doing something totally reckless. Him being the latter. He’s got to excuse himself—

The hottest, most pornographic, self satisfied moan known to man escapes your lips as you push the dildo back in. Your walls clearly fight the intrusion, still braced from your recent orgasm. But you don’t stop, rocking your hips fervently and building up your arousal so quickly, it almost was as if you didn’t just cum moments ago.

What surprises him the most is that you keep. Going. 

“Dios mío, are you serious?” Javi mumbles, unable to hide the genuine intrigue in his voice. The same woman who was shyly trying to hold back her pleasure was no where to be seen as you reverently rock your hips back and forth, heels arched up on your tip toes, smiling proudly as lust fills your eyes concentrated on the inappropriate scene you’re putting on. 

He can’t help it. His palm pushes flatly along his bulge, tongue darting out at the sight of your juices leaking from your tight hole and splashing to the blanket below you.

He didn’t even notice you staring at him. Heavy lidded and sensual. “Take it out,” you command darkly. the completely new voice coming from you electrifies his muscles, following your words on their own accord.

Swallowing, he unbuttons his jeans and pulls his stiff cock out without a second thought.

You moan with little excited jitters watching him wrap his big hand around it, pausing the dildo inside your succulent cunt. Involuntarily clenching and unclenching around it.

He works his fist over his cock, pooling saliva over the tip. You’re watching him, following the pace of his hands with the rut of the dildo into you. 

Throwing your chest out vehemently, perky nipples pierce through the thin cotton of your shirt. Your free hand traces up under your shirt to massage your own breast, fingers pinching at the swollen nip.

“Talk to me. Tell me how it feels,” he groans. The angry red head of his length sticks up towards you, demanding attention.

“S’good,” you whine. “Feels so full. Fuck Javi…” you toss your head back and moan proudly again. Your whole body is much more relaxed now, giving in to the pleasure, enjoying yourself without pretense.

“You’re so beautiful,” his words slip hungrily. He swallows anything further from that. Let me taste you, let me touch you, let me ruin you. “Are you gonna cum again?”

You nod quickly. creases along your forehead appear as you stare down at your gushing cunt, rutting the toy into your pussy harder, more precise with speedy abandon.

“That’s it—fuck that’s it. Make yourself cum again, I want to feel it this time, with you.” His hand is ferociously pumping his length over and over again, the tension in his groin about to snap. 

You position yourself upright now, the base of the dildo pressed against the mattress as you bounce up and down on it. One arm holds you from falling backwards while the other lifts your shirt further, revealing the underside of your tit. It’s a sight to behold, one of sensual power that has a death grip on Javi. He’s never going to get this image of you out of his mind. Never going to see you walk around this apartment in a shirt without seeing this gloriously sexy version instead.

You slam down a little harsher one last time, stilling entirely as your legs quake, your head falls back on the pillow aa your orgasm rolls throughout your body. The once quiet rouse goes out the door as you shamelessly wail, high pitched and throaty, into the warm night air like it’s only you and your pleasure in the entire world.

Your hips continue to grind along the length, legs shaking from over stimulation, but its the beastly little grin on your face, the darkness in your eyes as he continues to jerk himself that sends him over the edge. His grunts turn to whimpers as thick ropes of semen spurt from his tip, coating his hands generously in white cream. He groans out the last few dribbles, sensitively wringing out his orgasm until he falls back against your desk and pants. 

His shirt sticks to his back and chest. It’s like he’s back outside running through the rain, only this time much hotter. 

He catches his breath while you wipe the sticky mess from between your legs with a damp cloth.

“You’re something special,” he sighs with a grimace. He curses again, wiping the sweat from his face.  

Now is the part where you ask him to leave, that its weird, that he’s overstayed his welcome—

You’re over him, shirt pulled down but pussy and ass still wet and bare. He glares up with uncertainty, flinching when you wrap the same towel over his softening length and cleans each one of his fingers. He stutters for words, too taken by your gentle hands separated only by fabric all over his most sensitive areas.

You pull away before he can think too deeply about it.

“Thank you. For…um...”

You purse your lips and avoid his gaze. It’s too hot in here now. The rain outside subsides, leaving only a sticky residual humidity that feels heavy in your lungs.

Javi tucks himself back in his jeans but leaves them unbuttoned. He carefully brushes your arm, spinning you to face him once again. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek soothingly. “It doesn’t have to be anything.”

He doesn’t push it further from than, but judging by the big sigh you let out, your shoulders sinking from their tense state, maybe that was for the best.

“I’m glad you called me. Glad you’re home safe. Get some rest,” he whispers before pressing a light kiss to your eyelid.

Without another word, he slips out of your room and closes the door softly behind him.

-

You wake up alone in your room the next day, your heard pounding from migraine. Javi’s left the apartment already. Aside from a fresh pot of coffee left for you, there’s no obvious acknowledgment of the night. And for the entire next week, he never brings up what happened. Doesn’t confront you nor treat you any differently than he has before last night. You’re not sure if its a good thing or a bad thing.

The only exception being he has not brought another woman to the apartment since. 

Not that you assume he’s suddenly celibate. It’s more likely he’s been going to their places instead of yours. Perhaps it’s gentlemanly-ish. So you don’t feel used and overwhelmed.

Kind, but unnecessary of him.

You don’t hear from him for 3 days. Most likely caught up at the embassy, paper work, stakeouts, all of it barreling down on the man hour after hour. Like they don’t need to rest, eat, function like human beings in the never-ending war he’s pitted himself in.

You need something more to hold on to. To feel that thrill again. your little session with your roommate has awaken that need for physical intimacy that you keep telling yourself is useless.

It’s not like nobody has ever expressed interest before. Hell, Marcus from your office has asked you at least a few times for a cup of coffee, even suggesting you finish some paperwork up at his place. 

But each time, you refuse. Theres something about being naked in front of someone for the first time, let alone going as far as sex that puts panic in your mind, and you’re instantly refusing a simple coffee date for lack of better reason.

You’re not ready for it.

But more … sessions with Javi? That, you could do.

It’s 4am when he does return late Saturday night. You wrap yourself in a towel and peep from the steamy bathroom to see him toss his jacket on the floor and collapse on the couch. He rubs over his forehead with rough digits, squeezing his eyes out from everything they may have seen.

You conveniently forgot your clothes in your room, on the other end of the living space.

Tightening your towel around your chest, you tip toe across the room.

Javi sits up, alert at the sudden presence of someone else, but when his eyes settle on you, scanning down from your wet darkened hair, damp skin, small towel wrapped tightly around your body, barefoot on the balls and dripping water, he relaxes, letting out a breathy sigh.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you…” 

He stands up and carefully approaches you. Instinct tells you to back away, so vulnerable right now in only a towel, but your body wants to know what its like to feel his hands on you again, even if only a brief fleeting touch.

“Rough night?” You ask softly. 

He brushes his knuckles against your smooth skin, reveling in the way the water sticks to you. Your body is warm, both from the shower and his attention. He smells the scent of your shampoo, mingling with the cigarettes lingering on his tongue.

“Something like that…”

Your eyes are fixed at the deep v cut of his shirt, carelessly unbuttoned and revealing the shine of his chest. 

He chuckles. “That I know.” 

“I was thinking about that night. About you.” He takes in a hesitant glance your way. “N’ I Know I said it didn’t have to be anything. But…it didn’t have to be a one time thing either. If you wanted…”

“—And I told you: I’m not one of your hook ups,” you hum with a grin. Your tone is anything but offensive, though. Leaning closer to him, raising a brow as if to insinuate something else.

 His fingers continue to trace along your arm, down to your wrist and back up, bringing out chilled bumps. Gentle yet rough digits pulling your face into his as he whispers across your cheek, “Please tell me you’ve been kissed before…”

“Of course,” you whisper in a quick breath.

His eyes darken.

“Show me.”

 He barely finishes before your lips immediately attach to his. The kiss is soft yet needy, slow yet wet and hungry, like you’re both savoring it while also rushing for more, swallowing tongue before just lightly sucking on the lower lip, then engulfing your mouth whole all over again. An invisible force pulls you towards him until you’re reaching for him, refusing to let him part for you even for air. His callused hand cups your jaw, deepening the kiss. Hungry, like both of you had gone too long without reprieve. 

Without hesitation, you drop the towel to the floor.

You feel the growl from deep within his chest purring against your front as he pulls away. His gaze follows the swish of the cloth down your naked body. No words shared between the two of you despite the clear sign of agreement.  You walk towards your room, your hips gently swaying and disappearing into your bedroom. Urging him to follow.

You leave the door open.

-

Eventually this little routine is happening every few nights. Javi finds himself in your room, leaking cock in one hand while you have your fingers or dildo or vibrator in yours, rubbing yourself with hearty grins plastered on your faces.  He always lets you cum once, your body seemingly relaxing after your first orgasm that invites him to ask for more.

You usually are hesitant at first. The first few times only letting him sit next to you while you masturbate, urging him to just look down at his own doings. But as minutes go by, and panting gets hotter, and the pleasure mounts higher, you can’t help but watch him too.

 He keeps inching closer each night. From the chair, to the foot of your bed, until Javi’s just as naked, lying against your backboard beside you, fisting himself with tense muscles and watching you rub your clit with fast circles, your eyed trained down to his rapid movements. He whispers warm words of encouragement, “Such a pretty pussy, rub it tighter, moan like you mean it.” 

He edges himself, letting you become comfortable exploring your body in front of him. Wants you to keep going, see how many you wring from yourself before he’s giving up and fisting himself to completion. Always ending with both of you cumming around your own hands, panting and watching one another ravenously. 

He’s never gone so far with someone yet not gone all the way.

Tonight is just as intimate. You’re both lying next to each other on your bed. Your leg hooked over one of his, each little bounce from his fist slamming up and down over his slick cock jotting your calf. Knees bent and spread wide, hypnotized by the scene of the other touching themselves. His knee bumps under yours. The bed rattles with little creaks from your solo masturbation sessions. 

“Oh--oh—Javi,” you moan needy, neck arched back. Your hair gets messier and more tangled each time you rub it along your pillow, near pain from preening over so much to watch him.

His mouth is agape, tongue resting between his lips as he stutters through his breaths. You don’t miss how widely his pupils are blown, caught between watching you rub your fingers through your spread folds and the desperate look on your pretty little face.

Your loud soaked pussy calls to him. He can’t keep pretending it doesn’t.

“Jesus—Fuck. I gotta taste you.” He mummers quickly. 

You let out a low whiny breath from your throat, removing your fingers from the center of your pulsing core.

He rolls over to his side so hurriedly and sinks your digits into his month. He hums ravenously, suckling your slick. 

"I need to touch you,” he grunts. “Need to know what it feels like.” You grasp his wrist and bring it down to your breasts. It’s new territory for both of you. But the thrill of a third orgasm building in your system throws caution out the door as he takes the lead, squeezing your tit before trailing his wet hand down your belly and between your legs, joining your aching digits that had been working diligently there.

He watches your face contort the second he presses his fingertips on your clit. “Beautiful, so beautiful like this,” he hums. His fingers begin messily swirling over your entrance, kicking away your own hand to do his work, his way. "Fuuuccckkkk , oh she's just as soft as she looks. So wet and messy, baby, you like when I rub your hot pussy? Such a horny little thing."

You bite your lip and nod eagerly, rolling yourself against his palm. “Please, please Javier,” you whine, thrusting your hips closer to his hand. It doesn’t matter that you sound no different from the many women who’ve come and gone in his life. You’re insatiable for his touch, for more that you had been denying for weeks now. 

"Touch me,” he groans. You slick up your hand along his own at your cunt before wrapping it around his cock. He hisses, the sensation of your soft hands making him pulse madly, desperate to avoid thrusting up into your sweet palm. He's thick, warm and velvety smooth, alive and twitching under your touch. So much unlike your cold lifeless toys you've become so aquatinted to. So new and fascinating. It sends shivers up your spine. A heartbeat in your core that yearns to feel more.

His rough fingers work over your clit. "That's it. Stroke my cock while I play with that pussy.” He grunts each time you swipe your thumb over his slit.

"Inside," you moan. "I want to feel—“

He slips two digits easily, pushing deep until he’s twisting and pulling, in and out with languid thrusts. The sweetest, happiest whimper escapes you, biting your tongue as he smothers himself into your heat.

"Oooohhhh, you’re so loose? This is what a virgin pussy does all day? Stretch herself until she's able to take any cock the minute she sees it?" 

You shake your head. The pleasure riding through you is too good to be able to think, let alone speak. Your mind feels foggy. Teetering between sanity and the need to cum on this man’s fingers.

He grinds his palm flat against your slit and you’re gone, shaking around him with raspy groans. Smiling and crying, he works you over your release again and again, drawing it out with deep strokes before pausing, holding pressure right where it feels most empty. 

He curls them upward, poking your sensitive gummy roof like a sniper. “Javi!” You shout, arching backwards as his lips attach to your breast.

“Querida,” he growls. He pulls your nipple from between his teeth before letting it bounce back to place. “You’re going to cum.”

It’s a fact. You’re nodding desperately, your own hand wrapped around his wrist to him fucking you with three fingers now. Your needy desire for release, mixed with the previous orgasms, create a unique stretch around him, one he’s not relenting from as he pounds your cunt perfectly with his hand.

He watches your body convulse the entire time.

“Where—nnnhhmm!! where’d you learn to do this??”

You’re instinctually pushing your hand down to your lower tummy, eager to draw out your orgasm when his thumb meets you there and you both grind down into your squishy pelvis, just below your lower belly.

OH—oh—My fuck!” You screech. Your hands fly back into the tangled mess of pillow and sheets, gripping on to something. He grins sinfully, pushing down again and rubbing. Energy and fireworks,  tingles of pleasure coarse throughout your body.

“I told you I could make it feel good.” He stops and starts at just the right moments. Feeling incredible yet distantly out of reach from what could get you to orgasm.

You let out a desperate giggle, your voice far from your own. “I wanna cum again.”

He kisses you again, swallowing your tongue. “Want your mouth,” you hum.

Javi’s breath catches in his throat for a moment before descending down your body. His lips latch on to your tits again and then over the soft flesh of your belly. He settles between your legs.

“Spread them, spreadspread.” The urgency in his voice cracks, like a version of him that’s slowly dissolving from the cool, in-control demeanor. Desperate, so much so that he can’t maintain his composure. The side of him you suspect very few people see.

Javi Peña loves eating pussy. But living in Bogota has kept such activity to a limit because it’s not advisable to put your mouth on a prostitutes cunt for… obvious health reasons. 

But when you part your thighs eagerly, he feels himself lose it a little in his brain. “So fucking pretty, Dios, all f’me?”

He rubs his thumb over your slit again, gathering the copious slick that’s been drooling into the bedsheets. “You get this wet all the time, don’t you?”

You rush to shake your head, hips canting forward just to feel his hot breath against your mound.

“This the first time a man’s gone down on you?” He asks.

He laughs. “Yeah you do. You’re just a wet desperate girl, princesa, needed to cum a few times to get ya here. Get ya nice and relaxed, spread for me.”

“Javi, please.”

Your stomach tenses ever so slightly, like a bomb being dropped in the room. You avoid his gaze, knees starting to cave in.

“Shhhh, watch. Just watch. All you gotta do. I’ll take it from here,” he coos. He kisses your sensitive nub once, and you cover your mouth from the keening too loudly.

He does it again, tongue poking the tip and sucking in some of your sticky sweetness. Then another, this time, flattered and taking in some more of your slit. He can’t stop. Can’t stop going in and taking more, tasting you, letting your fluids coat his tongue and fill his buds. You watch him hesitantly the entire time, the resolve crumbling from you with each snag of his lips suckling your heat.

He’s careful to put his hands gently along your thighs, stroking you. Soothing you to stop tensing. when he slips his fingers back inside your hole, he feels you starting to pull away.

"Don’t deny it. Don’t deny it. Let it happen. Let it go, I can see it in your eyes. All drunk and needy in there, don't deny her. Let her have this.” He hums against your pussy before fully sinking them into you, devouring you with a mission to make you sing.  

It doesn’t take long. 

His words settle over your muscles and you start to immediately convulse around his fingers, clit throbbing excitedly as you wail out, with no better words, like a complete whore. He’s only aggressive with you just in this moment, with you back arched off the mattress, keeping your mound pressed against his lips, refusing to part with your succulent cunt as he drinks down your orgasm. 

Each clench of your walls is driving him feral. 

“Shit—oh-ohhhh fuck—your tongue…”

“Yeah?” He laps along your slit again. “What about my tongue?”

“S’good,” you rasp. Your fingers sift through his dark hair, his natural curls more noticeable now from the humidity shared between your bodies. “Feels so good on me. N’your lips. Oh Christ, your nose, its…keeps nudging my clit—Javi its so good!”

Javier pulls you down along the bed until he’s kneeled on the floor, his shoulders hunched over your heat. He’s losing it, the raw praise of your first experience tumbling out and going straight to his body, suckling everything you’re giving him. Pushing down then pressing up, his tongue laps over your clit in rapid flicks. Fisting his cock the entire time to your delicate sounds and slick pussy. It takes every fiber of strength in him not to force his cock into you right now.

You’re seizing up in a silent cry and Javi knows he’s go you wrapped around his finger, literally. the transaction inside you is violently blissful, and he stays exactly where he is to let you have it all. Your body wiggles from the stimulation but you keep cumming for him. He never wants you to stop.

He feels your hand slap over his on your thigh, and he eases off the pressure. Lets you fall back down with little jitters, drawing it out, your breath caught in your throat, then letting you relax, reminding you to breathe again. 

You lean forward to watch his hooded eyes, his hand pumping over his cock with the shine of your juices slicking over the reddened tip. It beats angrily, desperate for release. You can’t help but draw circles around your entrance. He growls, transfixed by it before shooting his loud with a yelp, creamy and thick all over his stomach and thighs. Javi collapses forward. Rolling his forehead along your tummy, his scruffy damp hair brushes along your inner thigh as he kisses the inside.

He smiles drunkenly at you. Mustache and chin still soaked with your arousal.

“I don’t have to teach you a damn thing.“

-

You stare up to the ceiling. The room smells of sex, sweat, and cigarette smoke. He passes you the bud. Accepting it in your nimble fingers, you press it to your lips and inhaling its rough, addicting flavor.

“Wouldn’t peg you for the smoking kind either. Just full of surprises, aren’t you bebita?” He laughs.

You cough a bit. “I’m not that seasoned with it—“ passing it back to him. “Last time I tried was in college.” 

He waits for you to finish your thought. Not pushing. 

“That why you’re here? Ran away from school?”

You shake your head. “Ran away from something.”

He never pushes you.

“I ran away from my boyfriend who was about to propose. Even though we hadn’t even done anything… ya know.”

“You can’t even say sex yet you were just cumming on my fingers and tongue 6 times tonight.”

You both giggle, your legs curling up along his thigh. 

“What about you? How’d you end up here?”

He clears his throat of the smoke. “I ran away from the woman I was 10 seconds away from marrying.”

The silence of his confession floats in the air among the smoke that’s slowly drifting out the open window.

“… That’s way worse than mine, actually.” 

It’s neither accusatory, nor belligerent. And Javi feels relaxed for the first time in his own apartment, admitting something that he never wanted to think so heavily about again. He looks over to you, your gentle breathing, such softness packed up in a resilient and fierce woman. Someone he’d never think to be in the same place and same time as him, in such a shitty state of affairs. 

Yet, here you are, with him, in a single bed.

He lets out a breath, hoping you don’t notice the disappointment. 

“I—“

“It’s getting late,” you note, sucking your lips.

Playtime was over.

He rolls out of bed and fishes for his pants, rolling them on before slowly making his way to your door.

“Night,” he hums softly over his shoulder.

You simply grunt and turn over, and Javi leaves back to his own room. 

-

He’s pleased that you never stray away from your nightly activities, even if they do end up going nowhere by them you’re finished.

He starts eating you out regularly. Or fingers you while you jerk him. Every night, and always multiple times a night. You’re simply filling the void of other women he’d have at his disposal normally. And he’s catering to your curiosities and need for release without getting too entangled with consequences.

All this climactic build. He's OK with taking his time with you. 

He can still get experienced pussy begging for him any other time at a snap of his fingers. He knows he's good and doesn't need to prove it to you.

The fact that he still wants to anyway is just… trivial. 

Truthfully, Javi’s never gone so long without fucking a woman. He’s never viewed sex as ‘claiming’. Sex is freeing. It’s beautiful yet shallow if need be, and always benefits both parties.

It’s—fine, not having you like that. 

At least, that’s what he rehearses in his head every night before entering your room and seeing you spread out with your fingers dancing in your shake pussy, begging for his attention.  Yeah, he’s fine taking his time with you. It’s not like you’re going anywhere, seeing anyone, doing anything else.

A sentiment that feels threatened when he brushes past the window overlooking the main road in front of the apartment building. A stray car approaches to a stop. Years of training and real life experience has forced him to recognize every car that parks along this street stays in this building, and drives by regularly. This one is suspiciously new. Until he sees you stepping out of said car, and someone rounding the corner from the drivers side to help you out. The guy is standing a bit too close for normal comfort as the two of you chat. Javi has the instinct to go down there immediately to fend you off from his advances.

But when said man leans in to kiss your cheek—a polite peck more than a kiss—that Javi feels his jaw ache from how badly he’s been clenching his teeth. 

He notices you’re much happier coming in through the door. Something cheery, brightening the space around you and the air you’re breathing out.

“Hey you,” you nod towards him. He doesn’t respond, just watches you intently from the living room. You don’t seem to care either, going about putting your keys and jacket along the counter. There’s a sweet, contained smile that keeps creaking along the sides of your lips. The type of smile he used to think emulated you: kind smile, sweet smile, innocent smile.

He wants to bend you over his leg and spank the delirious look off your face. Replace it with the devious, sinful grin he’s burned into his retina, the one you always give him when he’s got his tongue on your clit, fingers in your hole, bringing you over the edge knowing you’re going to give him that same smirk. The version of you so unafraid to ask for it again. 

He steps into his room and slams the door closed without acknowledging you.

-

Javi seemed to have been overly busy with work these last few days. 

You find yourself in the quiet empty apartment most nights alone, only catching a glimpse of him for an hour here or there before he’s quickly disappearing out of the flat. You reason the stress of what he does, the danger and baggage, is the reason for his cold demeanor.

It’s possibly the first time you struggle to get off by yourself.

“Fuck,” you huff, annoyed. You toss your dildo across the bed and fall back onto the pillows, your face flush with light sweat. It’s ridiculous, the amount of work you’re putting forth right now trying to reach one measly little orgasm. 

Your ears perk up at the sound of the front door opening and closing, shuffling footsteps making their way across the floor. 

You shouldn’t bother him. He’s probably tired. He doesn’t want to be your human vibrator. 

But the thought of Javi here again sends warm slick pooling at your slit. Holding your breath, you slide your fingers between your folds, sighing. Your arousal is fresh, sticky and lubing your hole nicely. You try to remember the warm, lively sensation of his tongue on you, his lips enclosing around your clit with each swirl.

Javi stares back at you with lidded eyes and a grin. He enjoys making you fall apart underneath him. You hold in your whimper, an extra gush of your arousal coating your fingers. Working diligently now, back and forth in V formation, you recall the breathless grunts he makes when he fingers your pussy. The way it vibrates against your clit. How he slows to shallow rubs along your ceiling before twisting and scissoring in and out rapidly until it squirts out of you. How he tells you, “Beautiful, cariño,” right above your lips. The softness to his voice despite the body shaking orgasms he wrings from you each night like it’ll be your last.

You’re close. Tooth snagged so deeply on your tongue it may bleed. “Javi,” you whine. He’d bite your ear playfully to get you to make sounds like this.

“Only for me. You cum like this only for me.”

You gasp out and immediately retreat your hand. Your cunt pulses angrily, denied and desperate.

Fuck chivalry.

Wiping your brow, you hoist up and make your way to the kitchen with only your damp underwear and t shirt. His room door is closed, but the lamp light is on. 

Juices still freshly coated on your fingers, you first and raise to an urgent knock.

The door swings open before your knuckles can make contact with the wood.

A sweaty woman in few clothes, tousled hair and smudged makeup greets you wide eyed but goes casual when she gets a look at you. 

“Didn’t expect you’d have another after me tonight, Peña,” she teases back towards Javi. 

Javi. Bare-assed Javi hoisting his jeans on. Sweat-covered Javi with damp hair. Grinning Javi turned surprised at your presence, knuckles braced in the air with a perplexed look on your face.

He swallows and looks away, pretending to wipe his nose, busying himself by gathering the scattered bits of his and her clothes around the room.

“I was… just going to ask,” you begin, slowly lowering your hand to your side. “…if you wanted some tea. Was making some. Thought I’d ask.” Your voice feels cold and collected, opposite of the heat prickling your body and running lava through your veins.

He shakes his head and avoids you.

The young woman slips her heels on between you, a slight smirk spreading across her lips as if slicing the tension into a bigger cut.

She slides over to Javi and grasps his head, pressing a long kiss to his cheek. His eyes cast over to you just as you pull them away. 

Why are you still standing here?

“I’m just—Just gonna…” you back away and nearly run to your room, but the kitchen calls for your lame excuse, and you begin shuffling mugs and prepping the kettle.

He escorts her across the floor and towards the front door, where he tilts her chin with one curled finger and plants his lips on her.

You involuntarily recoil, shrinking back into the awkwardly silent kitchen.

When the door finally closes behind her, it’s just you and Javi again.

From… excitement…?

You clear your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to walk in like that. I was just—“

“Asking if I wanted tea, mm?” He teases. He saunters closer to your space, brushing the handlebars on the cabinets. You avoid his gaze and continue pouring water into the kettle, your hands a bit shaky. From rage, from frustration? Why either of those? What’s it to you?

He places his warm hand on your wrist, calling you back to reality. The warm water flows over the top, wetting your hands and cascading down to the sink basin. 

His breath is on your cheek. His presence is simultaneously comforting and unfamiliar. But the lingering aroma of the woman’s perfume wafts off him, and you aggressively shove him back with your shoulder.

“I’m quite tired so if you could just.”

“So tired, you’re up now making a cup of tea?”

You’re starting to understand why most of his company is just women he pays to be here. Why he doesnt have friends outside of work. Why he’s as insufferable as everyone paints him to be.

You straighten your back and face him. “Yes.”

But his angler nose brushes right against yours, his rough hand caressing around your elbows and to your lower back. 

You want to back away from his presence but you’ve nowhere to go.

“You’re jealous,” he breathes against your cheek.

“M’ not.”

He rotates his head, amused.

“You hear everything that goes on behind this wall. You know how much pleasure I bring them.”

You go quiet. Because he’s right. You don’t know how good sex could be. 

“I can feel just as good—better—on my own. I don’t need anything more from you.”

“How would you know…unless you’ve tried both sides. Tell me that with your own conviction.”

He near forcefully smashes his lips to yours, but you find there’s hardly any instinct to resist. 

“It’s more than just getting off. It’s the touch—“ his thumb trace your lower lip before letting it go, “the breath—“ hot hair fanning into your ear before he lightly bites at your lobe “—your heart.” He grasps your hands and presses them against his chest, urging you to push once again. Instead, you sink your palms flat, fingers splaying across his supply skin. It’s like you can feel the blood flowing, his heart erratically pumping in tune with yours.

Your lips tremble for a moment. “I—“

The woman who had just graced his presence moments ago flashes before your mind.

You break away. “You can’t keep—“ he forces your head to tilt so he can engulf your mouth again. “Kissing me—just—“ he cups your jaw and presses more deeply. “Just—mmmff!—just because—you—ugh Javi—don’t wanna....talk.” You rasp the last line just as he backs you flush against the wall, two hands securely around your face as he ignores your pleas and continues making out with you.

“Is it working?” He whispers devilishly.

Your brain feels too foggy. “Mmm—n-no,” you lie. Shit. What were you saying again?

“Yeah? Does it make you go soft for me?”

You hum, letting him trail kisses down your cheek to your pulse point. 

“What about when I touch you here?” His fingers drift under your shirt, nudging your damp panties to the side. You’re practically oozing into his palm at this point.

“Oooooo so wet, Querida….” he chuckles softly, working your clit over and over again as his middle and pointer slide through your opening gracefully. “You know you get wet when you’re mad at me?”

“Yeah…f-fuck…I—“

“Shhhh. It feels good, doesnt it? Let it feel good, Hermosa. Tell me you like when I touch you.”

“I—I like it,” you whine with a hushed cry.

“So sloppy,” he teases, pecking at your jaw once more. “Such a sloppy messy pussy.” 

“What toy were you using?”

“Just m-my fingers”

You must be drunk. Yeah that’s it. Or maybe he’s high from busting down so many cocaine puffed doors this week. Because the way you’re looking at him, with more honesty and boldness than he’s ever seen. Even more than when you’re pushing your cute thick dildo and riding it for a hour. You practically glimmer now in his view. 

“Awww c’mon, you can do better than that.”

“I wanted you instead.“

He wants more of you like this.

And he wants you all to himself.

He drops to his knees, his lips leaving a trail of saliva down your naval. He sucks your nub right into his mouth and sloppily makes out with your pussy. 

“Did you think of me? When you were touching yourself before I came home?”

“No,” you moan defiantly. But he knows you can lie all you want: the evidence is drooling out of your cunt as he snickers.

“It’s okay, just relax. I’m gonna make it all better. Make the ache go away.” He pushes his thick finger right through your slick entrance, and you let out a desperate sigh. each glorious inch fills you, knuckle curling inward until he’s just barely scraping your G-spot. “Can ya feel it yet? Right here?” He brushes his lips over your lower tummy, right over the spot that his finger is pressing against inside you. “It aches, doesn’t it? Feels so empty. Not even your toys can scratch that itch properly. Fill that little spot inside you that’s crying out.”

“But you did touch yourself, hmm?”

you let out a choked gasp. “Javi—.”

You’re falling apart above him. Clawing at your sides and choking on your breaths. He’s not … doing anything. And yet, overwhelming you at the same time. Driving you wild unlike any man before.

You don’t know it, but he’s rock hard and throbbing angrily for the last hour.

He didn’t get to cum earlier. Fucked the ever living shit of out what’s her name, but even when he shoved her face hard into the mattress, he couldn’t conjure exactly what it would be like inside you. Would your body conform to him the way you melt at his touch? Would you shake and quiver, only responding to him? 

His strong grip had started gliding up the expanse of your thighs, getting lost in the squelching sensation. The scent of your arousal just a hair string away from the peak of his nose. He’d get so lost dreaming of these moments that he worried he wouldn’t know when it was real. He blows air through his lips like a whistle, targeting your heated slit.

When you card your fingers through his hair, tugging, his parted lips are pried away. His glossy eyes stare up towards you.

You were quivering. Not from fear, or shyness, or anger. No. Your lips were parted in a silent o, eyes heavily lidded. He could see your stomach jittering, and below, your clit twitching like she was breathing.

You were cumming. Untouched. Unraveling before him while he sat on his knees and watched.

The grip he had on your thighs tightened possessively.

He was never going to give this sight up.

-

You're the sluttiest virgin he's ever experienced and never got to take for himself. He fucks you with your dildo, his fingers, his tongue. Moaning and desperate, begging and cumming so much then asking for it harder and faster. Not even women he's fucked regularly, who have had multiple dicks in them in a single day want it as badly as you do. 

And what continued to astound him each time was that you can take it too. You haven’t even had the real thing yet, and you were taking poundings and giving orgasm after orgasm like you were a pro.

It's driving him mad.

So who the fuck do you think you are, after all your "lessons" together, after the amount of time he’d spent training and learning your body’s sweet spots, to tell him you’ve suddenly got a date and are bringing him over to your place?

“You what?” He snaps.

“He’s a coworkers,” you shrugged nonchalantly, unaware of his shift in tone. Your cheeks feel warm as you avoid his gaze, flustered that you’re telling your roommate about some trivial crush and a first date. “And he’s…nice.”

“Yeah. Chivalrous, if you could believe that sort of thing still.”

You’re stashing away dishes while Javi leans against the kitchen counter.

“Nice,” Javi repeats coldly. 

You finished drying your dish and setting it back in the cupboard. The living room still needed tending to, straightening pillows, maybe lighting a candle. You attempted to slip pass the entryway, but Javi’s broad body stood in the way, blocking your exit. 

He seemed…awfully tense. 

“No… well…” you think about it for a moment. You weren’t planning it, but if one thing led to another, you weren’t going to stop it either…

“I know you don’t mind sleeping with women while I’m home but… it would be weird if you were here still so--“

“You’re planning to fuck him too?”

It’s as though he could read your mind, standing there pensively dreaming about some fuck touching you.

“You can’t sleep with some guy on a first date,” he states plainly, crossing his arms over his puffed chest, standing up a little taller.

“Of all the ladies you’ve brought here, how many did you treat to several evenings of dates again? Or did you even catch all of their names before you were sticking your dick in them?”

His jaw ticks, unfolding his arms. 

You wait for him to spit something back, but he remains tight lipped.

He feels cold when you brush by him, eager to do your makeup for your date. “He’ll be here around 5.” A few moments of silence pass as you clear the coffee table. Then, you cup Javi’s jaw, instantly soothing his ache, turning him to face you. “Why don’t you find a pretty woman, treat her to a hotel room or something? Its been some time since you had…”

God, there it was again. Your hesitancy. Can’t even say the words. It was like you were a totally different person when you weren’t a shaking, orgasming mess under him. 

“Since I fucked?” He asks coldly.

You nod, turning your head away shyly. 

“Mhm. That what you want?”

You nod again. 

“Alright. I’ll see about that tonight.”

-

Javi left the apartment, only to camp out down the block. The cigarette burned down his throat as he flicked it aside, his sunglasses eyes scanning the street. If he were on duty, this would feel adjacent to a stakeout, looking for a low life dealer that he could catch and hand over for less than legal interrogations. Instead, he was watching for a specific car to turn up.

And that it did. 

He parked along the side of the street. The man that exited was slightly over dressed—slacks and nice loafers, a dress shirt. He looked like he came fresh from some office. Javi could make out his features more clearly now. Your age, decent height, good build. But the kind that works out at a gym rather than uses any of that muscle for work. 

You had rushed down and hugged him at the front of the lobby. The kind-hearted smile, the one that felt forced and polite, greeted him. You couldn’t see Javi, none the wiser to your stalker. It made him recoil, glancing away when you pressed a chaste kiss to the mans cheek, pulling him into the door.

Javi knew he should leave it be. Maybe wonder on a walk, hang a bar, give you your time. A few weeks ago, he would have cheered it: a virgin getting her good reward long over due. His feet carried him on their own as he thought. 

The man seemed like a decent fellow. Javi never really considered what your “type” would be. The only man he could envision you with for weeks now was —

“Javi.”

You stared back at him. Along with your date. Javi had found himself at the hallway of your door, right as you were unlocking it to bring your toy in.

He placed his hands on his hips awkwardly. “I uh. Meant to grab something.”

The quietness fell over the three of you.

“He’s my roommate,” you quickly clarify to your date. Having another man needing to enter your flat at the same time that you were brining a new one made you feel like—

Like the million times you caught Javi doing the same.

The uneasiness faded only slightly for your date. He didn’t bother to extend his hand for a shake, just nodded.

Javi really didn’t like him.

“He’ll just be a minute. Shall we?” You lead your man into the room, with Javi’s dark shadow trailing behind.

He latches the door shut behind him firmly.

For the most part, you and your date awkwardly make yourself comfortable around the living room. Despite the separation of couches, in the same position Javi found himself learning more about you not too long ago, he despised another man in the same position now. What secrets could he unravel from you? You undoubtedly had beer in the fridge. Were you planning to unwind the same way you led Javi on? Only this time going the whole way?

He ducked into his room, everyone else oblivious to his existence again. 

“I think I’m going to freshen up,” you excuse yourself, heading towards the bathroom. The unit was tucked down the hall, towards your bedroom. You quickly straighten your hair, taking a deep breath. Mentally, you felt like you were preparing yourself, almost for a defensive. Why? It’s always like this with someone new. You get tense. Nervous. Suddenly you forget everything to sound natural, like you want to be here. Shyness of the unknown with another man rumbles through your veins, like his intentions, no matter how clear nor innocent, feel daunting.

You exhale. This was going to be good. You didn’t need to take it any further than a quiet chat. He wasn’t going to rush you. Today could just be a simple, easy, innocent date.

When you step in the hall, you’re immediately barricaded by the lurking figure of your incessant roommate.

“Not going too good, is it?” He tsks. you’re so used to him, you are barely aware of how close his body is to yours, careening you closer to the wall.

“It’s going great, actually. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

You’re about to turn away, but Javi grips your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“You’re not supposed to fuck a guy like this on your first time.”

Jesus, he’s still hung up on your sex life right now? “Who says we’re fucking?”

“His face, his body language, his eyes, his bulge,” Javi lists. “If you can’t even tell that, you definitely aren’t ready for this.”

That made your blood boil. 

“Why? He supposed to take me to a 5 star hotel? get over yourself, Javi.”

Javi grins, annoyance lacing the huff he lets out. You just didn’t get it, did you? “He’s supposed to know your body already. Has he even seen you naked?”

As quick as a whip you are with reports, you hesitate to reply.

And for a brief moment, Javi feels anger surge throughout him: the idea that you were out doing these sacred things with other men, and he was just another prositute you used at home. 

He’d be proud, if it were anyone but you.

Javi pushed the thought from his mind. “I know your body better than anyone, cariño. I’ve told you before. I can show you a good time.”

He felt like the desperation was dripping off him like a sweaty baboon. But when your eyes flick down to his plump lips, the lids falling slightly as you imagine something foul behind that mind, he didn’t need answers.

Javi backed you up into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind you. The room was an awful green faded paint with old salmon-pink tiles along the backsplash and shower. The florescent light flickered randomly.

It would be the worst first place to show a woman a good time.

You wanted to curse him out, but your hands did nothing to protest his palms sliding along your legs, up to the thickness of your thigh. Like he had charted these paths many times before. Below your flimsy long skirt until the fabric was bunched at your hip. 

You avoided his stern, deep gaze.

“You’re shy again.” He pinched your chin with his thumb and finger, pulling you to his face. You still turned away.

“Maybe I’m just not into you. Has that ever crossed your mind?”

Your words falter when the pads of his finger tips trace the seam of your panties, pressing against your clit through the thin veiled fabric. 

He raised his browse, lips parted in a mocking way when you breath quickened. The two of you could feel it: the dampness seeping through, the gush of arousal coating him through the underwear.

Too stubborn to pant, you swallow the moan.

He corners the bridge of your nose against his. “I know you’re not wet from him. You know how I know?”

The air felt hot, thick, humid. It always did when Javi was in the room with you.

“Because,” he continues, “You bite your little lip when something turns you on, makes you drip. And you didn’t do that till the second I showed up at the door to interrupt you.”

Javi’s fingers dipped under the gusset, tracing your folds. You leaned further against the sink, legs spreading to his liking until his digits slipped past your entrance. The last bridge of defense giving him the right lubrication to betray you.

 As he touches you, he watches the way his three thick digits slide flat over your entrance, sticky and quivering until they’re flat, and the slick is forcing itself out around the edges while putting a little pressure there that has you keening.

“I know sluts like you. Willing to throw a good man away, just to get a few good cums.”

Slowing fingering you in the bathroom, inserting and twisting his fingers expertly, he watches every twitch of your mind slowly crumbling under his touch. 

"Know what else I've learned about you? You're all shy before you've had your first cum. All trying to be quiet, trying to be decent. Like you're scared to want it. Then the second I get that little clit spasming, you turn into a fucking whore. No shame. Screaming my name and grinding that slutty pussy begging for my cock to tear you apart. All it takes is that first-little-cum.”

A sudden knock at the door startles you both. “Everything ok in there?" You forgotten date asks.

You go to pry his fingers out, as if suddenly aware, and suddenly guilty. But Javi wraps his free hand around your wrist and keeps his fingers plunged deep inside. Staring at him with wide delirious eyes, you let out a loud moan as you clench around his digits. 

"Jesus fuck, baby, already losin’ it for me,” he says, surprised. You’re holding him in place now too, convulsing, eyes rolled back in pleasure as you ride your orgasm. He never misses a single detail of it all, etched into his brain so many times. His delicately caresses your neck, pulling you close, muffling your unfiltered moans and gasps with the fabric on his shoulder. Your violent shutters are placated by his soothing coos: “Shhhh. I know. That’s what you needed, isn’t it? For me to scratch that annoying little itch.”

When you finally come to, there’s a new spark in your eyes. Hunger, Eagerness. Lust.

It’s like the door had been unlocked.

“M’fine!” You call out to the person behind the door. Hopefully, oblivious, but you didn’t seem to really care at the moment. It’s enough to suffice the current situation needing tending at the moment. “Really, really good.”

Smirking, Javi shuffles the rest of your panties down, working to undo his belt. Hastily, you sit on the sink further leaned against the mirror and spread wide. A new woman possessed, seemingly mind cleared or lost totally after the first cum.

He strokes his aching length a few times, the bulbous tip leaking and red. You with your heels on either side of the vanity, shirt bunched in your mouth. You wiggle excitedly. 

"Shit. She’s fucking desperate for it,” he hums, eyes transfixed at your leaking, pulsing core.

“Please,” you beg. “Please just… put it in this time.”

He’d been dreaming of that for many nights now. Torturously so close each time yet so far. And now, now that you were asking—begging for it… he couldn’t do that. Not like this. 

He shakes his head against your temple, closing his eyes in defeat. “I can’t, baby.”

“Please.”

He groans. The humidity of your hot bodies and incessant pants sticks to his forehead. 

“You on the pill?”

Your brows tremble. “No,” you croak desperately but truthfully. It terrified him that the admittance didn’t change your neediness in the slightest. 

He shakes his head in disappointment. “I can’t, I can’t.”  He hopes that’s enough reason to call it quits now before it gets any further. He needed to stop now.

You hiss, nails clawing at his shirt. “Do it anyway. I gotta feel it, Javi.”

“No.”

Your voice becomes soft, hushed in a silky whisper. ”Don’t you want it?” You rasp, slowing jerking his length closer and closer until his tip can practically taste the dribble of slick tear drop from between your legs. “Don’t you want me?”

He growls. “You know I want it. Fuck I do. Christ, hermosa.”

“Then.” You center his focus back on your face. Your breaths mingling, lips brushing until you could taste the saliva off one another. You searched his eyes only to be met by the blackened expanse of dilated pupils that matched your own.

“Show. Me.” You press his hard length against the heat of your opening. “Show me you want me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly before blinking again. “Okay. Okay, okay, fuck just… just the tip. Just a little. Won’t cum in you.” He tells himself more than you.

When he first slides in, there's resistance. He freezes, catching a slight panic in your eyes, like maybe you definitely were biting off more than you can chew. 

“It's bigger..its big,” you choke fretfully. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates, remembering how you do it with your toys. The way you push it in to test the slickness. Holding it there before trying again a little deeper, but never forcing. He knows its a slight stretch, accommodating the large girth of him than your dildo. He repeats the motions of you inserting it in his head, hips following suit. A short slide inside, then pull out to the tip, then slide slowly in again. Your other lips part, releasing a drawn moan as he sinks further, further than before until he's fully bottomed out, balls twitching against your slit. His hooked nose brushes over yours, your heavy, drunken pupils staring back at him as you breathe.

“Just like how we practiced, huh?” He chuckles. 

The warmth that radiates from his body overwhelms you. Alive, breathing and thrumming with trepidation and restraint. Responding to you, your breath, each clench of your walls around him. A dance you thought you had perfected but had never performed with a partner, so unfamiliar now. 

You drag him into your warm cunt, and he leans over you with a sigh as your wet heat overwhelms him, trying not to burst. 

“There she is. There’s my girl. Only for me.”

But something feels wrong in your gut, and Javi can tell there’s been too much time between your last cum and now. You were practically coming to again, looking at the door instead of him.

He starts thrusting, making you grasp his arm, startled. Whatever had been on his mind about ‘just the tip’ has been long gone. The primal need to make you understand one thing only: he was fucking you, and he was the only one able to.

He grabs your chin and says sternly, “You look at me when I'm fucking you". 

You nod quickly. There was no arguing. No desire to do so anyway. Your head tilting back, pelvis widening to accommodate a deeper angle for his cock to abuse your insides while heeding the ear of your unwilling audience. 

It’s both so much and not enough, full and warm and electrifying in ways you had never considered. The world was different, the feel from both his end to yours. 

Of all things you could not predict, Javi flicking the door handle, the door creaking open enough to expose you to your unfortunate, concerned partner. And when you make eye contact with your date, his face souring to a disgusted expression, your jaw falls open, cumming around Javi's cock, eyes rolling, you quivering, pleasure coursing through you at unimaginable strength. You don't have the mind to understand what just happened, the passage of time of the care to remember. 

Javi’s smirking into your chest when he hears the slam of the front door. And the two of you were alone in the apartment once again. 

The sound of skin slapping skin, the hot press of your sweaty bothers together in a mating frenzy. It all felt right in a way nothing had for you in a long time.

You were looking forward to more of what Javi could show you.

- - - -

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