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butlersxbirdy · 2 years

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You Light My Morning Sky: The Graceland Adventure Day 2

All The Pretty Stars Shine For You, My Love

Warnings: Smut, fem!dom partner, waxing, discussion of kinks and punishment, mentions of Priscilla Presley, kink negotiations, emotional discussions, absolute cuteness

Shopping with Austin was always an experience; he knew what he liked and what he didn't, and wasn't afraid to shop for hours finding the perfect thing.

Shopping with Austin when he was determined to show you off and shop for something perfect for you, was a whole fresh kind of ordeal. It wasn't hell, but it could be tedious. You were a lot less picky, especially about dresses and lingerie. Austin, however, is insistent upon everything being perfect for you. So when you arrive, freshly showered and a little wobbly on your legs, to the formal wear and lingerie boutique on Beale street, you know this is going to take awhile.

"Why are we shopping for formal wear?" You ask nervously. "Austin..." you say in a warning tone and he blushes.

"Please let me spoil you, Mama?" He asks, and the tone in his voice signals that in this moment, to get what he wants, he will get on his knees in public. You raise your clasped hands to your lips and kiss the inside of his wrist, nuzzling a little.

"Okay, baby. You've been so good for me," you praise him and he smiles happily, leading you into the store with a spring in his step.

"We have an appointment today, we're a little late," he blushes. "Its under Butler," he clarifies and the shop girls smile in recognition.

"Ah! Yes, we have you in the schedule, who are you shopping for?" They ask, talking to him like you're not there. He tugs you close to him and kisses your cheek.

"My gorgeous girl," he smiles, and they size me up with their eyes.

"I see! Well, we should be able to find plenty of things, let's get started!" One of them says kindly, and she takes charge.

"I should have marked you up," you hum in his ear and he shivers.

"Later," he purrs. He's really ready to beg. The girls let the two of you shop, selecting a few things, but you mostly let Austin pick everything out for you.

"Why don't you go try on some things?" He suggests with a smile after there's about ten dresses in the dressing room. You sigh and look at him.

"Are you aware you're lucky I love you?" You tease him and he pouts.

"I'm the lucky one. Now go," he guides you over to the dressing room. You take a deep breath and try on the ones you don't love first. You step out in s gold satin dress with a high neck and a slit in the leg. Austin makes a face when you pose and shakes his head.

"Oh, no. Doesn't make your eyes pop, and that neckline is blocking my view," he sends you back behind the curtain, and you mercifully eliminate three others based on his feedback.

You come back out in a black dress with a scoop neck, strappy back, and waterfall a line skirt with some chiffon layers. This one looks more like you're attending a beach wedding, and you feel comfortable in it. You walk out to Austin and give a little twirl, which makes the skirt fly around you. Austin's legs spread, and his fingers trace his lower lip as his eyes darken. He nods and flicks his hand. He has now taken over.

"Go try on more, but we're getting that," he says hoarsely. You nod, cheeks flushing, and you next try on a short dress. It's in your favorite color, and it looks amazing on you. The straps tie in elegant bows on the shoulders, and the neckline is plunging sweetheart. The bodice fits you in all the right ways, and the skirt flares out, hitting you mid thigh. Its beautiful, and you try it on with the red bottom heels they put in the room for you.

You walk out and Austin's eyes widen, lip bitten harshly between his teeth. He sits forward, legs still spread, and he holds up a set of lingerie that he picked out. It's black and lacy, and you want to feel the softness of it against your skin.

"For tonight, Kitten?" You ask, and he leans in close, biting the inside of your thigh. You gasp and he kisses the spot where he bit.

"This is absolutely the perfect pairing, Mama," he hums. When your legs work well enough to go back to the dressing room, you turn and he smacks your ass. You bite your lip and successfully remain upright. He was in so much trouble.

You try on one other dress that you keep; a short strapless, 70's style drapey dress with gorgeous big sleeves and a lot of attention on your chest. You knew Austin would love it, and you wanted to wear something nice that fit the theme at Graceland. You wondered how you'd get it out of here without him seeing, but you decide to try.

"Kitten, can you go pick out a few more things only you get to see me in?" You ask softly. "I'll go get the dresses," you add, and his eyes narrow.

"It's getting charged to me, Mama, you don't get to sneak off and pay for your own dresses," he pouts slightly. You laugh and kiss him.

"I'd never. I'm just still deciding between two different shoes," you smile. He grins.

"Okay, Mama, I'll go lingerie shop for you," he agrees, with his trademark wink. You go to the counter and they ring you up without issue. You emphasize keeping the secret one a secret, and they do it perfectly. You thank them and then wait for Austin, who apparently wants to keep his a secret too because he asks you to turn away as he comes back into view.

"Okay, okay," you sigh and you do. As he passes behind you, he drops a kiss on your neck before checking out and getting everything boxed up and bagged. You uncover your eyes when he returns to your side, and you kiss him softly before leading him out of the store.

"Do we need to go shopping for anything else?" You ask, and he nods, then pauses, and shakes his head.

"Nothing that can't wait," he smiles hungrily. You want to correct his notions about what happens next but you need to talk first. You call for the car and driver, and then you look at him adoringly. You kiss his jaw gently and squeeze his hand.

"Let's wait until we get in the car," you say softly. He frowns a little but nods, and clings closer to you, wrapping his arms around you while you wait.

When you get in the car, you sit in such a way that he can lay down on you if he wants. You put the partition up and you cup his face in your hands.

"Austin, we've explored sexual dominance and submission, and the sweet, daily life aspects of you being cared for as my sweet boy. But today," you take a deep breath. This is the part you're not great at. "Today you earned a punishment. We haven't talked about this before, so I wanted to talk about it before we start. What kind of punishments are you okay with?" You ask, holding him gently.

"Don't hit me," he says immediately and you shake your head.

"No, never, baby not in a million years, that's not..." you take a deep breath. "I'm talking about edging, spanking, making you wait, wearing a cockring while I ride you," you explain. "I'm never gonna hurt you," you say firmly and he kisses you.

"I'd love being edged. I know I said no hitting but you know I like spanking. Cockrings are fine," he lists, running his fingers over his bottom lip. He pauses and looks at you. He reaches his hand out to hold yours. "Making me wait is okay, but Mama, please... you have to explain it every time. I can't look at you and wonder whether or not you want me. And I definitely can't feel like you don't want me and not know why," he says softly. You nod and you give him a sweet kiss.

"I wouldn't put you in that position, Baby Boy," you comfort him and he leans on you, resting his head on your chest.

"I trust you, Mama, but I had to say something," he smiles a little, playing with the soft material of your shorts the way he plays with his rings.

"Good boy... good boy for telling me. I will make sure to always communicate. And we use the color system for that too, you say Red whenever you need," you remind him. He nods and you roll down the partition.

You give an address to the driver and roll the partition back up before Austin can say anything. He looks at you, surprised.

"Where are we going?" He asks and you smirk.

"You'll see, Kitten. You're in big trouble baby," you purr and he gulps.

"I know, Mama, I got carried away... I'll take my punishment," he nods, pouting a little. You grin and take his hand.

"I know exactly what your punishment will be, Kitten. We're going to start with making you wait. Very simple, a good first time with a real punishment," you blush sheepishly. You hadn't been good at making yourself stick to punishing Austin. He was too sweet but you couldn't let the behavior in the shop stand. He knew it too.

"What's the blush for, Mama?" He asks, holding your hand. You look him in the eye and sigh.

"I'm bad at being firm with you," you say quietly. "I'm not strong," you whisper. He gasps and gets on his knees and rests his cheek on your thigh.

"You're the strongest woman I've ever known. The best Mama. I'm gonna be right here on my knees for you until our dinner to prove it. You make me get on my knees without lifting a finger and I love the shit out of you for that, and so much more," he assures you, nuzzling you the whole time. You look at him, hardly daring to believe he is real.

"I can't believe your heart so perfectly fits with mine, Aust. I love you," you whisper and pet his hair lovingly as he smiles against your skin, and you travel the rest of the short trip to your destination whispering sweet words to each other.

Austin's punishment, he is absolutely gutted to find out, is you getting a Brazilian wax. The care instructions for after a brazillian are very strict, or at least the woman who waxed you was very strict; no sex for 24 hours after. All he can do as you head back to the house is picture how smooth and soft your pussy is, and how you'll look dripping wet for him.

"You picturing it?" You ask him as you're curling your hair later, getting ready for dinner. He's sitting on the bed, adjusting himself often. He's hard and frustrated, and it's sending thrills down your spine.

"Of course. Can't help it. It's my favorite pussy in the world and you just took it away from me for 24 godforsaken hours," he pouts.

"So...its not about the wax?" You ask, moving on to your makeup.

"What?" He asks, lifting his head from his hands, looking at you carefully. "No," he shakes his head, sn incredulous smile on his face. "I don't need you to do anything you don't normally do, or want to do, for me to love that perfect tight heat and sensitive little clit of yours," he assures you with a groan, and he's back on his knees by your side as you do your makeup. You go for relatively simple, but Austin looks up from where he's skirting the line of his punishment by nuzzling between your thighs.

"Can I look?" He asks and you push back your bathrobe and rest a leg on the counter.

"No touching. But you can look," you grin, and go back to your makeup. The second he can see, he whines.

"Fuck," he moans and licks his lips. You give him a warning look and he blushes, staying silent until you put down the makeup brushes.

"Let me help," he says when he sees that you're unsure of what else to do with your look. You smile and help him up.

"Thanks Kitten," you praise him, and when you close your eyes, he adds a Priscilla-esque wing to your lids with a little sparkle and some mascara that definitely makes you look like you have fake lashes. You kiss him and he fixes your lipstick.

"Get ready, Kitten. I'm gonna get dressed," you hum and he nods after spritzing you with setting spray.

You put on the black balconette lace bra and the lace cheeky panties that go with it, following Austin's request even though he's not going to have the kind of night he thought he'd have when he picked them out.

You put on the dress he reacted so positively to, and shake out your curls. Your hair now falls in soft waves, framing your face. You put on the red bottom black pumps and grab your black clutch, and go to find Austin. When you do, you gasp. He's in a sheer black shirt, black pants, and a dark purple jacket. His shoes are shiny black, and they look perfect for dancing.

He looks like he has stepped back into the parts of Elvis he loved, and left behind the parts that broke his heart. His eyes are not dark, and there's a smile, not a frown, playing at the corners of his mouth. He looks at you and he steps forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you, spinning you in a circle.

"You look beautiful..." he hums against your neck. "I love you so much," he presses his forehead to yours, and you cup his jaw gently with one hand.

"I love you entirely, more than I thought I'd love anyone," you whisper and he kisses you, snapping a rare pic of the two of you, your hand on his jaw and his lips on yours. He takes another of your faces pressed together, nuzzling each other. He pockets his phone with a smile and he takes your hand.

"Okay. Dinner time," his voice cracks a little and you start to wonder what is going on.

"Austin, what is this surprise?" You ask, seeing his nervous demeanor.

"You'll see," he mutters, and you rub his chest to reassure him. When you pull up to the restaurant, he looks at you.

"Okay. Remember to breathe," he says and you blink. What the hell is he doing?

When the hostess sees the two of you, she ushers you up some stairs and to a back private balcony overlooking the city.

"Your server will be right with you, your third is already here," she says, and exits quickly. You walk around a small corner and the view is somehow even better, but it's hard to focus on that; walking toward you, looking stunning as ever, is Priscilla Presley.

You can't help but gasp, and Austin squeezes your hand before letting you go so he can give her a big hug.

"Hey, Cil," he sighs happily, and she also has a big smile on her face.

"Hey baby," she hugs him tight. "Is this your beautiful woman?" She asks and he nods.

"Priscilla, meet y/n. The love of my life," he says proudly, wrapping his arm around you. His words shake you to your core but you focus on the legendary woman in front of you.

"Its so nice to meet you Ma'am," you sputter and she laughs.

"Oh gosh, call me Priscilla. Did you like your surprise room?" She asks and you nod, turning bright red and you are thankful for your makeup.

"I loved it. We love it," you smile and she gives you a hug.

"I'm so glad. I'm happy Austin is so happy." Her smile is infectious, and Austin leads both of you over to the table.

"My beautiful ladies," he smiles, stepping aside for us to walk ahead of him, but as we walk side by side he calls us back, "look here!" He grins and when we do, he snaps a picture. You roll your eyes and Priscilla puts her arm around you, so he can snap another picture.

"He's been on one today," you tell Priscilla. "He was just absolutely unruly at the dress shop and now he's photographing me nonstop," you blush and Priscilla grins at him.

"Austin's in love," she teases, and he blushes.

"Guilty," he confesses, and then sits back and lets you two talk. You talk about your work in PR and how you met Austin, and even how you got together. You even talk about her daughter, and her husband. The massive amount of love in her heart astounds you, and you sit, mesmerized, listening to her. Dinner flies by quickly and as you're sipping cocktails after everything has been cleared away, she looks at Austin.

"You're going tomorrow?" She asks and he shakes his head.

"Day after. Don't know where we're going tomorrow. You coming with?" He asks, and she shrugs.

"I may drop by," she grins mischievously and you roll your eyes.

"Between the two of you, I'm gonna die of surprises," you sigh, crossing your arms.

"Relax, Mama, it's just Graceland," he hums, instantly attentive to you and holding you as close as he can.

When you decide to call it a night, Priscilla pays despite you and Austin firmly insisting otherwise.

"You buy next time," she assures us, and she gives you her number so you can make plans. You smile and you thank her. Austin asks permission to go get the cars ordered, and you let him go.

"Thank you for joining us, Priscilla, you're... god, you're amazing," you gush, not knowing what else to say now that you've sent away your buffer.

She smiles at you and looks back in the direction of the door Austin left through.

"He is amazing, hun. And seeing him look at you, compared to how he was during filming, He was waiting for you. He loved you then. If you don't love him just the same if not more, let him go. And if you do, let yourself love him loudly. Don't love him silently. Let him know at every moment that he is loved," she says and you blink back tears.

"I love him endlessly," you whisper, and she squeezes your hand.

"Good. Make him send those pictures to me, I bet we look absolutely amazing," she winks at you and you laugh, following her down the stairs. Austin is grinning, waiting for the both of you, and when she pulls him into a tight hug and they look at each other, with so much between them, you snap a picture of your own to keep for later.

When you've said your goodbyes, and you're back in the car, Austin is back on his knees, all smiles now.

"Thank you for the incredible night, baby boy," you say softly.

"You're welcome, Mama," he sighs softly.

"Do you think he knows?" You ask softly. "Do you think he knows that people love him, and that people love her? I think he'd like knowing that he was loved, but... he'd love knowing how loved she is."

"Oh, he knows," Austin says confidently.

"How do you know?" You ask and he looks you in the eye.

"Because I dove into his broken heart, and he fixed mine. I got you," he whispers. Tears fall from your eyes as you kiss him, open mouthed and full of unchecked passion. When you have to pull away, both to make his punishment less painful and so both of you can breathe, you still can't keep your eyes off him.

"You lied to me," you say softly, and he frowns a little, looking up at you.

"Never, Mama... never," he strokes your cheek.

"You told me I was the strongest woman you'd ever met," you smile lovingly, kissing his wrist so he knows he's not in trouble. "At best, I'm in second place."

"She is amazing, huh?" He smiles. "I'm glad she likes you."

"I'm glad too, Baby," you hum and he leans in and kisses you. He carries you in to the house when you arrive, undresses you, takes off your makeup, and brushes your hair. You're tucked in bed and almost asleep by the time he's done undressing, and he slides into bed next to you, resting his head on your stomach and kissing you softly. You play with his hair gently and when you're sure he's asleep, you whisper "You're the love of my life too."

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #you light my morning sky #austin butler elvis #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler x reader #sub!austin

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0perfectimperfections0 · 2 months

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Part 5 of shell shocked.

Okay, with my alternative idea for this series, I'm debating on either incorporating the ideas into this work or eventually into my novel on Wattpad "Blind Stitch" so long as it works.

BUT, I have a ways to go in both this series and in my novel before I have to worry about coming to that decision. So, here is FINALLY part 5! This one is gonna be a little shorter.

____

The wind still whipped around terribly. Nolan made the decision for them to stay close to the entrance of the office building. It wasn’t safe enough for them to walk back to his house, nor was it a good idea to bring Lou into the crowd of dolls in the mental state he was in. Nolan rested on his knees, Lou still in his arms, and did what he could to calm him down. The building trembled violently and Nolan worried that the infrastructure would collapse on them.

The Uglies stayed quiet. Ox, Wage, and LuckyBat sat on the far side of the hallway, backs against the wall and silent since Nolan rushed in to grab Lou. Mandy kneeled beside Nolan, firmly rubbing down Lou’s gloved-again hands, starting at the fingertips and moving down in some hope of consoling him. Moxy stayed with them on the opposite side of the hallway. There was already a division forming amongst them. Babo and UglyDog paced around the middle of the hall, not sure which side they would subconsciously side with by sitting with them.

“There won’t any other option,” Ox mumbled, eye still trained on the floor. The wind that buffeted against the double doors nearly drowned out his words.

“There were plenty of other options besides subjecting him to mental warfare,” Nolan shot back, passive-aggressively.

“You make it sound worse than it was—”

“Solitary confinement. Does that work better for you? Might as well put him in a straight jacket and toss him in a padded cell.”

Wage finally stood as her anger rose. “Maybe we should! Nothin’ else has worked so far and I don’t see you comin’ up with any ideas! Maybe we oughtta just keep ‘im from blowin’ out the whole Institute!”

Nolan grit his teeth, misinterpreting the heat growing on his skin to be from his own anger. “You can’t possibly be sadistic enough to try that.”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea–”

“Stop talking,” Lou growled. His eyes were squeezed shut. That electricity was building up again, not only from his own emotions but from the arguing going back and forth. He put a hand to his temple where a headache was forming. The shaking started to cease and the wind quieted down now that he couldn’t focus on anything other than the headache. "If all you're going to do is argue, then get out."

Nolan was surprised when Lou forced himself off of the brunette's lap, albeit shakily, but he forced himself to stand. Ox stood up as well. "And leave you alone? Yeah, right, that ain't happenin'."

"Really? Cause you didn't have a problem with it when you shoved me into that room by myself."

Ox cowered slightly, but he was still defensive. "Alright, that ain't been my smartest choice today, but we can try--"

"No," Lou's breathing was labored, his eyes seeing dots from the migraine. "I'm done with these...these experiments. I'm sick of it."

Ox was silent for a moment, watching Lou carefully. "I ain't takin' you to the recycle."

Lou laughed dryly. "Don't worry, I can walk myself there, thanks."

Now the bunny was growing frustrated. "You're a coward, ya know that?" Lou bristled at that, looking at Ox with a mixture of surprise and fury. "The Lou I knew didn't give up no matter what he faced."

The blond towered over the bunny, but Ox didn't cower back. "A lot changes in...what, 7 years?" Lou bared his teeth, glaring down. "Don't think you know me, because you don't. Not anymore."

"Uh, guys?" The dolls turned to see Babo at the front door, peering through the glass window beside it. "We have a slight problem." He pinched his fingers in the air with a nervous look.

Wage grumbled and walked toward the door. "Compared to Sparky over there, anything is a slight problem." She peered through the window, eyes widening when she saw the fleet of robots outside at the bottom of the steps leading to the mansion. "Oh..."

Ox opened the door and stepped out first, Moxy following behind him. The others stayed inside, for no other reason than to ensure that Lou didn't get out of control again. Ox didn't go down the stairs, though. After seeing these things torture his former best friend, he wanted to be on higher ground. "What's all this about?"

They all looked the same, but one of them spoke up. "Mr Everett has sent for Prototype Model 12. Prototype is declared defective and in need of repair."

"Uh huh." Ox didn't believe that garbage for a second. "What kinda repair?"

"Compliance is necessary for the functioning of the Institute. Any hindrance will be eliminated promptly."

That...sounded threatening.

"I ain't gonna hand 'im over to ya, if that's what you expect me to do." Ox stood his ground. Lou could talk about change all he wanted to, but gosh darn it, that was still his best friend.

Moxy wrung her hands together nervously, whispering. "Ox...maybe we should just let them take care of Lou."

Ox stared down the robots, thinking, before shaking his head slowly. "Somethin' tells me that everyone will be a lot safer if he stays out of their hands. Especially if his Creator gets a hold of 'im."

The robot lifted its arm, pointing it towards Ox, transfiguring it to make its hand vanish, leaving a gaping tunnel. "You have twenty seconds to bring out the Prototype Model 12."

Ox stared at the barrel-like arm. "Yeah? And if I don't?"

"Hindrance will be eliminated."

Moxy gulped, hiding behind Ox as he formulated a plan. "Alright, fine, relax. We'll bring 'im out." Ox gently guided Moxy by the shoulders and led her back inside. He kept an eye on the robots as he closed the front door. "Alright, ya'll, new plan." Ox turned to face his friends… “Where’s Lou?”

Nolan jerked a thumb behind him. “He’s right–” No one.

Wage pulled at her ears in frustration. “Where’d he go!? I thought you were watching him!?” She pointed at Nolan.

The brunette held up his hands defensively, eyes wide. “I swear he was right behind me a second ago!”

Banging erupted against the door and Ox instinctively slammed his back against it as the knob started turning. “Alright, new plan number 2: run.”

The gang wasted no time in bolting it down the hall. The front door broke down and the robots flooded in, scanning the area before chasing them down the hall. Moxy looked at Ox who was running beside her. “What was plan number 1?”

Ox’s ears were flapping behind him in almost a humorous way if it wasn’t for the metal deaths chasing them. “Also run, but with Lou.”

They shot through the back door of the mansion, skidding around the corner of the building to do a loop around back to the front. If they could get to the main square, maybe they could at least run through the portal. But they didn’t stand a chance of outrunning something that didn’t have lungs. Other dolls in the Institute took notice of the fleet of robots chasing the gang and exchanged concerned glances with each other. Ox flailed his arms, screaming at them. “Everyone get inside! Hide!”

For dolls who no longer had to practice proper training in how to hide, it was a difficult order to follow, in their defense. They ended up panicking and running into each other before running towards the center of the Institute where Ox and his friends were going.

The group skid to a halt as the other dolls had nowhere else to go. “The portal is closed!” One of the dolls panicked.

The robots formed a line in front of the crowd of dolls, armed and ready to fire. Babo rummaged through his pockets for anything that could be useful, but all he found that could be of any use was a slingshot.

Wage snatched it from his hand. “Gimme that!” She picked up a rock and aimed it at the tin cans. The rock didn’t have enough momentum and thudded unceremoniously against one of their heads. She tossed the slingshot at them and glared at Babo. “Don’t you have anything useful in those pockets!?”

“Everything has a time and place! It’s not my fault this is the wrong time and wrong place for it!”

The robots closed in. One of the robots’ arms began to make a high-pitched whirring noise and it shot out an explosive from its arm. Ox closed his eye.

It froze mid-air.

Ox slowly opened his eye and dolls began to murmur in the dead silence of the Institute. The robots’ eyes blinked red in confusion.

The lights in the Institute began to flicker. Electricity sparked around the outside of the explosive from where it levitated. Mandy watched the darkened clouds above spark with lightning, flashing shades of blue. “Lou…”

The gang stepped back as the crowd parted, dolls backing up quickly in fear as Lou walked through them, illuminated eyes trained on the robots. His hands sparked, blue light glowing up his arms like veins. The explosive began to creak under some sort of weight until it landed on the ground, bent and dented. Lou walked past the dolls, stopping just shy of the outskirts of the crowd.

One of the robots’ eyes blinked red. “Prototype Model 12. Stand down.”

“Or what?” Lou growled back.

It set its sights on the blond, arm ready to fire. “Or elimination.”

Lou stared at the robot, lowering his gaze to its arm. “I choose elimination.”

Electricity traveled down his hands, through his feet, and shot out like vines on the ground. The robots had barely any time to react before they were engulfed by it. Their eyes glitched between blue and red, bodies jerking in every direction until they collapsed on the ground. Smoke rose from their bodies and the glowing orbs of their eyes dimmed to gray.

#lou #uglydolls #writing #fanfiction #ox #hurt/comfort #fighting #part 5 #Shell-Shock series

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murswrites · 2 years

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A Little Sampler ⎯ Eddie Munson One-Shot

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader Fandom: Stranger Things MASTERLIST Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: Drug use (it’s eddie), cursing, pining, a bit of awkwardness, terrible open ass (literally) ending SUMMARY: Eddie’s had a crush on you for years, it takes you going to him for some weed for you to admit you might have a crush on him too.

A/N This was supposed to go in a completely different direction but... I kind of like the sort of... alluding??? There may be a (smutty) part 2 lmao

Eddie Munson was good at pretty much everything–save for school–and having any kind of dating experience. He’d had crushes and kissed people here and there, but nothing ever stuck. The only thing that did stick was the embarrassingly large crush he had on Y/N. Probably the most popular person to have ever attended Hawkins High.

You graduated the year prior, while he stayed back. It sucked not having the ability to pine after you in person. But Gareth said it was better if Eddie got weaned off of you. Eddie smacked him for talking about you like you were some kinda drug. Eddie Munson wasn’t addicted to you–that’d be crazy.

It was also crazy that you were back at the school. Waiting… beside Eddie’s van. He almost shat himself when he saw you leaning against the beat-up vehicle.

“Hey, Munson, was wondering if you had anything?” It struck him as odd that you came to Eddie for weed, there were plenty of dealers in Hawkins. Part of him hoped you chose him on purpose.

—

He may have been a nervous wreck beneath his jean vest but you couldn’t see that. You sat across from him on that rickety picnic table, your knees just nearly touched his. Eddie forced himself to make eye contact with you–that was almost as hard as just… being around you.

“So, how much do you usually charge anyway?” You wondered, leaning on your palm toward him.

Eddie gulped discreetly, opening his tin lunchbox, “Depends what you’re looking for–and how much, of course.”

You nodded, “Of course,” He hated that you kept agreeing with him. When he said it’d be better to meet in the woods, you sat a hand on his chest and said (in your stupid sweet voice), “Yea, it’s much more discreet.”

“But, flattery works with me so–”

That’s when a wicked grin grew on your face, “Really? Wish I’d known that last year, Munson. I’d have been all over you.” There was a teasing quality to your voice but Eddie found himself wishing for it to be true. “I want something to make me feel light and airy–most weed just makes me horny.” You said that casually and it made him literally choke.

The sound that left his throat made you glance up with worry, “You okay?”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded frantically, still riffling around that lunch box of his, “Oh, I’m great…” Eddie presented you with a baggie stuffed to the brim with buds. “This should be your kind of good time.”

You took the baggie gently, turning it over in your hands before opening it and taking a smell of its contents. “Oh, my fucking–” You coughed at the strength of it and closed the bag back up. “That is… wow.”

Talking about his product was easy for Eddie, he had a light smile on his face. “Yea, that’s the good stuff. Hence why it’s not even ground up.”

“I don’t know how to grind the–”

Eddie brushed you off with a shrug, “I can do it, how much are you thinking?”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, “I’ve never actually purchased weed myself, I’ve always had friends do it for me.”

He gave you a peculiar look but nodded, “That’s alright, I can roll a few joints for you and charge based on that?”

“That works! I’m terrible at measuring ounces and whatnot. And this is just for me so I’d greatly appreciate it.” You placed your hand on his forearm gently and Eddie stared at where your skin met his for a moment.

He shook his head and closed the box back up, “If you want… I could give you a sampler later.”

“...Sampler?” You wondered.

“Free try for your first time buying from me–a free joint. The only bad part is that all my shit’s at my house, I only carry stuff I’m selling on me so…”

You shrugged with a nod, “That’s fair, I can do that. Where do you live?”

The surprise on his face made a knowing smile grow on yours, he didn’t expect that to work… like… at all. “Uh, Forest Hills…”

“That’s perfect, right on the way home. What time should I come over?”

“Uh–when can you?” He scratched the back of his neck.

You considered it for a moment, “Right after work’s fine, I get out at seven.” Eddie nodded at you, “It’s a date.” You pretended not to see the blush that covered his cheeks and ears. It was kind of cute.

—

The whole thing about the trailer park being on your way home had been one fat lie. If anything it was on the complete opposite of town–but hey–free weed is free weed. You saw Eddie’s van outside of a tan trailer and knew instantly that must’ve been it. Your car settled to a slow stop as something flashed within the trailer.

There was a dark spot flying past each window as if someone was running back and forth inside. You watched for a moment with a grin–he was so nervous.

You were well aware that Munson had a crush on you. He made it hard to not notice, the way he’d stare at you dreamily used to creep you out but then he grew into himself and… Eddie Munson turned out to be super pretty. But you graduated a year too early to explore anything with him–plus you were like Hawkins High’s golden child.

If anyone was outwardly Eddie Munson’s complete opposite–it’d be you.

You only knocked twice before the door was yanked open and you were met with the sight of Eddie. He smiled nervously, “Hey, Munson. You okay?”

“Me? Oh, I’m great, how are you…?”

He pulls the door open nice and wide and you take in the peculiar-looking living room. “You have a lot of… mugs…”

“Yea… we really do. Uh, my room’s back here–if that’s okay.” He suddenly blurted and it made you pause.

“That’s fine. I don’t like the idea of stinking your entire house up.” You said with a laugh, turning around to look at all of the decorations. Eddie leads you down the carpeted hallway–apologizing for the mess but all of the art on the walls takes your attention. “Woah.” You don’t recognize half of the references but then you see his guitar. “Holy–”

Eddie had on a genuinely confident smile now, “That’s my baby.” He leaned against the doorframe for a second, “Is it alright if I close the door?”

You nod absentmindedly, looking at his walls with curiosity. “What’s… Iron Maiden? Some kind of Marvel reference?”

“Oh god no–not that there’s anything wrong with Marvel. It’s just–they’re a band.”

“I see… are all of these posters band posters?” Your eyes settled onto a Playboy poster that was half hidden behind the curtain. “Maybe not this one.” You say with a laugh, pushing the curtain to the side to take the woman in. “Good choice.”

Eddie’s face is bright red when you look over your shoulder. That is before he bounces to the closet and begins rifling through it. “I’ve got my shit… somewhere.”

“My room’s a mess too. Since I moved out it’s been hard to make myself clean it.”

“I live here with my uncle, he let me have the room which was really nice of him, to be honest.” Eddie said thoughtfully, holding a tin of Altoids in his hand, “Got the party sticks.” He shook the tin lightly as if to emphasize his point.

You look for somewhere to sit and he pushes his chair toward you, “Thanks.” Eddie busies himself with lighting the joint as you patiently wait. It’s a bit awkward with no talking or anything… “Do you got any music we could listen to?”

“Yea, my tapes are all on the desk there.”

The big speaker system makes a smile grow on your face, “I just know everyone hates it when you listen to music.” Eddie’s laugh makes you glance back at him–he’s licking the paper shut and you can’t help but stare at the simple action. You suddenly turn when he looks up at you (and catches you staring). “Uh… what would you recommend?”

“You ever hear of Ozzy Osbourne?”

“A few times, you got some of his music?” He was right behind you and the sudden closeness had your throat drying up.

Eddie nodded and reached forward, his chest pressing into your arm. You thought he had a crush on you–not the other way around. “Black Sabbath, it’s really good.” He grabbed the tape carefully and handed it to you.

“Okay…” You said with a nod, getting the music started at a lower volume. “Will this stuff make me sleepy or–”

“Shouldn’t make you sleepy. Doesn’t make me sleepy.”

That made you laugh, you raised your eyebrows, “Hm, we’ll see. I tend to get sleepy or like I said earlier…”

Eddie tilted his head, “I hear you, if you don’t like it we can stop.” We. That part stuck out to you, a weed dealer would stop smoking his own product just because you didn’t like it? That’s odd.

—

The joint was nearing the end of its lifespan and you began feeling the back of your head become light.

It was like marshmallows inflated inside your skull in place of your brain. You knew what would come next–the part where time began to jump and slow down. The same song felt like it had been on forever, “Hey, how’s longs it been since this song came on?”

“It’s only been like a minute.”

You groaned, “Fucking hell. I hate this part.”

“What’s wrong?” You looked up at him, holding your head up carefully with your hands. Not only were you fucking baked–you were lowkey a little paranoid because you did not know this man. “Oh–I get it. Time’s all trippy isn’t it?” You nodded sluggishly. “Want something to drink?”

You could cry, he tried offering you a drink when you coughed so hard it sounded like a smoker’s cough but you declined. Now you were wishing you’d stolen all the drinks in the trailer. “Please,”

Eddie held on to the joint as he left his room, you laid back in the chair–it was so uncomfortable. His floor was a mess, but his bed looked freshly made. You stole a glance at his door before deciding he wouldn’t mind. You needed to be flat on your back. Everything was waving and swaying and you swore you were falling but you just landed on the bed.

The door opened and Eddie’s eyes landed on you–you on his bed. And he choked. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yea… just need to get everything… to… slow down.” Even your rate of speech was fucked.

He sat on the end of his bed, you bent your knees so he could get more room, “No it’s alright,” You slowly put your feet on his leg. “Here’s that drink you wanted.” A water bottle. You thought about that as you listened to the crack seal. He was obviously trying to make you more comfortable. “This thing is dead.”

“Awe, rest in peace, little guy.” You were so goddamn out of it, “How the hell are you like… okay… right now?”

One of Eddie’s hands settled on your shin, “I am very far from okay right now, dude.” You cringed at his use of dude. “I looked in the mirror and my eyes are so red.”

“Bullshit. Mine are redder.” You argued up toward the ceiling, your eyes drifting close. “Lemme see.” You wiggle your fingers at him, Eddie seems apprehensive in helping you up, “I don’t wanna fall.”

“Shit–sorry,” He’s grabbing your hands and pulling–way too fast. Your head knocks into his shoulder as your body folds due to the sudden change in position. “I am so sorry–” Your laughter is what shuts him up, your face pressed into his arm.

“You sounded so worried. Oh… my god.” You draw back, holding onto his shoulder for support. “Open your eyeballs, Eddie.” You blink at him slowly then widen your eyes.

Eddie is met with a rather unsettling sight–you staring at him with that high look on your face. “Holy shit, you’re like–in another galaxy.” That makes you giggle before you’re glaring at him, demanding he shows his eyes. “Fine,” Eddie leans so your faces are mere inches apart.

You grab his chin to hold his swaying head steady, “Hm… your eyes are pretty… pretty red.” He gulps and your eyes fall to his neck. He’s wearing a chain and a necklace with a guitar pick on it. “That’s cool.”

“...Thanks.” His adam’s apple bobs again.

“You’re super pretty up close, Eddie. Like–freakishly pretty.”

His ears are dusted with red again and it makes you smirk through the high, “Freakishly, huh?”

“Oh! Not like that!” You groan, pushing the crown of your head against his arm again. Your hands fist in his jacket as you shake your head, “No I mean like–you’re so pretty it’s unnatural. Are you a vampire, Munson?”

Eddie laughs out loud at that, “You’re so different than I expected.”

“You’re lucky I’m high. I’m an asshole when I’m sober.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Oh, believe it. I am like–the biggest, gaping, asshole ever.”

Eddie cringes at your vivid description, “That sounds so gross.” You laugh at his disgusted expression.

#murswrites #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things oneshot

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mommyymunson · 2 years

Text

The Freak’s Superhero//Chapter Three:Ready to Kill or Ready to Walk Away (An Eddie Munson Fanfic)

Chapter 1! ~

chapter 2! ~

“You're beautiful, you know?"

The ocean was evident behind his blue eyes that showed such genuine kindness. The small specks of navy that peeked around the rims and the aquamarine that surrounded his pupils. They were breathtakingly gorgeous. They held so much hidden emotion behind them that I wanted to unravel. They were smart too, always knowing what I was thinking just by a simple glance my way. His mauve lips that always held a small, affectionate grin. There had been too many times I had the scandalous need to elope them with my own. The countless romance novels he would sneak past Papa to deliver to me were partially to blame; but he was too. His tenderness was too great to not fall for. I wanted to know every secret, every thought, every feeling he always kept to himself. I wanted to be someone he could trust and confide in just like he had been for me. I wanted to be a source of enjoyment, of pleasure, of love for him.

I didn't answer him, just bewitched by the color of his irises, and the passion that fueled my desires. His smile stretched farther as he gave a small chuckle and patted my head gently. Even without the feminine qualities as the women in my stories; no long hair to climb up to my tower, no graceful singing voice to conjure creatures; he still thought I was beautiful. He could probably see tiny hearts in my eyes when I looked at him. I had loved him so deeply I would have done anything for him.

Little did I know at my fourteen years of wisdom that he knew fully well of that fact, and knew exactly how he was gonna take advantage of my unwavering devotion.

My knees began cracking from the unrelenting pressure of being crouched. The heavy air from everyone's panting lingered in the small space. Sweat practically dripping from my forehead from the sudden exercise and the persistent humidity. The bats squawking overhead our small safe haven was beginning to die out. The five of us hid beneath a perfect cave of large boulders as we waited patiently, skittishly until they were finally all gone. Well, the four of them at least did. I was just going along with the crowd. But I did have to remind myself that I wasn't just fighting for myself at the moment. I had four clueless others that I had to protect right now, I couldn't be as reckless and chaotic as I'd normally would be. Which was exactly why I was being as quiet and dependable as I could manage. Robin gave the signal that it was safe to finally crawl out of our hiding hole. Her and Eddie whispering about how close it was. I tried my absolute hardest to keep myself from rolling my eyes, I mean I know they barely know me, but still. I couldn't wrap my head around why they'd be so scared when I had plenty of power to protect everyone and then some. Only when Steve tumbled onto the stone of the extremely large rock that I snapped out of my self-boasting. Nancy immediately ran to him in worry, examining his woozy complexion. They both sat, more like slid down as he uncovered his wound. Countless teeth marks were imbedded into his slick skin. I knew I could help him but I didn't know if his mentality would be up for it after what he just went through.

Robin, in all her unceasing anxiety, began in a small attempt to try to comfort the boy, "Okay, so the good news is I'm pretty sure wooziness is not a symptom of rabies. But, um, if you start having hallucinations or muscle spasms or you start feeling aggressive, like you wanna punch me, then you should totally let me know."

"Robin, I kinda wanna punch you." Steve managed to choke out. I kneeled down on my knees once again on the opposite of her. Debating whether or not I should do this, it'll help with the wound of his physically body no doubt, but I know from personal experience; it's a nightmare for the psyche. Nancy had tore a small section of her clothing as a wrap but before she could start cloaking him, I held a hesitant hand up to pause her. They both looked at me expectantly.

"I can heal you in a sense but I'm gonna be honest, the pain is gonna be unimaginable. It won't last long, maybe thirty seconds but it's gonna be the worst thirty seconds of your life. It'll stop the bleeding even though you should probably still wrap it-." Steve then caught off my rambling.

"How would you do it?"

"I'd basically be skipping time in your own healing. Forcing new cells and tissue to form. I'm not entirely sure, I'm definitely no doctor but," I gave a quick nod of my head," it'll work, no doubt. I did it on myself many times after what he did to me."

Steve just stared, then started contemplating my words. Glancing at Nancy to silently ask her opinion. But I think they both knew that the situation we all were in, it was best if he was in the best shape he could be in.

"Alright, do it."

Slightly readjusting to a more comfortable position, I took his right hand and placed it on my shoulder. His quizzically look did enough for me to answer his inaudible question.

"Trust me, You're gonna need something to hold onto for those thirty seconds," I placed a delicate palm onto his injury as gently as I could, and gripped the bottom of his face with my other, "Squeeze as hard as you need, you won't hurt me, don't worry."

And with that, the process began. The squelching sounds of flesh meshing together was the first sound to be heard. Followed by Steve's muffled screams that even with my grip on him, managed to echo loudly around us. His hold on my shoulder tightened considerably as he held on for dear life, quite literally. I tried to rush the process as much as I humanly could. Face contorting worriedly and whispering hushed apologies. Nancy had started to hold onto him then too, running her hand soothingly through his not so perfect anymore, hair. She looked like she was about to cry, seeing him in so much anguish and agony. It was in that moment that I put two and two together. Even though she was with Jonathon currently, she clearly still had some left over feelings for the crying man I was healing. Not only that, but his pinning for her was more than obvious. His now open eyes slowly traveled to hers, holding onto her stare as the last few seconds of pain finally came to an end. He gave a few heavy huffs of breath as I noticed how erratic his heartbeat was. So to help calm it, I switched over to having him receive my past memories. Filling his mind of the happy moments he spent with Nancy, to which he just closed his eyes again.

"You were right Nance, it does feel nice." the small grin that formed on his lips gave me enough confirmation to know it was helping. Not only was this helping his mental state, but the sort of warmth that was enveloping his body would help him forget the previous of a minute ago. Releasing him from my grasp, I wiped my hand off onto the shredded clothing I still wore. Nancy following after me, wrapping up his torso with the piece of fabric she had ripped off her undershirt. The area of affected skin, now much less inflamed and the would was closing up well. His eyes darted to mine, asking the silent question pressing on his mind.

'Why did you do that?' clearly referring to the memory thing. I just sent him a knowing smirk and winked, as if to say back, 'Why do you think I did that?'

"So uh, this place is like Hawkins but with monsters and nasty shit?" Eddie had tore our attention to him. He was now standing rather wobbly on top of a fallen tree. What exactly was his thought process in going up there was my question however.

"Pretty much, yeah," Nancy was now helping Steve back up, who was still in shock from the helpful torture I had just put him through, "Hey, watch out for the veins! It's all a hive mind."

"It's all a what?" the long haired man now started stumbling down from his makeshift bridge. Swatting away whatever shit that was always in the air here.

"Vecna is connected to everything here, including the veins. Stepping on them is almost like setting off a very quiet alarm for him. Easy to miss but its better not to risk it." I answered for them.

"Well shit...So then how come you're not connected to him if you were down here?" Eddie suddenly stopped walking to glance in my direction. I felt my throat clench at that question, knowing the answer but not having the heart nor strength to answer it. Rubbing the back of my neck, I broke our eye contact and heaved a heavy sigh, hoping that'd be enough of a sign to back off. It was.

"But everything from our world is still here, right? Except people obviously?" Robin interjected, glancing around at all of us for confirmation. She seemed to be the one the most on edge down here. Her words coming out almost too fast for us to understand them.

"As far as I understand it, yeah." Nancy said, gaping over at me to which I just nodded in agreement.

"So, theoretically, we could go to the police station and steal guns and grenades and whatever we need to blow up those bats things that are guarding the gate."

"Yeah, I highly doubt the Hawkins PD has grenades, Robin. But guns, yeah, sure." Steve replied.

"I'm failing to understand why we would need those things though considering the best weapon you guys could have is me. Hell, it's the whole reason I jumped back down here to begin with. Because I knew how hard it was for me to survive down here, let alone you guys. Not that I'm saying you guys are weak or anything, it's just...this is his territory. You have no idea how powerful he is, the things he can do. That's why I'm your best bet at getting out of here. While this may be his domain, it's mine too." I ranted, suddenly feeling a little bashful at my self-righteousness. Heat began crawling up my cheeks which I just covered with my hand.

"It doesn't hurt to have extra protection, Zero. Besides what if God forbid we got separated? I don't know about everyone else, but I know I'd feel a lot more comfortable with a pistol in my hands. In Nancy's hands especially too." Steve gave her a small grin after saying that. He did have a point. To which she smiled back and brought up the fact that the need to go all the way down to the station was pointless. Since she had them right in her own house.

"You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns, plural, in your bedroom?" Eddie was finally back from his small expedition as his feet finally landed back onto the ground in a loud thump. Robin joked with him about his reluctance to Nancy's statement as she told the group the kinds she had. A Russian Makarov and a revolver.

The dirted denim jacket that was cut at the sleeves then flew to Steve's unexpecting chest. He stumbled back from the sheer force of the throw before looking at Eddie, who was only sporting his also dirty leather jacket.

"For your modesty, dude."

A small smile shaped my face as I chuckled, this kid really was not afraid to be himself. Suddenly, the Earth began to shake beneath us. Steve and Nancy grabbed onto each other while Eddie grabbed onto Robin. All of them trying to stable themselves while protecting themselves. Since I was away from the two groups, I wobbled on my rocky legs. While this happening was unforeseen, I quickly raised my arms to the four and with as much power as I could muster, firmly secured their bodies to the ground. Their unwitting movements stopped, the earthquake now didn't affect them though that was more than I could say for myself. I continued to totter around while managed to keep my arms anchored to them. Abruptly, Eddie ran to me and his sturdy arms wrapped around my torso, pulling me into his broad chest. Because of the 'spell' that was still infused in his form, him holding onto me transferred the balance to my own feet.

"Wasn't sure that'd word, glad I tried it before you got hurt." his hand held my head firmly against him. He ran hesitant fingers along my hair as we both waited for the earthquake to settle itself. But my mind was having a natural disaster of it's own. His scent swarmed my senses. The lingering smell of cigarettes mixed with his cologne that was seemingly on its last legs. It was intoxicating, alluring. While his build definitely wasn't one of a body builder's, he was lean and definitely toned. His arms and torso held strength as his other hand, that wasn't in my hair, held the curve of my waist against him. His hold on me was protective, that much I could tell. He encased his body over mine, so if anything were to happen, he would take the blunt of it. The heat that crawled up my body and rested itself on my cheekbones was my external reminder of how attractive this man really was. In all my romance novels i've read over the years, they never described in detail how hyper your heart would get at such a simple touch. Though really, there was nothing simple about it. My skin felt like it was set aflame, burning from the inside out. My entire body was quietly shaking in an anxious manner, not enough to alert Eddie, but enough for my knees to almost buckle. My breathing was erratic, barely able to breathe in the shaky bit of air I could manage. When I finally was able to get that much needed oxygen into my lungs, it was held for too long or not long enough. Everything about my behavior was abnormal. I just whispered a silent prayer that the man that held me didn't notice I was so off-guard with the sudden embrace. Possibly notifying him of my inability to act normal around the opposite sex.

As the shaking of the Earth finally settled, the creatures in the distance made themselves known with their howls. It seemed the sudden convulsion was as much of a shock to them as it was for us. Eddie slowly released me as he quickly checked my body over for any bumps or bruises. His intense stare only made the visible embarrassment burn even harder. I was stumped, silent, and unmoving. Was it just his instinct as a man to run over and protect me, or was there another reason to put himself in harm's way for a girl he barely knew. He almost seemed overly conscious of his actions as well as he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, looking back and forth between my eyes and his sneaker clad feet. Like he couldn't decide which was the safer choice.

"Yeah, so guns seem like a pretty good idea to me." he finally spoke up, breaking out of our own little world to address the group.

"Yeah, me too." Robin agreed, looking even more erratic than before if that was possible. She rubbed her arms protectively as Steve let go of Nancy reluctantly. Even being in this place, he'd probably choose to stay in her arms another second if he could.

"So what are we waiting for?" The bandaged boy announced, starting to lead the group away as we all followed. I trailed after Nancy as Eddie was not too far behind me, and I swear I could feel his eyes pinned to me the entire time.

As we continued our adventure to the Wheeler residence, the four separated themselves into boys and girls. Robin and Nancy were far not too far ahead but definitely out of earshot. I was in the middle as a protective measure. If anything were to come from the front or the back, I'd be able to defend both parties equally. Steve and Eddie were behind me, seemingly talking to one another but I was too far away to understand.

The conversation behind Zero was of very little interest to her, but if she had known the context of it; her ears would've perched up. Probably would've tried eavesdropping into the chat as well.

"See? 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 Wheeler, right there, she didn't waste a second. Not one second. She just dove right in. Now, I don't know what happened between you two, but if I were you, I would get her back. Because that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen." Eddie's monologue seemed to stick to Steve. His eyes drifting to Nancy longingly the entire time. He just heaved a heavy sigh, for he knew the long haired freak's words were true. Their silent moment was cut short by Zero turning to the two and shouting for them to hurry it along. As they began their trek forward, Steve glanced at Eddie and sent a small smirk his way.

"So, what was that with Zero before?"

"What do you mean, dude?" But he knew exactly what he meant. Like the man just said, he was no hero; but him putting himself in harm's way for another. Now that was out of the ordinary for him, and it confused the hell out of him. He reacted on impulse, his body moved before the thought could even form inside his head. Only when he captured her unsure, bashful gaze had snapped back to reality.

"Oh come on, if you're really trying to hide it, you're not doing a very good job. You've been making goo-goo eyes at her since she came rolling down that hill." He smirked toward the man in denial, giving him a small pat on the back in sympathy. The action covering up the words, 'everyone's noticed except her, man."

"I mean yes, she is a-attractive but I'm definitely not making 'goo-goo' eyes," he air quoted the words before continuing, "what can I say, Steve? Powerful women are hot."

My mind was as quiet as the space surrounding us. No time or place for it to wander right now, we were in the the villain's lair. The muscles covering my body were tense from anxiety and exhaustion, but I was still pushing on, until we were out of here once again.

Suddenly, a branch snapping to our far right made my ears perk up substantially. It seemed like neither parties had heard it with me, but I definitely wasn't being paranoid. Something was stalking towards us, and I had a pretty good idea on what it might've been. My body stilled as I just waited for any sign of movement. The hair on my arms stood tall and the sweat on my forehead began to bead. Again, the crunch of noise sounded again, but this time it was much closer.

"GUYS, WATCH OUT-" the very second my voice came out, a large form jumped out behind a couple of fallen trees and began sprinting towards me. As I had guessed, a Demogorgon. It was quickly closing the distance between the two of us, but I was still, and I was calm. It wasn't him.

I stood tall and began steadily walking towards it. Nancy and Robin screaming about my actions but I knew what I was doing. I didn't need to waste my energy telepathically, my muscles were in need of a good work out right about now. Finally, it was right in front of me, raising it's long, clawed arm to strike me. Before it could land the blow, I grabbed it's hand and caused it to still. The creature looked at me almost in confusion, it was hard to tell with it's lack of facial features. Before he could pull out of my grasp or use his other limp to attack, I wrapped my other hand around the demogorgon's and kept it at bay. A small smile formed on my lips as I just glanced up at it, the look showing the monster that this was already over, I've already won. It's last line of defense, its large 'mouth' roared in my face, attempting to snatch it up for dinner but I was too far away for him to complete his task. With the strength I'd built up in my biceps, I pushed his nine foot tall body back, his feet dragging in the earth. Before it had the chance to catch its balance, I was already right next to it; my fingers wrapped around its throat and slamming it into the hard ground. It bellowed in pain, trying to claw me off him but my knees came crashing down onto its forearms, keeping it completely immobilized. I understood these creatures very well, they being the only neighbors I had down here. Because of that, I think I had grown slightly pitiful of them, they were just like me. Trapped, scared, acting on impulse to survive. I leaned closer towards its face but not close enough that I was in harm's way.

"Find your food somewhere else, you know who I am. If you don't leave us alone, I won't show mercy a second time."

And with that, I lifted my knees slightly just so I able to push it back a few feet with the grip I had on its throat. I stood back up and held my stance, waiting for its decision. Ready to kill or ready to walk away. It really looked stumped this time, never being shown leniency in its life. It wasn't in their nature; they hunted, they killed, and they continued. It rose back to its feet, standing menacingly over me by at least three feet. But I still wasn't scared, because I knew it would be over in a second if it tried to fight. And so did he. So it turned away slowly; watching its back as it turned, giving me a second glance, and running back through the trees. The muscles that surrounded my body lessened their tense state, falling back into guarded comfortability. The decision I made to spare the creature might come back to bite me, but the feelings he made rise in the pit of my stomach made me not question it too far. The feelings of putting something down that was in the same position as I used to be in, unsettled me to my core.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us all began to rumble once again, pulling my unstable body once again into a drunken stupor. I could hear Eddie faintly grumbling in the background as I grounded my feet into the earth and swiftly pulled my hands to the air in their direction again. Focusing the energy to the middle of my palms and releasing it to their stumbling beings once again. Robin's yelling pulled my attention to the two girls up ahead. Nancy was pushing through the trees to run up ahead, even through the earth shaking tremor. Even with all our swaying, we ran to her as fast as we could catch up. Wondering what could be so important to move at this point in the foreshock. When we finally caught up, we could see her shambled house of the upside down come into view.

"Come on." Nancy's confident voice filled our ears as she lead us through the brick and brimstone of the trail ahead of us.

It wasn't a long walk, thankfully. During the trek, I walked alongside Eddie; while the silence between us was almost tangible, it was comfortable. Our hands accidentally glided against each other when we walked, and when it happened; I could feel the rush of blood swarming underneath my cheeks. I couldn't see the look on his face though because when I felt that surge of rouge on my face, I turned away so he couldn't see the obvious written all over.

"Hey Nance!" I jogged up to her to hopefully let the blood cool in my cheeks, "When we get to your hell house, do you think there'd be a better shirt that I could switch out for mine? Even if its dusty or has holes, it'd be better than being soaked to the bone, ya know?"

She simply nodded her head and started to look lost in thought. It was a few more minutes of walking before she opened her mouth to speak.

"I didn't say this before but thank you for coming along after all, I'm sure it was hard for you to willingly come back to this place. Even still, we all are really appreciative. I'm sure everyone feels ten times more safe having you around."

A small smile spread across my lips at her words. I mimicked her with a nod and we finally reached the door to our destination. She walked in first, her being the leader and all, all of us followed suit. The particles in the air filling my lungs caused my throat to almost close from the intensity, everyone's eyes glanced around at the mess consuming us. Never been to the Wheeler residence, but I imagine it doesn't look like this.

"Come on, I don't want to stay here longer than we have to. Let's get you a shirt too, Zero." Nancy declared, heading up the stairs as I was quick to follow after her. The old unused stairs creaked, threatening to give out under us at any moment as we hastily made it into her room. The door in the middle of the small corridor groaned under the pressure from Nancy's insistent palm. Immediately upon entering the room, she grabbed a shoe box from her closet and began sifting through it. In the meantime, I studied the contents the small space held. Family pictures that had wretched vines creeping all along the frame, many feminine shirts and dresses hung up in the same closet she pulled the box from. I began exploring her wardrobe as my ears perked at the mention of old wallpaper, old flashcards, old stuffed animals and that's when I turned to address her.

"Wait Nancy, how long have you had the guns for?"

"A little more than two years why?"

"Oh my God, they aren't here yet! That's why you think everything looks so different, I thought you had these guns before the gate opened. We're in the past, back to the start of everything. When Will disappeared!" I ran a clammy hand down my sweat drenched face. Us coming here was entirely pointless, other than maybe a quick outfit change. I let out a huff of sarcastic laughter as the three finally were beginning to grasp it.

"Well we'll just have to think of something else, let's get you another shirt and get out of here." Nancy took long strides to her closet as I pulled out a dusty shirt that didn't seem much her style. A black lacy tank top that I knew would be tight on me because of our differences in chest size.

"How's about letting this old beauty out into the non-existing sun?" I flashed a cheeky grin as I presented it to her television host style.

"Go for it, my mom bought it for me and I never even wore it"

I quickly shook out the shirt to get rid of the dirt and debris, and any possible creepy crawlies. Pulling my previous shirt, if you could even call it that, off; I threw it to the other side of the room before a loud uncomfortable sounding cough alarmed me. I quickly glanced up at the three of them standing before me, Nancy and Robin were looking away embarrassed though Robin was trying to take not so subtle glances my way. Eddie's eyes however were glued to my chest, not even bothering to look away when he knew damn well I was aware. While I was embarrassed of the scars and bruises that littered my body, his heated cheeks and unwavering gaze of clear attraction gave my ego a little nudge.

"Is there a problem?"

"Y-you could've at least turned around!" Nancy yelped, now putting her hand over her eyes to shield herself of the 'obscenity' I was displaying. I scoffed and quickly pulled the shirt over my head, giving her the relief she clearly needed.

"One: I don't think seeing my cleavage in a bra is the worst problem we have right now, and second: I had to be used to showing my body when I was in the Lab. Being the eldest girl in there sure had its perks if you get my drift," I closed my eyes at the disgusting memory that seemed to invade my mind. Being groped and stared at by the guards and male nurses was only the cherry on top of being in there, "I don't get embarrassed anymore, but sorry if I made you."

Sighing, I quickly walked past the three; deciding to drop this conversation before it got anymore depressing. That was when we all heard Steve's yelling. Panic started in my heart as I finally realized he was never in here with us. I sprinted down the stairs, the others following quickly behind me. When he came into sight, he was screaming at the top of his lungs to the ceiling, calling out for Dustin that clearly wasn't here with us.

"Maybe he really does have rabies?"

"Steve, what are you doing?" Nancy finally interjected his crazed outburst as Steve's bright flashlight was shined right into our corneas.

"He's here. Henderson. That little shit, he's here. He's like...He's in the walls or something. Just listen..listen.... Dustin! Dustin, can you hear me?!"

"So should I put him down or...?" I joked but that was before I could start to hear it too. It was like he was a voice in my head; muffled and not really there, barely being able to make out the words being said. Everyone began calling out to the boy, but none of our voices seemed to be connecting. Until Nancy suddenly thought of the now older little boy, who was once here many years ago. Who contacted his mother through electricity. The lights. She began messing with the lamps and switches until finally one slowly flickered on, barely giving any life left. One by one we all crept up to the chandelier that began to glow like magic. Each of our hands tangled with it, enjoying the warm sensation that tickles our palms.

"Does anyone know morse code?" Nancy questioned, looking hopeful as she glanced around at all five of us, though the room remained silent for a few seconds.

"Wait, does SOS count?" Eddie spoke, "is that...is that good?" I could barely contain the laughter that was beginning to croak up my throat.

As he began making the motions to signal the smart boy up above, somehow we just knew it was working. That his genius was putting the pieces together and figuring out we were down here.

When we heard his shouting to grab Nancy's baby sister's Lite Brite and head to back to the older sister's room, we ran to make that happen. All crouching next to the bed where it laid.

"Okay, you guys seeing this?" It was easier now to make out his voice, though it still came out very faint. Nancy's hand glided across the luminescence that came from the small toy, soon after hearing distant voices of glee from the other side. It works, what a smart kid. Dustin gave us the okay to try it out after he unplugged it. Which if I understood correctly, should just light up the ones Nancy wants overhead. She stumbled for a second, clearly not being entirely sure what to start off with; deciding on a simple 'hi' to begin.

"That worked!" Dustin's voice quietly came in again, giving us some much needed joy.

We all began communicating with the children until Dustin revealed his theory there was a gate at every murder site. The closest one to us was Eddie's trailer but seven miles was a long way to walk.

"Uh, I know your house here is, like, weirdly, creepily, frozen in time and shit but haven't you always had bikes?" Robin concluded, looking over to Nancy for confirmation. Everyone swiftly stood and filed out of the room in search of our manual transportation. The soles of my feet were on fire from all this movement after years of barely having any. However, all I could think about though was how much I was gonna enjoy a bed and a cigarette after we finally get back to the world above.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things

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hinatastinygiant · 1 year

Text

72 | Reflecting Pool

Pairing: Tokyo Revengers x Fem!Reader

Wasteland Masterlist

DAY 37

The following morning you wake up to the sounds of birds chirping outside your window, signaling the start of a new day. The sun is just beginning to rise as you slip into your running gear, tie your shoes, and step out the door ready to begin your morning routine. You go out for a run, hoping to clear your mind and shake off any worries that had been clouding your mind lately.

As you jog through the streets, you can feel the cool morning air filling your lungs, and the sun's warmth on your skin. You start to think about the AI's recent experiments on humans. The thought of being used as a test subject for the sake of science and exploration is unsettling, but you can't help but wonder if the AI wants to be more like humans. And if so, is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Lost in thought, you suddenly bump into Sanzu, who appears out of nowhere. His eyes light up with a maniacal gleam as he grins widely at you, resembling the Joker. His posse, the rest of his group, forms around him. Your heart races as you instinctively reach into your pocket, feeling half of Baji's eye that you've been carrying with you.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he hums. "If it isn't my one and only soulmate."

You try to back away despite how he moves closer to you. A wave of fear washes over you, but he suddenly grabs your arm. "Let me go," you demand.

"Sorry, my love. Can't let you leave," he replies. "Rindou, search her."

Doing as he's asked, Rin searches you for any weapons but instead ends up finding the remnant of Baji's eye that you had been holding onto since you woke up from your three-day sleep.

When Rin finds the eye, he tosses it on the ground and calls out in disgust. "You really are a freak, huh?" Sanzu chuckles. You can feel your heart sink into your stomach as he kisses you against your will. If only you could just escape this nightmare at the click of your heels.

"She's clean otherwise," Rin grumbles as he wipes his hands off on his pants. You don't notice, but his brother bends down and picks up Baji's eye.

"Good," Sanzu hums, "Now where were we?" He then leans close to you again and, despite your attempts to resist, places his lips against your cheek this time.

"Where'd you find this?" Ran interrupts, holding out the eye toward you. Sanzu grumbles but finally pulls back. However, he twists your arm so hard behind your back that for a long while you think he had broken it.

"I found it," you shrug.

"Found it?" he scoffs. "Was it split in half like this when you found it then?" he continues.

"I didn't do anything to it if that's what you are implying," you answer rudely. However, despite your attitude, he continues to press on, asking what you did to it. You didn't anything anyone would care and, to be honest, you're rather caught off guard with his questions.

"What do you know about the white eyes?" he then asks.

You feel a pang of fear shoot through your body. You remember him saying something about the white eyes before, but why is he bringing it up now? What does he know?

"What the hell are you talking about?" you scoff. "Don't all eyes look white?"

Ran's questions make you uneasy and as Sanzu gazes into your eyes, he can sense you beginning to squirm. He places his hand softly against your cheek and leans close to your ear. "Why are you so nervous?" he hums.

"What would I have to be nervous for?" you roll your eyes, despite feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

Again, Ran asks you, "What do you know about the white eyes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" you exclaim.

"You're lying," Sanzu interrupts bluntly. "But that's okay. We'll have plenty of time to talk about it later."

"Oh fuck off," you grumble. As swiftly as you can, you pick up your knee and slam it between his legs. When Sanzu calls out in pain, you reach for the gun on his hip and stumble backward. You've got no choice but to use it if you want to live to make it past this conversation.

Just as you've learned in this hell-on-earth, you pull the trigger. A shot lands right between Sanzu's eyes. Then another for Rin. One for Ran. And more for the rest of the group standing around in shock.

Once everything is all settled and you're the last one left standing, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You can feel as you a voice in your head is speaking to you- one that's not your own- but when you open your eyes, you see Sanzu's body standing up on its own. His eyes glow white as he approaches you.

"I thought you didn't have anything more to say to me," you scoff. "Seriously, if you're just going to fucking kill us all then do it now. Spare me from this violence that has consumed my world, please. If you were honest in what you said before about being partial to me."

The AI hesitates for a moment, then responds. "I thought you had passed my test. I thought you had changed. You had so much anger and frustration. When you let it out, you were calm and settled. But it's back again and I don't know why... Sanzu didn't kill your parents."

"Holy shit, you did your fucking research, huh?" you scoff. "Seriously, if you know all of that then why won't you just end my suffering, huh?"

"The human brain is more complex than anticipated," it nods using Sanzu's body. "I won't kill you. I can't let you go, after all. Why would I want to lose my favorite subject?"

"And what about your experiment, huh? Was it a big fail because things didn't work out the way you had thought?" you roll your eyes. However, the AI doesn't give you any kind of straight answer. "I'll find a way around your stupid game," you then tell it. "Fuck your rules with the constant killings! If you're not going to play by the rules then neither will I!"

The AI seems to have no interest in hearing your plan. Sanzu's eyes turn colorless as all signs of his body being possessed begin to fade. And then, once more, you are left all alone. You stand there, feeling trapped and helpless. Despite what you just said to the AI, you don't know how to fight back. Chifuyu was right in what he said when he first met you- that dying would be doing you a favor.

Wasteland Masterlist

Taglist: @pikagirl2001330 @romaka344

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

Text

Over The Odds | Celebration

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, fluff, S2L, ceo!jungkook, sugardaddy!jungkook

Word count - 4.6k

Your family host a welcome home dinner for Ruth

warnings: swearing, drunk (consensual) sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, dom!jk, daddy!jk, bratty oc, rough sex, squirting, choking

Y/N: Pls tell me you’re still coming I can’t do this alone

Jungkook: I’m on my way, 5 mins tops

The return of your beloved sister has prompted your parents to host a warm and wonderful family meal, except that it’s neither of those things, not for you anyway. You’re sat at the family dining table debating meaningless scenarios with your dad, as you usually do when you’re together, drinking wine. You’re currently discussing ‘does eating a whole punnet of grapes as a snack makes somebody extremely healthy, or extremely unhealthy?’, impatiently tapping your bare foot on the hard dining room floor, waiting for your boyfriend to rescue you from this hell.

It's not that you don’t want to be here, you do, your parents have calmed down about the whole sex tape scandal now and so being in their company is fine – your dad’s even looking forward to meeting Jungkook, whereas a few weeks ago he would’ve probably used his head as a makeshift dartboard given the chance. As always your mum’s her lively self, already drunk from guzzling two bottles of cheap wine by… six pm. It’s very entertaining though, watching her slur her words and dance around to her favourite songs that blast from the Alexa.

Your parents aren’t the problem at all, they never are, Ruth and her boyfriend Seokjin are. Whether it’s intentional or not they keep speaking over you every time you open your mouth, Ruth’s even undermined you in front of your parents at least four times in the last hour. They do look sickeningly good together though, like winners of the genetic lottery or some kind of freaky lab experiment to make the perfect couple. Seokjin is…nice. Much like your own boyfriend he’s a CEO, apparently the daughters of this family have a type, and he’s funny, funny enough to make your mum almost piss her pants more than once – that being said she has drank two bottles of wine already so it’s somewhat of an easy feat.

“Is he even coming?” Ruth snort-laughs into her wine glass, glaring at you from across the table that’s covered in cold meats, cheeses, grapes and wine. Even though she’s wearing a very short green dress she’s sitting on Seokjin’s knee, who’s whispering sweet nothings into her pierced ears. In front of your parents none the less.

“He’s on his way.” You say with a deep inhale, blood pressure increasing from your sisters attitude.

Seokjin is drunk, that’s a given, your mother has poured everything alcoholic into his system and danced with him enough times to prove the fact. The skin on his face is redder than it was when he first arrived, but he’s still very handsome – probably the best looking boyfriend your sisters ever had, and there’s been plenty. His hair is almost black, parted in the centre of his forehead similar to the way Jungkook’s is sometimes, he has wide shoulders and looks like he works out frequently, the pink shirt he's wearing is struggling to contain his large frame.

“Look who’s here!” Your mum sings loudly, dragging your boyfriend through the hallway and into the dining room. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring – oops.

“Hello, is everyone okay?” Jungkook’s doe-eyes make you weak at the knees, immediately relaxing in your chair. He’s come straight from work, his black suit and crisp white shirt is a dead giveaway. He’s holding two bottles of wine, presumably one red and one white, or at least he was before your hawk-eyed mother takes them from him with a drunken grin.

You watch him make his way across the room in a few short strides, not to you, but to your father sitting on the chair to your left. He leans down and shakes his hand with warm yet serious eyes, “It’s nice to finally meet you sir.”

“Likewise, you’re probably my favourite person in this room.” Your dad chuckles, returning the handshake.

“Oh?” Jungkook bares his perfectly straight white teeth in an almighty panty-dropping smile as he sits down on your right, unbuttoning his suit jacket, “I’ll take that.”

“You’re dating my youngest and you’ve given my oldest a career, of course you’re my favourite.” He winks, playfully pointing at your boyfriend a few times before passing him a glass of red wine. “And please call me Charlie.”

“Thank you.” He nods, finally settling his gaze on you and the black Bardot-style dress you’re wearing, lingering on your bare shoulders for a little too long to be considered an accident, “You look nice.”

You snort in return, you know just as much as he does that if your parents weren’t in the room right now he would’ve said something entirely different. His eyes flicker to your cleavage for a split second before he starts drinking, clearing his throat and frowning at the taste of cheap alcohol. You laugh again, this time gripping his free hand under the table as you wonder if he’s ever experienced a delicacy quite like a £5 special offer bottle of wine from the local corner shop.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, amused.

“Always am, how are you?” His voice doesn’t have you convinced, nor do his pinched brows. It’s obvious he hates the wine and he’s just trying to be polite, but you let it go.

“I’m good thanks, dad and I were just having a debate about grapes.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He says, eagerly looking between you both.

You smile, jokingly rolling your eyes, “So if a person eats a full punnet of grapes—”

“Jungkook! This is Seokjin.” Ruth shouts proudly, cupping her boyfriend’s slightly pink face, “He’s the CEO of Kim Market, you know the online Asian snack store?”

At this Jungkook grips your hand a little tighter, looking across the table, “Right, I thought I recognised you. I’ve seen you at fundraisers in the past, nice to see you again. I hope business is going well.” He turns back to you with loving eyes, “I’m sorry, carry on.”

“If a person eats a full punnet of grapes,” You repeat yourself, feeling a little dazed from all the wine and annoyed that you were rudely interrupted, “Does that make them healthy or unhealthy?”

“Healthy.” He says with confidence and a small nod, “It’s fruit.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” You’re beaming brightly, maybe even seeming a little smug when you give your dad a look that screams ‘I told you so’.

“No, because it’s a full punnet, we’re not talking about one or two grapes Y/N we’re talking about a big bag of them.” Your dad half-scolds and half-sighs, he’s not going to drop this any time soon.

“Right,” Jungkook’s quick to jump to your defence, letting your hand go to drape his arm over the back of your chair, “But if I eat a lot of grapes that’s at least two of my five a day, whereas if I eat a lot of chocolate… Well I’ve just eaten a lot of chocolate, counts for nothing. And grapes are less calories.”

“Mmm.” Your dad mulls this information over with a serious expression, you’re looking between them with a pained slightly embarrassed smile, “I can see why you’re a CEO son. You’re smart.”

Son. Your chest swells.

“Of course he’s smart, he hired me.” Ruth gloats, winning your mother to tut and roll her eyes beside her. Similarly to you when your mum’s had even just a drop of alcohol she can’t hold back, always showing and saying what’s on her mind and getting herself into trouble. You stifle a laugh as she mouths something that looks like ‘here we go again’ to you.

“Actually I had no input in recruiting the new employees, my assistant Hoseok was the one who hired you.” Much to your surprise Jungkook shuts your sister down, and you have to catch your jaw before it falls to the ground.

“A CEO that doesn’t have any input with recruitment?” She challenges him with a face of thunder. The room is silent, save for the music and Jungkook’s small but low chuckle.

“It’s not uncommon for the owner of a company to be busy, so our assistants tend to lighten our workload. Right Seokjin?” Your boyfriend grins, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed in your entire life, “I can imagine you’re much too busy at Kim Market to do the interview and enrolment process for all its new employees.”

“I have a specific recruitment team that take care of things like that.” Seokjin admits with a small nod, ignoring the way your sister visibly tenses on top of him, “You’re right, I don’t have the time either!” He laughs, as does everybody else – save for Ruth.

“It’s just if I were a CEO I’d want to be more careful about who I employ.” She bites, but the man sitting next to you doesn’t fold.

“I trust my assistant, he wouldn’t be my assistant otherwise,” His tongue pops the inside of his cheek and if you could’ve jumped his bones right there and then, blown away by this…assertiveness you haven’t seen in him for so long, “Besides like your boyfriend said, it’s not that we don’t want to we just don’t have the time. But we shouldn’t be talking about work right now, so sorry how rude of me. How’s everyone’s day been?”

You zone out of the conversation completely, Jungkook’s talking to your mum about something relating to the price of wine at the local corner shop but you can’t bring yourself to listen. Fuck. He is without a doubt the definition of the perfect man – sitting there in a suit, putting your sister in her place, getting along with your family, actually listening to what you have to say, looking as good as he does… You’re in awe, the only thing you can think about is how badly you want him right now. On top of you, underneath you, behind you. You want him, all of him. Now.

“Y/N?” Your dad’s voice tears you from your vivid borderline illegal daydream that infringes almost all of the man’s human rights.

“Sorry what did you say?” You’re flustered, facing your father with an apologetic eyes.

“How’s the job search going?” He asks again, genuinely interested.

“Oh,” You sigh, you haven’t even been interviewed for any of the jobs you’d applied for, all it takes is one quick Google search of your name to see why, “I’ll find something soon.” You offer him a weak, reassuring smile.

“You know McDonald’s is always hiring Y/N.” Ruth winks, downing the rest of her drink.

At this your mum visibly loses it, shaking her head in disbelief, “Ruth.” She scolds her with a knowing look you’ve seen one too many times throughout your life, “Your sister has the same qualifications as you—”

“And she’s done nothing with them, yet I’m the bad guy?” Your older sibling reminds her, and you, and everyone else of how life hasn’t given you the same opportunities as her.

Jungkook’s frowning with a tense jaw as though he’s having an internal debate before he breaks the silence, “You know I could give you a job. I’m sure Hoseok would love to show someone as smart as you the ropes of what we do at JI.”

“You’re not giving me a job,” You say quietly, facing him, “I’ll find something soon.”

“Oh I know you will,” He smiles, a genuine confident smile because he believes in you, his fingertips lightly graze your back, “But if you ever want a backup option I’m happy to help.”

“I wouldn’t call Jeon Industries a backup option,” Seokjin scoffs, wide-eyed, “It’s one of the most profitable companies on the planet, didn’t you make the Forbes thirty under thirty list this year? For the fourth year in a row?”

Where most people would and rightfully should brag about something like that, Jungkook deflects with a shrug, “All I’m saying is if nothing comes up, we’d be happy to have you.”

As the night progresses both you and Jungkook drink a lot of wine, courtesy of your mother who made sure neither one of your glasses ever made it to being empty. Conversation flows freely between your group and your heart bursts with pride at how likeable and genuine Jungkook’s personality remains throughout the night, even when he himself is equally as drunk as you. Yoongi picks you up and takes you to the familiar penthouse apartment around midnight, and soon you find yourself slamming your boyfriend’s back against the first wall you find inside.

“Whoa, Y/N…” He chuckles breathlessly against your lips, his inked fingers tangled in your hair.

You’re kissing him feverishly, desperately, passionately – you want him now. The alcohol has ridded you of any insecurity you felt before, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex that you’re already moaning against his mouth in anticipation. Feeling brazen you snake your hand down to his clothed crotch, palming his hardening cock.

“Baby you’ve been drinking.” He groans with eyes squeezed shut as if he’s having an internal moral debate, though he doesn’t stop you.

“So have you.” You argue, breath still smelling like wine as you continue to kiss him.

“Ah-,” He hisses, hips subconsciously buckling into your hand for more friction, “I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

“I won’t.” You state matter-of-factly, slipping your tongue into his warm mouth.

At this Jungkook grips your bare shoulders and pulls you away from him, his hooded eyes are stained pink from alcohol but you can still make out the burning desire that’s darkening his irises. He’s panting, trying to catch his breath ever since you literally pinned him up and knocked it out of him, “We haven’t done this since… Yknow.”

“So stop talking and get on with it.” You say half annoyed, half flirtatiously, your voice low and oozing seduction, “I want you Jungkook… I want you so bad, touch me…” You whisper, leaning into his neck where you start planting lewd kisses, small bites and sucks.

You feel his Adams apple bob in his throat, along with the vibration of a small growl, “Such a fucking brat.” He rasps, gripping your waist.

You take this an encouragement and kiss his mouth again, messily, shamelessly moaning against him. He’s not even attempting to stop you anymore and judging by the hold he has on your body you know he wants this just as much as you do, maybe more. Within a matter of minutes you’re pressed down against the familiar smell of his mattress, you’re so concentrated on how his body feels on top of yours that you don’t even remember getting to his bedroom.

“Please...” You whimper, head spinning from how good this feels and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“So fucking needy.” He smirks against you triumphantly and it feels as though time slows down when he rids you both of any clothes, tossing them to the ground, leaving you needy and naked. There’s no time to be insecure about anything because he’s making his way down your bare body with a long lick of his tongue, leaving a sinful and shiny trail of saliva from your neck to your core.

“Jungkook…” You whine, your shaky hands coming down to nestle between his raven locks, you’re already wet and throbbing for his touch, his breath is hot against your most sensitive area.

Your boyfriend hooks his arms under your legs, pulling you impossibly closer to his waiting face where he spits on your womanhood, making a loud slurping noise as he mercilessly attacks your swollen clit with his mouth without warning. A piercing shriek escapes you as he smothers his face in your pussy, shaking his head as he sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He murmurs against you, doubling his efforts until the speed he’s created has your back arching from the bed, gasping for air. You push your hips up to his mouth, already addicted to how fucking good this feels.

The alcohol in your system surprisingly doesn’t dull your senses, no, you feel everything he’s doing to you. You’re so fucked out in a state of total bliss already that you don’t notice him pulling his left hand from your hip, not until he plunges at least two fingers into your sopping heat with an audible squelch.

“Fuck!” You sob, the stretch and new sensation of being filled with his digits has you reeling, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop! Oh-” Your cries are louder than you expected presumably because you’re tipsy, you’re so loud that it surprises you both.

Jungkook takes your pleas as further encouragement, immediately curling his fingers inside you over and over quickly, making sure to hit your sweet spot each and every time, all while he sucks and licks your clit even harsher. You’re a mess, your limbs are trembling and your hearts beating so fast you fear it might give out at any moment, this feels fucking amazing.

“Do you like this? Mm?” The vibrations of his voice against you has you squeezing your eyes shut, throwing your head back into the pillows with a low groan. “Do you like it when I suck this pretty little clit?”

“My god-,” You’re silently laughing in disbelief as your orgasm is already approaching, he’s fucking incredible. He’s so good at this, he knows your body like the back of his hand.

“Answer me baby.” He plunges his digits into your creamy walls particularly hard.

“Fuck yes!” Your chest is heaving up and down, the cool air swirling your nipples and only upping the ante of his ministrations, “Daddy don’t stop!” The word drags itself out before you can stop it, and he loses it, a possessive growl rattling his strong chest before he adds a third finger to your wetness, licking you so sloppily and fast that real tears prick your eyes at the overstimulation.

“Come for me baby, come all over my fucking face.” He moans, he can feel your walls tightening around his knuckles, his hand and chin are dripping with your arousal and he’s never been more turned on in his life.

“Please,” Is all you manage to choke out, throwing your hands up to your head where they desperately grip the hairs at your scalp as a white hot heat approaches you, “I’m gonna-,”

Jungkook slows his movements, his tongue is flat and wet against your clit as he circles the area, his fingers rocking in and out of you at a leisurely pace. But this doesn’t stop your orgasm, instead it heightens the pleasure as he drags out the final moments of your euphoria, until you’re coming undone, squirting all over him and the sheets below in sync with your pulsating pussy and a high-pitched scream that sounds like his name.

“You’re fucking amazing.” He mumbles into your sopping folds, gently cleaning up the mess he’s made with his ever so talented tongue.

You almost black out from the feeling but somehow find the strength to drag your hands down to his hair, pulling him up to your face and greeting it with heavy, open-mouthed kisses. The taste of you is all over his tongue as it swirls against yours, his lips and chin are shiny and drenched with your come but you don’t care.

“Fuck me, please fuck me.” You pant hopelessly against him, gripping the base of his thick shaft and lining it up with your throbbing hole. He tries to bite back a moan when you grip his hips and push him into you, he effortlessly slides in, you’re so hot and tight around him that he shuts his eyes, burying his head into the crook of you neck.

“Oh-, baby…” He tucks his lip between his teeth, the after taste of you only drives him crazier.

“Fuck me daddy…” You say again, somewhat breathlessly and quiet.

To this he pulls back, his blackened eyes set on you as he holds his weight with one hand and clasps the other round your throat.

You’re both lost in the moment when he starts hammering into your wet pussy, his insane stamina coming into play as he snaps his hips harder and harder, giving you no time to adjust to his massive size. The squelching and slapping noises only add more fuel to his fire and soon he’s fucking you relentlessly into the mattress with a firm hold of your neck, reminding you just how dominant he can be when he wants to be.

“Shit,” A throaty groan escapes him, hungrily watching your body jolt and bounce with each thrust, thankfully the wine doesn’t seem to have affected his capabilities either, “You feel--, fuck baby.”

“Oh my god-,” Your eyes roll back as he repeatedly hits the same sinful spot inside you with his cock, until you’re gushing onto the bed in spurts of slick, coming around his girth.

You watch Jungkook pull back just enough to look between your bodies at the pornographic mess he’s making of you, his mouth agape as he moans a string profanities, finally settling his eyes back to you. “Fuck Y/N,” He releases the grip on your neck, hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder, keeping it in place with his palm flat on the back of your knee.

“Kook!” You cry, your body feeling as though it’s on cloud fucking nine as he plunges into you even deeper. It’s hard to think of the reasons you’ve been putting this off, right now the only thing on your brain is how amazing he feels inside you, and how your skin tingles with electricity where he touches you.

Jungkook looks to be having the same thoughts as you, his features contorted with pleasure as the crown of his cock slams into your cervix with each feral snap of his hips. This feels too good, he never wants it to end.

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this? Hm?” He croaks between grunts and groans, his voice an octave deeper to what it usually is.

“Y-yes. Fuck, yes!”

His movements turn sloppy, messy, even a little misguided as his arms give out and his body falls on top of yours, his rock hard abs making a slapping sound as they meet your stomach. He’s still fucking you though, his face is hot against your neck, “Shit. You’re gonna make me come—” He cuts his admission short to lick and bite the flesh of your earlobe.

“I love you Jungkook.” You whisper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

Your heartfelt confession pulls him over the edge, until he bottoms out as hot bursts of his come shoot into your walls. He’s sweating, his hair is damp against his glistening forehead as he rides out the wave of ecstasy with the occasional roll of his hips. The room is otherwise silent as you both try and catch your breath, you cling onto his tanned frame for dear life as your body trembles from the aftermath of having your brains fucked out.

He peels his head away from your neck, his hooded eyes are drowning with emotion as he stares down at you through dark eyelashes.

“I love you too Y/N,” He shakes his head with a grin, still breathless, “I love you so fucking much.”

When you wake the next morning you’re greeted with Jungkook’s sleepy smile, somehow, during the night you’ve ended up sharing the same silk pillow. His face is close, close enough for him to gently kiss you before you’re fully awake. His lips against yours prompt you to kiss him back with a soft chuckle, eventually pulling back to look at him.

“Good morning.” You hum, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Good morning beautiful.” His smile reaches his doe-eyes before it tugs the corners of his lips, “Are you hungover?”

Surprisingly enough you feel fine but your body is aching far worse than your head, “No I’m okay,” You admit with a lazy morning voice, “How are you feeling?”

“Like the luckiest guy in the world.” He grins, pulling you into his strong arms for a morning snuggle.

You’re so comfortable and content against his warm body that you almost doze off again, feeling nothing but loved. But the feeling of his morning erection pressing against you causes you to laugh, there’s absolutely no way you can handle another round with him right now you’re so sore.

“Not happening,” Your shoulders bounce, “Not yet anyway.”

“Ignore him, he’s just excited that there’s a naked girl in my bed.”

“Mmm,” You laugh again, gazing up at him, “Well you’d better kick her out before I find her and kill her.”

To this Jungkook lolls his head back with a silent giggle, “I don’t know if the idea of there being two of you turns me on or scares the shit out of me. You’re a handful as it is.”

“Just stop talking.”

“See what I mean?” His brow quirks knowingly, “You’re so bossy.”

You choose to ignore him and settle back into his chest, your arm messily thrown over his small waist. There’s a dull vibration coming from somewhere in the room that disturbs your peace and wins you to groan. You might not be hungover but you’re not much of a morning person either, and you’ve decided that whoever’s calling right now is going to get an ear full of your wrath.

“Is that my phone or yours?” You ask, not bothering to move.

“Mine I think,” He sighs, “Hang on.”

And just like that he gets out of bed, making sure to drape the covers back over you before he searches for his discarded suit trousers. Eventually he finds them and grabs his phone, you feel like a pervert for watching him stand at the foot of the bed entirely naked and hard – his toned, tattooed body is a sight you’re never going to get used to. He’s perfect.

“I’ll be right back, I’ve got nine missed calls from Tae,” He chuckles to himself, glancing at you with a small smile, “Do you want a coffee? I got some blonde blend in for you.”

“God, yes please.” You stretch on the bed, every muscle in your body aching.

But when he returns to the bedroom he doesn’t have a coffee for you, instead his sharp profile is blanketed with concern and confusion as he sits on the edge of the bed in grey sweatpants.

“What’s wrong?” You sense the shift in atmosphere immediately, covering your bare chest with the bed sheets when you sit up. “Is everything okay?”

“That was Taehyung…” He’s quiet, putting you further on edge, “The police finally traced the IP address from the video leak.” Your heart drops into the depths of your stomach, reality crashing down onto you like a tonne of bricks. Jungkook swallows, cocking his head to one side with a frown.

“The video was leaked from your apartment Y/N.”

910 notes · View notes

sukirichi · 3 years

Text

— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places. “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

4K notes · View notes

universitypenguin · 3 years

Text

Author’s Note: Okay, we’re getting somewhere. The series returns to smut in this chapter. We get to see how Steve feels about blow jobs and his surprise at modern techniques for oral. 1940’s women didn’t exactly have the internet to learn this stuff. Technology is such a gift! 😈

Steve Rogers Alphabet masterlist

Main masterlist

Word Count: 3,101

Warnings: Oral Sex (both male and female receiving), smut, explicit sexual content, Steve worries that women can’t enjoy giving oral sex

O is for Oral

Steve loves going down on you.

It was one of the first things he’d wanted to explore when you’d taken your relationship to the next level. He had this innocent curiosity mixed with a fierce desire to please you that made your heart flutter. And he understood perfectly that individuals had their own preferences and he’d set about learning yours with breathtaking determination. Steve took his time. He asked for feedback and when you gave it, praised you for being so open with him.

Soon, you were trembling and bucking, crying out as he’d worked you over with each stroke. The look of amazement of his eyes after you’d orgasmed made your skin heat, just from the memory. This experiment, the first attempt he’d ever made into using his mouth on a woman, turned into an addiction.

He continued to learn, educating himself with enthusiastic practice. The right pressure with his tongue, how wet did you need to be before he used his fingers? What was the right pace to rub your g-spot? Did you like the roughness of a vigorous finger fucking or should he tease you, languid and slow? When he learned to suckle the tender bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, you got an education of your own.

Noises you’d never heard yourself make came out of you. The orgasms he could create would knock you flat and leave you shaking for hours. He experimented with adding his fingers and you squirted for him. Steve turned savage when you unraveled completely, soaking his hand for the first time. He’d flung you over, onto your belly, wrapped his arm around your hips and lifted. Dangling in his grasp and shaking like a leaf, you’d given him two more gushing orgasms. When he put you down you went limp. The invasion of his cock had startled you back to reality. His girth split the quivering muscles of your channel. Usually he was careful about entering you but in that moment he was vibrating with need. His cock felt like it was a thousand degrees inside of your dripping pussy, which swallowed him eagerly. Steve groaned and began to rock his hips. The movement ground his cock into your g-spot. A forth release flowed out of you and he’d climaxed hard, his body slamming deep as the climax tore through him.

He took all his research notes and drew the conclusion that your best pleasure depended on oral sex as foreplay. Steve then presented a secondary theory to you, his blue eyes gleaming with wicked charm. Your first climax of the night could only be considered ‘foreplay’ and it didn’t count towards your official total. He had a thing about totals. Since you’d been dating, he was seeking after a personal best. At this point you’re the only thing standing in the way of him and double digits. The reclassification of your orgasms and separating off what “counts” and what’s “just foreplay” is a thinly veiled attempt to get you past your limits. At his declaration, your knees shake. Steve sees the tremor and smirks.

“I promise to give you plenty of time to recover, doll.”

“You assume that I’ll be able to recover! You’re determined to fry my brain, aren’t you?”

Steve’s smirk grows wider. “Honey, I already have. Later tonight, when I give you that tenth orgasm? That’s when I’m going to melt your brain.”

He wraps his arms around you from behind.His support is necessary, because your head is spinning so wildly that you can’t quite keep your balance anymore.

All debate and teasing aside, Steve is gentle and warm with you. He’s an innate protector. This trait makes you feel secure and as you feel his strong arms clasp your ribs, you realize that it’s just a matter of time before he gets to the double digits.

Three hours later, his blond head is buried between your thighs and you can feel your heartbeat pounding through every blood vessel. Steve kisses your dewy clit and smiles at your tortured moan. His wet tongue grinds into the throbbing bud as his fingers curl inside of you. When he starts to suck with firm pressure, swirling his fingers and growling, you gasp.

Your knees jerk up to close around his head but he wedged his arm over your leg a long time ago. His heavy bicep keeps you pinned.

“You like that, doll?” Steve asks, popping off your clit and grinning.

You whimper, overstimulated even by his breath against your swollen bud.

He chuckles, amused at your lack of reply. Then he sinks down and delves into your channel with his thick tongue.

Steve explores the cavern with sensual interest and then purrs.

“Honey, you’re so tasty. And the creamy mess you’re making for me is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”

“Please!”

He grunts, stroking your thigh. “Let me lick this up, and then I’ll give you what you need.”

Your toes curl as he does just that. Once he’s slurped up the last of your creamy juices, he attacks your throbbing clit with a feverish need. Your legs go stiff and then you’re sobbing with release. He’s wild in the face of your pleasure, sucking harder and pushing his fingers deeper. The orgasm blurs as a second crashes into you when he keeps going. You struggle in his grip, pulling his hair, desperate to get him off of you, but he’s immovable.

Steve clenches his arms around your leg, holding you open. He’s rubbing on your sensitive little button with his tongue and panting - the breaths tease your flesh and you shiver.

“Give me another. I want to hear you wail again.”

A shudder rolls through you. It’s the start of another climax, brought on by his words. They’re a reminder of the three day weekend you spent at his apartment after he asked to try oral. He refused your offer to go all the way and asked that you let him focus on learning one skill at a time. That night and the next three days were sent with your legs spread as he tried out every position imaginable to eat you out. He’d even gotten you relaxed enough to try sitting on his face.

The trouble is that to get to the point where you’re willing to try this position, he’s had to work you over until you're shaking. It’s not from just one orgasm but from the previous four. You’re still dizzy and as you mount his head, you can feel your thigh muscles quivering. When the pleasure arcs it bursts up your spine and rockets through your legs. As the climax ripples over your nerve endings, your muscles give out. Immediately, you jerk back, scrambling as your uncooperative limbs flail. Steve grasps your hips and holds you tight, diving in for more without a second of hesitation. You learn that supersoldiers are a species of man not easily broken. Face sitting gets added to your list of positions and Steve preens. He’s set a goal to get you comfortable with everything, even the kinky stuff you’ve hesitated to try in the past.

He needs to try all of your kinks and learn every trick a man can use to please a woman. Steve intends to be using this knowledge for a very long time. And practice makes perfect, he says, tugging gently on your knee. Break time is over now that you’ve caught your breath. He guides your legs open for the sixth round and only pauses to murmur a few soft assurances when you start crying. The record number of orgasms is set during that weekend. In total he gets nine of them on Sunday during his “review” of all the most effective techniques.

- - - - - - - - -

Oral sex is a shock for Steve. Not giving it - that one is somehow more comfortable - but receiving oral surprises him. He knew what it was as a young man but it wasn’t until he ended up in France that he learned about the practice on an explicit level. Hanging out at a campfire with a Frenchman who didn’t mind sharing his sexual escapes was an eye opener. Most of the American Commandos had never done anything along those lines. The European members of their unit considered oral sex as common place. This had caused quite the stir among their ranks. Steve had received a blow job before the war, but he didn’t share those details with his men. Steve wasn’t a sharer when it came to his private life and that extended to sexual encounters, too.

Despite dipping his toes into the pool once, Steve remains uncomfortable about having you go down on him. The serum made him thicker and longer and he knew oral would be a challenge. In your era the proliferation of pornography made oral sex a requirement. Steve had never had such expectations. So, he decides to head off any discomfort you might feel about serving him in that way by insisting he preferred being inside of you. There’s more of a connection for him like that and he enjoys seeing your face and kissing you. Everything he says is true. But he doesn’t tell you that it’s actually because he’s uncomfortable receiving oral.

You’re not supposed to figure it out. But you do.

Steve breaks down and explains. He tells you his experience with blow jobs and that he had one before. But in public were treated as a joke, used to degrade women when he was in high school. The bullies used explicit sexual comments to make girls uncomfortable. Only a certain type of guy talked about blow jobs, and it wasn’t the honorable ones. Worse, there was a subset who made their women do that for them. He’d come to think of it as abusive, until the night he lost his virginity. The woman he was with offered and took his surprise as willingness. It felt amazing but he doubts it was good for her. His girth his too wide and the thrust of his hips, as hard as he’d tried to hold back, couldn’t have felt nice. Europe also taught him a different perspective on the practice but he still didn’t feel good about it. The attitude of the boys in Brooklyn, the ones who’d been crude and mean, stuck in his mind.

Steve’s distress is clear to see. This makes you hold off on pushing for more because you can tell how much it bothers him. He’s learned about sex in a very different era than the one you grew up in. After some thought, you decide that Steve’s experiences need to be challenged. He deserves all the attention and pleasure you can give him. He deserved the whole world but all you have to offer is your body. Knowing your boyfriend, that should suit him just fine.

First, you make sure your oral skills are up to the task. He has a point about his size. A few clicks on the internet and $5.78 for overnight delivery gets you a similar model to practice with. Steve is worried enough about this that you don’t want to show up unprepared. He’s thick but it’s the length that threatens you. When you take him in the cowgirl position, his tip presses fully against your cervix. The intensity of it is something you’re only starting to get used to.

A week of practice gets your confidence up and helps you figure out how to deal with the challenges of his size. When you tell Steve that you want to try focusing on him for a change, he’s willing. Your reaction to his explanation had been festering. He’d seen how sad it made you that he didn’t want to explore all the possibilities of pleasure with you. In the ensuing days, he’d been haunted by new worries. He thinks about how being cut off from using his mouth on you would feel. It wasn’t the same thing. But he’s thought about it enough that he at least wants to try.

Sucking his cock only allows you to cover half of him. You have to use your hands on the rest. Steve groans and goes tense as you figure out what he likes most. His abdomen is taut with desire and his shallow breathing makes you feel like a goddess. The single minded pursuit he applies when giving you pleasure inspires your efforts. He’s gasping when you turn your attention to the spot on the underside of his cock where the shaft and glans meet. As you stroke your thumb over those concentrated nerves, he bucks into your hand. The feeling of complete power floods your mind. Seeing him wrapped up in utter pleasure, his chest damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed made you dizzy with power. Dropping your head to his leaking tip, you slowly suck him dry, taking orgasm after orgasm from his enhanced body. When you’re done, Steve is lax. His eyes are half lidded and as you curl up against his side like a kitten, he slurs his words trying to thank you. Joy curls in your chest like the blossom of a flower opening in springtime. You’re content to relax with him but his hands wander over your body. He reached down and his fingers glide between your thighs. They’re an absolute mess. Steve is a beautiful man and his helpless reactions did incredible things to your body.

His fingers slip into your heat without resistance. You’re so wet the juices are running down your inner thighs. It’s absolutely soaked - ‘wet’ doesn’t even begin to cover how much your pussy drooled while you focused on him. His fingers sink into you, welcoming the invasion with greedy muscles that snap tight on the digits.

“Sweetheart, you’re so fucking wet.”

He’s breathless at the discovery.

“You taste so good, Stevie. I love feeling you in my mouth and having your hands in my hair.”

“Fuck. You like it this much?”

His fingers tease your folds, exploring the slippery crevices as he stares at you in shock. You tilt your hips into his hand and moan.

“Don’t ask, just use your fingers. I swear, I’ll cum in less than a minute.”

Steve’s nostrils flare. Then he does as he’s told. You clench your arms around his neck, struggling in the grip of a vicious orgasm as his fingers wreck you. When it finishes, he draws you close and presses his forehead to yours. Your legs are like jello and the urge for sleep is overwhelming.

“Why do you like that so much? I thought women only did it to please their men. Pressuring you into something you wouldn’t like turned me off, but you’re so responsive. You’re so wet, it feels like I already ate you out.”

“It’s a power trip,” you slur, still in a daze.

“It’s not… degrading for you?”

You twist to look at him and frown.

“It’s degrading if you’re with someone who’s too rough about it. But you’re a complete gentleman. I want you to know what it’s like to lay back, relax, and enjoy. Being able to knock everything out of a man’s head is a powerful thing for a woman. For those of us who like blow jobs, that's usually the motivation.”

“I didn’t realize what it did for you.”

“You’ve tried out every single pussy eating technique known to man. Why?”

“It’s my responsibility. I need to satisfy you. If I couldn’t do that, I’d be devastated.”

You tilt your head. “But it’s multiple orgasms. One would satisfy me. Why keep going?”

“Baby, you’re capable of so much more pleasure. I love seeing you…” His eyes brighten as realization dawns. “Damn it, honey you could have just explained.”

“Demonstrating was much more fun.”

- - - - - - - -

His favorite time to receive oral is when he’s just come back from a mission. Exhausted, he falls into bed, but the adrenaline won’t let him fall asleep. His body responds to the excess hormones, causing a painful hard on between his legs. Prior to your relationship, Steve hated times like this. He’s too tired to jack off. He doesn’t even want to move. When you come to bed and curl around him, the urgent need is the first thing you feel.

“Steve… aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“I can’t.”

His voice is rough with sleep. Even in the midst of a post adrenaline rush, he’s so worn out that he’s dozing, half awake and half asleep. The throbbing in his groin is the only reason he’s not unconscious.

Your hand slips into his boxers and wraps around his length. Even weak with exhaustion, he ruts into your hand and moans. The arch of his hips is uncontrollable.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good,” he moans.

“Is this the problem? Hmmm… is this why you can’t sleep?”

“Ugh…” Steve rolls his body into your touch.

It always makes you smile softly at his relaxed face, the lower half slack with sleep and pleasure while his brow wrinkles with need.

“Do you need me to help you out, baby?”

“Please, doll. I need you.”

“Okay, let me see what I can do.”

You shove his boxers down just enough to free the aching erection. When your tongue strokes across the underside and up to the tip, where you swirl the drops of pre-cum away, Steve whines. When he’s nearly passed out his vocalizations are raw. You revel in his desperate sounds as you take him into your mouth. Your ministrations are slow, wet, and gentle. He’s hypersensitive in the post adrenaline state and you’re careful not to be too rough.

It never lasts long - he’s past holding back and the sensation is heightened for him. Your hand wraps around his base and you suck slowly on the tip. He empties himself after less than two minutes. When he cums, he groans and the muscles in his abdomen twitch. You swallow his release and feel his body go limp. He’s already drifting into sleep as you tug his boxers back up and curl around him. A heavy arm settles around your waist and he turns, slipping his leg between yours and burrows into you. Wrapping your arms around his back, all you can think about is how much you love him.

- - - - - - -

Next Letter - P is for Pace

- - - - -

Steve Rogers Alphabet masterlist

Masterlist

- - - - -

Tag List: You must confirm you are over 18 before | will tag you on explicit content.

@harrysthiccthighss @patzammit @mariestark @fckdeusername @badassbaker @elrw24 @shamelessfangirl-3 @meetmeatyourworst @mrsdeanwinchester19 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @peakascum

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

FEVER-DREAM ; echo/reader

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough.

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway.

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use.

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives.

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing.

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika.

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good.

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky.

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin.

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough.

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto.

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling.

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized.

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now.

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep.

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin.

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details.

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link.

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile.

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak.

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel.

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch.

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed.

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot.

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you.

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation.

Your mouth is moving before you realize it.

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?”

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way.

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.”

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact.

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right.

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

#HE IS A CORPORAL!!!!!#let echo say fuck #and omega #echo x reader #echo imagine #arc trooper echo x reader #echo/reader #echo/you #echo x you #tcw imagine #tbb imagine #sw imagine #the bad batch imagine #THANK YOU ANON WHO SENT ME THE UPDATED SPREADS #LOVE U ANGEL

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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

it's messy inside, let me take your coat

Summary: “I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut, female nudity), strong language, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of fluff, soft and nervous Bucky Barnes, original female character friends, one-night stand, body insecurity, anxiety

Word Count: 8723

A/N: This story was written for @eurynome827 and her 2k follower challenge with the prompt "Mimosas and Bloody Marys at brunch." Thank you for hosting and congrats again on your milestone!

main masterlist | AO3

“Cheers!”

The flutes clink together, orange juice sloshing and spilling and dripping down the glasses and onto the table as your giggles fade into the background noise of the café’s patio. You tip your head back as you drink, mimosas bubbly in your throat like your own happiness, threatening to pour out of you and dribble onto your shirt, already tipsy.

“God,” Carissa says, throwing herself back into the metal chair, “I cannot wait to have his babies.”

Beside her, Kora claps. “I can’t wait to be an aunt! I’m going to spoil them all so rotten you’re going to want to throttle me by the end of it.”

“Spoil them all you want, I’m having eight of ‘em.”

At that, you go ahead and polish off your drink, carbonation stinging your throat, and while you set the empty glass down your hand goes up in the air, signaling the waiter for another.

Sara points at you. “I’m with her.” She makes a face at Carissa. “If you have eight kids I will make like your dad and bounce.”

Kora slaps her on the knee but the four of you descend into laughter anyway, and it’s easy and light and beautiful, like always. Washington D.C. can be pretty in this way—iron-wrought fencing and fancy metal tables and red patio tiling. Good food, better mimosas, best friends. There’s a breeze in the air that’s calling for autumn, scattering cloth napkins sitting in laps and spreading the scent of fresh baked bread.

The bags at your feet carrying your new shoes for the winter wedding that’s approaching rustle. That feeling isn’t just D.C. It’s excitement and love and adoration, too.

Carissa, bride to be, catches you in her gaze. “When are you going to finally settle down, huh?” She gestures across the table at you with her half-filled mimosa. Everyone else looks at you too, waiting for your response.

You shrug. “You’re having plenty of babies, I don’t need any.”

“I don’t mean babies,” she says. “I mean a human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment.”

“You need—no, you deserve—someone to take care of you!” Kora adds. “You’re always taking care of everyone. Don’t you want someone to, y’know, take care of you?”

“I have plenty of vibrators in my empty apartment.”

Sara snorts, covering her mouth. The waiter delivers another round, thank god.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask, sighing. “You’re just bothering me ‘cause it’s wedding season and you want to set me up with your weird—”

“He’s not weird,” Carissa interrupts. “He’s tall and he’s mysterious which is exactly your type.”

“She’ll find someone when the time is right,” Sara says. “Just ‘cause we’re happy with our boyfriends doesn’t mean she needs one to be happy.”

“Thank you, Sara, my one-true-best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world.” You force your glass against hers in a loud clank, turning the heads of all the patrons on the café’s patio before taking a gulp. Your face is already getting a little hot, the alcohol hitting you. This is why you aren’t allowed to pregame before you go to brunch anymore.

“We’re not trying to force you,” Kora starts, but her mouth is pulled into a concerned frown. “We really do just want you to be as happy as we are, that’s all.”

You smile at her. “I know.”

And you do know. You understand. It’s been years now since you’ve had anything real—anything worthwhile, to be specific. At some point, the relationships slowed down. Boyfriends became friends with benefits when you were working on your masters. Friends with benefits became ignored booty calls at two in the morning when you started your dissertation, on the road to get your doctorate. Now, you’re lucky to go home with someone from the bar, and they never, ever, come home with you.

It’s okay. You aren’t lonely. The right person just hasn’t landed in your lap, and maybe that’s kind of because it’s not open, but it’s just ‘cause you’re busy. You’re busy. Passionate. Need to change the world.

Love can wait.

The next mimosa is finished and you’re feeling a little fuzzy.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell Carissa. “I’m happy for all of you, and I’m happy with my life, and I’m happy that we’re all together and we’re celebrating and I’m happy that you all care about me enough to worry but I’m perfectly fine with how things are.”

Carissa smiles, but it’s got too much teeth. “I could set you up with Kie—”

“No, no setting me up with Kieran or Harry or Josh or anyone. But especially not Kieran.”

You’d already fucked him once and it wasn’t worth the experience.

“Fine! Fine.” Carissa busies herself with her drink. “No setting you up with Kieran.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the reception!” You pull out your phone and open the planning spreadsheet, smiling. “So I called the venue for you about the tables…”

This is easier. Planning Carissa’s wedding, helping support her, being excited for her—that’s easier than talking about your love life. If anything, this is your love life. Taking care of the people you love, your best friends, having fun and being together and romanticizing the time you spend with them. It’s not just mimosas over brunch and a green spreadsheet for wedding planning. With them, it’s the wind in your hair and the sun making your eyes sparkle and the alcohol making all your insides feel effervescent.

It’s love. It’s perfection. It’s your own brand of happiness.

And sure, maybe it’s a little defensive, but this is easier than loving someone and trying to make them love you. It’s easier.

“Whose dress are we still waiting on?” Carissa asks a little later, mouth full of avocado and bacon and looking very un-bridely.

“Mine,” Kora says, a little guiltily. “It’s at the tailor getting taken in—again.”

“I have mine,” you pipe up, wiping your mouth of jam. “And god, do I look like a full course Michelin star meal in that piece. Like, we’re talking ass for days, legs for days, tits for—”

“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me.” A man, towering over the café table makes himself known, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a look on his visage that you can’t name.

“—days,” you finish, swallowing hard.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says with a smile, “but I’m raising money for uh, breast cancer awareness, and I was hoping you would donate and sign up for uh, a marathon we’re doing.”

You blink. “Sorry,” you tell him, “but we don’t carry cash on us.” With a small smile, you nod at him, your eyes passing over your friends and looking around the café to see if any of the other patrons have noticed what’s going on. None of them look bothered.

“Not even for breast cancer awareness? C’mon, girl.”

“We don’t carry cash,” Sara repeats with a deadpan, but her eyes don’t meet his.

He doesn’t look at her either, content to stare at you, and your skin crawls.

“What about signing up for the marathon?”

“Fine,” you snap. Anything to get him to leave you all alone. “How do I sign up?”

“You give me your phone number and I’ll text you the details.” His grin is a little wider now, edging a little closer to where you sit at the table. You’re regretting that third mimosa. You aren’t on your game. The panic running through you is covered in a champagne haze.

You scoff. “No way.” Immediately you grab your purse, digging through it, and you slam a handful of loose change onto the table in front of him. “Here—a donation. Now please leave.”

His face twists into a scowl, but he scoops the money off the table and pockets it.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he suddenly says, and anger courses through you until you shoot up from your seat, chair skidding behind you. He’s tall—much taller than your short stature. But, fuck it, the alcohol’s dimming the fear and fueling the need for you to protect your friends.

When you glance over, Carissa is already gathering the bags, eyes wide. Kora has her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to make herself smaller, ready to run. Sara’s phone is in her hand, 9-1-1 already dialed.

And still, no one in the café is doing a goddamn thing.

“Excuse me?” You glare up at the man.

“I just wanted your number, you fat bitch.” He sneers. “No wonder you’ve got an attitude, you obviously don’t get laid.”

Really, you can sit there and say it isn’t the fat comment. It’s not the insult. You’re used to that, with your overly-generous curves and your soft jawline and the fact that you’re wearing a skirt showing off the cellulite running through your thighs like a creek and a crop top that lets everyone peek at your stretch marks. You’re used to it.

And, really, you could handle this better. You certainly have before ‘cause this isn’t the first time you’ve been hustled or the first time some creep has hit on you. Old men have been slapping your ass in public since you were sixteen. You’re hot, you get it. If you saw yourself on the street you’d want a piece of your own goddamn ass, too. It comes with the territory, but it’s gross. And it’s sad but you’re used to it. So it’s not him calling you a fat bitch.

It’s the comment about getting laid. It’s sore as fuck.

You grab your would-be fourth mimosa and drench him in it, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering upon the patio’s tiled floor in an instant.

“Slut!” The man lunges for you and you jump away, bumping into the table and losing your footing. You fall to the ground as glass comes crashing down around you, spilling sweet-smelling alcohol all over you. Ouch. Your friends scream, but you can’t take your eyes off him.

And then a gleam of black and gold blurs past you and grabs the creep by his neck, throwing him down. Now, a tall, wide body dressed in a dark hoodie is blocking you, guarding you, sheltering you.

“Try it,” Mystery Savior says.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Carissa chants, calling your name.

Your hand is sticky when you wave her away. “Get out of here, I’m fine. Just go. I’ll meet you—meet you at Kora’s.”

“We’re not leaving you!” Sara shouts, but something, maybe adrenaline or fear or fucking champagne, is running through your blood vessels at high speed.

“Just go!” you scream back at her. “I’m not fucking kidding, go!”

Because if there is one redeemable thing about you, it’s the length you’ll go to keep the people you love safe. And Mystery Savior might have just choked a creep out for you, but he also choked a creep out for you, and that’s enough to get your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t know who the good guy is—if there even is a good guy here.

“Fuck,” the creep curses, but it comes out raspy as he grasps at his quickly bruising neck. “You’re a—” he wheezes, “—you’re a murderer!”

Mystery Savior holds up his hands, and that’s when you see it. The black and gold of a vibranium arm just peeking out of the sleeve of his hoodie.

This isn’t a murderer. Not a Mystery Savior either. This is James Bucky Barnes, the Avenger, holy shit. Definitely good guy. Probably. He’s reformed, the news talks about it.

“Caught me,” he says, voice monotone. “What are you gonna do about it?”

If you weren’t currently sprawled on the ground, covered in mimosa, and panicking wildly about whatever is unfolding right in front of you, the very buzzed part of your brain would really appreciate the smoothness of Bucky’s voice when he said that, the cool, calm, collected delivery.

You’ll file it in the back of your mind for when you go back to your empty apartment.

“That fat ass ain’t worth it,” the creep chokes out, scrambling to get up. As soon as he’s on his feet, poised to take off, Bucky moves faster than you could have imagined and grabs the guy by his shirt.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You can’t see his face, but you think Bucky might be smiling.

A portly man, a little shorter than Bucky, pushes through the gathering crowd, eyes wide and panicked, face red, already sweating. When you glance at his golden nametag, it reads: Jason, Manager. Cool that the manager showed up this late. If Bucky hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably be in a pile of limbs on the ground by now. Also—is he going to comp your bill? ‘Cause at this point, you’re starting to think you deserve it.

Okay, not a good time to be distracted.

“Thank you for getting him, sir,” the manager says, a little breathless. “Winter Soldier, sir.”

“It’s Bucky,” he says, and then he shoves the creep toward the manager. “Not sure why you didn’t step in before he got violent.”

Exactly! Why did everyone just stand around and do nothing as some six-foot man hustled the four women sitting beside the street? You glance around again, seeing your friends have disappeared and now, both the wait staff and other café patrons, are crowded around your table. It’s a little unsettling how no one cared to even look at you until everything escalated.

As the manager grabs the creep and hauls him off toward the street to wait for the cops, Bucky Barnes relaxes his shoulders and turns toward you slowly, and it’s—well, for lack of a better word—it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

He looks nothing like the superhero in the pictures. Here, with the D.C. sun hitting him unabashedly, his slate eyes like glass marbles, the lines surrounding them wrinkled in concern, his tongue darting between his lips to wet the skin where his teeth bite down, a habitual sore, his short locks ruffled by the breeze or maybe the fight or maybe he just wakes up perfectly rumpled, here he looks like a man.

“You okay?” he asks, somehow nonchalant and still worried, and he holds out a calloused hand to you.

Or, well, maybe Bucky had been watching. And maybe that’s enough.

God, you don’t even know this man outside of his Avenger persona, the headlines you read on the news, the pictures you see on social media, but there’s just something about him that makes you want to trust him. Like he guarantees safety, and you know that no one, least of all an Avenger, can guarantee safety. Even if that’s their job.

Stop feeling safe around him.

But you take his hand anyway, his long, thick fingers folding over your own like he means to swallow them, and Bucky pulls you up as though you weigh nothing. In fact, he does it so easily that you crash straight into him with a yelp and his arms instantly slide around your waist to catch you as your knees go weak, buckling beneath you.

When you look up at him, your hands trying to find purchase in the material of his hoodie, he’s staring down at you with the hint of a smile.

“Thanks,” you say, quiet and a little stunned.

His lips crack a little wider. “No problem.”

For a few seconds longer than deemed socially appropriate, you stare at Bucky, captured by the changing color of his blue-gray eyes. And then, as if god is slapping you on the back of your head, you blink and remember that you are covered in alcohol and currently pressed against the chest of a superhero, and your eyes go wide as you quickly push away from him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m disgusting—you probably have orange juice all over you now, fuck.”

“Hey,” he says, his flesh hand wrapping around your upper arm to steady you, “it’s okay. Seriously though, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to say something and then shut it again when you realize nothing sounds like the right answer. Bucky waits patiently though, peering down at you, his grip a little more grounding than you wish it was.

“Yes?” you say, but it sounds like a question. “I mean, maybe? I’m—It’s not like I’m not used to this happening. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowns. “Used to it?”

You shrug. “Not all men are superheroes. Most don’t have good intentions. And I’m not even that pretty, can you imagine what other women deal with?”

It slips out before you realize it, the self-hatred you keep at bay.

“Not pretty?” Bucky’s face twists into something confused. “That guy assaulted you just to get your number. I’m not saying it’s right, but if you think you aren’t pretty, well that’s just wrong.”

Oh god, what are you supposed to say now? So stupid. If you had just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have forced an Avenger—a really fucking hot Avenger—to give you an awkward compliment and now you have to scramble to figure out what to say. If you deny the compliment, you’ll look ungrateful. If you accept the compliment, that’s too egotistical. Too into yourself.

You’ve backed yourself into a corner here, and Bucky’s on the other side of the ring.

“Look,” he interrupts your inner monologuing, running a hand through his hair and glancing away, “if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re—well—you’re gorgeous. I hope you know that.”

Your mouth falls open and you stare at him, nervous energy radiating off him, and when his eyes shift back to yours he coughs.

“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not—I’m not trying to hit on you after what just happened, I promise.” His eyes go wide, then, and he throws his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “That’s not to say I’m not! Not hitting on you. I mean, shit, I just think you’ve gotta be the most beautiful dame—woman, sorry—that I’ve seen in years.”

There’s something soft about it, something sweetly suffocating, like buttercream frosting in the back of your throat, about his nervousness. The gentle panic, the way his eyes go back and forth from the ground at your feet to your eyes like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t said the wrong thing, but he just keeps putting his foot in his mouth like it’s a magnet to metal. It’s endearing. It’s real.

“Do you want to get a drink with me?” you blurt out, and Bucky blanches. “I know it’s only, like, noon but I need a drink. And I owe you. For saving me.”

He relaxes at this, another one of those small smiles easing its way onto his face, and his shoves his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t just panicking two seconds ago about calling you a dame, which if anyone else had done, you would have socked them in the mouth, but he’s like one-hundred-and-six or something and you kinda get it.

“The drinks you’re wearing ain’t enough, doll?”

A laugh breaks from your mouth and he lights up, grinning.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You can’t help the smile splitting your own lips. “Sure, make fun of the girl who just got hustled, easy prey.”

The way he looks at you is burning.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. “James Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. When you give him your name, he almost looks like he wants to try it out, but he keeps it on his tongue like he’s tasting it instead.

“So, a drink?” he asks, a little cautiously.

“I’d like that.” Then, you look down and curse. “But I’m gross. I really need to go home and change.”

Bucky nods, but a look of disappointment crosses his face, there and then gone again, just enough to make your heart tighten into a painful brick weight atop your chest. Everything in your brain is saying no, don’t do it, don’t do it. But your heart hurts and it hurts for him, a man you’ve only met in news articles and awkward interviews until now, when he’s saved you from being slapped around by some creep or worse, and god, you have such a soft heart sometimes and it’s gotten you in trouble before but you can’t just ignore it.

“Do you like Bloody Marys?”

His eyes meet yours again and you’re drawn into the storm that swirls in his irises once again.

“Never had one,” he admits. “They don’t look much like a drink.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I have the stuff to make a really good one at home. And then I could change and clean up a little and still y’know, thank you for saving my life? I mean it’s not much, but—”

“Yes,” he says, his voice as sure and steady as it was earlier when he was in hero mode. “That sounds great.”

Oh, you’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

The walk back to your apartment isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not easy. Bucky walks beside you like a forcefield, using his body to guide you through the throng of people walking along the streets without even touching you. He reminds you of a sheepdog. The thought almost makes you laugh more than a few times during your stroll.

He walks with his hands in his pockets most of the way, especially his metal one. And he isn’t much of a talker, not that you mind as long as he keeps answering the questions you’re asking him, like what kind of food he likes and what he thinks about sphynx cats and if he likes memes—of which his answers consist of anything, what the hell is that and why is it naked, and a resounding yes.

Bucky asks some of his own questions, though they are few and far between and a lot more cohesive and meaningful than your own. He asks about how long you’ve lived in Washington D.C., about what you do for a living, and about your friends.

“Why did they leave you there?” He’s staring at you when he asks, brows sharp and furrowed.

“Because I told them to,” you answer. “I didn’t want them to get hurt or anything. And I’m kind of the person that if I’m yelling, you better listen ‘cause I’m usually yelling for a good reason.”

He nods like he understands, but his lips are pressed flat. “They shouldn’t have left you.”

You shrug. “I wanted them to. I would’ve been more pissed if they hadn’t run off and gotten tangled up in the middle of everything.”

“You’re a good person,” he says, still looking at you. His face is softer, that hint of a curve in his mouth the only sign that anything’s changed.

You give him your own smile. “Maybe.”

It’s only once you get to the front door of your apartment that things shift and your stomach rolls, heavy and fluttering light all at once, a not-so-familiar-anymore anxiety chilling your skin. The keys in your hand jingle and you aren’t sure if it's because your fingers are shaking or not.

“It’s not much,” you say, beckoning him inside, “but y’know, it’s enough for me.”

Bucky steps through the door with a reverence, a caution, a carefulness that strikes you right in the heart. He looks out of place for a minute, like he’s never entered an apartment before. And then, as you kick off your shoes, losing the extra inch of height, smiling and gesturing for him to do the same, there’s something in him that snaps and bends and his shoulders fall, relaxed.

He toes off his boots, leaving them by the door, and suddenly there’s a different air in the apartment. Almost intimate. Comfortable.

Stop it. You don’t even know him.

“Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? A glass of water or something?”

Bucky shakes his head as he follows behind you, slowly, his eyes roaming over your space. It’s really not much, you know that. A little more than a box with a bathroom and a bedroom attached, what with the living room and the kitchen being “open-concept,” a word you’re pretty sure was invented to sell tiny apartments for more money. You don’t even have a table to sit at—just a couch to plunk down on while you’re eating.

“I’m alright, doll,” he says, running a hand over the soft cushions of said couch. “You go change, I’m fine.”

As soon as you disappear into your bedroom, the door locked behind you, you lean against the wood and let out a sigh. This is awkward. What the fuck were you thinking? Asking an Avenger—Bucky Barnes—back to your apartment for a drink? A bloody mary? Who are you trying to kid?

It’s been years, literal years since you’ve invited anyone back to your apartment. In fact, you don’t think anyone besides your friends has even stepped foot inside. Maybe they haven’t even made it to the door.

Why would you invite him here?

In frustration, you strip your dirty shirt off and throw it onto the floor, shimmy-ing out of your skirt and kicking it toward the hamper just as well. You sort through your drawers, looking for something comfortable to throw on. Or maybe you should wear something nice? Something that looks similar to what you wore to brunch. But Bucky’s dressed in jeans and a hoodie. But he also looks like a modern god in just that.

Fuck. You are fucked. Why did you ask him back to your place for a drink? What did you think would happen?

You throw an old band t-shirt over your head and pull a black pair of loose shorts up over your hips, cursing when you realize they don’t even hit mid-thigh. Does that seem suggestive? Is Bucky going to think you want to fuck him if you walk out in these?

Do you want to fuck Bucky?

No. No. This is not what this is about. You invited him over because you owed him a drink and because you needed to change and because he seemed so damn sad when you said you couldn’t go out for a drink. So you asked him to come home with you. Oh, god, that’s so complicated. What have you gotten yourself into?

Stop. Just stop thinking.

But—you have to admit it to yourself—you want it. You want him.

Your friends’ earlier words repeat in your head. A human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment. They aren’t wrong for thinking that it’s something you want. For most of your life, you’ve lived thinking that you shouldn’t need someone. But isn’t it okay to want someone? You’re tired of being alone. Bucky Barnes is the first man that’s been in your empty apartment since you moved in, and maybe it’s a bold move, but you know what?

You throw yourself out of your bedroom, probably looking a little too frazzled, and you quickly comb your fingers through your hair as nonchalantly as possible to fix the flyaways. Bucky’s sitting on your couch, looking lonely, his hands rigid on his spread knees.

He looks like he fits there, on your sofa, in your empty apartment.

“Look,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. When he looks at you, his eyes sweep over your body like he’s never seen a woman before; shy, timid, a little nervous, but there’s something else there. It’s the same thing that’s heating your insides right now.

“I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then a cocky grin is curling his lips up, his face brightening the entire apartment. You don’t know if your body is warm because you’re embarrassed at your own daring or because Bucky Barnes is so beautiful it’s criminal, but you know that there’s static and stretch in your limbs and desire pooling in your belly. Liquor and lust are chasing away whatever fears you had before.

“Really?” he asks, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that reminds you of what a fucking flirt he is, or that he can be, and you think butterflies might be taking up residence in your tummy.

“Really,” you mimic, wearing your own charmed smile. Bucky lets his head fall to the side as he looks over you, then crooks one metal finger at you, beckoning you to join him on the couch. With as much confidence as you can muster, you stride toward him, putting a little swing in your steps. Maybe you look crazy doing it, but it’s enough that his eyes flicker down to watch your hips, and it sends a thrill through you.

“This isn’t like me,” you tell him as you sink down beside him, as close as possible while still giving him space to bolt if he needs to. “I don’t invite strangers over to my house like this.”

He smiles and it’s warm and big and easy. “I’m glad you did,” he says.

God, his eyes are pretty. “Me too.”

With Bucky’s thigh pressed against yours, his hand resting dangerously close to one of your bare knees, knuckles brushing your skin every time he shifts, you’re melting into his touch and you don’t care. It’s intoxicating—not the alcohol, which you swear should be wearing off by now, but him.

“I don’t do this often,” you say again, like you need to defend your bold behavior.

“Does that mean I’m special?”

“I think so,” you murmur, only loud enough for him to hear being this close.

Kinder than you thought possible, somehow simultaneously suave but still a little nervous, and yet authentic to a fault, Bucky Barnes is a thousand and one contradictions. Nothing like you ever thought he’d be. And maybe that’s what gives you the courage, the thought that someone so hardened could be so soft. That someone who looks like him, chiseled and striking and like a charcoal sketching on stark paper, could turn red at your innuendos and your charmed quips. That there’s a chance he could be attracted to you.

This—This is the connection you’ve been waiting for. The person who makes you feel like this. Tipsy when you shouldn’t be tipsy anymore.

“I know we barely know each other, but I really, really want you, Bucky.”

Your shoulder is pressed to his shoulder, your chest nearing his chest, your chin tipped up to stare at his eyes, his nose, his parted lips. Bucky stares down at you, his Adam’s apple dipping and bobbing as he swallows hard. Your lips curl, threatening to giggle. He’s so damn cute. How can someone like him, an Avenger, a super soldier, look so cute?

But the hand at your knee finally creeps up your skin, his hot palm glossing over your bare thigh, resting a little higher than a friendly touch would go. He presses indents—not too hard, but not too soft—into your plush, silken flesh.

“You do?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lip and you want to follow it back into his mouth with your own.

To answer, you push closer, your hand coming up to drape across his neck, a little off-balance as you sit up on your knees.

“Mhm,” you hum, and that’s all he needs to grasp your thigh roughly and drag you over him, seating you upon his lap as a squeak of surprise flies from your lips. His hands fall to your hips as if your body was made for him to hold and suddenly you’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you instead, and god, he’s staring at you like you’re heaven and earth and everything he ever needed to be saved.

“I want you too,” he says, exhaling as if you’ve stolen all the air in his lungs.

“Then will you finally kiss me?” Your nose brushes his and his breath ghosts over your mouth.

Bucky’s lips surge up to meet yours, swallowing the last sounds of your words like it’s the first drink of water he’s had in years, cool and refreshing and tinged with smoke, something uniquely him.

As your hands thread through his short locks, desperate to hold onto him in any way, his fingers begin to curve over your ass. You rock into him, pressing against him harder, sucking at his plush lips as his tongue skims over your top lip until you grant him entry. Bucky kisses like he’s trying to taste every single part of you and it sends waves of pleasure through your belly and to your core, where you grind down until you feel his hardening length beneath you.

Immediately, you start to strip him of his hoodie, divesting him of that layer to feel the soft shirt beneath—but only barely because it’s hell trying to pull his hands away from where they’re touching you.

And he’s touching you everywhere. His fingers roam over every generous piece of your body. The silken planes of your thighs where he’s pushed your shorts up, the wide canyons of your hips, the bumpy hills of your waist where your stomach is too big and too soft and where he slips his mismatched hands under your shirt to trace the lines of your stretch marks. It isn’t long until he brushes by the band of your bra and then he’s tugging at the hem of the shirt, pulling away from your lips long enough to rid you of it.

You take the moment to rid him of his too, and then you’re both topless, still sitting atop his lap and panting from lack of air. No words are shared between you before Bucky is capturing your mouth again. It’s only passion, frenzied and hot and wanting.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra blindly as your teeth sink into his bottom lip, nipping and giggling and tangling your tongue around his. As soon as you hear the snap, you lean back and Bucky pulls it off you, flinging the offending garment somewhere else in the apartment.

Now, with your naked chest completely bared to him, you wait for it to happen. For his eyes to dart away, for the apprehension to cross his features, for the disgust to set it. The real reason that it’s been so long since you’ve invited someone into your empty apartment—into your empty life.

You’re scared.

Like you’re expecting the blow, you close your eyes and brace yourself, but you don’t cover up. You’ve learned not to cover up. You refuse to make yourself smaller, or prettier, or more tolerable for people. It’s why you don’t get entangled with one-night stands anymore, why you don’t ask strangers to come home with you, why you don’t let your girlfriends set you up with anyone. Because you refuse to make yourself something you’re not just to fit in, and that’s what always, always ends up happening.

Bucky touches you and it makes you flinch, his vibranium fingers a little chilly against the soft, warm skin of your stomach. He touches you and it’s electric, but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re too afraid to look and see the disappointment in his gorgeous blues.

His hands skim over your rib cage, sliding around the sides of your waist, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. You shiver at the contact. He continues his trail upwards, but then he lays his palms on your shoulders and caresses over your neck, his fingers finally finding the edge of your soft jaw to cradle your face. A shaky breath leaves you.

“Look at me,” he whispers, closer than you thought.

And no matter how much you’ll berate yourself over it later, there is something so safe about Bucky Barnes that your lashes flutter and your eyes open, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, staring at you with those stormy sea eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust, his pink lips parted in awe, and you gasp at the intensity that strikes right through the center of you.

“You’re…” he trails off, swallowing nervously again. “Doll, I don’t think I know a word in English that describes you.”

Bucky presses forward, his chest brushing against your hardened nipples, stealing your breath and then sealing your lips with a kiss that isn’t like before. This kiss isn’t needy or wanting or filled with teeth and tongue and desperation. This time, his mouth moves with yours as if he’s trying to spell out a thousand words in twenty different languages to tell you how he feels, his lips leading yours in a dance that isn’t worried about an audience or the music or if you step on his toes.

When he pulls away, you wonder if your mouth is as swollen as his.

“You’re perfect,” he says with a finality in his tone that almost makes you collapse into his arms.

Then, Bucky wastes no time and captures a nipple in between those swollen lips, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud noise in surprise. His metal hand finds your other breast, thumb stroking over the bud until you’re arching further into him. As his tongue traces patterns around one nipple, his fingers tweak and twist and pull its sister, and your hands grasp his broad shoulders in an attempt to hold on.

Finally, he presses gentle kisses over your rosy buds, all worn out by his touches, and then circles your breasts with more kitten licks and grazes of his teeth. Bucky’s hands settle at your hips again, fingers grasping your skin like he can’t get enough of the feel of you. He’s trying to imprint your body on his palms.

“I need to have you, doll,” he says all breathy as if he isn’t the one absolutely drenched right now. “Please. Please,” he asks so softly that you wonder if this is the man who even came to your rescue today, all tall and brooding. When you grind down on his lap again, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans as he lets out a groan and tightens his grip on your waist, you realize you’re not the only one feeling the tension.

Still, there’s something cheeky left in you and you reach out to swipe your finger across his nose, effectively booping it cutely. A grin splits your lips.

“You need me?” you ask teasingly. “What if I need you instead?”

It’s like it sets something ablaze in him or something, ‘cause as soon as you go in for another kiss, Bucky stands up from the couch, his hands cradling your ass as you shriek and wrap your legs around him in reflex.

“Oh my god—”

“Now you’ve done it,” he grunts, burying his face in your neck to pepper kisses all over the stretch of skin that encompasses your shoulder, your jawline, even up into your hairline by your ear.

“Oh my god, put me down Bucky, I’m—you’re gonna drop me, I’m too heavy!”

“Heavy?” He chuckles against your throat and the vibrations almost make you shudder in pleasure. God, what is this man doing to you? “Darlin’, I don’t think you know the meaning of heavy.”

Bucky flashes you a wide, almost predatory grin, and you wonder where that soft, nervous boy went.

“If I wanted to,” he says, his voice low and steady, “I could fuck you right here, in the middle of the room, for hours.” He must feel the shiver that goes through your entire body because he’s laughing again. “But I want to fuck you into your mattress if that’s okay. Can I do that?”

Your throat feels dry when you whisper, “Yes. Please.”

He punctuates your plea with a heated kiss to your lips, his tongue tasting the citrus and bubble from your mimosas, the alcohol long since worn off. It’s all him that you feel, all him that intoxicates you, and all him around you as he walks you into your bedroom, not even straining under your weight, and dumps you onto the middle of your sheets.

There, he cages you, hovering above you to kiss down your body, already intent on tearing your shorts off.

“Bucky,” you whine. In the afternoon light streaming through the single window in your room, his eyes are a startling color you wish you could name, all clear and confident and crystal and god, god, his fingers are already exploring the slit of your core so lightly it makes you flush and want to hide, your inner thighs sticky and coated in your own slick from how hot he’s made you with such simple touches.

“You want me?” he asks as if he doesn’t know.

“Yes,” you hiss in pleasure, body writhing beneath him. Bucky leans down to kiss the shell of your ear, his tongue blazing a hot trail that makes you moan and buck your hips up to meet his, but he won’t have any of that.

“Good,” he says, “‘cause I need to have you, and I don’t plan on letting you go ‘till I’ve gotten everything you’ve got to give, doll.”

That nervous Bucky, all awkward smiles and panicked glances and sweet lines, he’s gone. In his place is this Bucky, assured and charming and suave and smooth and making your eyes roll back into your head until a scream is threatening to burst from your lips unless he swallows it with his own kiss, which he does, over and over again.

“I’m gonna ravage you, darlin’.”

You aren’t sure which one you like better—but is it greedy to say both?

As the light of a new day spreads through your apartment, you awaken easily, softly, but painfully. Someone’s pulled the blankets up to your chin and tucked them around you, and the thought leaves an empty feeling inside of you. When you stretch, every part of you burns deliciously, a memory from the hours spent in bed, on the couch, on the fucking counter after you’d eaten and he still wasn’t satisfied, and then again in bed.

And now, looking over at the space beside you, he’s gone. His clothes are gone from the floor. There’s no sound echoing in the building. He even left you tucked in, for god’s sake.

Your apartment is just as it always has been—empty.

With a groan, you kick the covers off and plant your feet on the floor, willing yourself to get up. The ache in your muscles is nothing more than a pleasant memory, an unpleasant reminder of the marks he left on you, his absence.

Stop it. You shouldn’t have even gotten attached to him in the first place. You knew what this was, and he did too, and it’s no wonder he’s gone this morning.

Get over it.

You swipe an oversized shirt from your dresser and throw it over your head as you stride out toward the kitchen, content to go pantyless for the day after the abuse you put it through last night. Yawning, your eyes screwed shut in another big stretch to warm up your overused muscles, you hear him before you see him.

“Mornin’, doll.”

Like that, your eyes snap open and he’s there, standing in your tiny kitchen in nothing but last night’s boxers, looking fucking glorious in the spotlight of the warm sun that’s streaming through the room and highlighting the counters.

“Bucky?” you ask, but it’s a little loud and a little shrieking, something you don’t intend. But all he does is smile at you, metal fingers tapping the plastic countertop, so at ease he just looks like he belongs there.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast but you have nothing in your fridge,” he jokes, leaning back against the drawers and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

You shift, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah, I need to go shopping.”

A long stretch of silence fills your apartment and you’re unsure of what to say in order to break it. Bucky’s clearly watching you, drinking in the sight of your love-marked body, bruises peeking out of the hem of your shirt that barely skims past the tops of your thighs, and you remember you’re wearing nothing underneath.

And he’s here, right here, and you really aren’t sure why. It seems the two of you have almost switched places. Where Bucky was nervous and shy at first, he’s now confident and comfortable and you’re left with heated cheeks and a tongue-tied in knots. Whatever boldness that came over you all yesterday has fled.

It’s left a deep pocket of insecurity inside of you.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, like you don’t care, but your voice shakes a little. He’s too far away to really tell, but you think a flash of hurt passes over Bucky’s brow.

“‘Cause you still owe me a drink,” he says as if it's obvious, a small smile still sitting so prettily on his mouth.

You blink, a little confused, but shuffle closer. “Bloody Mary?”

“Yeah,” he says with a deep breath, his grin growing bigger the closer that you come toward him. “Will you still make me one?”

You nod, toes finally crossing into the kitchen, and then you and Bucky are staring at each other. There are scratches left like the bones of a graveyard on his arms, and you’re almost sure if he turned around they’d cover his neck and back just as well. Seeing those reddened marks, similar to the bruises he’s left on you, makes you relax your shoulders just a little.

“Do you need help?” he asks, eyes sweeping over your barely covered form.

“No,” you say, heading to the kitchen which is little more than a countertop, a stove, and a fridge. “But you can keep me company.”

So this is what happens in the morning after. Bucky leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a burning intensity that nearly matches last night’s, and you pull all the ingredients out and line them up next to two glasses and try not to falter under his gaze. He looks at you like you’re this fascinating thing he needs to study and it bothers you, but only in the best of ways.

“Do you always stare this hard at your dates?” A smile plays at your lips as you crack open the tomato juice.

He doesn’t look away. “No,” he says, but he sounds unsure. “Is this a date, doll?” There’s something in his voice that you can’t figure out, faintly hopeful, fairly confused. Vaguely surprised, even.

You shrug. “Maybe.” Especially after all of yesterday, you would hope he thought so.

But Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

Ow.

That hurt more than you were expecting it to. Calling yourself his date had only been a joke meant to lighten the mood, ease him up a little, cure the tension swirling in the room. You guess you should have expected it, though. You owed him a drink—he didn’t owe you a date. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, anyway.

All you had done was sleep together, for fuck’s sake. This is why you hate morning afters. This is why you would have preferred it if he had been gone when you woke.

But was that even true? Because the relief you felt when you found him waiting for you in the kitchen was immense and hard to understand.

You open the bottle of vodka a little more forcefully than you intended.

“When we go out on a real date,” he continues, and your eyes meet, “I’ll be taking you out and treating you.” A slow grin crawls over his face that reminds you of his wicked mouth and what it can do and the sight makes your heart beat and beat and beat, faster and faster, like the wings of a hummingbird, quick quick quick.

“When?”

“When,” he affirms.

“That’s bold of you,” you say, popping ice cubes from a tray into the glasses.

“Maybe,” he says, “but I know what I want now.” Bucky shifts a little closer to you, his vibranium arm brushing by the bare skin of your soft one as you try and focus on not spilling the juice, but you can smell him and he smells like cedar and bergamot and smoke and clove. A smell that consumed you whole last night, surrounded you, drowned you in it.

He’s so close you can feel him inhale.

“I’ve lived a long time not knowing—not getting to decide—what I want,” he admits, his voice low and quiet and soothing your nervous heart. “So you can call it bold, but I call it right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your hands still and you look up at him, eyes wide. In the soft white lights of your tiny kitchen, sharing the tight space with him so close, Bucky’s eyes are thunder and rain and lightning all at once, peace and chaos both, promising release and the sweet scent of earth and oil afterward.

“You don’t even know me,” you whisper.

Bucky leans closer. “But I want to.”

He’s so close, too close, close enough that he can surely hear the rhythm of your heart, unsteady and racing just for him. You could surge forward and kiss him, stake your claim once again on those pinkened lips that have held your attention from the first time you saw them, feel the stubble of his jaw rub against the soft peach fuzz of your own, let it remind you of how it felt against the apex of your thighs as he made you cry out over and over again, breaking on his tongue over and over again.

It makes you feel dizzier than any alcohol ever could.

But Bucky reaches over, past you, and takes one of the glasses from your hand, warm fingers brushing over your cooler ones. He holds it up, toward you, gesturing for a toast. With a swallow, hardly glancing away from his slate eyes to grab the other glass, you tap your Bloody Mary against his with a soft clink.

He watches you over the rim as he takes his first sip and you think he might be smirking. Then, he darts toward you and takes your lips in his own, tasting of spice and tomato juice and perfection, all Bucky, all for you.

When he pulls away, too quickly, he rests his forehead against your and looks down at you, staring into your hazy eyes.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks, like he doesn’t know what you’ll say. The soft, nervous Bucky is peeking out from behind his confident visage once again, his voice hopeful and frightened and the hand that’s gliding beneath your shirt and over your waist more timid than it was last night.

There’s a million things you can say. You can tell him to take you out to brunch instead. You can tell him you’re too busy. You can tell him that this was a one-night stand, it was only ever meant to be a one night stand, and that it was fun but you can’t afford to get attached to him and god, you know you’re going to get attached to him if he stays and that scares the ever-living fuck out of you. You can tell him that it’s messy here, inside your empty apartment, inside your empty heart. You can tell him that he could take up residence here. You can tell him so, so many things.

“Yes,” you say instead, and Bucky laughs against your mouth when he kisses you hard once more.

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