#it keeps not happening and I’m about to dry hump the wall

[grahammmzcrackerrz]

✂️

#that’s it #that’s the post #i’m desperate #it keeps not happening and I’m about to dry hump the wall #puppygraham rambles :3 #t4t nsft #mlm nsft

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶"Can I kiss you?"✶

NSFW — smut, blowjob, swallowing, ball worship, cock worship, grinding, dry humping, first kiss, slow burn, flirting, mutual pining, eddie is touch starved, mild angst, 18+

chapter: 10/20 [wc: 25.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 10: The Intentional Second Date

Smoke trembled past his lips in stuttered bursts.

It was Eddie’s second cigarette of the morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for him; sometimes he needed a second one when Adrie gave him trouble before preschool, or if he had a bad night’s sleep and relied on nicotine to help delay the impending headache, but that’s not why he was smoking again today. Adrie woke up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and told him she loved him in the carpool lane. She was a dream. His nightmare, on the other hand, was coming to fruition. Because of course he couldn’t remember where he’d set his wallet if it weren’t chained to his pants on a sober day, but drinking enough to where he should’ve been plastered? He remembered it all. He remembered it all.

Oh, he remembered it all.

And when he heard the front employee door to the auto shop unlock, he held his breath, and counted down the routine seconds for you to pop your head out in the alleyway and greet him, and when it didn’t happen.. He knew you remembered too.

The morning smile did not come. No greeting. No laughter. Just nothing. Nothing happened except for the glass door to the lobby opening, and you going inside.

He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up.

He made things weird, and now you were avoiding him, as you had every right to after he tried to initiate phone sex without warning— Consent? Consent. Both of you were inebriated to some degree, and he’d never felt more like a creep.

Oh, God.

His knees went weak.

Anxious bile sloshed in his seizing stomach. His face broke out in a cold sweat. Knots constricted tighter. Heart beating in his throat. Decisions—mistakes—put stars in his vision. His world was ending, and it pounded at his temples. This was it. This was it. He fucked up.

“Good morning, hand—Oh?”

Eddie froze.

You leaned more than your head out the door, and stepped onto the concrete slab. All your tender attention was on him, studying his pale face, and his hunched form. Your eyebrows swooped in worry at how he was crouched to the reedy weeds instead of standing tall with his back against the gray bricks. A frown slighted your smile, insulting your beauty when you saw him bent down, knees to his chest, holding his head while his other hand shook hard enough the cigarette pinched between his fingers fell amongst the rocks.

“Eddie? You don’t look good. Are you okay?”

His lips parted.

Was he dreaming? Was the lift of delight in your tone when you first went to greet him, and then the drop to concern ebbing your voice deeper when he appeared ill a figment of his imagination? Were you about to call him handsome? Was this the second chance he didn’t deserve?

“Eddie?”

“Yeah!” His exclamation helped him stand, and the twitch of your lips battled his nausea. “Yeah, I just had a long night,” he lied.

Lightheaded, he concentrated on keeping balanced in his woozy lurch towards the wall.

Sharp edges of rocks slid against one another under your winter boots. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sincere, as was your silly quirk of swinging your arms to point finger guns towards the garage. “I brought donuts this morning, and went ahead and made coffee, so they’re both fresh if you’re the type to dunk.” You mimicked dunking a donut into a mug of coffee. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

Endearing. Genuinely, honestly, so fucking adorably endearing.

“Yeah, that sounds great right now.” The pet names returned to their restricted status for now. He had to know for sure. “Did you, uh, like playing with us Saturday?” It was a coward’s way to dance around the real question burning his esophagus, but it was a valiant introduction.

“I did! It was a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me. And, hey, uhm, I didn’t say anything weird to your friends, or anything like that, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” he responded in an even tone, stomping his curiosity from fluctuating his cadence with hopefulness when you chose that of all things to ask him.

“Good! My memory went a little fuzzy after my fourth drink, you know, when Lloyd kept trying to get us to sing along to that adventuring song he made up. I didn’t know if I said anything weird, or rude, or something by accident.”

Salvation reigned upon him.

Eddie’s lungs allowed him to breathe at the kindness alcohol spared him, and finally, he could relax. Your fretting stemmed from making a good impression on his friends, and with his reassurance, you stopped fidgeting at your nails, and the color returned to his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that. Seriously, they loved you.” His grin struggled to blossom. “Do you not remember anything else?”

In contrast, your grin was a field of wildflowers swaying under the summer sun.

“Not really, it’s pretty spotty around the time they left, but I do remember a few things,” you said, taking another step towards him. “I remember you throwing a napkin at the back of my head. I remember falling asleep in Robin’s car. I also remember asking her to pull over on the side of the road. I remember waking up in the living room, on her dad’s recliner of all places. And boy! do I remember being hungover.”

Closing the few feet of distance remaining, your confidence was established in your ability to pinch the sleeve of his coveralls and tug at it in a playful, flirty way, coasting your frosted sigh over his embroidered name patch.

You claimed him, heart and soul, “But I remember us dancing, too. I’m so glad I remember us dancing.” Softer, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“I’m the sweetest?” he repeated in a mumble, complying with the tug to open his arm in a curve, which you fit into.

“Of course you are. You sure you’re not sick? You still look like you’re about to puke.”

As if your grip on his tricep wasn’t enough of an anchor on reality, the backs of your fingers gliding down his cheek were, checking his temperature like he was worthy of being doted on. A fortunate thing, a blessing; having your hand guide him from the river Styx with a simple brush, thumb tracing the edge of his lip.

Yeah, his heart clenched. “I’m okay,” he rushed to whisper, wanting the words to sprint after your fingers falling from his chin. He kept the connection alive by copying the stroke along your spine, over your denim jacket. 

The wintry redness returned to his face, he knew. His racing pulse brought it there, splotching warmth to his skin. There was not enough bravery in the world to ask how much of the dance you recalled; whether your memory ended at your head on his chest, or your wrist to his lips, or your foreheads together with your noses smashed to the other’s cheek, but he did gleam one thing for certain.

You beamed up at him with eager eyes, as if those intimacies flashed in the sun’s reflection, and you wanted more of them.

He said, “I think I’ll feel better after a donut. Or three.”

“Or a nap, or three,” you countered.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, a rasp present in his throat from smoking, “I’m not gonna waste my time napping when I could be eating donuts with you.”

A wry laugh played at your lips. “How romantic.”

“I’ve been known to be romantic from time to time.”

You hummed in interest, arching an eyebrow. It was a challenge. Oh, really? you asked. Show me, then, you said.

Stepping back, you dragged your hand down his arm and embraced the motion, seeing it through to his elbow, forearm, the heel of his palm. Feeling but a faint outline of his form beneath the thick sleeve of his canvas jacket and light blue coveralls, yet still clinging to him as if he were your heater. Your warmth. Another body laying next to you in a cold bed.

“C’mon, handsome.” You urged him inside by your feeble grip around the stretchy knit cuff covering the plastic bead bracelet around his wrist. “Let's see if getting some caffeine in you helps you look less like a corpse.”

He snorted, and obeyed. “Whatever you say, dear.”

By all means, it seemed you didn’t remember the phone call. No doubt you were stone cold sober for the bad jokes, dorky innuendos, and inappropriate behavior that would be frowned upon at work, but you didn’t bring those up, so he didn’t either. He was in the clear.

Fate forgave him. And now, he could move on with the ‘thank you’ he owed you in good faith.

————

It was days later when your stapler ran out of staples.

You clamped it shut a few more times until you realized, and opened the second drawer on the short filing cabinet beneath your desk. After a cool slide of metal on metal came a rattle. Instead of your extra sticky notes, folders, and office supplies being visible, a foreign object sat on top of them. Perplexed, you reached in and grasped the lime green box. An index card was taped to it, and removing it jolted the waxy candies inside, sliding them against the cardboard in a merry cascade.

Setting the Mike and Ikes aside, you read the thin, angular handwriting on the note, written in red.

DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? (circle one)

              YES    or   NO

ARE YOU ONLY SAYING YES BECAUSE ITS YOUR POLICY?

              YES    or   NO

By outward appearances, your mouth was tugged downwards at the corners, but make no mistake, it was not a frown. No, no. What your expression was overcome with was so sentimental, so empathetic, you had to pout.

Besotted, you hugged the card to your chest, and reflected on the heaviness of his expectant gaze when he passed by your desk this week. The longer eye contact, the anticipatory lift of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead when you waved at him. He must’ve put this in your drawer days ago, and you had kept him waiting by accident, poor guy.

You weren’t about to keep him in suspense any longer.

(Though, maybe he should’ve put it in the top drawer, which you opened daily for your highlighters, if he wanted a quicker response.)

Pen to paper, you selected your answers, jotted a line, and tucked the notecard inside a manila folder with two invoices he needed to fill out. You pushed your rolly chair away from the desk, and dug through your purse before going to the breakroom where Eddie sat hunched over the round table, shoveling a chicken Rice-a-Roni meal in his mouth (haphazardly) with his left hand while writing in his DND notebook with his right.

You stood at the vending machine with your hip jutted out, sinking to one side with utmost concentration on your pursed lips, perusing the rows of choices. There were just so, so many categories to choose from. Chips, candy, chocolates. How could you ever decide? You crossed your arms, and tapped your chin at the dilemma, taking your time. This was a wise use of your work hours, of course. Flirting with your coworker by passing notes, and watching the side profile of his smirk break through his curtain of curls in the glass reflection.

Finally, you settled on F4, and slotted in your quarters, punching those buttons.

The Kit Kat bar was deposited in a loud clunk.

“Hey, didn’t know if you saw,” you started casually, and held the manila folder out to him with an imposing grimace, “but you forgot to fill out a couple of lines at the bottom of these invoices. Can’t have you slipping up, and not finishing your paperwork before working on your little roleplaying game, now can we?”

Eddie shifted his gaze from the bulky folder failing to stay pinched closed, to your face. Fawning, he arched into an overly apologetic expression to match your performance, and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Did I forget to do that? Silly me.”

“Better not let it happen again, Mr. Munson,” you warned, placing it on the table and leaving.

“Never, never,” he promised.

Back at your desk, you sat in your chair, calm and poised. And approximately two seconds later, you kicked off the floor into a fierce spin, dizzying the lobby around you. The place was a blur, your stomach swirled, and still, your goofy grin refused to wane. But, you did stop eventually. The antics had to come to an end. You did have work to do, afterall.. Which you ignored when you heard him rip into the foil wrapper in the other room, and you couldn’t possibly concentrate on calling a warehouse to check on an order of headlights when your ears were tuned to the flimsy chair scraping across the tile, and his heavy work boots stomping down the hall.

“Filled out those forms for ya, sweetness,” Eddie said with a wink.

There was a weight to the manila folder when he dropped it on your desk, and tapped twice on his way out to the garage. Not a physical weight, but a gravity that wasn’t there before, now concentrated in his keen eye contact. An invisible significance.

The relationship had changed, just then, in the trade off of boring invoices.

Opening the folder, the index card was deemed more important than the paperwork. Your gaze stalled on the thick circles around YES, and NO. Yes, you’d go on a date with him, and no, it wasn’t because of your policy. Below them, your thick handwriting flowed together.

what did you have in mind?

I RETURNED THOSE KIDS MOVIES FOR YOU.

  YOU CAN THANK ME FOR SAVING YOU

    THE LATE FEE BY WATCHING SOME

       HORROR WITH ME AT MY PLACE

PICK YOU UP SATURDAY AT 6?

Fighting back another sickeningly stupid willowy sigh at his charm, you wrote a lovesick reply.

In usual Eddie fashion, he left the very last box on the second form blank, so you had to go out to the service area, and address the mechanic bent over a car engine. Not that you were complaining. The back of his coveralls hugged the slight curve of his ass, and his hair was not only pulled into a low bun at his nape, but he wore a bandana tied to keep his bangs off his forehead.

“Hey there handsome, couldn’t help but notice you left the date box on this form blank again.”

“Oh, did I, pretty girl?” He spun, and rolled his eyes to mock himself. Wiping the grease from his hands on his coveralls, he took your pen. “It’s my old age, y’know. Things always slippin’ my mind.” Mumbling to himself, he pressed his palm to the back of the folder, and sketched out a sentence into the page longer than a few numbers warranted. During the arduous process, he looked at you with sorrow, and complained, “These dates are just so tedious to write out, it may just take me all night to complete.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a smirk at his (possible) insinuation.

All night? He wished.

Eddie surrendered the folder and pen, and smiled at you, stretching the streak of soot on his chin and cheek. “There you go. All filled out. Not a ‘T’ uncrossed, nor an ‘I’ left undotted.”

“Thank you,” you over-enunciated as a goodbye.

The very second the glass door came to a slow close behind you, you sat at your desk with the folder, and threw a subtle glance out the window to the garage to make sure Eddie wasn’t watching you lose your mind over two short words exchanged in quick succession.

sounds perfect :)

YOURE PERFECT =)

For the second time since you moved to Hawkins, you had a date. And judging by Eddie’s sway from foot to foot with his hands laced behind his neck and his head hung back, listening to the traffic outside echo off the cement walls, he was thrilled for his second date, too. He dropped into a steady bob at music that wasn’t playing. A too-large grin teased at his mouth as he paced to the motor he was repairing, and bent over it. His boyish excitement spilled like an overpoured mug of coffee into his unabashed giggle, and glance in your direction.

Eyes locked, he didn’t steal your breath. You gave it to him willingly.

————

Saturday’s setting sun was just another audience member to your date night routine. Robin and her mom leaned in the doorway of the bathroom the entire time you were shaving, and due to the opacity of the shower curtain, you were unable to convey your glare to the degree it deserved.

“Well, why doesn’t she wear this instead?”

There was a shock of laughter mixed with Robin’s scoff. “Mom, if she wore that Eddie would pass out on the spot. What if he hit his head, and they had to call an ambulance? You know she can’t drive him to the hospital. No, this bra still gives sex appeal without causing an injury. And besides, calling 9-1-1 would put a damper on them—”

“Rob,” you groaned.

“—spending a wonderful evening together,” she finished.

The thunk of a walking cane neared, and her dad’s hoarse voice sounded from down the hallway, “My! The rowdy Munson boy is getting lucky tonight, is he?” he proposed in a faux British accent after watching BBC nature documentaries all day. “Do you think he’d have dinner with us tomorrow? We haven’t seen him since Robin threw that New Year’s party years ago, and almost set the roof on fire.”

Oh dear God get me out of here.

Once you were finished with your shower, freshly scrubbed and smelling nice, you humored them by wearing the outfit they picked out. It was pretty much what you would’ve worn anyway. A short black skirt made modest by nylon tights to stave off the chill from Eddie’s trailer, and an oversized crocheted cream cardigan with tiny pink flowers, the hem of which hit you at your waist, showing a tempting preview of your stomach when you raised your arms to fix your hair. The pale lavender bra (the reason for their debate), was covered by the aforementioned sweater, and you weren’t sure if the sheerness of the lace mattered much when Eddie’s daughter may be present, or in the next room over. It didn’t occur to you to ask if he’d have Adrie with him, so, such is life. The bra may stay a secret despite their efforts to doll you up. But the sudden realization he may see you in it tonight clenched your stomach with excitement..

The clock struck 5:55, and an ominous roll of thunder put everyone on edge. It electrified nerves, and stood hair on end, setting forth premonitions of bad weather and foul fortune. Doom, it was; and it came, and came, neverending. Except.. It wasn’t thunder. It was Eddie Munson’s brutal music.

His little black car came flying down the road, and swung into the driveway, screeching to a halt heralded by flung rocks spat by his tires, and a flock of songbirds splitting the sky.

And yet?

Charm bowed before Eddie’s easy strut. Pebbles dodged his stride. Clouds of hellish dust evaded the shine on his laced up boots. His tight jeans flaunted the subtle flex of his thighs, and his belt sloped on his narrow hips with each uneven stride, daring the world to stare at the extra length of stiff leather flopping outside the confines of the belt loops, attracting all the attention he desired to the places he wanted.

You were still in the living room struggling with the buckle on your Mary Janes when the intense, raw screams of his heavy metal music stopped, and the muffled guitars faded away. He showed up, shockingly, on time, and you shot out the door before the heavy slants of sun breaching the leafless trees could beat down on his trademark jacket rattling with dainty chains.

“Hey there, sweetness.”

“Hey!” you blurted in a huff, racing down the steps. Flustered by his punctuality, you made the first move of the night by snatching his hand and dragging him away.

Slighted by your absence of drooling over how cool he looked, Eddie grunted in objection, but let himself be steered away. He glanced over his shoulder at the three faces peering at him from the window, and spared them a tentative wave. They were nosy, but not in the unkind way he was used to, and for that, he was thankful.

You apologized at a hurried pace, “Sorry, but if you step foot on the porch, they’re gonna ask you a bazillion questions, and never let us leave.”

“Ah,” he said, short of a laugh, “but let me get the door for you. Wanna impress them.”

“Impress them?” Dregs of sleepy sunlight highlighted the twist of your lips. “You come in here like a bat outta hell, blaring your music loud enough that I’m surprised you’re not hard of hearing, and you’re worried about impressing Bobbie’s parents?”

Refusing to let your fingers slip from his when he felt your grip go weak, he tightened his hold, and opened the car door with his other hand, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid the wide swing, towing you around him.

“Is that so strange?”

“It’s a little strange.”

“Good.” He established the bond of your palm cupped to his until you sank into the red plush passenger’s seat. At the groan of the hinges, and a hard slap on the metal, he finished, “I like being strange—” Punctuated by the door slamming shut. His cackle was far away. Shrieking silence filled your ears, interrupted by your elevated pulse pounding in your chest, and the tink of a pebble pinging the bumper when one was unfortunate enough to come into contact with his boot as he strode around the front of the car with his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt over the curve of his stomach.

What a lovely thing he was, truly. To lord the power of sheer captivation over you, and still ground you with a humble gaze and tender smile through a windshield flecked with dirt, as if stealing one of your five senses was a normal feat and returning it to you wasn’t an act of benevolence.

He folded himself into the seat beside you and staggered his legs until he could relax fully into the position, and turned the key in the ignition. His music took residence in the sense he stole. You tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t offensive. The previous song was ending, and with you being boxed in with the speakers bullying your ears from every angle, you heard the animalistic screams as something more haunting, more beautiful. They were organic. Emotional. Conveying a longing which flowed into the next track; a restrained piece laced with sweltering lines, where each croaky utterance heated your cheeks fiercer and fiercer. Carnal of a different nature.

Intentionally avoiding eye contact with Eddie, you twisted enough to see the carseat behind you was empty. “No Adrie?” you asked to confirm a suspicion.

“She was invited to a sleepover for one of her friend’s birthday parties tonight,” he said.

You reeled at the information, but not for the reason you assumed. “Wait, what? There’re people out there willing to have a hoard of five-year-olds running around their house? Like, with the screaming and everything?”

“Crazy, right? Some people still have their sanity, I guess.” He stamped the gas and clutch, revving the engine with an amused answer poised on his plump lips. “Or enough downers to get them through the night.”

The guitars increased in ferocity, drowning out his wistful reminiscing on such substances helping him through the day, pre-Adrie.

It was then you noticed an interesting detail about his compact car you didn’t fully appreciate last time you were in it: there was no center console. You didn’t need to check. The lack of separation was confirmed by the heat radiating from his heavy palm draped over the gear shift, and the blunt edge of his nails skimming your tights when he clicked the stick into a lower slot, dragging it along your leg. The armrests were raised, and they too touched at the base. It was no surprise when his long hair swept your clothed shoulder as he twisted around to look out the back window and put the car in reverse, avoiding the Buckley’s dented mailbox, and lurching you against the seatbelt.

The lyrics peaked in sultry aggression.

So, no Adrie. “Am I meeting your uncle, then?” Oh, how your question was thin against the strong note the singer held. His wavering timbre penetrated you in waves, releasing a ripple of tingles from head to toe. Creating a change in the tension existing between you and Eddie when he answered in a deeper register.

“No, he’s uh, he’s gone for the weekend,” he said, drumming his rings on the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers over the gear stick to shift it into drive. “Out playing poker with his friends. So, uh, it’s just you and me. S’that cool?”

So, no Adrie, and no uncle.

“Yeah—Yeah, that’s cool,” you replied. Whereas his voice went lower, yours went higher at the acknowledgement. Fainter, wispier. Fluttery with the nerves in your stomach. Restless like butterfly wings beating on gusts at the explicit implication matching the subject matter pumping through the speakers.

Tonight was your first real date with Eddie, in his trailer, alone.

Soon, the dense thicket of rural Hawkins was replaced by houses and population; gone were the fields of deer, and approaching in a blur were stout brick buildings, and stop lights swinging in the slight breeze.

He slowed at the intersection where Family Video’s neon sign struck red over the black pavement, and stopped. Eddie, being an opportunist, saw the boring wait for the light to turn green as fortuitous. It granted him the ability to gaze upon you as he wished, ready to take you in after your rushed greeting. You had robbed him of the movie-esque scene where he’d walk up to your door, knock three times, greet you with a stunning grin and compliment you until you were giggling and swooning in his arms. It was only fair he drank you in now, in the low liquid blue of the early night.

Beyond bewitched, he didn't register how methodically he traced his eyes over your body; devouring details the generous neckline of your cardigan allowed him, reaching the narrow channel of shadow where your bra assisted your chest, and the small gaps the tiny pink flowers woven into the yarn created in the chain loops, gifting him a charitable preview of the delicate lavender beneath. Appreciating how below that, your skirt wrapped your legs snugger than his arms had ever been privileged, and your tights graced skin he’d never felt. Perhaps he even lingered on the strap of your Mary Janes draped around your ankle, wondering if he’d be lucky enough to circle his fingers there one day, too.

Flattery raced your heart. You’d never been the subject of someone’s study to this degree, as if you were artwork to be admired. Not from any of the dates you’d been on, anyway. Not in a meaningful way, consumed wholly by someone you considered a close friend. And not while a man sang about vulgar acts in a gorgeous way.

Eddie remembered to breathe when green flashed in his periphery, and his gaze evened the playing field when he caught you dedicating entire prayers to the indecent crease at his hip and inner thigh where he rested his large palm.

“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he exhaled.

Not you look beautiful. You are beautiful.

Meeting him head-on, you smiled. “I don’t have the lexicon to describe you.” His expression faltered to a confused pinch between his brows, and you reassured him, “Handsome isn’t good enough anymore. Never was. No words are. They need to invent new ones.”

Leaning in, he scrunched his nose, and teased, “You can just call me hot.” Which would’ve been a decent line; imposing himself so near his words caressed the gloss on your lips, and finishing the hard plosive—Hot—with the bite of his charismatic wolfish grin. But the aggravated honks killed the mood.

Two cars behind him laid on their horns, and he was startled into the reality of holding up traffic. You openly laughed at his change in demeanor, at how he scrambled to get the car going before they got angry again, all flustered and stomping too hard on the gas, sending you both slamming backwards in your seats.

“Yeah, real hot stuff you got goin’ on,” you teased in return.

He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he checked the rearview mirror, speeding to put distance between him and the other cars. Dangerously, he slid his gaze to you once more, prioritizing you over the road. “Are you really gonna deny I'm the hottest guy you’ve ever met? Even with all your city boys, actors, and freaks who’ve been on bigger stages than me? Guys who took you to fancy sit-down restaurants in a suit and tie? Men who drone on about finances because they chose a viable career not covered in grease? Are they really hotter than me?”

His tone was flat, and his face neutral, cracking a cavern of curiosity wide within you.

Your instinct was to treat the insecurity as genuine, but the moment you opened your mouth to restore his confidence, he smirked.

“Just kidding, baby,” he broke the act. “I know I’m the favorite.”

Glowing with confidence, he took his hand off the gear shift to jab at your ribs, but he underestimated how thick the crochet was. Instead of tickling you, it was more of a soothing stroke along your side. And he didn’t stop. He kept up the intimate gesture, brushing the fabric with his curled index finger three times. Giggling, himself, at nothing other than his own thoughts.

Gone was the swell of empathy clogging your throat. “My favorite idiot,” you corrected in an exasperated mumble, yet leaning into the shy affection.

The cassette played static, then began a new song. Angsty still, but not quite as on the nose as the last. This, along with another dig at each other, eased the pressure preventing you two from relaxing into the evening. The awareness revealing itself in nervous glances and dry swallows digressed into your normal dynamic as friends with the benefit of flirty innocence without the stress of expectations. Those motives could stay locked between your clenched thighs, and aching against his jean’s zipper. Tonight was the first foray into real time together, and if you watched movies and it ended there with no moves made, or romantic elements explored, then so be it. There wouldn't be any unnecessary impatience, or snap decisions made to cross those final platonic boundaries if one of you chickened out. This date would be perfect, regardless.

Right?

You could endure another day of him acting confident in front of others, only for him to buckle under the pressure and pussy out before kissing you, right?

..Right?

Whatever. The night was young, and oh, how Eddie’s giddiness for spending time with you emerged. The instant he arrived at the trailer, he jammed his thumb into the seat belt latch and commanded you to stay put. Naturally, this didn’t go without a snort from you, but it escalated to true laughter when he stumbled out of the car, and sprinted around the front in a flustered jangle of chains beating on jeans, only to play it off as cool once he reached your side and opened your door for you. “You’re silly,” you commented. His chest rose with a panting breath, and his lips jumped into a playful smirk at his own oddities. He stepped back, and swept his arm in a classic bow.

The friction burn from the seat belt slipping through your grip was balmed by the chilled leather beneath your fingers when he offered his elbow to you. You set your heeled shoes on the uneven ground, and wobbled on the deep tire tracks scoring the dried mud, and again, he was twisting this way and that, trying to figure out the best gentlemanly way to help you balance. Not that his brave palm on the small of your back wasn’t warranted in the treacherous battle of shadows in the underripe evening, but even you couldn’t stop your snicker when he, too, met you with a side-ways glance.

“Nervous?” you asked, bringing attention to the situation for what it was.

“Me? Nervous?” He arched his eyebrows up, then brought them into a swift furrow. “Nah, never. I’m just making sure my girl doesn’t twist her ankle before I get to cook for her on our second date,” he ended with a suggestive tone, canting his head to yours. Foreheads near.

Ah, the buzzing of springtime bees was trembling your fingers again, gripping him when the hive in your stomach fed honey to your hungry heart, pumping, pumping a sugar rush.

Acknowledgements. His girl. Cooking. Second date.

He was sweet. And you were trapped in the sticky nectar thrumming in your veins. It was a futile effort, after all, to convince yourself you two could act as normal friends do around each other. Truly, you lost that war when you inclined your head to his, and divulged in the same grin he wore.

“Cook for me?” you repeated in a voice of ambrosia, which he partook.

“Mhmm,” he hummed amongst the drone of television programs filtered through bug screened windows. “I wanna watch movies with you, cook you somethin’ nice, and remind you that I’m not the guy I was at the movie theater—” He flinched at the last part, accepting your weak slap to his chest. Pleased with himself for finally swooning you, he trained his gaze on your giggly sway, and squinched his eyes with mirth.

“Eddie, I’m well aware you’re not that guy.”

“Oh?” he lilted. “But aren’t I? Still got the outdated haircut, stick in the mud attitude, and leather jacket.”

You slipped a finger beneath the jacket, and poked at the macabre skull on his tee. “Got a different shirt, though. Last time you were wearing a rattlesnake, now it’s..?”

“Metallica,” he finished. A softer expression deepend his dimple. There may have been a particular meaning behind it you were missing, but he didn’t share. “Good memory, but may I also bring to your attention that it’s fucking freezing out here?”

Overcome by a shiver, you retracted your prodding, and he removed his hand from your lower back. The warmth was sorely missed. You agreed, it was fucking freezing and pantyhose were not a replacement for snow pants.

Eddie jostled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door for you to enter first, trailing behind you with a welcome to his humble abode, as if you hadn’t been there several times before. But you supposed the circumstances were different when he showed you in, and a certain coziness defrosted your cheeks. The trailer was lit by a singular lamp in the living room and the nightlight from the bathroom. An electric radiator generated heat near the armrest where his pillow stayed, and at the other end of the couch was a messy pile of blankets in varying textures and thickness. A stack of three VHSes sat on the coffee table near a collection of never-used cork coasters. In the kitchen, a spread of groceries occupied the counter, along with a page from a magazine, but Eddie stole your attention before you could puzzle together the ingredients he laid out.

“So, which one do you wanna start with first?” Eddie asked, drawing your gaze to the VHSes fanned in his palms, fingers stretched wide to contain the movies.

Subtly, he wiggled the one on the end. The green HORROR sticker on the cover appeared new; unblemished, without creases or dirt. You recognized the drippy blood stylized title as the same one printed in the local newspaper warning mothers of its gore and perversions. Less subtly, he darted his eyes to it, and made encouraging noises while presenting it closer to you. It's not like you cared what order you watched his surprise selection in, so you went with the new release he was most eager for, as opposed to the other schlocky B movies.

“Sweet!”

Adorably, he told you to make yourself at home, and you both found yourselves bumping into each other in the entryway. You bent to unbuckle your shoes, and he shrugged off his jacket. Maybe you swung your knee into his shin, and he flopped the leather sleeve atop your head in retaliation. And when you stood, he jabbed his elbow into your arm before kneeling to untie his boots, and you picked a long, curly auburn hair off your sweater, holding it out and away from you as if it were revolting. “Is this what it’s like living with you?” you asked with an excessive amount of mock disgust.

“‘Fraid so,” he consoled, looking up at you as he worked the knot out of his laces. “At least—until I go bald.”

You tilted your head as you tried to picture him without his wild haircut, and after some consideration (and curious fingers kept laced tight to discipline yourself from running them through his curls to test the tamability of such rowdy layers cut without rhyme or reason), you concluded, “I think you’d still be the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”

His expression widened at your honesty. Pushing himself upright, he rocked side to side as he toed off his boots, and stepped beyond them, narrowing the distance between his ego and your lifted eyebrow. “Most attractive? Yeah?”

Before his head swelled to hot air balloon status from a compliment he pried out of you, you stopped him.

“Bald or not, you’re still Eddie,” you expressed. “And that’s what I like about you the most; your Eddieness. Regardless of your hair, you’re still that guy that’s willing to trip over his own feet so he can open a door for me.. and cook for me, apparently.”

You drove your gaze to the ingredients on the counter, but he distracted you from venturing into that part of the date.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Movie first, then dinner. I’ve been wanting to see this one, so make yourself comfortable. Get some blankets too, I know the radiator sucks.” The warmth it gave off rarely brought circulation to his toes when he was sleeping, much less kept him from shivering on the windy nights. “Lemme get us something to drink, and I’ll put on the movie.” He chose to fill two bright red plastic glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. They were the type of textured cup one would find at a pizzeria, and he set them directly on the wood, because why bother with coasters when most of the varnish had been worn away over the years.

Water itself shouldn’t be a surprise, but the fact he chose it over beer stood out.

Interesting. You made yourself snuggly as instructed, and sat in the middle of the couch where two cushions met. Amongst the pile, you picked the thick blue and white striped comforter, and draped it over your not-quite-numb legs. He crouched in front of the TV, and popped open the VHS case, brushing his calluses over the frosted plastic cover, and shut the case with a satisfying snap. Lining the movie up with the VCR slot, he pushed on the flap, and it was accepted into the mouth of the machine—kuh-chunk, slide, whirring reels, a fuzzy high-pitched noise—staticy snow played, then the first commercial started, flickering a woman’s face mid-scream across the screen.

Eddie turned off the lamp, and in the sudden darkness, he slid his socked feet in timid steps across the carpet to avoid a pinky toe colliding with the coffee table, and he fell into place next to you.

The cushions sank with your combined weight. The seams separating you clashed. Hip, thigh, shoulder. Layers of clothing blazed from the heat of his proximity, setting fire to your cheeks. You weren’t touching, not really, not yet, and you both stared at each other with lips slightly parted.

Your voice went unnaturally airy as you offered him the blanket, “Want some?”

And his voice was lost to the sensation of his bare arm making contact with your sweater.

He nodded.

Predictable for the genre, the next commercial advertised a pair of tits before the camera cut away, and the woman was assumed to be brutally stabbed by a masked serial killer.

He shifted. You shifted.

The comforter slid across your lap. He stole the warm pocket of air you were generating for yourself, and replaced it with the cold half of the blanket. It may have been an innocent movement, but him yanking it caused you to press against him more than you already were. His arm went rigid with tensed muscles the further you sloped into the crevice where the cushions met, stiffening against your soft body like a brick wall you had no choice but to lean on. You tried to help the situation by breaking the silence between the next commercial.

“Do you want to know another Eddieness I find endearing?”

During the first part of your sentence he didn’t react. He watched the TV; jaw tight but not clenched; it was only on the last word did he turn his head, and set those big eyes of his on you.

You went ahead and answered, “It’s how shy you are.”

The hint of a deeper emotion eased from his gaze when he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and raised his brows, processing what you said. “’M not shy.” His smile grew at that, stretching half his mouth in shadow, making his nose appear larger, rounder.

“And awkward.”

“I’m not awkward,” he complained, tone soft and playful.

Lit by the soft grain of the movie starting on a scene of a young boy running inside pitch-black house, Eddie’s eyelashes clung to the remnants of light, curling longer, and longer. His lips lifted at the corners, testing a sneakier grin at the idea of you finding him both shy, and awkward. Words he hadn’t heard in years. Descriptors he would’ve called himself when he was still in high school and dipping his toe in the dating pool, but not since then. Not since he dabbled in liquid courage at parties and gained some experience from the confidence alcohol afforded him.. and lost when he discovered the consequences of acting impulsively, and his casual assuredness was ripped from him when his daughter was born.

Or, yeah, maybe he was always shy and awkward as you presumed, he just didn’t care about people’s opinions when he wasn’t invested in starting a future with them. Which was fine by him, you could call him dorky if you wanted, because here he was in the midst of a boyish rush of adrenaline when the lack of stressful music coming from the TV became ominous, and the excitement of his plan working vibrated in his chest.

“Oh! And you’re—” Whatever adjective you were about to use was bitten short.

Paying more attention to him than the movie, you missed the build up of the masked killer’s reflection in a mirror, and were caught off guard by the boy’s sudden blood curdling scream trilling above the heart-racing violin screeches. It wasn’t even a good jumpscare—totally predictable—but you still jolted from it.

Eddie lurched into a devious smirk. “Movie getcha, pretty girl?”

It was your turn to be defensive. You pouted, “No. It just surprised me, is all.”

“Aw, come on,” he implored in a gravelly urge. Under the thinning comforter, between the mountains of compacted cotton from overwashing it, there was movement, and the unmistakable contact of the back of his hand on your nylon tights. He bumped you once. “Here, if it’s that scary, you can hold my hand, okay?”

As snarky as his teeth glinted, as teasing as his words were, both of your chests rose with a mutual suspended breath.

This was the line. The barrier. The emotional boundaries were dust, only the physical ones remained. He invited you over them as gingerly as a grown adult man could when on his first true date in years, and the fresh fear of making a move on his crush spiked his rejective-sensitive nerves.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you exhaled. Holding his gaze with the same fondness which existed in your heart, you found the edge of his hand after some sightless venturing. At the graze of skin on skin, you dropped your head to the side, and appealed to him, “It’s so scary.” Across the room, the TV played a calm, serene daytime scene with birds chirping in the background. “So terribly scary,” you repeated, facetiously pitiful. “There’s no way I’ll get through to the end all on my lonesome.”

But rather than hold hands perfectly between the both of you like the pious churchgoing teenagers you’d felt yourselves become, you went in for the kill.

Drawing back, you wedged your fingers between his arm and his ribs, and after a beat, he understood and lifted his elbow. You snaked your hand along his forearm, and down to his awaiting palm. His jeans were rough; his palm was too, torn asunder by his trade to ensure a roof over his and his family’s head, but the spaces between were softer. Love gentled the joints digging into your bones. Your fingers had to stretch to accommodate him, and the wintery dryness pulled at your unlotioned knuckles, but the twinge was forgotten when you focused on your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand.

You dragged your attention away from the entanglement of your selves finding a missing half under the blanket, and searched his face. His eyes flicked from the same knot stirring under the comforter, and the wrinkles in his expression flourished. He thinned his lips into a tight smile. His cheeks were never that full, but there was a roundness there you’d give anything to discover by touch. You’d been closer to him before, like in the kitchen when you counted his freckles after your painfully geeky dagger innuendo, but if you leaned in any further, your vision would blur.

An obvious awkwardness dwelled in the intimacy of your entwined arms, and tensed bodies.

“So, so scary,” you promised during the exposition dialogue taking place on a sunny morning between the characters eating cornflakes at a large dining table. “I’ll probably have to cling onto you the entire time with my eyes shut.”

His voice cracked high pitched, “Yeah?” Feathery soft, on the verge of disappearing altogether. “Guess I’ll have to be the brave one, then.”

“So very brave,” you said, sweet as sugar.

He snorted whereas you giggled, converging with heads together, and a laugh shared, hands held so very bravely. A breakthrough. One second at a time, you melded into his shadows, as you belonged. You angled yourself toward him and tucked your legs onto the couch, freely huddling your knees against his thigh. Your joined hands were nudged onto his leg more, and the clasp became sticky from perspiration. That was okay. There was a thrill in being the reason each other sweated. He curled in his fingers harder, nesting them between the peaks of your knuckles, and you returned the honor by hooking your fingers between his, lightly squeezing him back. One second at a time, he sought your sunshine, as he belonged. He made sure the pressure of his arm and elbow boxing yours in against his side wasn’t painful, slouching a bit so the top of his leather belt wasn’t digging into your forearm. He was thoughtful that way. Concerned for you and your comfort. Didn’t matter if his lower back would be killing him by the end of the first movie, you were wrapping your free hand around his bicep and rubbing your thumb under the short sleeve of his shirt, back and forth. Back and forth. Then, you were resting the side of your head on his shoulder.

He heard you—felt you—inhale deep. Why? Was it to fill your lungs with the scent of his deodorant, the cheap cologne he spritzed at his chest, the drip of Old Spice aftershave on his shirt collar? Was any of that better than oxygen?

Curious, he tilted his head as if something in the movie had him stumped, and he put his nose to the top of your hair, and took a small breath.

A different shampoo than usual hit him first, but below that, clinging to your clothes, was the smell of Robin’s home. He was struck with the thought of what his home smelled like. Was it good? Bad? Could, over time, over months, over difficult questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, could maybe by the end of summer your two homes combine to make one unique scent?

That would be the dream. And a dream, it may remain. But what a lovely reality it would be; you staying, and your scents mixing to create a new one.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t predict the fake-out jumpscare of a murder of crows taking flight after an eerie bout of silence, and he was the one to flinch.

“Aw, movie too scary for ya, big guy?” you cooed.

Eddie sealed his lips in a frown, and tucked his chin to create the maximum amount of wrinkles when he looked down at you. “Maybe a little. Good thing I have you here with me, though. Right?”

You nodded most ardently, squishing your cheek over his scorpion tattoo—just another place on his body you made your home—and grinned up at him.

“Of course, babe.” You called him babe. He smiled so fucking hard. “I’m here if you ever need me to hold your hand.”

You squeezed.

He squeezed back.

Scenes went by on the tiny TV across the room beyond the condensation pebbling on the plastic cups threatening to fall on the coffee table where Adrie’s box of crayons spilt into her coloring book. A story unfolded in the flash of blade, a clatter of piano keys, and a quiet neighborhood who knew no better. The movie played, but neither of you paid attention.

Your gaze was keen to the way his lips stayed parted after he licked them. His gaze was invested in your expression, how you viewed him with such kindness he was seldom shown. A tenderness he was rarely given. He tried to show you the same sincerity, but your eyes were fixated on his mouth.

Self-conscious, he asked, “Is there something on my—?” He rubbed the back of his wrist over lips.

You answered him with a belittling pat on his chest. “No, big guy. You’re good.”

Your tone didn’t sound ‘good,’ but you pulled the blanket up to your chin, and laid your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your other hand around his bicep until your fingers were stuffed between his arm and side. He interpreted your change in mood as a signal the conversation was over, and put his eyes on the movie. Though, his brain was busy toiling over why you were staring at him, and wondering if the pats on his chest were still echoing beneath your ear, or if it was simply his heart threatening to strangle him from the angst of not understanding if he did something wrong already.

At least he was holding your hand like a real boyfriend would. That had to count for something.. Right?

~~~

The credits rolled, and neither of you moved until you pointed out a name scrolling by, and a laugh so akin to a man being punched in the gut wheezed out of him, it caused you to erupt into your own embarrassing goose honk laugh, causing you to both double over in a fit.

Somehow, his nose was nuzzled to your hair. His inhale was cool on your scalp, and his words were a humid huff. “Bart Horsedick,” he said, “Whatta name.”

“You should name a character after him in DND.”

“Mm! You know what? I will. He’ll be a local legend with all the ladies, and tries to charm his way into the party by constantly making passes at the girls. Erica will kill him for sure.”

With a groan and a wince, he sat up straighter, and you lifted your head off his shoulder, making similar complaints about your neck. It was tough work being brave during the scary parts for each other, regardless if neither of you were paying enough attention to care about the reveals.

He asked, “How’d you like the movie? Even that last scene kinda got me.”

“Yeah, it was good,” you answered in the same tone, searching for anything to say that wasn’t, If you don’t kiss I’m going to fucking scream. “I wasn’t expecting the second killer to be the news reporter. That was kinda cool. And that final death was super gory, with the guts ‘nd all, but uh, I’m starving, and ready for something campy.”

Heeding his lady’s request, Eddie dashed around the room, turning on a few of the eclectic lamps, and jabbed the backwards arrow button on the VCR until the movie was playing in reverse at a hilarious speed. “Be kind, rewind, y’know.” Once it clicked, he took the tape out, and put the next one in.

You followed him into the kitchen where the groceries were laid out on the counter. Some were things he already had, like the half-empty bottle of olive oil, and two government supplied cans of vegetable stock, but from the fridge he added an unopened tub of butter, a container of mushrooms, and a wedge of parmesan cheese. He put them beside the onion, fresh sprigs of parsley, and special bag of rice. Ingredients he bought specifically for a meal he didn’t know how to make, but knew it was impressive, and wanted to try cooking it for you.

You picked up the magazine clipping and raised your eyebrows at the recipe.

He fidgeted, spinning his rings. His voice was hesitant; falling back on self-deprecating humor as a crutch, “I know you’ve probably been to France, or, uhh, Italy or whatever,” he guessed, “and’ve learned from experts on how to make it perfectly, but I thought maybe I’d give it an attempt and hope it turns out edible. Just forgive my shit knife skills, and if I pour too much broth, or don’t stir it the exact number of rotations, or some pretentious bullshit like that,” he finished, gaze solidly on the floor, toeing at a scuff on the vinyl to occupy himself. “‘M not exactly a chef outside a can of Boyardee, so..”

Some of his mumbling was lost on you as you read the bottom of the page. Narrowing your eyes at the title printed beside a number in the corner, you put your fist on your hip. “Edward Munson.” He snapped out his worrying at the use of his full name. “Did you rip this out of one of my lobby magazines at work?”

He rolled his lips inward to curb his grin. “No, no, of course not, dear,” he promised, finding it the most opportune moment to turn away, and organize the ingredients in no practical order.

“I swear if I go to work Monday and find Better Homes and Gardens missing page 57—”

“Okay, okay—I’ll tape it back in, but give me some credit, will ya? I didn’t rip it out like some animal.. I cut it out neatly with scissors.” He eyed your harmless smirk, and plucked the mushroom risotto recipe from between your fingers. “Now, if you’d like to get out of my hair, you may,” he said, gesturing at the TV with a knife. “Skedaddle. Go watch the movie.”

“You don’t want me to help? Or at least to keep you company?”

It wasn’t often he was tripped up on what to say, so when his mouth hinged on a mute excuse to get you to leave, you registered what he was going on about earlier, and shook your head.

“Wait, Eddie, I worked in kitchens prepping vegetables when the cooks were too drunk to come in on time because they went home with some random woman from a bar, and were too hungover to know what day it was. That’s why I’m like, okay-ish with a knife. You don’t really think I’d judge you for how you chop an onion, do you?”

A few words were stammered. You shushed him from bothering.

If his confidence had trouble surfacing when everything was out in the open and not hidden under a blanket, then you’d give him another nudge; a single stroke of your knuckle along the monster tattooed on his tricep. The muscle reacted to you, flexing the wyvern’s clawed feet. You did it again. And again. Pinching his sleeve and tugging at it, doing all the cutesy, flirty things you’d learned over the years, including dropping your gaze to his pretty pink lips. Employing your best strategies, you laid it on thick; swaying your hips, and bringing in your arms to frame your chest. “You could heat me up a can of Chef Boyardee, and it’d be the best meal I’ve ever had, as long as I got to share it with you.”

Shy, shy, shy. He brought his shoulder up and ducked his face from your view, giggling at your heavy adulation. “You don’t have to flatter me like that,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike he was wrapped in a ball of lovesick yarn. Overly smitten, ooey gooey with the warm fuzzies in his chest. So very, very adorable, sneaking a glance at you with an unbelieve amount of precious crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

How sweet.

It’d be sweeter if he could take the hint and share those kinds of things with you, but you could be patient and wait until he was ready. Again..

Just.. keep making everything so obvious for him, and try to ignore the sting of rejection when the guy you’ve liked for months finally invites you over for a date, and still won’t kiss you.

At least you were saved from the worst of your downward spiral by the bad B movie and its body melting scene.

“Ooh!” Eddie pushed the cutting board away. “That effect was really cool!”

Since he was already making his way to the TV, you trailed at his heels, and crouched beside him, sinking to your knees while he pressed the rewind button, and clicked Stop/Play twice. The lead up to the moment played again. You sat in anticipation, wholly aware you’d just watched this interaction between the college girls putting their best effort into delivering their lines, only for them to fall flat when their acting was off the charts horrendous. Eddie regarded them with the same sort of awkwardness, rotating his hand in hurried circles until one of them got obliterated into a goopy pile of human remains, and you began to dissect the undulating puddle of sludge.

“How do you think they made that one?” he whispered, mesmerized. “The way it pulses like that?”

“I think it’s from a balloon inflating beneath it. Watch the way the flesh cracks, and the blood oozes out. I think it’s something like that pushing it up from under.”

He hummed, and rewound the tape a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, tapping his finger on the thick curved glass. “And look at that bone. It actually looks like a charred, brittle skeleton instead of those cheap femurs everyone gets at the party store for Halloween.” You also agreed with him in a hum. The extra touches of effort were impressive for a low budget film like this.

The movie continued inches from your eyes. You rested on your calves, flattening the plush carpet under your shins. The harsh fibers were dulled by your pantyhose, and if this was a spot Eddie had to scrub clean after Adrie spilled juice, you weren’t aware of the stain; you were only aware of the hair-raising sensation of being watched.

You directed your attention to Eddie’s pointed stare on the side of your face, about to ask if there was a reason behind his adamant inspection when—

He dropped his gaze to your lips.

Sparks ignited behind your ribcage. Hopefulness latched onto each long second wherein he resisted flicking his eyes back to the screen. Each passing breath a choice to follow the gentle curve of your mouth, and stay there to revel in the simple pleasure of studying the unspoken language evolving between you two, sinking into his own warm grin for you to decipher. He was still crouching on the balls of his feet, and you had to wonder if he leaned over to kiss you now, would he lose his balance and cause you both to fall to the floor? Would he catch the back of your head in his palm to soften the crash? Would his hips fit perfectly between your legs? Would his jeans drag along your inner thighs? Would he whimper when you held him? Would he grind down on you at the first sign of reciprocation? Would he already be hard?

Your thigh muscles ached at the racing thoughts, clenched so tight in response to the needy throb between them.

Was the unspoken language shouting now?

Eddie’s throat bobbed on a stuttered exhale; his chest shook at fractions of his inhale, as if he was experiencing the same tightness there from the rosy desire blooming so greatly, struggling to cope with the oxygen in his lungs when there were far sweeter things they’d rather be filled with. “I—” He stopped. “I read a review on the back of the box that said this movie was scary too,” he informed you in whisper, right when a godawful green alien appeared and shot the worst CGI laser you’d ever seen from your peripheral vision. “Better hang out with me in the kitchen, where we can keep each other safe.”

You urged your yearning away from his mouth to the neon colors of a spaceship glancing off his cheeks, to his large nose, to the tips of his bangs skimming his eyebrows, to the bags under his eyes, and finally, you caught the last moments of him roaming your features with utmost care before your gazes locked.

The floor beneath him creaked.

Briefly, you considered closing your eyes.

The carpet flattened in a muffled rustle.

Briefly, you considered uttering his name.

The dry air in the room vanished with his humid huff coasting over your forehead.

Briefly, you considered begging him when he pushed off his knees, stumbled slightly towards you, and stood, offering you a helping hand.

He said, “Gotta make this dinner for you before I starve, sweetness.”

Kissless, you fought against your inner bitterness, and accepted his fingers. To hide your wilting resilience, you put a swing of vigor in your voice, and happiness on your face. “Yeah, watching hot blondes perish into goo really makes one hunger for sloppy rice with mushrooms.”

Well, at least you could always make him laugh.

~~~

Onion skin crunched under Eddie’s heavy chop. The papery layer was discarded. Laying the halves on the textured cutting board, he dragged the knife in long slices out from the root, then rotated to dice it into cubes. He blinked away fresh tears, and beside him, you scraped the sweated mushrooms into a bowl, and placed the pan back on the burner for him to sweep his prepped vegetables into. They sizzled on impact. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and made sure nothing seared to the bottom.

Steam rose from the bowl of cooked mushrooms. Slippery oil slicked their surface, adding to the smells of onion and garlic. Condensation fogged the tiny window above the sink. The rice began to toast. A burnt popcorny, yet pleasantly floral fragrance mixed with the sour note of cheap white wine bubbling down to nothing, and salty splashes of broth.

Mostly, the continuous stirring was done passively because you were both watching the movie from across the room. When it was your turn at the stove, you grasped the skillet handle and moved the spoon around in some sort of pattern, but your upper body was twisted towards the TV. When it was his turn, you took his place at the wrap around counter, bending over to rest your forearms on it, savoring his body heat baked into the surface under your palms before it faded and was replaced by your own.

The last VHS was inserted. No commercials on this older tape.

You grated the last of the cheese into the rice, and tipped in the mushrooms. Behind you, there were two metallic latch sounds followed by two loud bangs. Eddie sucked in a hiss, and apologized. You were too busy portioning out the risotto to see what in the world he was doing, but the sharp clicks of his lighter were distinct, as was the notch turns of the unnecessary lamps being turned off, casting you in dimmed ambiance.

Garnishing the meal with parsley, you scooped up the bowls and turned.

“Ta-da,” he said meekly, opening up his arms with weak pizazz.

You were stunned at the effort.

The collapsable ends of the green table hung by their hinges, making the surface area impossibly intimate. On top, there were three lit candlesticks to set the mood, and underneath, the seats of the chairs almost touched. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. Thoughtful. Endearing. He had trouble meeting your eye.

Eddie glanced at the unscented candles burning bright for practicality’s sake. The first wet drip of wax joined the others melted down the side since the last time he used them when the power went out. Not exactly romantic. “Has, uhm, anyone made you risotto before?” he asked, and tacked on, “At home?” when the fear of not being the first smacked the words out of him.

“No,” you stated. “No one's ever done something so sweet for me.”

His lower lip twitched, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to quell the giddiness from exploding. And to stop himself from celebrating too soon.

As you carried the bowls towards his attempt to recreate a fine dining experience, he tried to push aside the thoughts of inadequacy—the candles, the fact he couldn’t take you to a real restaurant, the flowers he decided against because he no longer had a vase, the nagging voices in his head that told him this whole idea was stupid—and instead, he focused on anything else. Anything, anything else.

“Here, lemme help you, sweet—Ow, ow, ow, ow—Jesus, do you have hands of steel or somethin’?” The candles wobbled when he dropped the bowl on the table, and you both froze as they teetered back and forth, praying your second date didn’t go up in literal flames.

When they came to a rest, you both sighed.

“Hands of steel, huh?” you mused. “I think they feel kinda soft compared to yours.”

Quickfire, he picked up on the age-old flirt you used on him months ago (back when he was dumb, and genuinely thought he was the one flirting with you by suggesting you come back to him when you found a spider as big as his palm), and he concurred, “Maybe we need to compare them again. Y’know, really get in there and make sure I have the toughest hands in the Midwest.” Adopting a southern drawl, he stuffed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and puffed out his chest. “Can’t let a lil’ lady who answers phones with ‘Yellow?’ have stronger hands than me, now can we?”

You pinged him with a wry expression twinged with cringe, and sat down, scooting your chair in, and looking up at him still standing. “You are so pitifully dorky.”

“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said proudly, falling into the chair across from you.

Your knees collided under the table; bone on bone due to his inability to wear jeans without holes in them. They knocked painfully, and while he did remember to apologize when you winced, he was distracted by the silly notion that his bare knees were the second body part to make contact with your tights. The back of his hand during the movie didn’t lend much to his senses, now he had a better feel of the texture, and how it rubbed against his skin. A strangely marvelous thing. And he was getting ahead of himself, sure, but he wondered how your tights must feel under the same rugged palm he was offering to you upturned on the table while below, his thoughts were erring away from respectful visions of circling his thumb over your knee cap while you were stretched across the couch with your legs in his lap, to something he felt unworthy to ask for.

Oh, but how he ached to be the one who was trusted to keep you warm when you were undressed..

Your chair squeaked. You changed the position to where your legs were bracketed by his wide spread. Perfect, because he brought in his stance and crossed his ankles behind yours, locking your thighs and calves between his, as if you were his possession, unable to escape. Indulging him, you giggled, and squirmed to the edge of your seat, taking his hand. His right, your left. A polite union of criss-crossed fingers. Mountainous calluses mapped against rolling hills of satin. Flickering candlelight dancing off the silver band of his ring. Kind, and sweet.

He gripped his spoon in an unnatural way, dragging it through the risotto, and bumping the ceramic.

“I can hold your other hand,” you offered, motioning at where you could link his non-dominant hand in the space between your bowls.

His voice was made of mushy tenderness, but his clipped tone left no room for argument, “Nah, I like it this way.” If you didn’t understand why yet, you did when you traced his gaze to his wrist. The beads had shifted from where they dug into his flesh. Squares from the blocky letters left indents in his skin, as did the corners of star beads interspersed throughout the round ones. Opposite D-A-D-D-Y, your sleeve was bunched up from cooking, baring the precious nickname M-O-U-S-E.

Your eyelids fell half-closed. The fondness on your lips wasn’t a result of the risotto—as delicious as the first bite was—no, the sentiment was much too darling. Almost as if you could hear the dormant vocabulary you awoke running hot in his veins. My girl, my girl, my girl is wearing the matching bracelet my daughter made for us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than another excuse to call you my girl out loud; I want it so bad I could cry.

“You did such a good job on this,” you complimented the risotto after taking another bite.

Fate. “It only tastes good because I had my girl’s help.” Under no circumstance was he about to make eye contact after saying that. In fact, he avoided sound altogether when he angled his spoon so he wouldn’t scrape it along his teeth a second time, and blew on the porridge-like rice before sliding the richness over his tongue, alighting his mouth with mellowed complexities for such unassuming ingredients. As he ate, he listened to you eat too. As he glanced, you glanced too. As he embellished his grin with a secret, you snuck in one of your own through the mysterious sharpness in your eyes boring into his too. He didn’t question it, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound above the panicked yelling happening in the movie in the other room; for now, he was content with holding your hand and calling you his girl.

The pressure to continue conversation waned.

He squeezed.

You squeezed back.

~~~

Dinner was finished in cherished bites. The movie was in the process of concluding, as most of the cast had been killed off by the time Eddie uncrossed his ankles and released you. He blew out the candles and stood, already regretting the act when the imprint of your body faded from his between his legs.

While he filled the sink with soapy water, you put away the forgotten ingredients, and wiped up the counter with a wet rag in absentminded circles, thoroughly invested in the slasher’s “forest chase scene” probably filmed in someone’s mom’s backyard.

Once the frothy bubbles sloshed to the rim with each dish put in, and the clammy air was brightened by the scent of blue Dawn liquid soap, Eddie rolled the stretchy bracelet up his forearm and began dunking the glass cup used for measuring the broth. He ran his hand around the inside to rid it of the gritty residue left behind. Dipping the thin washcloth, he submerged his hands up to his wrists in skin prickling hot water, and brought the cup out, exposing his chafed knuckles to the sting of cold air. He washed it, rinsed it under even colder water, and handed it off to you. You toweled it dry, and put it in the cupboard next to the fridge.

Over and over, he washed, you dried. He washed, you dried.

Routine, monotonous, robotic and quiet.

Outer input died away. No more movie, no more hot water, no more spoken conversation, no more meaningful glances, nor more intimate nicknames, no more inappropriate touches stolen under the guise of a drunken night. Just his thoughts, insecurities, anxieties, and hopes and the instant foreboding stress wrenching his stomach with fear of those hopes never coming true.

The air was thick with awareness.

You were in his home. The date was coming to an end, and so was his bravery. This was his chance, and he was letting it slip by him. Again.

He’d run out of excuses. Or rather, he reasoned with the excuses, and now he was facing the real problem. All the stuff from months ago about him not knowing if you liked him, your flighty lifestyle, the dynamic of being coworkers and worrying if it’d make things weird, the conversation he never had with Adrie; forgoing divulging his hobbies, his music, or his past with you because he didn’t see the point; those things he conquered. Those things no longer bothered him. Those things had answers putting them to rest.

Now, there was nothing keeping him from pursuing you except his own inhibitions..

Sad, how even when he had the courage to get this far with you, the differences in your lives served as a reminder he was just a poor boy from Indiana whose greatest aspiration was owning a trailer of his own so his uncle could have his room back. You had a drama degree—hell, you went to college in the first place. You had real dreams, and achieved semblances of those dreams before coming to Hawkins. A star as bright as you shouldn’t have to peter out in a town in the middle of nowhere. You needed the city to thrive, to perform on stage again. It was your calling, wasn’t it? Munson wasn’t calling you like your previous life, was it? You spoke of your accomplishments so highly. Would you ever learn to speak of him that way? Would he, one day, become one of your stories? A memory you moved on from?

Or did he deserve to ask you to give up everything you loved and earned to settle down in a dead-end shithole that hated him, and help him raise a child that wasn’t yours, tying yourself to his reputation forever?

What if he asked those things of you? Would you say ‘yes’?

Shit.

While the sea of doubt churned in his head, he rinsed off the ceramic bowl you used to eat from, and blinked the sting from his eyes after staring off into space for too long. He waited to hand it to you until you had put a pan away in the lower cabinet under the wrap-around counter, and accepted the bowl, drying it off and ping-ponging to the other side of the kitchen to the upper cabinet above the toaster. You didn’t have to guess. You knew exactly where it went. You were familiar with the precise drawer the spatula went in, next to the cutlery one where you tossed in the spoons. There was a beautiful domesticity to it all; washing dishes with you as if it were a nightly occurrence. Like you lived here. Together. You, him, Adrie, and his uncle—preferably not in that arrangement, and not in this trailer, but the vision.. the vision was there. You and him rejecting the bullshit small town mentality, and creating a life in Hawkins you could both be proud of, free from strife. A do-over, in a way, with you at his side, and his daughter on your hip.

The pit of self-loathing in his stomach yawned.

Those idyllic fantasies were too much to ask for. Too much to even risk speaking out loud. He could feel the rejection welling up behind his eyes as it were, wobbling at his bottom lip. The crushing reality of being a lonely single dad with nothing to offer—

You slammed the cabinet door shut, and tossed the towel aside. “So, are we gonna pick up where that phone call left off, or not?”

Eddie stilled under your loaded stare.

You remembered you remembered you remembered—

“If you adore me so much..” you added.

Jolted into action, the last dish slipped from his fingers, splashing and bouncing sluggishly off the bottom of the sink. Adrenaline hit him in droves. Frantic stings of want pushed him forward. Chores were forgotten. Mind blank. The soft thuds of his stride thundered off the thin walls. Pace quickened. Pulse beating in his throat. Vice grip on his heart. Months, weeks, days, hours of keeping his starvation alive through longing looks and inside jokes and hands brushing hands in fragile innocence, denying the vital comfort he craved to experience with the one person who made him feel special; the yearning reached its peak.

Predatory hunger rushed color to his cheeks at the remarkable sight of his dearest dream going slack with surprise.

He secured his fate with his arm wrapped around your waist, sweeping his hand upwards and dragging your cardigan with it. Water dripped to his elbows, cooling the wicked fever igniting his skin. He poured his strength into bringing you into him at the same time he stepped into you, forcing you back, back, back until the distance keeping you apart was eliminated, caging you where you gave him his final nudge beyond the brink of composure. His hips coaxed you side to side. His legs boxed you in where he commanded. Each motion pressed his strong, needy body to yours, driving the edge of the countertop into your lower back. Sway by sway, a dance of insurmountable patience built over months met its breaking point. You went pliant for him. No fight, only a small noise when he engulfed you in his aggressive embrace.

You gathered the hem of his shirt in your weak fists. His sudden leap over the platonic line broke goosebumps across your exposed midriff, tightening your nipples against the delicate lavender lace. The tremble in your knees was juxtaposed by his steady hand tilting your face up to his.

Sudsy bubbles burst on the peach fuzz beneath your ear from where he cupped your jaw. Droplets trickled to the base of your neck, curving over your breasts, and beading on the surface of your cardigan. He swept his fingers in an untamed stroke over your cheek. He tested a deeper angle, fitting his broad grasp to your chin and compelling you to lean in with the heel of his palm guiding you, drawing you forward, supporting the pout of your bottom lip with the base of his thumb.

His nose whistled when he took a shallow breath. The wet, soapy trails left in his hand’s wake went cold against his sigh coasting over your skin. Again, he tried another breath. Deeper; initiating the unadulterated intimacy of his stomach filling out and pushing against yours. More. The great expanse of his shoulders squared with confidence, and his muscles braced under your tender exploration. Your weak grip left his waist to climb up the confines of his arms, passing over his ribs and the flat plane of his pecs to place the lightest touch at the base of his neck. Closer. The serious glint in his eyes blurred as he neared.

The tip of his nose butted the apple of your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he spoke aloud for the first time, words breaking on the whisper.

You answered him in a faint, insatiable, “Yes.”

He imposed himself more. Frame on frame. Unyielding body leaned and curved around your softness, channeling every repressed feeling he’d had since you met into pinning you against the counter. Gradually, he dropped his head into a better angle; grinding forehead on forehead, tracing his perfect nose along yours, tilting so his mouth hovered fractions above a decision.

He teased, “Are you only saying that because it’s your policy?”

You smiled against the edge of his thumb after spying his sly grin through your heavy lashes. “No,” you stressed the single word, speaking through the mild irk of impatience building like an itch that could not be scratched in the marrow of your bones.

Anticipation clung to the prolonged gossamer blinks before they lulled into closed eyes, and slow swallows of air until lungs were poised on a held breath.

Every syllable of his next question dragged his lower lip across yours. “Are you my girl?”

“Eddie—”

The whine. The beg. The genuine plea of his name.

Organically imperfect, he smashed his mouth to yours. It was a harsh collision of teeth to lips, and a startled grunt at the abrupt impact, but neither of you cared. Reservations were off. You clung desperately to his shirt, stretching the cotton around his neck and biting the ball chain necklace into his throat, striving for a needier kiss; sparking a heady rush of awareness to the oversensitive areas reacting to the animalistic push and pull of him gaining control, advocating for his own fight in the flex of his thighs driving you into the creaky doors of the cabinetry. The fervency spurred him on. You combed your fingers through the downy curls at his nape, and he did not hesitate slipping a hand under your sweater to smooth his palm to your bare waist. And fuck, how you arched your back on instinct.

Nasally grunts of pain descended to pleasant hums from the throat.

Unable to divide his attention, the kisses went sloppier. Rushed. Awkward, and clumsy. He slotted his mouth to yours with too much force, to the point of bruising your spit slicked lips, and the wet smack pulled a submissive whimper from the places he’d yet to take. The flush blotching his throat ran hot like flames, heating the Old Spice aftershave on his skin. The scent aided the dizzy lurch in your head, lost to the dull lamplight beyond your eyelids, rocking you onto your toes and falling back on your heels in the swirling give-and-take of his unstated needs reaching levels of crisis only you could solve. A pain you could cure as you crammed your nose to his cheek, spread your fingers firmly against his skull, and kissed your friend harder than he kissed you.

Hums lowered into a depraved moan.

The intensity of your reciprocation fueled his ego. Seeking, he moved his chivalrous hand from cupping your face, downwards. Grabbing, seizing, squeezing. After refraining from so much for so long, he was mesmerized by the curve of your shoulder, the sway of your lower back, the waistband of your scratchy polyester skirt. He roved until he found your ribs, and he molded his fingerprints there, branding you with the sensation of his thumb beneath your underwire bra. It was a messy exploration. His excitement had him bearing his weight down on you, and when your strained feet failed to steady him, your ankle gave. Knees bumped; he stepped on your toes. He fell into you and matched the pain of the counter prodding your tender flesh with the bulk of his leather belt scraping your stomach. No apology. Not with words. It was the safety and protection of his arm crooked between you and the laminate countertop which rescued you, and as a reward, he dropped his forearm from the cusp of your hips and feasted his thick fingers on a handful of your ass, rocking you into him.

There was no other way to react to the blunt suggestion.

Heavy, uneven breaths were panted across the other’s sore lips as you both withdrew to gauge the next step. He scoped your features with urgency, darting from your relaxed brows, to your keen gaze. There was an etching of insecurity marring the honey in his gentle brown eyes when you were too dazed to remember to smile, jumping to conclusions in his worrisome ways.

He really did worry too much.

Bringing your hand out of his curls, you grazed the strained tendon on the side of his neck, and worked your way up. You trailed your knuckles along his cheek, swept them under his wispy bangs, and put your fingertips to his temple, triggering a shivered sigh and fluttering lashes at the new touch.

You answered him as you combed his hair away from his face, “I’m your girl.”

The instant sincerity of his red, swollen lips kicking up into an uneven grin invoked a raw tenderness to his pink nose scrunching in playfulness, and the corner of his eyes going tight with happiness.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice hoarse from the exertion of kissing you senseless.

“Yeah,” you promised in another caress.

For a moment, he held your gaze with the importance of someone understanding what it meant to be by his side and to be seen with him out in Hawkins public; as if he were on the verge of crying from the sheer gratitude of your policy landing you here, in his arms, on this night, wanting to be his.

Eddie peered into your eyes again. His wide pupils and dusky cheeks spoke of the nature of his body, but behind that, lurking beneath his fibrous sinew was the same innate marrow telling him this was okay. This was right. Just let go.

Just let go.

He listened.

As wild as he took you minutes before, he was ready to luxuriate in the nuances of affection. He pressed his mouth closed in a dry swallow, and raised his hand from your ribs, beckoning your cheek into the stifling heat of his palm. The throbbing pulse in his neck beat a rhythm to his chest, rising and falling in a quick cadence until he was able to discipline his attention away from the obvious snag of his zipper on your skirt.

He relaxed into another kiss. It may have been the hundredth of the night, but it was pivotal. Something changed. The frantic clashing lessened, and the cravings heightened.

Consistent as he was in taking things slow, he knew how to make you feel cherished. He took your bottom lip between his and dragged it as he broke the chain from one kiss to the other, as if the extra second he claimed a part of you was crucial to his survival. Truly indulging in the full potential of someone witnessing the many bad days of his life and still wanting to cook dinner with him. Someone enjoying the harmonized hum of your lips converging while you scratched small circles on his scalp above his ears. Someone willing to hear his shameful complaints about fatherhood, and not judge him when he took his lunch break in his car, cranking the seat back to rest his blood-shot sleepless eyes, instead of sharing a coke with them in the breakroom. Someone he’d come to rely on; a constant in his life.

He poured his coffee pot’s worth of trust into you, and you answered him with the blissful endeavor of your fingers scaling his forearm, brushing through the thin hair growing like wheat and pushing the beaded bracelet up to his wrist, cupping your hand over his on your cheek. D-A-D-D-Y. M-O-U-S-E. In turn, you drank his insecurities and added your own, overflowing with the mutual truth that neither of you had been in a stable relationship lasting longer than a month, and this whole thing should’ve been very scary.

But it wasn’t scary.

It was slow and steady.

The heaviness of his body returned. Hands wandered aimlessly. Arms entwined, untangled, confused themselves on who was where. Attentive fingertips glided over woven yarn and cotton, following the dips and curves and slopes; basking in the reverence of married threads and validation. Legs shuffled, spreading and accommodating. Jaws went slack. Languid tongues merged, lazy and hot. He palmed your ass in a lax grip, easing your hips flush against his. You answered with a purposeful roll intending to earn some friction, but you couldn’t reap the benefits on account of one problem..

Your skirt was stretched to the fabric’s maximum allowance, creating a taut buffer keeping him at bay. Any motion was nullified by the hindrance. Noticing this, he shifted to be better cradled by your thighs, and a delicious gift was granted with the tandem action of your bodies joining.

He flattened his hands on the countertop behind you and blessed you with a proper long drawl of his hips; pausing in an open mouthed kiss because the noise you made—the noise you made—the noise the noise the noise you made—

Your quick inhale faltered, flattering the hard press of his cock with a shameless gasp.

Eddie halted at the top of the motion from your involuntary praise, and locked eyes with you. Just like when he made you laugh, he wanted to witness your pleasure, soak in your reverent stare and pride himself on the way you asked for more—by sinking back and away and rutting upwards, instigating a filthy tension on the layers separating you; panties, nylon, polyester skirt, seams on seams on seams of harsh denim, and his choice of boxers; and God, you thrived on the bulk behind his zipper caressing you for the first time where climaxes were born. Your moan hinged on his satisfaction, and in a dare, you pivoted the descent of your roll towards the right, capturing between you his stiff length tenting towards his pocket. And when you arched into a slow grind on the base—sliding him along the curve of your clothed heat—he released his own pretty noise.

“Mm—fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.

Gravitating elsewhere, he left messy kisses on your jaw and brushed his nose over the peach fuzz on your cheek to put his love-bitten lips to your ear. Gravelly with want, he asked, “When did you remember what happened that night?”

A dirty throb pulsed where he buried himself between your legs, striving for the angle which had you grasping at his narrow hips as a silent plea for him to drive into you harder.

“Oh,” you panted into his hair sticking to your mouth. Answering casually as you could despite your face running hot, and your voice straining light with a joke, you answered, “I never forgot. I lied when you asked me.”

“You—?” The word was a quick huff of air against your neck. He pulled away enough to look at you, but not divorce your stomachs from touching. Two deep creases formed between his brows, shadowing his squint with incredulity. “You lied to me?”

A pang of doubt weeded its way into your insecure hands around his waist, forcing you to question if he was really mad at you for pretending you didn’t remember the exact details of last weekend in order to bolster his confidence into asking you on a date instead of wallowing in silent guilt for thinking he did something wrong and end up pushing you away, sabotaging himself from ever acting on this.

You were about to speak your mind—that is, until his lips crooked up, and he invaded your space with his big eyes, big nose, and even bigger grin.

“You lied to me,” he said with a snap of wolfishness, tonguing his sharp canine after the bite of his words; hosting an overabundance of admiration in his half-lidded gaze raking over you, alighting every sinful nerve in your body.

Time to pick up where that phone call left off—

“Yeah, I did.. But you didn’t.” You sank your hand between your bodies, and flattened your palm to the front of his jeans.

His breath hitched.

Skimming, teasing, playing with him, you strung his lust taut, tracking your fingertips over the hardness and sweeping them to the very end, circling an outline around his head like a Siren’s call to his fiery blood. His biceps flexed against your arms. The laminate counter squeaked from his sweaty grip on the edge. Vinyl flooring creaked at his antsy rut into your hand, and you gave in to your own curiosity.

Wrapping your fingers as best you could through the thick denim, a spike of cold excitement washed over you at the sheer girth you struggled to handle—much less the long, long drag of your palm from base to tip—sending an ache to your cunt begging to be stretched by him.

Slightly over seven inches, indeed.

Lacking poise, you blurted an unintelligible word, and his smirk underscored his heavy kiss.

“Told you I didn’t need to overcompensate,” he taunted.

His newfound smugness was allowed. Encouraged, even, by your firm strokes, again and again, creating a damp patch on his pants at every pass of your thumb. You were fascinated by his ability to engulf you in another tender union of lips when your senses were overwhelmed by the impressive size filling your palm. Intoxicated by the gentle glide of his considerable tongue along your bottom teeth. Dazed by his pitiful groan when you increased your pace, building and building the wicked friction burn from his jeans on your soft skin, tending to the flames of your arousal, sensitive nipples peaked and receptive to the warmth of his lean chest pressing down on you.

Needing him, you closed off the kiss and played into your appeal with a saccharine pinch to your expression, and a cloying sweetness to your tone. “You do so much for your family,” you murmured. “You work so hard to provide for them, always staying late at the garage, covered in grease and dirt, fixing cars until your hands are torn and your back aches. Making sacrifices without a second thought. Always putting their needs first.”

Stroking his hard cock, you asked, “When was the last time someone put your needs first?”

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and fit the bridge of his nose to your forehead. When he spoke, his embarrassment influenced his mumble, “S’been a long, long time.”

“Sounds like you need me to take care of you, handsome.”

He tensed to suppress his shiver from your sultry tone, and withheld his whimper at the prospect, meeting your gaze in a nervous flick. “I don’t, uhm.. have..” His assured demeanor ebbed to stuttering shyness. “I didn’t, uh, buy any condoms, and all the stores are closed by now..”

Your face fell flat.

You threw your exasperated stare to the ceiling, and searched the series of events which would lead to him asking you on a date, at his home, at night, without anyone else present, and somehow not think to buy condoms. “Why didn’t you buy any?”

He shrugged, frustration evident in his tone. “I was afraid of being a dumbass and leaving them out in the open where you could see them—like with the groceries or some shit—and give you the wrong impression, like my goal was only to invite you over for that reason, and, I don’t know, think I’m coming on too strong, or something, and make you uncomfortable.”

You gripped your beloved dumbass by the chin with your unoccupied hand, and put an end to his fretting. “Or, I would get the right impression, and we’d have that box opened within ten minutes of me walking through the door.”

He blinked dumbly.

Before he could ask if you were serious, you steered the conversation to its original topic with a gentle squeeze where the dark spot on his jeans bloomed, and said, “We’ll worry about condoms next time.” He throbbed in your palm. Next time. “After all the romantic stuff you’ve done for me, I want to show you my appreciation.” You slid your fingers through his belt loops, and leaned up, nosing your way through his frizzy waves to whisper a fantasy in his ear. “I want you in my mouth.”

You put the power of suggestion in your aggressive tug, snapping your hips together.

Ripples of electric pleasure stood his arm hair on end. The alertness in his expression glazed over. He lazed in the feeling, hardly able to open his eyes to follow the bounce of your eyebrows and the deep cut of your smirk; matching with his own goofy smile going lopsided with enthusiasm.

Since his birth, there were few instances where he felt wanted, or loved, and for his dream girl to waltz into his life and be so brazen about her attraction to him with no hidden motives, empty sweet-talk, or ill intentions—

For possibly the first time in Eddie’s ostracized existence, he felt desired.

Each low tug on his jeans was another boost to his self esteem, guiding him step by step further beyond the platonic line. Deeper, and deeper into new territory. Crossing the threshold from cracked vinyl to plush carpet, and with it, entering the fear of the unknown he wasted countless hours resisting. There’s no going back after this. Acquaintances was a laughable notion, coworkers was a tricky dynamic left to be dealt with on Monday, and friendship was the foundation of him opening up to you.

Every decision persuading you to the edge of his bed was made in careful consideration. Choices were presented and chosen without impulse. Nothing about him was casual. Not anymore. The slow crawl towards this relationship was impeded by his past, and instead of giving up, you stayed true to him. Because you saw him as worthwhile.

Eddie sank to the couch, and before his back made contact with the cushions, he had his fingers cupped to the backside of your thighs, proposing a bend to your knees. In a fluid motion, he dragged his rough palms up your tights and coaxed your legs on either side of him, running his heavy hands over your skirt and up to your waist. He relaxed into the sitting position with an arm crooked around your ass while he treated himself to a handful, gathering you as close as possible until he was satisfied with the places he could reach. Not once did his eyes leave your face. He tipped his head back to watch you go from standing at the end of his knees, to straddling his lap. Wholly enamored.

Blue cast from the TV’s standby mode contrasted the dim glow from the old lamp on the kitchen counter, highlighting his blushy cheeks in eventide colors, and cleaving a defined shadow down his bobbing throat.

Earned muscle and bulky denim and seven inches of bliss prodded the delicate meat of your inner thighs. You sat high on his lap, releasing the tension in your body in increments, settling yourself on top of him. He kissed you. Short and sweet; a brief encounter compared to before, but with your senses amplified by the deeper connection you two fostered for one another, it was the best kiss of your life. And it served as a chaste prelude to his next devotion.

Taking the lead, Eddie moved on from your lips, working downward in a dreamy, drunken daze, reveling in skin-on-skin. Want—more—please. When he couldn’t access the vulnerable underside of your chin, he urged your head up with a determined bump of his nose to your jaw, and continued to praise you in stray kisses and greedy palms. He showed you what he wanted by dragging you forward in his lap, and you didn’t need to be told twice by his white-knuckled grip.

You grinded down on him, and your mouth went slack with a fragmented moan.

“You’re so pretty when you do that,” he slurred, voice husky and low.

The bulge behind his fly parted your aching cunt. With your legs spread wide, you found your perfect middle and worked the stiff seams against your need. Each rut glided him along you, slipping over the nylon and stretching your pantyhose taut. You beared down harder, obeying the faint throbs of desperation, and turned them into inadequate stirs of pleasure, fleeting at each pass.

The first stitch of nylon broke. Then, another.

His generous kisses went wayward, favoring your jawbone as a means to end, tucking his teeth into the pocket beneath your ear and nipping at your vulnerable pulse. You swallowed under the threat, and dropped your head back, revealing the neglected expanse for him to cherish.

Cascades of euphoria flowed down your neck. Teeth grazed, his tongue tasted, the cold tip of his nose drew sentiments on your throat. For every dull sting of his untamed bite, he apologized with a softer, and softer affection. Lessening in aggression. Soothing your sweltering skin with cooling breaths on the streak of spit he left behind. You shivered despite the sudden break of sweat in the humid entanglement and embraced your urges, squirming against his jeans and circling your hips in measured thrusts, tilting into the motion for your own sake and blanketing your thigh over his achingly hard cock by chance. “Christ, sweetheart.” His muffled moan set your blood on fire. Your fingers went tight on his shoulders, digging into the muscle shifting beneath your nails, wrinkling the fabric of his favorite shirt.

More nylon stitches popped.

Too lost in your own efforts, you hadn’t noticed the loss of his possessive hold on your waist until your hard nipples brushed two solid objects.

Yarn fibers tickled overtop the sheer mesh cups of your bra.

Eddie nuzzled at the base of your neck and rested the slope of his broad nose there, moving his lips on your skin when he remembered, but otherwise his attention deviated elsewhere. At his leisure, he thumbed the top button of your sweater through the loop, and drifted to the next. Another, and another, exposing the sheen of perspiration on your chest to the stagnant air in his living room. His deft fingers undressed you with undue ease. Each loosened button raced your heart, and you repaid him by widening your knees and sinking fully onto his lap, laying your plush inner thigh on top of his length in a satisfying squish, and staying there.

A weak whine tinted his pretty, “Feels—good.”

Feels good played off the thin walls stacked with ceramic mugs. Feels good joined the sporadic pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof streaming to the grassless earth outside. Feels good warmed you like the oil filled radiator at the end of the couch, popping and crackling when the heat droned higher. Feels good manifested in your cardigan slipping from your shoulders and falling to the floor in a mute drop; rooted itself in his ringed fingers dipping into your waistband; was proven by his other palm molding to the curve of your hip as if it were shaped by the same artist; and confirmed by the unambiguous focus to your right side.

Feels so fucking good burst forth in his hand’s unyielding snatch on your waistband and decisive jerk forward, ripping through the last of the strained seam trapped against your satin underwear.

The pantyhose split at the gusset, and your plump pussy spilled out, perfectly framed by the gaping nylon hole presenting your wet cunt to the thick denim. You draped him sweetly. Curved over the immense rise behind the creased zipper, creating a stiff peak before sloping to the soft give of his stomach. It didn’t take more than a single experimental thrust for your thin panties to slide into your sticky need, working them snug to your heat and inciting the first true tug at your core. Whispers of relief roused at your center, but it wasn’t until your second try, when you tilted your hips and Eddie guided you down onto him, genuine satisfaction was achieved.

The low rumble from the bottom of his chest filled you with oozy pride.

You concentrated the friction on your clit, and Eddie concentrated on anything else.

He stopped sealing his kisses, letting the envelope of his lips fall open, slack, and inarticulate, never beginning nor ending the ode to your neck. His mouth hovered wherever his head hung, and in his stupor, he could do little more than use his tongue to cut a fat line through the luster beneath the hollow of your throat, letting the salt sit in his mouth before swallowing, grateful. With each movement, the scratchy grain on his jaw from that morning’s shave buffed your sensitive skin, and he lapped at the rawness he caused in apology. The higher you rose over the swell of his cock, the lower he prized you in sloppy drags of his ample lips. He cupped his ringed fingers to the underside of the lavender lace and used his heavenly tongue to lick the top of your breast, accentuating the curve for his teeth to savor you in a lovebite. Your nipples begged for him, and your back arched for him. Your mouth fell open with a gasp—”Eddie”—drawing out the last set of vowels before they devolved into a whimper. Soon, his head was a heavy burden between your tits, and you wrapped him in your naked arms, cradling him there with your fingers in his hair. Spit from his sloppy kisses smeared on your cleavage, wetting the stubble on his cheeks, and he remained smitten, moaning into them with each bounce on his lap.

He was so wrecked on intimacy. 

Loading your lungs with another sigh of his name, you rocked your hips in whichever way felt best, not paying attention to the way your inner thigh rolled over Eddie’s fat cock, again, and again. Satin on denim; faster, and faster, tensing your leg muscles and releasing them like a quick stroke down his length. You embraced him with your chin to his hair, panting over the frizz sticking to your lips. Tender, always. Committed to lauding gentle kisses to his scalp even as you chased the one thing on your mind. Grinding in quicker thrusts. Listening to his muffled praise, but not hearing him go quiet, or noticing his body go still when his thighs edged into a hard flex under your ass. You were oblivious to his hand falling from your bra, and his fingers anchoring onto your waist. You were too engrossed in the act, rutting like animals do. Lurching towards the inevitable one desperate grind at a time, quicker.. quicker.. Heeding what your body wanted. Racing, faster.. faster.. 

Abrupt pain bloomed where he shoved his palm into your thigh to stop you.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he panted in a ragged breath.

A new heat rushed to your cheeks. The dirty word spoken from his mouth engulfed you. It tingled and danced over your skin, firing signals of excitement in pulses. With clarity, you realized the few direct strokes during what was supposed to be foreplay had him tensing and trembling, trying to keep his release from arriving too early and making a mess of himself before getting to the real deal. Your nipples tightened at the knowledge, and your legs clenched on instinct. You almost made him cum his jeans. What a compliment.

Your puffy clit was sore from the brief friction, and you felt every centimeter of space he put between you and your reward, but it was like a switch flipped in your brain.

The sharp throbs of his fingers clamped onto the meat of your thigh and his thumb jammed into the soft muscle were forgotten when you looked down at the man who shied under your observation; his face aflame with the awareness he ruined your release as well and his, and his bashful eyes worried with remorse. He was the reason you craved the early dawn, and weekday nights. He was the reason your heart crowded your throat when you woke up and your first thought was to reach for the bracelet on your bedside dresser. He was the reason you took a liking to heavy metal and board games. He was the reason your body reacted to wafts of earthy tobacco in the air, only to be disappointed when the person behind you at the grocery store was just another smoker who hand rolled their cigarettes, as if they had the right to smell like Eddie Munson.

You looked down at the man who lived an isolated and thankless life, who found joy in the small things and loved with his whole heart, who had few outlets to express himself and receive love back, and nothing mattered to you more than giving him a reason to look at you differently come Monday morning.

You thumbed the edge of his jaw with a promise. “I’ll go slow, pretty boy.”

He made a choked off noise in response.

Eddie’s eyes followed the nuances of your movement as you rose from his lap and planted your feet on the carpet. His stance widened to make room for you, chest falling with a silent exhale; peering at you with a question between his brows, as if he were contemplating his luck. When you bent over and placed your palms on his thighs, you stole his gaze from the intimate way your cleavage shifted under gravity, and honored his lips a last time for the foreseeable future, about to show him how fortunate he really was.

You sank to your knees, dropping dry kisses onto his shirt in a path to his belly as you went, and lifted the hem. The bottom of the inked sword and dragon greeted you. Sparse hair fanned as you raised the shirt above his tattooed navel, and pushed it to the crease where his sternum and belly met. His stomach wasn’t as flat as when he stood, giving him a slight curve where it pushed past the edge of his belt—a roundness when he sat relaxed. You laid your elbows on his thighs, and avoided touching the large subject in your peripheral, instead shaping your hands to his hips, and bowing your head.

His muscles jumped under your lips.

Finally, you knew his ticklish spot.

He sucked in a breath, and squirmed at the scattered kisses to his sides. You applied more pressure, mashing your mouth to him with a giggly hum, and teased your wet lips through the thick curls leading downwards. The hairs grazed the sides of your mouth and nose. The warm metal from his belt buckle brushed your chin. You’d never guessed you’d come to know these sensations when you first met him and he made it clear your enthusiasm for life was not appreciated, but here you were, stroking your thumbs up his leather belt, bordering your grin with his happy trail.

Eddie skimmed his fingers over your wrists. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.

“That’s fine,” you assured him in a quick peck to the significant outline you’d become obsessed with, feeling him twitch beneath your lips. “We have all night to work on that.”

“What—? Jesus Christ, uh—okay.”

Sitting back on your calves, you held his gaze while you pulled the extra length of his belt through the loops in a smooth rush, and worked it through the handcuff buckle. You tightened the slack and loosened the pin with a nimble finger, undressing him with the ease of an expert.

Asking from a place of your own curiosity, you wondered, “How often do you jerk off?”

His eyebrows disappeared behind his tousled bangs.

Not yet used to you being so forward with him, he stammered on his tongue, but held his composure, much to the surprise of both of you. “Not that often, I guess.. Uh, a few times a month.”

You snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know that, right? You can tell me if it’s everyday, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.”

The two halves of his belt flopped to either side of his waist. With it out of the way, you pinched at the stamped button at the top of his stupidly tight jeans, but you had trouble getting a good grip on it. Here, let me—he mumbled in a small voice, lifting his hips off the couch to undo it himself, popping it through and revealing the waistband of his forest green boxers.

It was with great determination you aimed your gaze above his obvious grandeur when he started talking.

“I’m not lying,” he said during the sturdy grind of the zipper being tugged down. “Not exactly like I have a door to lock when I need some alone time around here, sweetness. Plus” —he grunted at the freedom his unzipped jeans granted him, pushing them lower on his hips— “I’m usually too worn out after work, and just wanna crash on the couch. Not to mention taking care of everything around here is exhausting. Just don’t have the energy most days.”

Reading the precious draw of sympathy between your brows, he sat on the edge of his bed, and reached into the fly at the front of his boxers. “But, uh, there has been a recent change in my life that’s motivated me to.. take better care of myself. More often.” A certain motivator who sat between his legs with her hands in her lap, piqued and obedient. “Lot more often than a couple months ago, before she started working with me.”

He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked upward, moving his knuckles against the fabric. He’d been rambling to ease the anxiety from his nerves until only the adrenaline remained, and with his pretty girl biting her bottom lip at his impure thoughts, his stalling came to an end.

Out came his hand—broad palm and thick fingers stretched full—and you stared in silent awe.

The back of his pale wrist and rosy knuckles were the first to show. Prominent blue veins led to his crooked hand, thumb and foremost fingers grasping his base while the last two struggled to collect the rest. His wet tip grazed the top of his boxers, peaking the fabric and dragging it along in a mouthwatering sweep towards the opening, and out it bobbed in flushed hues of pink and needy red. Below, he used his other hand to lower the fly, and cupped his palm to his heavy hanging fruits. They slipped out one plump roundness at a time to display their greatness against his dark jeans in a weighty sway.

Eddie’s cock leaked a bead of anticipation for you.

Starting with a lazy tug, he stroked himself. The arousing sheen smeared around his tip glistened, shining anew with the pass of his fist. As predicted, he curved to the right, and the fact he could hardly overlap his thumb to get a good hold on himself spoke of his size. All of him was beautiful, and you felt beautiful when another drip of precum swelled from his pretty head, threatening to fall before your very eyes.

He was thrilled by your shock. “Want it?”

“Need it,” you responded in a faint exhale.

With a smirk deepening his smoky tone, he kept moving his hand up and down, and granted you permission, “It’s all yours.”

You snapped your attention to his face, and inched forward until you were snug against the couch, eager and motivated by the lustful stretch in your thighs exposing your soaked cunt to the air. Good and pleasing, you clasped your hands politely in the folds of your bunched up skirt, and framed your arms around your chest.

Dipping your head, you lolled out your tongue for his approval.

His expression was the highest compliment; revering you with crinkles at the corners of his heavy-lidded gaze, lips stretched into a genuine smile which emphasized the elusive dimple on his cheek, and defined the bags under his eyes. Strands of his finger-swept messy curls stuck out at odd angles after you had your way with his hair, grazing his high cheekbones, and thick neck.

His heart pounded louder in his chest the longer he stared at your offering.

Weight pressed down on the plush middle of your tongue. It left, then happened again, again. Again, he tapped the fat head of his cock to the sticky wetness, mixing his salty taste with your spit. Bestowing you the gift, and taking it away. Teasing you. He slapped his heaviness down in a dull throb of owning you, and lifted it off to run his fingers over his own length, jerking himself off at an easy pace he wouldn’t cum from before putting his weeping tip to your tongue once more for you to admire, but not indulge. It was the cruelest, and hottest, thing he’d ever done to you.

When he next rubbed his head along the supple muscle and took it away, you tempted him into giving you mercy.

His lungs stuttered at your first demure kiss to the underside of his cock. You listened to his shallow breath on the second, released in a short ahh on the third. On the fourth, you vied for privilege to spoil him. He relented. How could he not?

To give himself a better angle to watch, he propped one of his hands behind him, and dropped his cheek to his shoulder, where his hair poured in a mass of tangles. The broad grin he wore waned to a subtler emotion as you hummed for the silky skin thrumming against your lips, feeling him shift when he lifted his thumb from taming his hard-on down.

Eddie marveled at how you balanced his cock on your pout. Amusement—and an unending amount of tenderness—gentled his features. He was sweet on you. You were sweet on him.

Treating him how he deserved, you rolled your tongue around your mouth to gather spit, and pushed it past your lips to wet his slick head, making your kisses slip against him in a smooth glide. You showered him in small pecks at first. Short kisses with the cutesy sounds pressed to the sensitive ridges which earned Eddie’s involuntary moan; low and thick, drawing from the months of pining for this moment. Venturing into more, you darted your tongue out to test his reaction when you licked the valley between the halves of his plump tip, and you winced. His cock kicked up, and fell in a smack. It was painful, probably bruising the delicate inner flesh of your lips when it smashed them against your teeth. You thanked him in an acquiescent whine.

It was addictive—a daze. With nothing but gravity to keep him in place, you cherished your favorite mechanic’s cock openly and honestly. You flattened your tongue to him in a loving lap, and chased it with a long drag of your lips up the underside to the round head, struggling to keep your eyes open from the bliss of tasting his reward, and suckling noisily for more.

Eddie accepted defeat in a sudden, disappointed grunt, “Yeah.. I’m not gonna last long.”

He fell backwards in a dramatic flourish.

Sprawled almost flat, his shoulders hit the cushions, and his body melted into the position with his fingers laced over his eyes as a shield. A groan of despair reverberated in his throat. Poor Eddie, can’t last long with his favorite receptionist’s mouth around his cock. A giggle bubbled from your chest, and you were about to repeat your promise to go slow, but the words wouldn’t form.

Your mouth had other plans than wasting their time on reassurances.

In his melodramatic moping, his dick left your lips and flopped onto his belly—which was a loss you felt in your soul—but with how he slouched into the cushions, a fruitful endeavor presented itself. Swung, and bounced, actually.

You leaned in, and became acquainted with your hand around his girth; familiarizing yourself with the naked warmth in your palm, and his airy whimper when you did.

The top of his boxers brushed your knuckles as you drifted your hand up in a single stroke. One fluid glide on the cock which belonged to you. He did say it was yours, after all. And though the thought alone had you wishing it was stretching your tight cunt in a blend of pain and pleasure, you had a yearning for what else moved up and down when you pumped your fist.

“Eddie?” you called. He peered at you from the shadow of his fingers. Innocently, you traced the bottom of his sack, and oh so carefully settled them into the nest of your unblemished palm. “Are these mine too?”

A croak broke his speechlessness. “Y-Yeah, those are yours, too. If you want them.”

Please was written in your grateful lurch towards his cock. Thank you was expressed in your lush moan when he entered your mouth.

“Baby,” he whined in a docile sigh.

You sank his cock into the wet heat he needed, but only for the purpose of curving your tongue to his begging tip and bathing him in your spit, using your hand to work it down his shaft. Except, you got carried away. A few strokes in, and you put your lips tight around his head, and already there was a warning forming between his brows.

You backed off. His face went lax in relief.

“Feels too good, sweetheart,” he praised from the depths of his gravelly voice. “Gonna make me cum like that.”

Your pussy ached to be spoken to that way.

Moving your attention away from how pitifully empty you felt, you loosened your grip and twisted your wrist to massage the base of his slick cock; not exploring upwards, just giving him enough friction to keep him on edge without spilling over. A perfect amount of pleasure, you guessed, from his red face emerging from behind his hands, raising them to comb his bangs off the fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead, and blinking himself out of his haze just in time to see you lower your face between his thighs.

You tended to him first with a kiss. An opening, or introduction, to your lips finding the spot beneath your working thumb where the hardness ended and the velvety skin began. He tensed. His legs flexed around your shoulders, bringing his knees in all shy like, like he was self conscious to have you down there. And maybe it was one thing to have his balls cupped in your palm, but it was another to have you nosing around the opening of his boxers when he hadn’t gone through with his plan of trimming back the hedges.

All he could do was stare when you inhaled his scent after he spent the day cleaning his home, running errands, driving across town to pick you up, and sitting next to you during scene after scene of horrors playing on a screen directly across from the terrifying event of holding your hand while trying not to out-sweat his t-shirt.

His bewilderment was apparent, but so was your enjoyment.

You burrowed your nose at the narrow opening of his fly, and tilted his cock to the side, finding the thick thatch of curls growing around his base, and admiring his heavy musk breaking through the perfumed Dove soap. A heavy purr of pleasure rumbled in your throat, coming out as a nasally moan against the wrinkled skin you kissed. So enraptured by his body, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to part your lips, and run your tongue along the seam of his sack. It was with a dire urge you stopped at the bottom, and flaunted how big he was by snuggling your nose to the heft and lifting.

You draped his balls over your mouth.

It was silly to him, and you didn’t mind the tss of laughter, but to you, earning his baffled smile while your giggle was buried under his sack was vital to your design. Their ripe heat enveloped you. The stripe you licked was wet on the tip of your nose. His natural scent swaddled you. Both corners of your lips were encumbered by the wonderful weight hanging on either side, brushing your cheeks as you swallowed the taste of his tangy sweat. You kissed up into the excess skin stretched over your face, and they rolled to your chin when you changed the angle you were teasing his cock, disciplining him towards his stomach so you had more room to worship the pome.

Warming him to the idea, you flattened your tongue to one side and ran it along the fullness, curving up, and dragging down in a long caress. In a breath, he placed his hand on his stomach where his shirt gathered, and skimmed the other over his body until it laid on top of his jeans, in the crease between his hip and thigh. You could see his fingers work themselves into the loose denim out of the corner of your eye, and heard them relax when you traced the other side of his sack, ending with a murmur to the textured skin.

“Too much?” you asked—he shook his head before you could finish the question, still hanging onto a suggestion of his fascinated squint at what you were doing to him.

With his approval, you indulged.

The gentle licks evolved to sloppy circles, eager to prize and polish, ensuring there was no part of his balls gone neglected. Lapping at, kissing at, making out with another spot on his body out of a necessity to fawn over every inch of him. Willing to nuzzle your way between the plumpness and have your drool drag wetly across your cheeks in his name. Fully content with messier and messier affections, cozying your nose to the base of his curls until he understood how little it bothered you to be smothered by his nature.

Unable to resist satisfying him how he deserved, you dropped an open kiss to the squish of his sack, and suckled on a small section, checking his reaction.

Not an ounce of protest glimmered behind his lashes, eyes falling almost closed at the intimate gesture between two people who were never supposed to be more than coworkers.

You parted your lips, and accepted a mouthful. 

Eddie whimpered.

His toes curled into the carpet at the novel sensation. There was an incredible amount of trust required to fight the instinct to pull away. Even his fingers strained the denim when you drew your lips around one of his balls, and slackened your jaw. It was with great respect you brought him into your mouth, and cradled the weight on your tongue, cheeks stretched full and soft. You held him there for a long second. The rain was a steady noise of the roof, but your exhale was loud in the space between his thighs. Quiet suspense followed your hand climbing his shaft.

You wrapped your fingers around his hopeful tip, and fitted your thumb to the valley on the underside. In perfect sync, and with your eyes steady on his face, you hollowed your cheeks and squeezed each of your fingers at the same gentle pace.

“Fuck, baby—”

At once, Eddie’s unabashed groan inspired you, and his balls jerked in response to the direct touch in the places he needed it. From pinky to index, you massaged his fat head in a smooth pulse—matching the strokes of your thumb—and though your grip was light, he was already kneading his hand along his inner thigh and clamping it down close to your face. You soothed him on your tongue as best you could, and eased him into having more pressure from your lips, sucking harder on the most sensitive part of him.

Concentration stressed a shadow between his brows; chest braced on a held breath.

The telltale sign of his skin tightening in your mouth, along with his clenched stomach and abnormal silence, had you testing his limits. But it was too fun feeling his legs squirm at the effortless flow your fingers performed, coaxing him closer to coming undone and still daring to smear the swells of precum over the pleading edge of his tip, again and again, but slower. Slower. Memorizing the metallic slink of his guitar pick running along the ball chain necklace when you released him, and his chest sank with a sigh.

His voice cracked a notch higher, “Jesus, you’re really into this, huh, sweetheart?” he asked, but you couldn’t answer.

Before committing to his other ball, you spat into your cupped fingers, and put them to his cock, adjusting how you held him until you could look past and see the handsome glint of respect in his eyes, and he could gaze into wealth of adoration in yours.

“Love being on my knees for you,” you mumbled sweetly, kissing your way to the other side of his sack. “Love your cock, Eddie.”

His name, spoken where it was on his body, brought out a smugger twist to his already prideful grin. “Yeah? You like it?”

Rushing at the chance to compliment your man, you straightened your spine, and punctuated your words along the thick vein leading up to the drips of seed. “Love it,” you promised in a syrupy yearn, swallowing the bitter salt. “Love your cock; love it so much. It’s my favorite.”

“Is it the best?”

The question was tonally rich with confidence, but just in case there was any doubt woven into the wording itself, you regarded the man who went to work early on a day he had off for the purpose of leaving flowers on your desk, and smiled.

“Yeah,” you confessed, recalling a memory from the earlier months, after your first failed date, when he shared his can of Coke with you at lunch because the vending machine was out, and two sets of chapsticked lip prints were left around the metal rim. “It’s the best.”

You hugged his cock to your cheek, and nuzzled the warmth as you would any other part of him, humming a sunshiny hum, and parted ways to return to your true calling further down.

This time, Eddie groaned in relief when you settled his other ball in your mouth—”That’s it.”

With your newly slick hand, you slipped your palm over his desperately purple tip with ease. His thighs jumped into a flex, and his stomach fluttered with tension—almost like he was going to lose himself right there—but he exhaled hard through his nose, and became better at existing in the mutual pleasure. This was as much for you as it was for him.

There was a scrunch of determination above his nose, and a strong edge to his jaw, but otherwise, his fingers were gentle on your temple. 

“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said, tracing his knuckles downward, lacing multitudes of meanings behind the sentence. Physical, and emotional.

He prodded his thumb into the hollow of your cheek, feeling how full you were of him; how his calloused fingerpad rocked in the same rhythm of your lips sealing around him and sucking; and you leaned into the tender gesture of his open palm, to which he cupped your jaw with a sentiment tantamount to what you were baring.

A sweet man through and through, even as he trembled in your fist.

You curved your tongue around the tight skin in your mouth, and moaned prettily for him. Frequent moans, ardent moans, moans appealing to his ego, moans you’d hear on a tape rented from the backroom of a competing video store with a black curtain separating it from the wholesome movies up front. Performing for him, finding what he liked. Which lick, which whine, which speed had his cock leaking over your fingers. Which trick made the creases between his brows mature, and his mouth fall open: the answer was two fast pumps over his throbbing head, and back down to his base for a respite, prolonging his release with a thank you on his heavy eyelids.

Prolonging, at least, until two fast pumps became a naughty blur of more—Oh, fuck, baby—and his brushes along your cheek went rare, and he licked his dry lips in the fog of his ramping high, and he hung his head back to the dense cushions, and his question escaped his throat in a hoarse huff, “You wanna—?” and it wasn’t a question at all.

You pushed your lips in soft goodbye to his sack, and his fingers under your jaw communicated his wish, aiding your chin up with a light pressure until your mouth was tasting the result of his aching lust. Slow and steady, you lavished his head in tame licks, building into a long sweep over the top. Warming yourself up to the painful stretch your lips were about to endure while his kind fingertips coasted over your hair, and found themselves at the back of your neck. Drawing out the seconds he tucked his thumb behind your ear, and rubbed circles. Sitting in the moment of something delicate, before things changed, and the platonic line became a horizon.

You drove his tip past your lips, and channeled all your appreciation into sucking Eddie’s cock.

He whimpered in surprise. A different whimper than before; not a drowsy noise he may make when rolling over in bed, but a sputtered note expelled in bursts of heavy breaths, singing a hymn to your blood.

The pace was not shy.

You descended to meet your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and reached your temporary depth where his hardness caressed the back of your mouth, and your throat clenched. Pulling back, you focused on his head, wetting his length with the sudden drool, and busying your other hand with his balls, cupping and stroking them in gentle passes.

“Ri–Right there, yeah, God, right there, sweet girl.” The syllables were mashed and dropped and disconnected on his whine.

Flicking your gaze up, you thrived on his fixated stare, bobbing your head on his tip only. Sliding your lips back and forth over the luscious ridge which had his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Massaging your wet heat around the center of his pleasure; encouraging a pinch in his expression as if he were in pain when he was in anything but.

Being higher on your knees meant your tits could be seen, and what a delicious sight it was for him to covet. Braced by your bra, your cleavage bounced as you pumped your fist along his cock, grazing your nipples above the opaque floral applique, cresting them beyond the sheer lace. It was enough to make his stomach squeeze, and his fingers tremble in the baby hairs at your nape.

His cock twitched twice in your mouth, conveying a message.

You welcomed him to the back of your throat, gladly this time, accepting the overfulness making it hard to breathe and the soreness surely to come, using your hand for the rest you could not take. No amount of uncomfortableness would make you shy from showing him the recognition he earned. For years he didn’t see the value in himself, and knowing the person who saved a Laffy Taffy wrapper to tell you the joke on the back didn’t prioritize his own happiness compelled you to take him deeper, faster. You shaped your tongue to the outline of his cock, and chased your lips with your fist, hollowing your cheeks at the top, teetering him on the cusp, rousing him until your skin buzzed from the friction and his hips pitched. Bringing him so close to the edge that when you broke away to catch your breath, his muscles shivered, and the shadows between his brows lessened as they arched higher from the mounting pleasure, where every touch on his body felt better and better and better than the last.

In the brief seconds you wrapped both your hands around his length, he made a pleading noise with the added weight of his warm palm at the back of your head—an urgency in his disheveled state, but not without the option of choice.

At once, he was at home in your throat.

In a union, your fingers wrenched his waistband into your damp palm, and he laid his hand across your knuckles. The control was yours, but the pace was his. He fucked himself into your pliant mouth in short, quick thrusts; ever attentive to keep his thumb strokes on your cheek unquestionably loving.

“Gonna make me—” He found the angle to cant his hips so you could watch him unravel; eyes falling closed and face tipped to the ceiling. “—Make me cum, baby,” he finished, voice light as air.

Throat flushed bright pink, cheeks dark red. Eddie panted into a shaky moan of true relief, and your core craved to be the one to take care of his needs, but there was something special about proving your attraction to him in every way you could.

The ridges of his greedy tip found where they were best brushed, and his hips lost their tempo. His stomach sank and stuttered in pulses. A dear emotion clutched your chest, letting loose when he crashed into his climax.

His knees closed you in, crowding you to his lap. “I’m gonna—” he gasped, rough and breathless; presented as a warning for the shot of bitter taste at the back of your throat, filling your mouth and spilling over your tongue with each throb of the thick vein pumping over your swollen bottom lip.

Something undeniable feathered the vulnerability of the position.

You swallowed.

And when more remained after it slid down your throat, you steadied his twitching cock over the offering of your tongue and jerked him off, stealing more drips to satiate you, swallowing with your lips pressed in a kiss to his overstimulated tip. “Baby,” he begged with his head thrown back, legs shifting restlessly around you. He sucked in breaths. Squirmed. Bit his tongue. Tugs of laughter played at his screwed up mouth, so desperate to resist giving in to a true grin when you rode out his high until he was beginning to soften, and the euphoria wore off to a dozy tingles, and the tingles dissipated into you giving him mercy, and mercy gave way to the aftermath.

In all the awkwardness of reality, you unceremoniously wiped your hands on his jeans, and right as he properly tucked himself back into his boxers, he beckoned you with open arms, gripping at your hips and bringing you onto the couch in a clumsy tumble; straddling his lap with his eager kisses seeking your jaw, your neck, your mouth which worked so hard for him. “Fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbled at the corner of your lips. You didn’t need the words—you’d heard them all before—but the reassurance of his arms locked tight around your middle, and the golden rays of honey shining so bright in his eyes allayed the tiny ball of worry at the pit of your stomach telling you he’d next follow it up with an excuse to send you home, as did every man before him.

“‘Mazing, ‘mazing, ‘mazing,” he mushed together on his way to your slack lips, bringing you out of your thoughts and into a kiss. “And dare I say, ‘amazing?’”

His ability to make you giggle when your bare stomachs were pressed together was the sort of tenderness you sought, and he provided.

You rubbed the tip of your nose along his, so very aware of his broad grin, and sweet nature. “You’re silly.”

“That I am!” he stated proudly.

Dipping to complete your gentle smile with his, you sank into the acceptance of him wanting to take your bottom lip between his, and flatter himself with the knowledge of where it’s been, what parts of him it became intimate with, instead of avoiding what was only human. He noticed your cold skin beneath his hands, and ran them along your back and upper arms. There was a motive behind his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, and palming you forward—where your heartbeats hammered together, and heat stirred in the lack of layers separating you—but still, there was one more affection you thought he deserved before the night moved on to your own.

Shivers chased his thumb braving the roundness of your breast, edging closer to the sensation of due pleasure yearning to be released. He spoke straight to your needs by putting the suggestion in your hips, “It’s your turn now.”

You stopped yourself from toppling to the cushions, and upheld your decent balance through your grip on his shoulders. “Wait,” you complained without malice, forgiving him for not reading your mind, “I’m not through with you yet.”

The word choice sparked intrigue across his face, then it cautioned to curiosity at the ominous roll of thunder rumbling through the trailer, clanking the mugs on the wall behind him.

He turned his head to the side, eyeing you. “What does that mean?”

~~~

“God, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, right there.. A little to the left—Oh fuck, right there.”

“So fucking good, sweetheart, keep going.”

Perturbed, you asked him, “Do you ever shut up?” and kneaded your knuckles harder into the knot of muscle between his shoulder blades, earning a louder groan than when you had his dick in your mouth.

One of the horror movies played on the TV, volume turned high for the alien’s gargled dialogue to be heard over the storm. Eddie’s lanky body was limp with sleepiness, melting under the smooth strokes of your palms starting at the base of his neck and gliding downward over his shirt, dragging another grunt out of him when his voice was hoarse from shameless use, not tempering it for a late night where he’d employ his range outside of singing for Corroded Coffin. He mumbled another praise, but his face was smashed to his pillow, rendering what he said unintelligible. His strong back rose with a shallow breath, and you moved with it. The couch was crowded, but you insisted he get comfortable, even if you had to straddle the curve of his ass with one knee fallen to the alarm of crayons and crumbs stuck between the cushions, and your other leg hung off the edge. This worked for him, though. It gave his hand a place to hold you, fingers clasped to your calf and thumb tending to you in little sweeps of truth. I need to touch you. The room was smothered in darkness, save for the brighter scenes highlighting the glossy line of his eye fighting a losing battle one massage of your thumbs into the pockets of soreness at a time.

You worked at the tense muscles with his comforter draped around your shoulders. It slipped down to greet the chafing air, rushing goosebumps over your skin. After the fourth time adjusting it, you left it gathered at your waist. Making sure Eddie was taken care of was more important. And the college girl turning into goo occupied what was left of your attention.

Though, soon, your tendons ached from effort, and staying-up-late stole the water you yawned from your eyes, and the comfort of being with someone who appreciated you wore heavy on your bones.

You grabbed the blanket, and leaned forward.

Brushing back the mess of curls covering the side of his face, you combed through the strands of hair stuck to his stubble, and found his chubby cheek smushed to his shoulder. You kissed him. “I adore you.”

He put a weak squeeze in his palm behind your knee, and spoke through the grog, “I adore you too, baby.”

Adore. Using the endearment in place of another word, and still, the weight was understood by the both of you.

Housed in the cozy heat of his body, sheltered from the rain lashing the windows in sheets, and the howling wind whistling past the corrugated metal roof in gusts, you sighed. Thunder vibrated from the floor, to the couch, to him, to you.

“You’re too sweet to me,” he said, sounding more awake.

“I’m exactly as sweet as you deserve.”

Instead of using his words to express he wanted to turn over, he just started rolling beneath you, forcing you to rip yourself from his divine warmth, and settle upright on his lap.

You were reminded of the reason you were cold when his eyes trailed over your naked skin, not afraid to show their appetite for your chest. The hunger in his hands returned, scaling the plush expanse of your thighs, and feasting his thumbs higher on the sensitive inner haven he’d yet to pay tribute to.

A smirk cut across his mouth. With a slow breath, he rocked his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against your neglected need, now attuned with the perfect tilt to achieve that pretty noise from your mouth which riled him like nothing else.

Oh, he was very awake.

Eddie exhaled with a pitying sound with attentive eyebrows, almost like he was mocking your moan. “You look so good up there, sweetheart,” he admired through his teasing. “Could get used to it..”

“Yeah?” you questioned. Reaching between your joined bodies, you held no qualms about circling your fingers over his cock, and honoring just under his head, ending your stroke just before he could reap the benefit.

He tipped his head back to gain his wits, finding his answer in the darkness behind his eyelids. “But you keep forgetting this night was about you, and thanking you for everything you’ve done for me. And then you go and add that on top of it.” Private fantasies took hold of him, influencing his heavy moan and thumbs climbing higher, higher. “Gotta thank you for so many things, sweetheart. So many.. However many you want,” he said, alluding to his way of showing gratitude. Fresh lust rushed to your soaked heat hugging his length. “Gotta get you out of these, though.” He scratched a nail over your pantyhose.

You snorted, accidentally ushering humor into what was a sexy exchange. “Why bother? You already ripped them.”

“I what?” Plain confusion marked his face.

Treating it like an ordinary thing, you bunched your skirt up to your waist, and drew his gaze to your mismatched black panties. You gandered at them as well, second guessing if you should’ve taken the extra time to find the lavender pair somewhere at the bottom of your drawer.

“Yeah,” he groaned; as his chest fell, his cock swelled. “I’m gonna show you just how thankful I am, again, and again, and again,” he trailed off, each word fluttering the heartbeat at your core—

Lightning struck, and the phone rang.

Jolting, Eddie stared at it from a long moment, breath held as if that alone would will it into submission from ringing a second time. Spikes of prickly anxiety stabbed at your chest, frightened out of the moment worse than any jumpscare.

It rang a second time.

He took the initiative and sat up, consoling you with his hand on your back and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just stay put and make yourself comfortable, sweet girl. I’ll be right back.”

Use your pet names all he wanted, his voice didn’t instill confidence when it went flat and wavered.

He got up from the couch and you were left feeling exposed, nestling into the blanket as the rain picked up, and the buzzy feeling he left imprinted on your skin faded.

“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his stomach above the open fly of his jeans.

As he listened to the man’s voice on the other end, he dropped his hand, and his shoulders sagged at the information.

Turning away, he huddled the receiver to his ear, and asked, “Is she okay?”

His question didn’t have the direness a parent should have if someone were hurt, so you stood up and padded softly to the kitchen, straining your ears, listening intently and discerning a few sniffles. But one little girl’s cry rang above them all. A shrill call for her Daddy to save her from her greatest fear.

Thunder rocked the trailer.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I’ll come get her.”

The phone clicked into its holder on the wall, and like that, the illusion was shattered. It was no longer just you and him spending a night together, carefree. Responsibility took precedence, and when Eddie faced you, his mood was tainted by all the things he explained about being exhausted from just existing his thankless life, judged by all.

He stared into your optimistic gaze knowing this is when you’d get a dose of his reality as a single father.

Fatigue and dread haunted his expression: this date is over.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

[sir-kuroo]

.—♡ 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 { K. KENMA }

KENMA accidentally walked in on you in the airplane lavatory; @mrskenmakozume: dedicated to you like before and as always

︶︶୨୧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 ⋮ pwp, semi-public sex, frotting, dry humping, penetration, slight dacryphilia, airplane sex xD (trust me with the outrageous places to have sex) 𖦹 @enchantedforest-network

It was a bad idea opening up the link Lev sent, Kenma thought. He never expected it would be a hentai game and his curious ass played it while on flight. Great. He knew he couldn’t take it any longer or he’d get his balls blue for real. Pulling his hoodie on, he rushed to the restroom, opening the first available cubicle.

You both froze as you were halfway from pulling your panties back up. Your pussy was fully exposed from his sight.

Fuck!

He immediately turned around and was about to open the door when you stopped him, “Don’t! Don’t open yet!” You pleaded in embarrassment. “I’m not yet fully dressed some people outside might see me!”

Shit! He’s annoyed. Fucking annoyed. He’s already hard and you got him even harder. Just…Fuck!

“Hurry up.” He snapped. “You should’ve closed the door.”

“I did!” You rebutted.

Kenma glared at the door lock and flipped the switch. Some of the lights turned even brighter and the green sign from above turned to red. “This is how you lock it.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes! Did this person even realize that you’re the one humiliated here? The only thing he had was a pretty face, but what’s with the personality?

“Okay. I’m done.” You said, avoiding eye contact. He just saw you half-naked!

“We can’t go out together.” He leaned back to the wall, giving you space to make your way out of the restroom. Striding sidewards through the tight space, your ass grazed against his crotch. He tightly pinched his eyes close. He sure felt your shape through those tight leggings.

You were about to unlock the door when the plane wobbled. The toilet seat cover closed as you both struggled to keep your feet.

Ladies and gentlemen the fasten seatbelt sign is on. Please remain seated at all times.

Your body bumped on Kenma’s, throwing the both of you off balance, which had you stumbling right on his lap. Good thing he managed to sit on the covered toilet.

You both sighed as soon as it stopped quaking. However, your eyes widened when you felt his bulge poking against your ass. You looked back at him and he had that wide-eyed gaze and flushed face.

Now, you’re quits.

He’s quite the pretty boy though, bearing that cute and boyish features. You mentally slapped yourself! You shouldn’t be thinking this way towards the guy who just saw your privates and whose hard-on was poking your back.

You were about to stand up, when the plane seesawed and you fell hard back on his lap.

Fuck! Kenma took hold of your waist, keeping you in place so you won’t fall. This new position had his cock in between your crotch. Your soft cunt roughly rubbing against him. Your walls clenched with the friction as the plane kept on shaking while your hips matched the movement.

He's growing even bigger.

Kenma gritted his teeth and you bit your lip. It felt so good.

The turbulence ended yet no one’s making a move to stop and you just kept on squirming around him.

“W-we can’t do this!” You said, but your hips were grinding his length.

“Yes, we sh- we shouldn’t.” He said, but he’s doing nothing to move you away and you were both still hungrily rubbing against each other.

More! More! More!

He needed more! As long as he could still control himself, he better stop this now, right? That’s just sensible. He lifted you away from his lap, giving you a chance to run, however you pulled your leggings and panties down.

“A-Are you sure this is okay?” You asked with reddened face, taking his gesture differently.

His eyes were wide as he couldn’t believe what just happened. “I think so...”

He’s pretty sure that his fucking dick was now dominating his head.

He freed his cock from the opening of his pants. It wasn’t that difficult as he’s already full-pledged. Hastily, he put on a condom with agitated fingers. It’s better to be safe, though he had no intention of putting it inside you.

Guiding you on his lap again, your thighs sandwiched his cock and your bare pussy was rubbing his length. You rocked your hips, pressing your mounds further against his flesh to add a satisfying pressure against your clit, sliding and dragging the lips of your pussy on the length of his cock and coating it with your wetness. His hips met your rhythm and gradually increased it, until the plane teetered.

“Aaaah~” You moaned. You were both jolted! He accidentally slipped inside you!

Cabin crew prepare for landing.

Kenma wrapped his arms firm around your waist and you gripped on the side handle tightly. Your bodies were shifting together with every tilt of the plane. Both of you were no longer in control of your movements, yet it was very satiating. His cock was reaching the deepest and most pleasurable spots inside you, while the plane's brisk motions were giving him so much friction and it's getting him close to losing his mind.

You had to tightly latch onto each other with the intensity of the shaking. Tears started forming in the corners of your eyes. Kenma had his forehead pressed on your nape while you were holding his head, reaching a hand from behind. You both couldn't even manage to cover your groans and whimpers as the plane began its descent. Both of you were drowning in pleasurable friction caused by the sudden tilts and vibrations.

As the wheels of the aircraft touched the runway, his grip on your waist tightened even more and so was your hold on the side handle; the impact took you bouncing up and down raggedly and violently against his cock, getting the both of you to your destination, screaming and crying curses while you were being completely muffled by the engine’s noise.

You both trembled out of your orgasms, still throbbing at how intense it all felt and reeling in the pulses in your core.

Ladies and gentlemen we have now arrived at Galeão International Airport, Rio de Janeiro. Please remain seated until the fasten seatbelt sign is turned off. Current ground temperature is…

Your minds were empty as you caught your breaths, panting and limply swaying your heads. It was so good that your pussy and his cock felt like it’s burning hot in the right way. You both wanted more of it, but you had no energy left.

“Are you…Are you alright?” Kenma asked in an airy whisper.

You nodded your head silently.

“Can you walk?” Somehow, something inside him wanted to assist you outside but…

You blushed. There’s no other way or else you had to walk out together and people would be suspicious. You gave him another nod and stood from his lap, his now flaccid cock slipping out of you. You pulled your panties and leggings up and almost stumbled. Your knees felt like jelly.

“Walk closely to the wall.” He said gently.

“Alright, thank you.” You told him without looking back. You didn’t even get his name or whatever, but you sure would never forget his face.

Kenma watched as you walked out of the door.

Shit! What did he just do? First flight to a different continent and he fucked up. Literally.

Running a hand over his face, he let out a sigh. He hadn’t even asked for your name. All he knew was your whines were kinda’ cute…just like you. He blushed. What was he even thinking now? Did the plane ride rewire his brain?

Kenma went out of the restroom once he sensed that almost all of the passengers had already gone, though there’s a part of him that hoped you were still there. Even up to the baggage carousels, he sort of looked for you, but you were nowhere to be found anymore.

Anyway, what would he even do? Ask for your name and where you’re heading? He’s just here to visit Shoyo. That’s it. This would probably be one of the experiences he’d keep to the grave.

Finally picking his luggage up from the conveyor belt, he glanced around to search for his friend until the bright boy beamed at him. His name written in a white paper. “Ke-n-ma!”

Kenma smiled upon seeing him again after a long time. He looked toasted, geez.

“Shoyo,” he greeted back.

"Welcome to Rio!" Shoyo welcomed him happily. “Oh! I forgot to tell you.” He said with excitement. “This is Y/N! She’s the friend I was talking about to you. I’ll tour you two together. I actually booked you in the same hotel…”

The ginger head’s voice drowned as you and Kenma stared at each other, frozen and red-faced.

It looks like you were never done yet.

JOIN THE 🍷 𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄! Get tagged whenever I update ♡

⏝︶︶⏝︶ ୨୧ ︶⏝︶︶⏝

© nekorei 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

#kenma smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #kozume kenma smut #kenma x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kozume kenma x reader #hq kenma #haikyuu kenma

[eoieopda]

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

#svt #vernon #vernon chwe #hansol vernon chwe #vernon smut #svt smut #vernon fic #svt fic #vernon x reader #vernon fluff #vernon x you #vernon x y/n #vernon imagines #vernon scenarios #seventeen #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt scenarios #kvanity #jade writes #re: tidal.

[kissatoru]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓

pairing. sub!vampire!levi ackerman x dom!gn!reader

synopsis. in 19th century society, everyone has secrets they want to keep from seeing the light of day — so what will happen when you unveil levi’s?

content. implied virgin/touch-starved!levi, ooc levi at some points cause of vampire hormones, plot before porn, blood/blood-drinking kink, oral fixation, dry humping, handjob, inappropriate use of cravats, petnames (dearest, darling)

notes. first fic of hornyween!! the others won’t be as long lol this took FOREVER. anyway, please consider reblogging if you enjoy it<3

wc. 5k

Sparkling chandeliers adorn the ballroom’s high ceilings, making the polished floor gleam like honey as stylish figures twirl and glide across it. The rest of the guests are gathered by the walls in clusters, their lively chatter and chuckles mixing in with the night’s melodies.

You stand by one of the pink brocade curtains, sipping a glass of champagne. Your stance is relaxed but mannerly; not seeking nor avoiding attention, just observing and occasionally humouring a fellow guest that takes notice of your presence. Among those who approach you, admirers are plentiful, with faces of various qualities and contours, and characters both pleasant and not, but none who gain more than a few minutes of your time before you’re politely concluding the conversation or excusing yourself entirely.

As you’re meandering through laughing circles and swaying couples, away from yet another adamant admirer, you scan the room for him: the main reason you attended this ball at all. He rarely arrives for the banquets, and when he does, he even more rarely eats more than is expected of him. Now that the dancing has begun, he should be here, but you’ve yet to spot a single trace of him. It has made you restless, your eyes desperate in their pursuit. Each time you catch a glimpse of dark hair and pale skin or a short stature and a neatly tied cravat, you’re just as suddenly disappointed when you realise it’s not him. Eventually, you fall back into the same routine as before — entertaining married couples, faking laughs at bad jokes, listening to shallow gossip.

“Goodness, me,” Baroness Azumabito gushes at you, “you are as charming as they say, Your Grace.”

You chuckle courteously. “You’re too kind, Lady Azumabito.”

She offers you a closed-eye smile, her crow’s feet pinching together. “I truly must ask,” she begins, unfolding her peacock-feather fan and speaking a little quieter now. You already know it’s certainly not something she must ask. “What are your plans on marriage? You have no small number of choices, I’m sure!”

She giggles a little too hard for your liking, and you are reminded of the not-so-pretty piece of gossip you heard only a mere ten minutes ago — her husband’s gambling problems, her unmarried child. Quite the ideal motive for her to talk to you; someone who has both higher status and greater wealth. Of course, you know not all hearsay is true, but with a smile like Lady Azumabito’s, cunning as a fox and twice as sneaky, trust is a risk you’re not willing to take.

You laugh again. “Oh, none at the moment,” you say, feigning ignorance, “I’m so busy these days, I feel as though a partner might be…”

At the edge of your vision, a dark-haired silhouette passes. Your head moves in search of it, your eyes following, flicking this way and that. However, amidst the sea of extravagant gowns and upscale suits, the glimpse you had managed to catch slips from your grasp all too soon.

“Might be what?” Kiyomi asks.

An uneasy sense of disappointment hollows in your chest, but you ignore it. “Uh, a distraction. Would be... a distraction.”

Another flash of shadowy hair, porcelain skin.

Kiyomi clears her throat. “Do you care to elaborate, Your Grace?”

Just as you’re about to turn back to her, a figure stops in clear view before you: a metre and a half tall, raven black locks, eyes as sharp as falcon talons, an intricately tailored waistcoat — and the swan-white ruffles of a linen cravat.

A huff is your only warning before the short woman is stepping in and obscuring your line of sight, her round eyes now pressed into slits by her strained smile. “Please forgive my impudence, Your Grace, but what has you so–”

You abruptly but gently take her hands into yours. “Pardon my manners, Lady Azumabito,” you say, already shifting on your feet in preparation for your departure, “but I’ve spotted an acquaintance of mine with whom I’d like to discuss some private matters with.” You let go of her hands and give a curt bow. “If you’ll please excuse me.”

Her dumbfounded expression is the last you see of her before you swiftly take your leave. You track the person with your eyes and feet in tandem, each step purposeful and your eagerness barely contained. Once you’re in arm’s length, you cheerily call out:

“Viscount Ackerman!”

Several people turn their heads. The Viscount in question stops no later, though seemingly reluctantly. He turns to face you, a question perched on the peak of his raised eyebrow.

Your shoes clack as you stride the rest of the way up to him. Once beside him, you lean over and flash him a cheeky smirk. “Fashionably late as always?” you remark, but it fails to prompt any sort of perceptible reaction. The only change in his expression is his eyebrow returning to its relaxed position.

“And I see you are…” Silver blue eyes wash over you, up and down, in a single steady motion. “In attendance. As always.”

“Of course,” you reply with a practised smile. “I would not dream of missing one of the Duke of Trost’s parties.”

He hums. “I don’t doubt that.”

You hum back, thoughtful. “And what of yourself, my Lord?” you ask. “What brings you here?” You pause to smile knowingly. “Certainly not the food, seeing as you were absent for that.”

His eyes narrow and his lips press together in a firm line. “If you must know, the Duke was very insistent that I attend,” he explains, eyeing a passing servant before picking up a flute of champagne from their tray. “As for my tardiness… I prioritised taking care of some business affairs, first and foremost. Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to understand.” He swirls the liquid around in his glass and takes a sip.

You chuckle heartily. “Oh, come now!” you exclaim. “Why so hostile? Are we not friends?”

“Only in public,” Levi corrects in a low tone.

You turn to face the room, smirking against your glass. “That’s not true and you know it.”

A newly-engaged couple you were conversing with earlier passes by, waving. You smile and wave back at them.

Levi makes an exasperated noise. “Do you never tire of that?” he grumbles into his glass.

You bring your own glass up to your lips. “Whatever do you mean, my Lord?”

He grimaces. “That.”

You giggle. “Keeping up appearances is just the way I was raised,” you reply with a gesture of nonchalance, “but not all my smiles are fake, you know. It’s quite pleasant, smiling.” You beam at him, as if to prove your point. “I think you ought to try it some time.”

Levi scowls. “I know how to smile.”

“Oh, I never said you didn’t, my Lord,” you quip. “I have no doubt that you understand it in theory, just that you should try putting it into practice.” You point to the corner of your mouth, lifting it to mimic a smile.

He sucks his teeth and tears his gaze away from your own. “You’re infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are,” you say, stepping closer. “For longer than ten seconds, might I add. Surely a feat, no?”

Levi scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He raises his glass, speaking over the lip of it. “You just happen to be the least infuriating one here.”

You bite your tongue — “Well, by your standards, being the least infuriating is, in fact, quite flattering!” — and instead, you glance around and lean in. “In that case, what do you say we go find a place away from all this poor company?” Your voice takes on a lighter yet all the more meaningful tone. “Perhaps somewhere just for the two of us?”

There’s a glint of interest in Levi’s eyes that doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you pull away to look at him. “I would say that’s highly inappropriate,” he says, hushed, but not in a way that matches his words; hushed in a way that suggests intrigue.

“Inappropriate?” you echo, lips curving into a smile. “You really needn’t worry so much, my Lord! We shan’t be away for long, I promise.”

Levi’s thin eyebrows angle up. After a moment of contemplation, he closes his eyes and sighs. “If you insist,” he concedes.

Without further discussion, you set aside your and Levi’s drinks, then go ahead and stroll over to the arched doors with Levi not far behind.

With how often the Duke hosts such extravaganzas, you’ve had plenty of occasions to become familiar with the layout of their home, hence why you know where all of the rooms are. You navigate through the narrow hallways with an air of confidence, occasionally stopping to praise or snicker at family paintings and decor choices, much to Levi’s chagrin.

“What is it now?” Levi asks, attempting to pinpoint the subject of your attention this time.

You stand by a window that faces the rear garden, peering through the glass with squinted eyes. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that the Countess of Ehrmich and her handmaid kissing out in the gazebo?” You turn to Levi with a theatrically outraged jaw-drop, making him roll his eyes.

“You are no better than those gossiping simpletons we left in the ballroom,” he scolds as he draws the curtains shut.

You chuckle. “Apologies! Only a jest!” He glares at you but otherwise doesn’t complain. You watch him for a moment, how his nimble fingers tug and adjust the curtains, how he mutters expletives under his breath at the dust that transfers to his hands from the curtains.

Feeling mischievous, you lean in, so your lips are almost touching his ear. “It’s just so fun to tease you, I can’t resist.”

Goosebumps raise on Levi’s skin as he flinches away from you, fingers hovering over where your breath brushed his earlobe. He swallows. “Maybe you ought to practise some self-restraint.”

You smirk. “Maybe you ought to have less of it.”

He frowns. “How would that benefit anyone?”

You take a step closer. “Try it and find out.”

Levi takes a step back, but you take another step forward. His back bumps into a solid surface as your hand reaches out. He freezes in anticipation.

The click of a door handle, then a quiet creak.

“I believe,” you say, smiling cattily and circling around him, “I have found the drawing room.”

Levi huffs. “Finally,” he mumbles and pushes past you through the door. You follow after him, shutting the door behind you.

The room is a size you’d expect given how large the rest of the residence is. A ceiling mural depicting an Ancient Roman legend; tall windows and velvet curtains. At the centre of the room, atop a patterned rug, gold and beige furniture is arranged in a thoughtful composition. Dainty — yet no doubt expensive — decorations and trinkets adorn various corners, shelves and walls.

In one of the armchairs, Levi sits down, exhaling long and heavy, as if he had been holding his breath all night. You, on the other hand, decide to explore the room first, ambling between the furnishings and admiring the cosiness of the space. Absent-mindedly, you run a finger along the spines of some books piled on top of a small table, tracing the ribbed leather and embossed text.

“At last, some peace and quiet, hm?” you say, mostly just to occupy the air with something of substance, as you glance at Levi.

He’s sitting with one elbow resting on the seat’s floral print armrest, the pads of his fingers massaging the area between his eyebrows. “Until you spoiled it, yes,” he grunts.

The beginnings of a witty remark form, then just as quickly dissipate from your tongue. The corners of your lips sink, the lines in your face waning into nothing.

With his face cast down, Levi is oblivious to the change in your expression. It isn’t until you take two, five, ten or so steps — when the silence drags on without a response of your own — that he raises his head.

“Actually,” you start, standing by the armchair across from him, only a few feet away, “I brought you here to discuss something with you.”

His reaction is stalled but still comes in the form of a puzzled frown. “Go on, then.”

The floorboards squeak under your weight as you take another few steps forward. Levi shifts in his chair. “We agreed to be honest with one another, Levi. To not keep secrets,” you say, “yet I have good reason to suspect you haven’t entirely been maintaining your end of the agreement.”

As he opens his mouth to defend himself, your approaching footsteps finally seal the remaining distance between you. You step in to occupy the space between his knees and the contact is enough to make them jolt away as if from flames. Levi stares down at them until he catches the movement of your arms in the corner of his vision.

In your hands is a book, presumably from the stack you were observing earlier. He had been so absorbed in the shrinking space between you that he didn’t stop to consider that perhaps the arms linked behind you might be holding something.

His eyes roam the book, then fall on the shining yellow words etched into the front cover:

The Vampyre

by John William Polidori

Electric impulses fire through his body. His mouth goes dry. “I told Hange to get rid of that.”

“Really? Why is that?” you ask, turning it over in your hand. “I hear it’s quite good.”

Levi can’t stop the irritation from showing on his face. “The problem is not with the book itself.”

It’s the influence it has on imbeciles like Hange, he finishes in his head. Imbeciles who’ll believe anything with enough coincidences and paranoid witness accounts. Sure, Hange is a special case, because they’re not so much afraid of the rumoured existence of ‘vampires’ as they are curious, which is arguably worse — especially since, for once, the imbeciles are right.

“Then what’s the problem?” Your frown seems to be of genuine confusion, but Levi knows better. There’s an underlying something just waiting to reveal itself.

Levi folds his arms across his chest. “What does this have to do with our agreement?”

The smile returns to your face, but it is unlike any that Levi is used to seeing; not fake, but not entirely trustworthy either. “Surely you’ve figured out that much by now.” You set the book aside. “Really, Levi. Do you take me for some kind of fool?” Your hands come forward and clasp the armrests of his chair. “Did you really think I don’t know that… you’re a vampire?”

Levi scoffs. “Do you hear yourself?” He narrows his eyes at you. “Vampires are a baseless conspiracy. A ludicrous superstition fabricated by the English that only a credulous halfwit–”

A hand grabs him by the cheeks, cramming the rest of his words back behind his teeth. “Open your mouth,” you order.

The suddenness of the command evaporates any and all thoughts from Levi’s head, replacing them with a purely chemical reaction in the form of heat striking through him. Gradually, you push his head back — and he lets you — while a hard mound he can only assume is your knee eases between his parted legs, coercing a gasp from his mouth. As soon as his jaw loosens, your fingers are poking through the gap between his lips, moving as if hunting for something. They settle around his upper canines, sliding over and prodding at them, over and over, until eventually they begin to grow, extending down, down into a sharp, tapered point, much too long for what can be considered human.

Levi groans, but the sound is much too airy for pain or discomfort to be the cause of it. Drool is gathering beneath his tongue and blood in his cheeks. How humiliating it is to have his fangs coaxed out by the close proximity of his carnal weakness — by someone who should be his prey in this dynamic — and how all the more humiliating it is to have the strike of heat from before already invading the rest of his body.

Only once the fangs have stopped growing do you cease your petting, opting instead to drag a single fingertip along the newly-revealed length of bone. “My, my,” you coo, “it seems that the truth has spoken for itself.” You remove your fingers from his mouth, but Levi’s head remains in its position against the backrest. “Whatever shall I do with you, now that I have you at my mercy?”

Your fingers travel down his exposed throat. Like a frightened prey animal, Levi’s body digs into the cushioned upholstery, trying to comprehend the foreign feeling of being touched in this way. Breaths beat out through his nose in quickening puffs and miniscule tremors rattle through his chest as he attempts to control, or perhaps conceal, the frantic rise and fall of it. Beneath your fingertips, you can feel his heartbeat, the pulse so solid that if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was hitting his ribcage with every beat.

“Are you afraid?” you ask him quietly, your fingers continuing their path downward.

Levi swallows, lets out a heavy breath but doesn’t answer. You watch him, analyse him. His tightly closed eyes, the sweat coming through his clothes… “Then perhaps you’re—” His unsteady breaths, his contracting muscles— “aroused?”

His Adam’s apple lifts and then drops. You follow the motion with your eyes, then lower, lower and lower, until you find the answer you’re looking for in his oh-so-conveniently open thighs. He immediately attempts to shut them, but your own prevent him from doing so.

“No need to be ashamed,” you assure him as you smile that knowing smile and carefully climb on top of his lap. “I can help to relieve you. If you wish.” You rub your bottom half against his hardened groin as a testament to your words.

Levi’s neck stretches over the backrest, an open-mouthed moan escaping him, then retracts back to his chest. His eyebrows cinch together in thought, but the way his hips rut into you has already declared his decision, so when his eyes finally flutter open and peer up at yours, you are unable to suppress your look of delight.

“Please,” is all he says — and all he needs to say to send your mind and self-control reeling.

You pounce forward, ravaging his lips with your own, while you grind down again; harder than before, and with more finesse. The noise that Levi makes into your mouth is much too heavenly for a creature of such damnable origin, yet as addictive as if it had been produced by a devil of temptation itself.

The swipe of a sleek surface has you parting from him on instinct. “Careful of your teeth, darling,” you warn and he nods as if in a daze before pulling you back in. He paws at your clothes, helpless and wanting, as though he aches to bring you closer. You let out an enraptured sigh at his aggressive gesture. After all, what an honour it is to have the stoic Viscount Levi Ackerman falling apart and moaning pathetically beneath you; what sacrilege to be a mortal defiling its natural predator. You feel as though you’re going mad, losing all sense of self from the sheer thrill of it.

You drag yourself away from his lips, only to see the full effects of your actions. Strong features softening as though he’s melting from the pleasure. Eyes squeezed shut while his glossy black hair, usually so perfectly combed, fans out in loose strands over his forehead. Razor-sharp nails mauling the armrests. Two fanged teeth poking out from under his lip.

In minutes, Levi is curling into you and crying out against your skin. You guide him through his climax, raking your fingers up from his undercut and through the strands at the top while whispering caring words to him, in soothing repetition. He collapses into you, his arms limp at your sides and his panting breaths warm on your neck. Before you can push him away, he’s mindlessly nuzzling and lapping at your throat like a dog, coating your skin in spit, sucking and occasionally catching his fangs on the fragile flesh. It would be a lie to say you aren’t enticed by the prospect of them breaking through; moving with more purpose and sinking into your–

Levi whines against your shoulder. “Please, let me have a taste. I’ll do anything, please,” he mumbles. “It’s been so long, I– I cannot wait any longer, please, I beg of you…” He pulls away, licking his lips, as if the taste of your skin is enough to last and cherish. “Please,” he begs, “let me drink your blood.”

You smile, wide, and brush back the hair tickling his eyes. “Only since you asked so nicely.”

As soon as the words enter the air, Levi lunges at you. You’re almost not fast enough, but manage to get a hold of him.

You pin his wrists on either side of his head, and the tightness of your grip seems to snap Levi out of his ravenous trance. “That wasn’t very polite,” you reprimand. Levi only looks up at you regretfully, which is likely the closest thing you’ll get to an apology from him. You sigh. “Don’t worry.” You let go of him and slide your palm under his chin. “Open–”

His jaw falls slack in an instant, granting you access to the inside of his mouth. You trail your fingers around his wet lips first, this way and that, slow and soft, just to hear him whine. You giggle but finally slip a finger inside and Levi groans in time with it. His tongue is the next thing to fall from his mouth, hanging over his lip and dripping saliva onto his shirt.

“What a sight,” you breathe. “I wonder what our fellow nobles would think.”

Levi moans softly as you poke your fingertip into the point of one of his fangs. You hiss as it pierces the skin and wait for the blood to collect before turning your finger over.

“Tilt your head back, dearest,” you say, and Levi does so with haste. You dangle your finger above his eager tongue and watch his eyes roll back as the first drop hits his taste buds. He savours the flavour like a man starved of water, his mouth pooling with drool, and whimpers in anticipation of the next drop.

Your eyes are fixated on him, as if hypnotised, and engulfed in sick amusement from the power you have over him. Your thumb sits under your fingertip, forcing out the liquid with steady presses, but for Levi, it’s still not enough. Animalistic hunger and impatience possess him. His arms come to life to grab your wrist and yank it toward his mouth. He manages to swallow your finger whole before you can react, though the sight is much too precious for you to deny or scold him anyway.

The grip around your wrist turns vice-like as he feverishly sucks the blood from your finger. His closed eyelids twitch and runny spit oozes down his chin. You look on in adoration at the sweetly depraved state you have him in. Who would think that a blood-sucking monster could be this docile and helpless?

Levi’s panting grows heavier until you begin to feel him rutting against you. When you look down, the lump of his crotch has regained hardness, already straining against the dark material. “Aroused again so soon?” you taunt.

He is so engrossed in sucking that he doesn’t seem to hear you, so you tug your finger out of his mouth and hands. He grunts in protest, but you ignore him and try again. “Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

As if freshly woken from a daze, or perhaps still in one, those folds you’re so used to seeing between his eyebrows take shape in a show of gentle confusion. “Take… care of what?”

You bring a hand down to his lap and lightly tap the bulge that’s formed there, making him tense and spasm under you. He must still be sensitive, you think with a smile.

“Of this,” you clarify.

He swallows. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You stifle a chuckle. “It’s a yes or no question, Levi, so answer with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.”

He sighs and evades your eyes as he hisses out a reluctant “Yes.”

“Good boy,” you praise and begin to make quick work of the buttons on his trousers.

Levi frowns. “Don’t call me that. I am not a dog.”

You laugh through your nose, amused. “Yet you drool and whimper just like one.” You playfully stare up at him through your lashes. He doesn’t say anything back, just blooms a deeper pink, so you accept your win and finish unbuttoning his trousers. Next, you unfasten the strings of his undergarments, freeing his leaking length.

As soon as your fingers make contact with it, Levi writhes. His legs squirm and his hips buck up into your touch. In seconds, the wet head of his cock is dripping with bead after bead of precum. In your awe of his intense reaction, you find yourself experimentally toying with it; squeezing, tugging, kneading, fingering. Obscene noises created by the remnants of his previous release make colour fill Levi’s usually colourless cheeks. His glinting grey eyes are lidded, his head dizzy and delirious. His mouth is hanging open in surrender to the erotic sounds he cannot help making, tongue dyed scarlet from your blood and glistening with saliva. You adore it — are spurred on by it, even — but his volume is now teetering on too loud, and the last thing you want right now is to be caught.

So with one hand on his dick, keeping him distracted, you hurriedly untie his cravat and stuff it into his inviting mouth. A startled, confused but thankfully muted moan rumbles through the cloth. You grin at the conflicted eyes and knitted eyebrows you get in response to your actions, entirely unbothered as you continue to take him apart with your touches, to watch him become the embodiment of debauchery. Moonlight skin shiny with sweat, teeth gnawing around his makeshift gag, pelvis involuntarily meeting your movements, elbows pointing to the ceiling as he desperately scratches and claws at the back of the chair, surely ruining it beyond repair with his needlepoint nails and vampiric strength. So effortlessly picture-perfect.

No more than a few seconds later, he’s arching his back against the chair and wailing into his linen gag. The wood of the backrest splinters and the upholstery tears loudly under his fingernails. Warm fluid gushes out over your fist and dribbles down it as you continue stroking his length. Your other hand takes out the cravat from Levi’s mouth and wipes up the mess. He lets out a few wet little warbles and whimpers at the overstimulating feeling, but quietens down once you finish.

You don’t allow him a second to recuperate from his high, instead satiating your own desires; snatching his face up in your hands and latching your lips onto his in one smooth motion. Tongues curl together and the metallic tang of your own blood swarms your senses. Levi keens and grips the fabric at your waist. By the time your mouths separate, you’re both breathless and gasping against each other, and the allure of his dishevelled state has you unable to resist trailing a few extra kisses on his skin; from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, on the soft spot behind his ear and down his delicate neck. Levi grabs at your shoulders weakly, but when you pull back to check on him, his gaze drops to your laps.

“How did you find that?” You tilt your head. “Good?”

Better than good, so much better — is what he thinks, but what he settles on saying is “Yes, it– it was good.”

The smile that stretches across your cheeks is inevitable, and the most sincere one you’ve had the entire night. “Well… as much as I would like to keep going,” you say, chewing on your inner lip corner, and making Levi flush, “I think it’s time we go back.”

You climb off of the chair and straighten out your clothes. Meanwhile, Levi tries, and fails, to stand up, his knees buckling and sending him flopping back into the seat.

You sigh sympathetically and caress the side of his face. “You should rest for a moment,” you tell him. Your fingers glide down to his chin, take it into your hand and wipe the spit, along with the traces of smeared blood, from his lips. “Perhaps neaten up your appearance, in the meantime?” you add with a smirk.

Some awareness seems to have awoken in him, perhaps as a result of your teasing, because he pouts and replies with, “I was planning on doing so anyway.”

You don’t say anything else, taking that moment to appreciate the silence, just the distant echo of music and the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. Luckily, it does not take long for Levi’s ragged breaths to calm, and for his thighs to reclaim their strength. You help to clean up his image, fastening up garments, flattening out creases and wiping away or concealing the evidence of your activities. Kisses are exchanged in between; some of them stolen, some of them followed by giggles, and some by lustful gazes.

Once you’re ready to leave, you head for the door, but you only go as far as clasping the gold handle before stopping and turning to Levi. His eyebrows shift in that way they’re so good at, speaking when words don’t need to. Your eyes sketch out a path down his face, all the way to his lips, where you find yourself already missing the blood, drool and pearly fangs…

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for his nape and wrapping your plush lips around each other.

“If you’re well-behaved tonight,” you rasp against his lips, “I’ll treat you to more than just a finger next time.”

taglist. @jazzyluuv <3

#divider by benkeibear #divider by cafekitsune #cw blood #x reader #dom reader #sub character #x dom reader #sub levi #sub aot #levi x reader smut #levi smut #aot x reader smut #aot smut #snk x reader smut #snk smut #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi x fem!reader #levi x male reader #levi x gn!reader #( ★ ) my stuff. #( ★ ) hornyween ‘23.

[writing-rat]

Used Farmhand

Pairings: Lorraine Day x AFAB Reader

Content Warning: 18+ Content, G!P Lorraine Day, Werewolf Alpha Lorraine, Lorraine has a penis, Vaginal Sex, Knotting, Mating, Maybe OOC, Blowjob, Handjob

Summary: You are working when Lorraine is in heat. That's when she decides to use the farmhand... you.

Word count: 1409

It was a sunny day on the Day Farm considering it was Spring. The mother and father you worked for had gone out to a farmer’s market, leaving Lorraine to keep you in check and they also knew she would enter heat soon. They were interesting people, and you never had actually seen an alpha look so submissive. She was shy and skinny, she was way too vulnerable to be an alpha. Alas you didn’t question it as your omega seemed to jump in joy when her dad said she might enter heat whike you were there. 

That is exactly what happened. You was at the barn, putting old, rotten hay into one pile while the clean, fresh hay was in another pile. You was distinctly aware of another person’s scent coming towards you but you thought it was just RJ, Lorraine’s friend who was an omega. You sighed. “What d’you want RJ?” You called out, expecting a response from the weak man (more like boy). The response surprised you however. It was a growl, and you felt yourself tense up as you gulped, hearing the noise get closer. “Lorraine?” you asked before turning around, where you saw the alpha standing there, looking you up and down. Your stomach tightened as you watched her and knew you were cornered. “Hey alpha,” you spoke casually, trying to not glance down. She was wearing her usual colourful top and the red jeans that showed her dick off. You realised you was staring as your quickly looked up again. She was spreading pheromones around the barn. This was sending your own omega in heat, causing you to whimper. 

“Need to breed,” she finally talked, her voice a notch higher. You blushed, realising she was the one in control. She was just submissive to everything except in bed it seemed. “Need to breed you,” she specified as she was looking you up and down and licked her lips.

“Y-you do?” you stuttered out, trying to restrain your heat, but it was impossible with every step she did to get closer. 

“Yes,” she growled out then quickly pounced on you and pinned you against the wall as she was dry humping you. “I know how you feel. You stare at me constantly when I’m around until I catch you. You even look at me when I’m just swimming in the lake,” she explained, grunting as she humped. You whimpered in response and nodded, letting yourself just relax. 

“Yes alpha,” you responded as you was trying to yank your tanktop off. Lorraine took it in her hands however. She ripped it off instead including your bra before she was biting your neck and shoulder.

 

“I’m going to treasure you omega,” she explained. “I will mark you with bites all over. I will mate bite you. You will hold my litter and we will have a family,” she grunted out. You knew the alpha was in control then as you nodded. 

“Yes alpha, fill me with your pups,” you moaned out, as you felt her bulge against your thigh, still as ever. She smirked before she started to yank down your shorts, drool slipping down her mouth as she ripped off your panties. 

“You don’t know how long I imagined this,” she hummed out. You gulped and nodded as you let her speak, her starting to also strip down. First her top, revealing no bra, then her jeans that had on some loose boxers. “I wanted you so bad for months,” she added on. “Jacked off about you, wanted you to suck me off and stroke me as well as taking my knot inside you. You are going to do all of that, in order,” she commanded. Nodding, you glanced down and saw it twitch. You was shyly pushed into your knees then. It slowly seemed like Lorraine took control over her wolf inside her. Slowly, you licked from her tip to her balls while making eye contact. She was moaning as she grasped at your hair gently, before you took it in your mouth and closed your eyes as you was bobbing your head up and down on it. You used your tongue whenever possible as soft moans slipped out of her mouth as she gripped tighter. 

Slowly, you started to also massage her balls, seeing that she also liked it as she was humping your mouth. You gagged every now and then but allowed it to happen as you kept sucking, licking and massaging. She was soon gripping harder and was panting. “Close,” Lorraine whimpered out, to which you was nodding as you kept sucking. She couldn’t help it after a minute as she came inside your mouth. Quickly you swallowed as you was pulling out, using your hand to stroke her like she wanted. You looked up at her, as you was soaking wet and fingering yourself. Lorraine was looking down at you with lust still but hesitance. 

“Have your way with me when you ravage me,” you spoke, stroking faster. She started to nod as she was humping into her hand at the same pace as your fingers. You bit your lip harder as you soon went faster than ever, to test if she was. She was as she humped faster, but went harder. That’s when she suddenly came all over your face with a smirk. 

“Always wanted to paint your face,” she smirked out and gripped at your hair as you looked up. You was bright red as she admitted that. “Now, on all fours, ass facing towards me,” Lorraine commanded, getting more confident again. Obeying, you did as told as you stopped fingering yourself. She licked her lips at seeing you drip all over the floor. “Making such a mess in the hay just like the dirty slut you are,” she degraded. You gasped when you felt her hand strike your ass as you widened your eyes. It didn’t stop the arousal coming out. “So you like being slapped huh slut?” Lorraine spoke, before she suddenly pressed you into a mating press, her inside you immediately. You gasped at the sudden pleasure. “Something else will be hitting you now,” she spoke casually as she held your hips. You was nodding. 

“Please alpha, fuck me already,” you moaned out loudly. You didn’t care if the Day’s came back, you just needed her to fuck you. She was nodding as she was ruthlessly pounding into you then. You panted as you was loving every single thrust she did, even if it hurt a lot at first. She was getting more and more confident as she used you and smirked while doing so. She was panting against your ear as she held you closer, soon biting your shoulder and neck, marking you. You blushed heavily as you knew you were mated for life now, but you loved the idea of that. Truth be told you had fallen for the girl, and you was sure the Day’s knew hence why they had you over during her heat this time. They usually made you have a week break. Soon you felt close as you was whimpering and whining. “Need to cum,” you moaned out. 

“Go on omega. Come for me,” Lorraine panted out as she held you harder and pressed closer against you before you came all over her dick. Feeling you orgasm made her also cum inside you as she was thrusting a few times before she knotted you, releasing more cum. She was panting against your ear as she was catching her breath, feeling better than before. 

“Thank you for accepting me,” she then spoke gently. You nodded. 

“I have had feelings for you for months by now. I’m glad the Day’s didn’t keep me away this time,” you spoke with a smile.

“It’s because I told them I wanted to be mated to you. They allowed it as you are a great worker,” she spoke. You blinked in shock then nodded. 

“I’m glad you wanted me here,” you spoke before leaning against her more. She was nodding as she held you even closer. 

Soon the knot was down and she pulled out. “I’ll get you some new clothes. The parents aren’t back yet so come with me,” she spoke.

“For a second round?” You responded.  

“You caught me,” Lorraine replied then picked you up immediately as she smirked. “Now, let’s go. Quit dillydallying,” she added on. You was nodding, holding her closer.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #ratboy writes #ratboy writing #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x reader smut

[sytoran]

accidental or not | teom part iii

Westview happens to have a gay bar. You give it a visit.

──── PAIRING. sub!milf!wanda x dark!player!reader

──── CONT. smut, one-night stands, vouyerism, exhibitionism, you'll understand later i swear, choking kink, breast play, vaginal fingering

──── WORD COUNT. 1.6k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

The first time was an accident.

“Fuck, right there,” she moans, hands twisting themselves into your hair as your mouth finds the sensitive spot on her neck, licking and sucking and marking.

You try to remember her name — Natalie? Nicole? — as you push her up against the wall, mouth hot and fervent and lusting and needy. Natasha, you finally settle on.

As it turns out, you couldn’t quell your desires, couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. It had been a grand total of three days since you moved into Westview, but then you found out about the bar located about a fifteen minutes drive away.

At the silhouette of a promise coming in the shape of a pretty woman, you couldn’t not go, could you?

All it took was a black collared shirt and shiny rings on your fingers before you had a woman pressing up against you on the dancefloor — effectively humping your thigh, by the way — and the two of you somehow made it back to your place without giving the taxi driver a free porno.

“More,” Natasha growls into your neck as you work on undoing the buttons of her blouse. Her nails scratch at the expanse of your shoulder blades, as if trying to leave imprints. You hum in response, sliding up her pretty skirt, hands going into her panties.

Your fingers find the wet slit easily and slide in, awaited with an immediate clenching. “Fuck,” you pant, unable to focus with her ripping off your belt and unbuckling your pants.

“Stop it,” you grunt, taking her wrists with one hand and pinning it above her head. You lean closer, warm breath on her neck, delighting in the visible shiver that runs through her body. “We’ll take that off when I’m done, yeah?” you ask slowly, eyes darkening in arousal at the breathy moan Natasha lets out.

“Words, darlin’,” you murmur, running a finger down the curvature of her face, to the delicacy of her neck, to the line of her sternum. God, you loved women.

“Okay,” she managed to say, words spilling out from the sides of her mouth like an unstoppable dam, breath coming out in ebbs and flows that you drank up. “Please. Please, just fuck me.”

Sooner than later, you have your rough fingers exploring her wet cunt to mark out every crevice and every sweet spot. You gauge her reactions, calculate her pleasure, want to make her feel more-

“Upstairs,” you say in a low breath, cutting off your own thoughts, picking Natasha up as she lets out an exhalation of surprise.

She tilts her head inquisitively at your spontaneity. “You seem more fit than the regular gym goer,” she mentions, legs swinging as you climb up the stairs. “Athlete?”

You stiffen, and perhaps she notices it too. “Nah,” you answer, the lie tasting dry on your lips. “Seems like a rather stressful.”

It’s a one-night stand. No strings attached, no validity at stake. And that means no truths, either.

Before you can make it into the bedroom, the redhead twists out of your grasp once again, lips meeting yours in frenzied chaos. “Impatient,” you mutter dryly, left hand cinching around her neck and placing pressure on the pulse point. Natasha lets out a filthy moan.

When her bare back presses against the cold glass of the full-length window, your body follows dutifully.

Your knee goes in between her legs to provide a semblance of friction and a surface for her to dry hump on. “Shit,” she gasps, a hot cunt finding the muscle of your thigh in no time. “Feels good.”

The eager response to your ministrations only spurs your hands to get more busy, going behind Natasha’s back to unclasp the bra. Your knuckles brush against the cold glass of the window.

The moment her bra drops, you're quite sure you start drooling.

"You're definitely a tits over ass kinda gal, huh?" she teases at your ogling, using those hands to push up her breasts and make them look even more mouth-watering. Your eyes are hungry, devouring, scanning over the cleavage and her nipples and her mounds– god, you can feel the redhead get wetter on your thigh and it turns you on to no end.

"Ya think?" your response is hoarse, late, but you can’t feasibly care.

When your mouth wraps around a hardened nipple all caution is thrown to the wind. The mocking lilt in her voice simply breaks off into a high-pitched moan.

You just love the feeling of her tits in your hands, massaging and kneading and squeezing as your mouth works on the nipples. Lathering your hot tongue over the tip then swirling around the areola, taking your time.

Natasha tugs on your hair, pulling your mouth closer around her breast. Her trails of soft praises and cries of pleasure are a surefire sign you’re doing a good job.

It's only after a good five minutes of heated sucking that you get the faint feeling of someone watching. eyes, on you.

Natasha doesn’t seem to notice, pressing up against the glass of the window, in disbelief that she’s about to orgasm with only breast play.

The caution you threw to the wind earlier falls back into your grasp. You take your mouth off, albeit begrudgingly, and rise to your full height again, towering over the smaller woman.

Despite Natasha’s furious cries of denial, your hand goes back around her neck, and the woman melts in your hands like putty. “You wanna get off on my thigh, or you want me to help you out?” you ask, low in her ear, once again reliving the thrill of seeing her goosebumps raise.

“Help,” Natasha gasps in a choked whimper, when your fingers begin pinching her taut nipples. “Help me, please.”

You don’t deny the woman this time, setting her on your thigh properly as she undulates her hips against your muscle. Your hands go to play with her tits again.

Taking Natasha’s distraction as a sign, you finally look up, across the window, attention now diverted.

The first time was an accident.

But when your eyes lock with those sacred green ones again, you almost lose all your breath. There’s Wanda Maximoff, your neighbour, the married woman, the ethereal being with the viridescent eyes. And her eyes are trained on you and Natasha.

She had been watching, the whole time, from her own bedroom window.

Your heart was rising, soaring, lighter than it had ever been but heavy with a twisted sense of arousal. Wanda stood, shell-shocked, a slow blush overtaking her face at having been caught.

The first time was an accident, because you didn’t mean to notice the way her eyes fluttered over the both of you, the way her hands fidgeted, the way her thighs deliciously clenched-

Oh, it had been so long since you felt like that.

You loved that reaction. you wanted more.

No, you needed it.

So, against all sense of moral compass, against all hitherto goodwill — you don’t break apart in embarrassment, or stop fucking the pretty girl in front of your neighbour — you just smirk.

You actually smile, lips curving up dangerously, dripping with venom, eyes darkening impossibly more, pupils dilating even further. You feel those dark desires taking over you like it had so many times before, and this time you know you won’t be able to stop.

And in front of wanda, you continue. “Let go, baby,” you say to Natasha. You grab her hips, she's putty in your arms. Tossing her around and pressing her tits right up against the glass, you meet those green eyes again.

The opposing woman is rooted to the spot, eyes widened with fear and arousal.

Your experienced fingers easily find natasha’s clit after a good minute of finger-fucking, pinching the swollen clit between your long fingers as your hot breath runs down her bare back.

"I can't! I can't! Oh, I'm gonna squirt," Natasha cries, throwing her head back, and you finger her pussy open, still looking across the window, directly into the eyes of your watching neighbour.

“Please!” Natasha’s cry is sweet as she reaches her climax. She squirts, as she kindly mentioned earlier, and it goes all over the glass. “Pretty girl,” you whisper into her ear, and you don’t know if you’re talking about the woman in front of you or the one in the next house.

The first time was an accident.

Speaking of said woman, she’s still standing there, mouth open slightly. Wanda’s tongue darts out to run over her tantalizing lips, and you get the criminal urge to do it for her.

Tearing your eyes off hers, you avert your attention to Natasha once again. Her knees have buckled, and the only supporting weight is your forearms. “That was amazing,” Natasha breathes, and you smile, giving her a small peck on the top of her head.

“Another?” you ask, softly, and Natasha lets out a breathy laugh and then an eager nod. She jumps and wraps her legs around your torso, and you bring your face closer to steal another kiss.

When you leave a last look at the neighbours’ house, the curtains are shut, yet again.

===

After hours of worshipping Natasha in your bedroom, desperately trying to think of her and not your neighbour, you collapse into the bed. Natasha’s already fallen prey to the temptation of sleep, her cunt thoroughly wrecked.

With a shuddering breath of release, you close your eyes.

You had just properly fucked a woman in front of your hot neighbour, who happened to be very married. On…… accident?

The first time may have been an accident, but the next time you weren’t so sure if it still would be.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @girllcver @natashaswife4125 @godsfavouritelesbiann @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @kellyc30-blog @eatkobi @cqllarbones @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight@gingerninja1993@yourfavdummy @iliketigobities @scarlttolsn @blackbirdv98 @mxxnligxt @riomiyawakisstuff @alex4424 @0DeadandCold0 @mr.romanoff @mandy-asimp @idontwannabehereatm @daenerys713

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

#marvel women #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel smut #wanda x reader smut #sub wanda #bottom wanda maximoff #dom reader #top reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #wanda maximoff smut #sub wanda maximoff #teom series #wanda maximoff #x reader

[jupiter-letters]

Loki having a crush on you headcanons:

Fem!Reader or GN!Reader TW: Very brief discussion of violence.

A/N: This will be Avenger!Loki cause I choose to be delusional about him dying in infinifty war. He made it to Earth and decided to make amends yadda yadda yadda, everything is good. Sorry if this long I needed to get all my thoughts out!🙇‍♀️

Being generally uninterested when Tony does a mission debrief with everyone in the conference room. However when you walk in he perks up a bit and sits up a little straighter. He doesn’t really greet you though, he’ll be a little closed off at first. That doesn’t stop him from glancing at you 2 or 3 times until the meeting is over.👀👀 No one really notices his staring but if they did they’d assume he doesn’t like you at first. 

Among other people it looks more like a glare than admiration, Thor does notice after a few times and pulls him aside to confront him. “Has Y/N slighted you in some way brother? You’re always staring at them with such intensity.” This confuses Loki cause #1 he didn’t think anybody would notice and #2 Sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. 

“No?? It’s this midgardian decor, so bland. It helps to move my eyes around to keep things interesting. When it comes to Y/N their choice of garment is most amusing, the lack of proper coordination is quite hilarious.” (LIES!)Deflect, deflect, deflect. To Loki it’s better for people to think he doesn’t like you than to seem vulnerable, he’s still got some growing to do. 

He won’t even realize that he likes you until much later. Once you get over the hump of him pretending not to like you, a beautiful friendship blooms. He hasn’t had a lot of people he’s gotten really close to other than Thor, his mother and Valkyrie. That’s one wall down, a couple more to go. As his friend you appreciate his witty comebacks and dry sense of humor. You confide in him for his many, many, mannnyy years of wisdom(he hates it when you call him old man wisdom). The fact that you choose to tell him your secrets and have such fun conversations makes things worse for him. 

When you two talk together on the balcony of the avengers compound discussing team mates and funny things that have happened around the compound, he gets this warm feeling in his chest. Looking at you laughing at your own joke, you can barely get the words out. Any other person would look ridiculous but you, he can’t help but look at you with such fondness. After you’ve stopped laughing you see him looking at you with such joy in his eyes and a soft smile. “What” you question. He chuckles and looks down at his hands, “Nothing, it’s just- you’re lucky you became an avenger instead of an entertainer, your jokes might need work.” 

He always saves you some food or a drink at Tony’s parties and other events, it’s always just a little bit but he just wants to make sure you don’t miss out. 💓

 Loki always goes out of his way to keep you safe on missions, if you get overwhelmed by multiple enemies you see a flurry of green magic crackling around you and the enemies are all gone. You could even see a dagger fly past your head hitting a guy about to clobber you over the head. Natasha seems to notice the favoritism after a bomb goes off in a HYDRA facility, Loki uses his body to shield you from the blast. (She knows good and well he could’ve made a shield for all 3 of you😏.) 

When both Natasha and Thor “gang up on him”(his words) about it he deflects again saying he’d do it for any of his friends you just so happened to be closer…so it’s not a big deal. They both smirk and give knowing looks to one another. Thor knows Loki better than anyone, he knows Loki values self-preservation more than anything and to do something so selfless even if he has changed a bit, he must really like you. 

Thor just hugs him and says “I’m happy for you.” and Loki is like ???? Everyone seems to know about his crush except you and him. But when he finally realizes he likes you romantically it hits him like a freight train. Everything feels so new after that moment, he has an existential crisis lollll. He’s always been a charmer, a smooth talker, silver tongued. Now he gets a little more nervous talking to you, when he sees you his heart races. It scares him how much he likes you, you make him soft. He values your opinion, he worries about you, he wants to make sure you’re alright. The thing he’s worried about the most is if you’ll like him back. 

Loki’s still got some self image issues, growing up second best and later finding out he’s a frost giant. In his mind his past and being a frost giant are perfectly good reasons to reject him. In the back of his mind there is a glimmer of hope stemming from your unwavering loyalty and kindness toward him. He can’t ask you to overlook the things he’s done but he does want to be better, for you, for everyone else.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.

#that finale gutted me such a perfect end for him #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #marvel headcanons #loki x black!reader #loki laufeyson x black!reader #loki season 2 #loki imagine #tom hiddleston #~⋆｡°tales from the dreaming #loki laufeyson x reader

[jjkeverlast]

HI LATI! CONGRATS ON YOUR MILESTONE!! CAN I REQUEST FOR PART 2 of TASTE JJK? 🥹💜 with this prompt "I have seen you naked before." OPs yn being all shy . THANKYOU 🤭

touch | jjk (m)

>> pairing jungkook x fem!reader

>> genre/au's college reunion AU | smut

>> summary jungkook finishes what he started.

>> word count 1.8k

>> warnings vmin being hilarious | dry humping | fingering | missionary | reader is a shy baby :')

>> author's note i love how you requested them to do it hfdsjhf anywho, here you have it babe. i tried my best to follow your orders! enjoy this filth 👅

[keep in mind that i do not have taglists for request, and prompts are marked in bold! thank you.]

“Where have you two been?” Taehyung questions when he notices you and Jungkook joining them after being gone for god knows how long. 

Jimin gives a side glance towards Taehyung, for him to catch on. “Oh.” Taehyung lets out, while Jimin begins to laugh loudly, clutching onto Taehyung’s form to prevent himself from falling. 

“Pay up, Kim.” Jimin says in between giggles. Taehyung rolls his eyes before he grabs onto his wallet, fetching the money they bet on. 

“You guys are ridiculous! We didn’t even fuck.” You state the obvious. It was what they bet on, so basically Taehyung doesn’t owe Jimin anything. 

“Yet.” Jungkook responds, glancing towards you with a side smirk. You slap him lightly on the chest, a sign for him to keep his mouth shut in front of the guys. 

“Well then, what are you guys still doing here? You’re more than welcome to leave. Y/N, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Jimin suggests, raising his eyebrows when he notices how Jungkook’s ears have turned red by the implication that you might stay the night. 

“Shut it, Park. Let’s go, Jungkook.” You’re tired of even hiding the obvious answer. To make it easier and less embarrassing for yourself, you don’t even try to hide it, grabbing Jungkook’s hand and walking towards the exit. 

Jungkook’s hand tightens around yours the further you leave from the crowd. No one bats an eye in your direction, too busy catching up with one another. 

You still can’t truly believe you’re about to go home with Jungkook. 

The car ride home to Jungkook’s is filled with laughter as you both reminisce every memory from college. One thing you both agree on is that Taehyung and Jimin have never changed, still being the iconic duo today. 

When you’ve reached his apartment, you realize it’s the first time you’ll see where he lives. Nerves were beginning to trickle, excitement mixed with nervousness as you reached the top floor. What made your mouth drop was the fact that the apartment was incredibly spacious and beautiful. Just very Jungkook. 

“Wow, your apartment is amazing.” You compliment, wandering around and noticing the small details such as the plants by the window, and the art hanging on the walls. 

“So is my bedroom actually, wanna see?” You roll your eyes. Classic Jeon Jungkook flirting way too directly to the fact it works. 

“Lead the way.” You stifle a laugh when he shows excitement, grabbing your hand again and leading you down the hallway to his bedroom. It is quite simple, just everything you need in one room with some space between the furniture. 

“I’m not as impressed as your living room.” You comment, earning a glare from Jungkook. 

“I’m offended.” He dramatizes the comment, putting a hand on his chest in shock. 

“Are you really?” 

“No.” Jungkook grabs your waist, pulling you closer till your noses brush up against each other. You’ve lost your words, mind clouded by Jungkook’s close proximity. Somehow the mood has changed from when you had a little fun in the office, now it’s more intimate. 

You blame the dimmed light by his night table and how you haven’t had sex for almost a year. You’re not scared, this is Jungkook, he’s seen more of you than anyone but the thought of it happening again grows in the pit of your stomach — butterflies. 

Jungkook seems to do better than you, taking the lead by kissing you gently. Not long after the kiss turns heated, more languid movements and tongues tasting each other. Your hold on Jungkook tightens, hands wrapped around his biceps as he steps forward until you feel yourself fall backwards onto his warm bed. 

Jungkook hovers over you, kissing you more firmly now, his hand holding onto your jaw. Your hands begin to roam onto his back, earning a smile from Jungkook before he moves downwards, peppering your neck with slow and wet kisses. Shit. How is he so good at that? 

His hands begin to slide beneath the material of your dress, pulling it upwards to expose your thighs and underwear. You gasp, overwhelmed by how good it feels to have Jungkook above you, touching as if he’ll always remember what you like. 

Despite everything feeling incredible, you’re growing shy with every action. You feel as if you’ve lost your touch from college, the crazy wild side disappearing after you finished, whereas Jungkook seems to still hold onto that. Fuck. 

It’s as if Jungkook can feel you freeze beneath him, removing his lips from your neck and now staring at you. “Are you okay?” His tone indicates he’s worried, as if he’s caught onto the wrong signal. 

“I’m okay, it’s just…” You pause, uncertain how to form it out into words without sounding ridiculous. 

Jungkook’s fingers rub against the apple of your cheeks, calming you down while he awaits your answer. 

“I haven’t had sex for over a year… So I’m just a little nervous.” Jungkook softly smiles, never stopping touching your cheek gently. 

“That’s okay, me too. Don’t think too much, Y/N.” Jungkook says to reassure you. It does help a bit, but there’s still a tiny gap that doesn’t seem to disappear. 

“I—” 

“Stop.” Jungkook breathes out, fighting your nervousness. 

“It’s not my fault you make me nervous.” You say as if it wasn’t obvious enough. 

“I make you nervous?” He sounds surprised. 

“Just a little bit…” 

“Y/N. I have seen you naked before, there’s nothing to be nervous about.” He’s not wrong, he’s seen you naked more than any of your girlfriends. 

“I know. Just– kiss me.” You demand, wanting to just push aside your nerves and focus solemnly on Jungkook. 

He obeys, kissing you again, nibbling his tongue on your bottom lip as he presses down on you. You can feel his hard on pressing onto your inner thigh. A sudden urge inside of you grows, resulting in you bucking your hips upwards to feel it press down directly onto your core. 

“Fuck–” Jungkook mumbles against your lips by the action. He removes himself, taking off his press on shirt, revealing his abs and chest. You support your body with your elbows, not caring how you’re ogling Jungkook. 

“How the fuck do you still have abs? I’m impressed.” Jungkook pauses, turning shy at your compliment. He’s not used to being praised for simply having abs. 

“I… work out?” Jungkook answers hesitantly. You smile, grabbing onto the nape of his neck, pulling him downwards. His skin feels warm beneath your touch, your hands never stopping touching every part of his chest and stomach. Which also explains how one of your hands reaches to his abdomen, trailing your fingers lightly over his belt. Not wanting to drag out the time, you start unbuckling it, while Jungkook trails kisses on your breasts over the fabric. 

Clearly, you’re both impatient. It results in Jungkook already being in his boxers, and your dress about to be pulled off. Jungkook unzips the side of your dress, the fabric starting to loosen, revealing your naked breasts. Jungkook quickens his movements, rushing to get your dress completely off to see you again. 

When the dress lands on the floor, you look away from Jungkook, too shy to look at his expression. He’s not saying anything, just staring at your exposed naked body. 

“You’re unreal.” He says in awe. You turn your head, watching how his mouth has dropped, gaze completely lost. 

“Shut up.” You cover your face. Jungkook grabs one of your wrists, removing it from your face. He places it above your head, intertwining your hands. “Don’t do that, you’re gorgeous.” He whispers. 

You’re too stunned to answer, so you settle on smiling softly. Jungkook goes back to kissing you. Your bodies align, grinding on each other until one gives out. You can feel Jungkook’s covered cock drag itself between your lips, causing a whine to escape your lips. 

You’re tired of this. Therefore your free hand trails downwards, grabbing the waistband of his boxers and pulling it down to free his cock. 

“So impatient, baby.” Jungkook jokes, even though he’s doing just as bad as you. 

“Need you to fuck me.” You say, biting down on his bottom lip. Jungkook curses under his breath before moving upwards, letting go of your hand and focusing on getting your underwear off quickly. 

With a swift pull, they land on the floor with the rest of your clothes. Jungkook pulls his boxers further down, till they reach mid thigh. He presses back down on you, his hand cupping your sex. You buck your hips, his fingers sliding with ease inside of you, filling you up and stretching you out. Even though you haven’t had sex for a whole year, your body is relaxed, no burning or aching feeling following. 

“So fucking wet, shit—” Jungkook watches his fingers disappear inside of you, covered in nothing but your slick. His thumb works itself on your clit, rubbing it gently in circles which causes you to moan. 

It’s hard to wait, because fuck, you need him. 

“Can you just—” You breathe out, moaning once more not being able to form a simple sentence. Jungkook grows hotter by just watching you looking completely fucked out, by just having his fingers inside of you. 

“Hold on, let me get a condom.” Jungkook removes himself, quickly fetching a condom from his drawer. Jungkook has never in his life put on a condom faster than he has at this very moment. He almost fails, but luckily it glides smoothly on the skin of his cock before he repositions himself. 

It starts off slow, Jungkook thrusting with ease, scared to hurt you. After thrusting gently for a while, Jungkook manages to fill you up completely. The stretch feels good, warm and full. Jungkook’s close proximity makes the situation very romantic, as he fucks you slowly, dragging out his cock almost fully before re-entering. The movements make your body tense, forgetting how good sex feels for a moment. 

“Don’t go slow, want you to fuck me.” You command, grasping onto his body. Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead he moves upwards, grabbing your hips and starts slamming harder. 

One thing about fucking an athlete, their stamina is incredible. Jungkook certainly hasn’t lost his touch, hitting your g-spot with every drag of his cock inside of you. His head tips back, groaning when he feels you clench around him. 

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” Jungkook admits, smiling before biting down on his lip. Your back arches when Jungkook somehow manages to rub your clit, while still moving his hips in an unforgettable rhythm. 

You blame it on you not having sex for over a year, because it took Jungkook just a few minutes of fucking you, until you came undone all over him. Jungkook wasn’t no better himself, losing it right after feeling how wet you’ve become after he made you finish. 

Afterwards, Jungkook gently pulls out, landing down beside you. 

“So, about you staying the night…” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, knowing Jimin was right regarding seeing you first tomorrow morning. 

“Say one more thing and I’ll leave.” You threaten. 

Jungkook shakes his head, propping himself on his elbow and pecking your lips. “I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.” 

© jjkeverlast 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.]

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts jungkook smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fic #bts jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook drabble #jungkook drabble

[afterdulce]

hold me until everything is ash on my tongue.

summary: mhin hasn't shown up in town for a few days. concerned, you visit them, only to discover they're plagued by a certain infliction you can help them with.

notes: 1.7k words, literally just about mhin going into heat bc we have to put their monster affliction to good use yk, some marking, dry-humping, this is my sub mhin agenda

Mhin hasn’t been in town for the past several days.

It shouldn’t be surprising; like an alley cat, they come and go as they please, too elusive to track down unless they want to be found. No one else seems particularly worried, either. When you ask Kuras, he simply gives you a gentle, inscrutable stare.

“They’ll be back before long,” he says.

But that’s not enough to abate your worries. There’s an odd feeling poking at the back of your brain, saying that something isn’t right. Mhin lives alone; if something were to happen to them, it would be too late by the time somebody noticed. They get into their fair share of scrapes, too. You’ve seen them wobbling into Kuras’s clinic, blood seeping through their clothes.

Besides, the truth is that you’re a little lonely when they’re not around. Who else is there to tease and bump elbows with at the bar? No one can take their place.

It’s with those thoughts swirling in your mind that you screw up your courage and head to the location of one of their hideouts.

They had given you the information about their various little hideouts on a strictly confidential basis– “I have several places around the city. This is one of them. We can talk in private here. Stop grinning, it doesn’t mean anything–” on the pain of death if you told anyone else. They might not even be there, but it would at least soothe some of your worries if you still tried to see if they were there.

Pocketing some oranges (if they were sick, fresh fruit would do wonders, even if it is a bit above your price range), you step through the streets, keeping your head down, heading through winding alleys and twisting streets until you reach a non-descript door, tucked into a cobblestoned corner.

You knock on the door. “Mhin?” you ask softly as you can.

Silence. Then, an odd thump.

They were there, after all! Your heart leaps. “Hey, it’s just me. No else is here,” you say quietly. “I was worried about you, and—”

“Go away.” Their voice is strained, which dulls the snarl in their voice. Something thumps against the door again.

You pause. “Hey, are you okay? You don’t sound like you’re doing so well.”

“You need to leave,” they hiss. How badly were they faring, to sound like his? Your pocketful of oranges are a poor remedy to whatever inflicts them, and it must be serious.

“I’m not going to leave if you’re sick,” you say. “It’s been days. How long have you been in there? Do you need Kuras? I’m not leaving until you’re okay. If you need help, then I want to help you–”

At your last words, the door wrenches open, and something snakes around your wrist and yanks you in. You stumble as the door closes behind you with a soft click. You squint in the soft darkness of the room– you can’t make anything out. It’s all smudges and blurs, with only the faintest edge of sunlight trickling through the curtained window.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Mhin says lowly. It sounds like their voice is right by your ear, but you can’t sense their presence at all. Where are they? “Why did you come?”

“I was worried,” you say. “I missed you, you know? I brought some fruit, in case it would help, but…”

Their breath hitches at your words. “You are so irritating. I don’t… need your help.”

“Then why did you let me in?” Your annoyance spikes at their tone. Even on their best days, they were prickly, but something feels different. There’s a fragile edge to their voice, like a thread stretching to the point of breaking. “I’m serious, Mhin. I want to help you.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Then help me understand,” you say.

Something shoves you against the wall. It’s Mhin. Their hands are on your shoulders, grip as tight as a hawk with its prey, and you can barely breathe. They’re close– so close that you can almost make out their face in the darkness. There’s a sheen of sweat coating their reddened face, and their eyes are glassy. Their breath comes in short little pants.

“I… This is something you can’t help me with, do you understand? It’s not– it wouldn’t be fair,” they say, words spilling out of them like overflowing water from a cup. “Why are you always like this? Poking your nose where it doesn’t belong? How foolish are you? If you hadn’t come, I could have just– ridden it out. I could have just– thought of you– and it wouldn’t be so bad– but if you’re here in person, I… You ruin everything.”

Your heart thumps in your chest, a strange little tottering beat. Mhin leans in closer, their nose brushing against your neck. “Mhin…” you whisper tenderly, and they shudder.

The thumping of your heart isn’t because you’re not scared. You’re excited, and your neck burns where they nuzzle against you incoherently, as if they’re not aware of what they’re doing. You’ve read about this sort of thing before, and if you’re guessing right, you know precisely what’s ailing them. It’s no disease after all.

“Go back. Now,” they say.

“What if I don’t want to?” you say. “I said I want to help you, in any way possible. Including this. I mean that.”

They fall silent. There’s nothing but the sound of your rabbiting heart, and their little gasping breaths. Their nose traces cold trails along your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to grant them more purchase.

“You… This isn’t something you do lightly,” they warn. “This is your last time to take it back.”

“I don’t want to take it back,” you whisper. “I mean it. I mean, er– I would also feel bad if I was taking advantage of you, if you’re in this state. I’ve read about this before, and being in heat can befuddle some reasoning abilities–”

They laugh, a short, raspy sound. “Advantage? That’s ridiculous. You drive me insane. I’ve… dreamed about you fucking me ever since you first step foot in this stupid city.”

Your face heats at their words; it’s not like Mhin to be so straightforward, but any comments you can make are swallowed by their desperate lips on yours. You’re not sure you can call it a kiss, not when you’re pressing against you so urgently, nibbling and sucking on your lips. It’s hard to breathe when they won’t relent for even a second, as if they’re afraid you’ll slip away if you do. They run their tongue along the bottom of your lip, and your mouth parts. They slip their tongue inside your mouth, tasting you, tongue giving gentle licks that make your head spin. They could do this forever, you realize. But you can’t.

You slap their shoulders, pulling back for air. You’re gasping, but Mhin barely pauses before they press a string of kisses against the side of your neck like a choker. They suck, and your legs wobble.

Holy shit. Normally, you’re used to initiating everything with Mhin, so their sudden aggressiveness is… weird, to say the least. Not that you’re complaining at all. There’s something hot burning in your stomach at their reckless behavior, so uncharacteristically desperate and unreserved as they leave hickeys along your neck that are going to last for a while, judging from how hard they’re sucking.

They want you. They want you, and judging from what they’ve said, they’ve wanted you for so long you’re all they can think about during their heat. The knowledge makes you feel warm, and flattered, and very, very horny.

As if they notice your thoughts are drifting, Mhin bites onto the skin of your neck, and you moan, cheeks burning. Their bite borders on the edge between pleasure and pain.

“Pay attention,” they whine, jealousy lapping at the marks they’ve just made. “I’m… right here.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. They’re so cute. So cute, and needy. “Of course. Whatever you want,” you say. As much as you appreciate their forwardness, it wouldn’t be fun if they did all the work. You shift your leg between theirs, your thigh running along the warmth between their legs.

Their hands grip your shoulders again, fingers digging into your flesh as Mhin shamelessly grinds along your leg, chasing their release with abandon. It’s an instinctual shift, as if they need to be on you at all times, feeling every inch of your body.

“Mhin…” you whisper, running a hand through their hair. It flows like silver between your fingers, smooth and shining. “How often have you been thinking of me?”

“I…” They avert their eyes, even as they continue to rut along your thigh.

“Don’t get embarrassed,” you tease. “I think we’re past that.” You grind your thigh against their warmth for emphasis, which makes them let out a little breathy moan. Oh, you definitely need to hear that again.

“All the time,” they say, the truth spilling along with their pants and gasps. “All the damn time. When I touch myself, I pretend it’s you. It’s… never been this bad before. It’s all because of you. It’s all your fault. I… I thought it was… a dream, when you showed up. Like this. Offering to help.”

They shudder, and you grind your leg into them again, helping them ride you, and it’s not long before something sticky and wet soaks into your pants from the spot where Mhin is. Mhin looks hazy as they cum, mouth parted. Their cheeks are still red, and they barely wait a second to calm from their high before they’re trying to rub themselves against your thigh again. Their touch sends jolts of electricity along your skin; what you wouldn’t give to touch them directly, without your clothes in the way.

“Sorry, Mhin,” you tease, planting a kiss against their cheek that turns them into a vivid scarlet. “I didn’t realize I was affecting you that badly.”

“You’re… full of yourself.”

“Hey, hey.” You slip your hands alongside the belt holding up their pants, running a finger under the leather and snapping it slowly. “I promise I’ll help you out, okay? Like you said, it’s my fault. So I’ll make up for it.”

When they lift their eyes to meet yours, so needy, so desperate, your reflection the only thing you can see in their gaze, you let out an exhale. Oh, it’s going to be a long few days.

#liya writes #touchstarved #touchstarved x reader #mhin #touchstarved mhin #mhin x reader #touchstarved game x reader #touchstarved smut #x reader #smut #mhin smut #mhin clenching their fist: you dont understand my burden...... i am cursed to be horny.... #mc already tearing off their clothes: THIS IS THE BEST WEEK OF MY LIFE

[jordisblogg]

instead.

shuri.u x black reader

summary: y/n, still being in her tense and dysfunctional relationship, is having problems trying to emotionally reach her boyfriend of 3 years. shuri, who’s always been there for her during the trials and tribulations of the relationship, still can’t deny her feelings for the woman after all this time, but she chose loyalty over her own personal pleasures. what happens when y/n can’t take anymore?

warnings include: cursing, aave, n-word use, weed, fluff, major angst, readers bi, arguing, readers a bit of a crybaby, protective shuri

a/n: lmk if u guys are rlly interested in this!! the more i stare at it the worse it gets to me so i decided to post it😭

prologue.

“i’m not tryna hear this fuck shit right now y/n, i already told you it’s not like that!” you both had decided to go to the club, well not decided, more like your boyfriend, quinton, forced you to go. you really had rather you stayed in your apartment, in your room, where it was quiet. you were normally one known for the party scene, but this time, for some reason. . you weren’t feeling it. you wished you had listened to your gut, but being the pleasing girlfriend you were, you sucked it up. and now here you both were, arguing, again.

“fuck shit?! nigga you were the one who letting her grind all up on you and shit!” you yelled back. were you mad? yes. were you surprised? no. not that you liked it, but it wasn’t an unoriginal sight to see your boyfriend letting someone dance on him. you couldn’t really say much, you would’ve danced on a person or two but you never let it go to the extreme, and most of the time it was your friends. you had just happened to look over at him tonight and see what was going on, what had been going on, and you decided enough was enough.

“we was just dancin’?! i don’t see what the problem is?!” he threw his arms up in confusion and let them plop back to his sides. you chuckled in disbelief, did he think you were stupid?

“dancing? shit from where i was standing y’all might as well have been dry humping each other..”

“whatchu’ tryna say y/n?”

“what the fuck you think i’m tryna’ say?” you retort. quinton shakes his head and walks into your bedroom, mumbling about ‘not having to deal with this shit’ and shuts the door behind him.

instead.

you laid on your side, your back to quinton as you stared blankly at the wall. quinton was laying on his back, phone in the air, just above his face, making sure to keep his brightness all the way down. every once and a while he would smile and bite his lip, but you wouldn’t see it.

when he finally put his phone down, he looked over at you, your back still facing him. he sighed in a little annoyance and turned over to wrap his arm around your waist. “you still mad?” he asks lowly. you don’t respond.

“c’mon bae.. i didn’t mean anything by it” he tries again. you still didn’t reply, only sinking your face deeper into your pillow. he finally gives up, shifting from underneath you and removing his arm from your side to resume his place on his back. he hears a faint vibrate from his phone and reaches for it.

this time he lets a light chuckle escape his lips.

your mind started to wander, thoughts started to form. if you caught him doing this, could he have been doing more? is he doing more? the more you laid there, the worse they got. you couldn’t take anymore.

you quickly sat up from the bed, startling your boyfriend in the process. “babe?” he called, quickly shutting off his phone. you still didn’t answer to him and just began putting on clothes and packing a night bag. that got his attention even more.

he threw the cover off his torso and hopped off the bed. he went over to you and grabbed your wrists to stop your swift movements. “w-..where are you going?” he stuttered.

“i’m going to a friends house. i’ll be back.” was all you had said after you snatched your arm out of his grip

“back? back when? tomorrow?” he inquired, following you into the bathroom as you began to grab your toiletries.

“whenever i feel like coming back” you replied, a snarky attitude laced in your words.

you stuffed the last bit of belongings into your bag, zipping it up and throwing it over your shoulder. quinton watched in shock as you slid on your crocs and grabbed your car keys off the dresser.

you didn’t say anything before you left, only sound from you was the jingling of your keys and the slam of the door as you walked out, leaving quinton on his own for the night.

instead.

as you drive down the road you could only think, there’s only one person who was able to help you, make you feel better, can comfort you best, who knew you better than anyone did. who was one of the main people to tell you not to get with your boyfriend. and god, you should’ve listened. you searched up her name on your contacts and clicked the call button.

the line rung about 3 times before someone answered, “hello?”

“hey shuri. . . do you think you can leave the door unlocked for me?”

#shuri udaku #shuri x reader #shuri x y/n #mcu shuri #shuri x black! fem! reader #bpwf #shuri fic #shuri #letitia wright

[hotchnerobsessed]

Heavenly

Virgin!Fem!Reader x Hotch | When you're at the bar with the team, Hotch accidentally overhears you talking to Garcia about your lack of experience..and your feelings for him.

Warnings: 🥵+🤭 Smut but make it fluffy & giggly [(Hotch being an absolute gentleman) dry humping, fem!receiving oral, fingering, praise kink, slight innocence kink], mention of insecurities, mild panic attack, mutual pining, swearing.

Word Count: 8351

Masterlist

This is a long one (once I got on a roll I couldn’t stop!!) so buckle in people! Ps, I’m writing this with a lot of my own insecurities and personal experiences in mind. *sigh* If only I had my own Aaron *sigh*

**********

"Y/N, that guy is totally checking you out," JJ stated in a whisper that only you and her could hear.

Glancing across the room, you saw a young man, probably in his early 30s, sitting at a table with some friends. They were all nudging him and nodding in your direction. "You think so?"

It was obvious that's what was happening, even you could see it, but your lack of experience in anything even remotely related to a relationship had you second-guessing.

"He totally is." It was Penelope who spoke up this time. Evidently, JJ hadn't voiced her findings quiet enough.

"Uhhh I don't know guys. He's probably looking at Emily," who was currently in deep conversation with Rossi about wine, "or who knows, it could be Morgan.” That caused both of the girls to snort, all of you knowing it wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

Although you were making light of the situation, the truth was, you couldn't imagine a world in which an attractive guy you'd never met before would approach you. Never mind in a crowded room where other people would see him interacting with you. No one had ever cared enough about you to be seen with you in that capacity before; proud to show you off, proud to say that you were theirs..why would this time be any different?

In no time at all, thoughts of never being good enough, never being wanted or loved, feelings of rejection, all began to surface. None of these thoughts were new to you, but you’d spent your entire life pushing those feelings aside, and building up walls to keep people out, and you weren’t about to give that all up for some guy at the bar who’d had a few too many.

Besides, you already had feelings for someone else, and he was sitting less than 3 feet away from you. "Granted," you thought to yourself, "he's someone who would never feel the same way about you." But you weren’t ready to let go of that fantasy just yet.

As your eyes scanned the crowded room once again, you noticed the guy had finally stood up from him seat, and was currently making his way directly towards you. Your stomach turned upside down at the thought of speaking to him, especially in front of Aaron, and before you could think things through, you'd pulled the strap of your purse over your shoulder and stood up without a word.

You could hear the mumblings of the rest of the group at your sudden departure as you made your way through the maze of tables and dancing bodies to the back door. Pushing your way through the door, you breathed in deep, the fresh air filling your lungs just in time to subdue the panic attack that was threatening to make an appearance.

Running your fingers through your hair, you focused on your breathing. In deep, hold, and out slow. Mumbling to yourself under your breath, “fuck, Y/N, you’re so stupid..” you didn’t hear the door open behind you. A soft voice and a gentle hand on your shoulder startled you. “Oh! Penelope, you scared me.” You spoke through a light laugh, your breathing finally having returned to some semblance of normal.

“I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to!”

You shook your head, and waved off her worries, “it’s okay. What’s up?” You attempted to act like nothing was wrong, but she wasn’t buying it. Garcia knew you better than anyone, so it wasn’t a surprise that she was the one who had followed you out. There was clearly something wrong, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“What’s wrong? You left in a bit of a hurry. Is everything okay?” She placed a loving hand on your shoulder once again, genuine concern written all over her face.

“Yeah, yeah everything is fine.” Your words weren’t convincing, and she just stared at you with that all-knowing look she had.

“I don’t think so. I mean for starters, you locked yourself out here by not propping the door open..” she trailed off as you glanced behind her to see that she had stuck an old milk crate in the door to keep it open. You really must have been out of it, because you hadn’t heard her dragging it into place.

“Oh. Whoops.”

“Whoops? Y/N, come on, you know better than that. Look at this sketchy alley, I don’t like you being out here alone, and neither should you.”

Nodding your head in acknowledgement, you agreeded, “I know, I know, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just..”

“Was it that guy?” It didn’t take a profiler to figure out what the cause of your disappearance was.

Looking down at your feet as you fidgeted with the zipper on your purse, you admitted in a soft voice, “yes.” Hesitating before looking up at Penelope, you were greeted with a warm smile, and she let you continue without prying. Something about her calming presence always made you feel like you could talk to her. You finally decided to share the deepest thoughts in your mind.

Meanwhile, back at the table, Spencer was listing off the statistics of girls who go missing from back alleys based on the number of people in the bar and the time of night. It was something that all of them were already thinking, and even though Garcia had followed you, the team still felt uneasy.

Emily was the next person to stand up, but Hotch stopped her. A short “I’ll go,” was all it took, and Emily nodded at him before taking her seat again.

As he approached the back of the building, he overheard part of your conversation due to the door being propped open, and it made him stop in his tracks.

“I have no experience with that Penelope. Sure, I’ve done things, but never with another person. There must be something wrong with me, because no one has ever wanted me. You know, before my stupid anxious mind got in the way, I seriously thought about going home with that guy if things progressed that way. Just to bite the bullet and get it over with you know? I hate this feeling hanging over my head. But I couldn’t. I know myself and I know I wouldn’t be able to do that with a complete stranger. Besides I want it to be..” You stopped mid-sentence. Though you had just bared your soul to her, you still weren’t sure if you were ready for anyone to know about your feelings for their Unit Chief.

“Who? Who’s this mystery man that made you second guess the hottie inside?” Penelope was giddy, clearly excited to hear the name of the man you were head over heals for.

Pausing for a second, you looked her in the eyes and begged, “Okay, okay, but you can’t tell ANYONE. Promise me, alright?”

Nodding her head enthusiastically, you finally caved.

Hotch was still standing on the other side of the door, struggling with what to do. He could hear you two talking, so that meant you were safe, for now. He hoped this would be the end of the conversation, and you two would be coming back in soon, but he just didn’t have it in himself to leave you two out there alone.

Through all the jumble in his head, unsure of how to proceed, he quite honestly was not listening to anything you two were saying at this point. He was deep in his own thoughts, and it broke his heart to hear you talk about yourself the way you had; the feeling of thinking nobody was ever going to love you, that you weren’t worth anything, that some drunk stranger at the bar was the best you could do. Surely there must have been guys who wanted you, maybe they just hadn’t voiced it.

After all, he was one of them, having had feelings for you since the day you started at the BAU. He could remember being thankful Garcia was the one who met you at the door and lead you up to his office on your first day. He watched, mesmerized, as you appeared to float across the room. Then, you smiled, and it took his breath away. He needed that extra few seconds to compose himself before pulling open his office door and greeting you at the top of the stairs.

And truth be told, he’d had his suspicions about your lack of experience; any time the conversation circled that topic with the group, you were always very quiet, never offering up your own stories. But that hadn’t changed his feelings for you. If anything, it only made his affection for you grow. He had imagined, may times when he was alone late at night, what you might feel like. What sounds you might make. Nothing got him to home base faster than imagining your hands all over his scarred body. He wanted to be the one to treat you properly your first time, not some stranger who didn't know you like he did.

Then, something pulled him out of the depths of his mind and back to the conversation playing out on the other side of the door..

His name.

“It’s Hotch. Aaron. I have a thing for our boss, okay? Honestly Penelope, how stupid could I be?"

His heart began racing in his chest, but he knew he needed to suppress it, and quick. Breathing in deep a few times, he did his best to get into his work mind-set; it would be the easiest way to put on that poker face. He’d let this go on for too long, and he felt a pit in his stomach at the thought. He made his next move and prayed that you wouldn’t realize that he’d heard..too much.

A couple gentle knocks on the door was all it took. Garcia’s giggling stopped immediately, and your breath caught in your throat. Was it that guy? Had he followed you, angry that you’d dismissed him without even saying hello?

As the door slowly pushed open, you saw that it was Hotch.

A whole new knot began forming in your stomach. Had he heard you and Garcia talking? What if he had? Were things going to be weird at work from now on? There was just no way your feelings were going to be returned. As you studied his face, it was that same calm, near expressionless look you were so used to seeing every day. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything. Just bad timing was all..

“I wanted to make sure you two were okay. I don’t like you being out here at this time of night.”

Your heart fluttered. This was why you cared for him. He was a true gentleman, and he only proved that time and time again.

“We’re good, thanks Hotch.” Garcia is the one who spoke; you were having difficulty finding your voice.

His eyes flashed over to you for a brief moment before he insisted, “Okay, but I know I, along with the rest of the team, would feel much better if you were back inside.” You nodded slightly before making your way around Garcia and past Hotch who was still holding the door open, thanking him softly on your way by.

Sitting back down at the table, you were happy to see that the guy from earlier had left, along with all of his friends. It wasn’t long before everyone in your group wanted to head home as well, but the entire time you were sat back at the table, Hotch was very quiet. The feeling that he had violated your privacy, crossed some sort of line, though unintentional, was eating away at him. He needed to be honest and tell you what he had heard.

As everyone said their goodbyes in the parking lot, Hotch hovered a little longer as the crowd dispersed. “Mind if I walk you to your vehicle?”

You didn’t think much of it, though you still weren’t totally convinced, you were choosing to believe that he hadn’t heard anything earlier. You told yourself that he was just making sure you made it to your vehicle safe. After all, you had given the team a bit of a scare earlier.

Nodding, you turned and headed in the direction of your SUV, with Hotch by your side. “Sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to leave like that. You've all probably figured this out already, but I’m not really a master when it comes to relationships. I kind of panicked.”

He laughed softly, “maybe a little bit. But it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Finally reaching the side of your vehicle, you looked up at him, and just as you were about to thank him, he spoke again. “Hey, listen. I have to apologize for something.” You frowned slightly, unsure of where he was going with this. “I overheard part of your conversation earlier, with Garcia.”

Your heart sank. Fuck. This was it. That fantasy of you and him was going up in flames, and you only had yourself to blame. You should have kept your mouth shut. This was why you hated opening up to people. It always ended like this.

As if knowing exactly what you were thinking, he broke the silence again, grabbing one of your hands in his. “I want you to know that there’s nothing wrong with you. And I don’t blame you for thinking about going home with that..guy..from earlier,” he was having a hard time thinking about you with someone else, “but I admire you for wanting to stay true to yourself, and make your first time mean something. You deserve that.”

That knot in your stomach slowly started to dissipate; even if it wasn’t going to be with him, you were thankful that he cared at least this much for you. It was just another example of why you adored him. He was so respectful of everyone, especially women, and if he cared about you, he was going to do everything in his power to show you that he was there for you.

Smiling softly up at him, you gave his hand a squeeze, “thanks Hotch. That means a lot to me.”

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“I am sorry you had to hear all of that though. It’s an awkward conversation to walk into the middle of.” As you spoke, your face flushed, remembering that your comments about the guy inside were made BEFORE you mentioned him by name. If he’d heard all that, he had definitely heard you confess your feelings for him. Panic started to build in your chest once more, but the logical side of your brain attempted to control it. Why would he still be standing here if knowing about your feelings had made him uncomfortable?

As if reading your mind yet again, he spoke firmly, this time placing his other hand on the side of your face, pulling you out of your near state of panic and bringing your attention directly to him. “I thought you were beautiful the moment I set eyes on you.”

Your heart was racing now. Was this really happening? Did the object of your affection just call you beautiful? Your eyes were searching his for any sign that he might not be telling the truth, but you knew deep down he would never do that, he would never be that cruel. So this must be a dream? No, the warm palm against the side of your face proved that theory wrong. “Really?” you asked, clearly needing time to adjust to this new information.

He nodded in response and you almost felt like throwing up from the rollercoaster of emotion the last hour had brought. You were silent, as your brain attempted to process everything, and he stood there for a short while with his hand still holding yours tight.

Looking back up at him, you made eye contact and it finally felt like everything made sense. All those years, lonely, waiting, hurting, were leading you to this moment.

“I’m sorry I never did anything about it. It’s just, I’m your boss, and I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.” He could read you so well, and he knew that the look of relief on your face meant his words had finally had a chance to settle.

He spoke quietly once more, “I want to kiss you,” as he gently ran the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, “but not here.”

Looking around, you saw a couple drunk people stumbling out of the front of the bar, and you nodded in agreement. “My.. uh.. my place. It’s not far.” You looked back up at him, still in a slight state of shock, and he nodded.

Letting go of his hand, you fumbled with the zipper on your purse and noticed just how much your hands were shaking. Smiling through your embarrassment, you breathed in deep, trying to calm your nerves. That’s when you felt his hand on yours again, and your body immediately relaxed. “I know this is a lot to take in. A lot of emotions in one night. I would love to be your first, if you’d have me.” His smile was not that big confident smile you had seen before, it was much more flustered, almost boyish, and it made you blush. “But it doesn’t have to be tonight, if you’re not ready.”

Smiling at his genuine concern for you and what you wanted, it was your turn to bring your hand up to the side of his face, grounding him. “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve imagined you saying those words to me. There is no doubt in my mind I want this, with you. And tonight is as good a night as any.”

His smile was much more confident this time, knowing that he wasn’t rushing you into anything you weren’t ready for. You’d both been thinking of this moment for long enough, why wait any longer?

Once you were finally able to fish your keys out of your purse, you pressed the unlock button and motioned with your head for him to get in. Before stepping away from you, he brushed his thumb across your bottom lip once more, sending shivers straight to your core. You watched in awe as he walked around the vehicle and opened the passenger door.

The drive to your place was a short one, and before you knew it, you were pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex. Shutting the vehicle off, you both got out, and mere seconds after stepping beside each other, he had a firm grip on your hand, leading you towards the front door.

As the elevator slowly lifted you both to your floor, you could feel your heartbeat rising. Things were about to get real, and you were nervous, but there was no one you trusted more than him. Your hand was still in his as the elevator door opened and you walked down the hallway, stopping in front of your door. Your shaky hands were back in full swing, as you struggled to get the key in the door. Once more, his firm and gentle hand was on top of yours, calming your nerves and allowing you to unlock the door. Once inside, you set your purse down on the table inside the door, and hung up your jacket. He pulled his jacket off as well, hanging it on the hook beside yours.

Staring at each other, you giggled nervously, making him smile down at you. Bringing his hand up to the side of your face, you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes and humming contentedly. Placing your hand overtop of his, you suggested, “would you like some water?” He nodded in response, letting you lead the way. Down the short hallway and around the corner, the kitchen was lit by the dim glow of the light above the stove that you always left on when you knew you’d be home late.

Pouring two glasses of water, you handed one to him and proceeded to down your glass in a few short seconds; your mouth was dry in anticipation. He laughed lightly to himself as he took a sip from his cup. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.” The heat that rose in your face was clear from a mile away, but it made you laugh too.

Setting your glass down on the counter, you looked up at him through your eyelashes before taking a step closer. Following your lead, he set his glass down as well before reaching out his hand to you. You wrapped your arms around his waist as he placed his palm against the side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear in the process.

Running his thumb across your bottom lip one last time, he leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours playfully causing you both to smile, before pressing his lips to yours tenderly. He lingered for a few moments, as months of unaddressed feelings for each other slowly began to surface.

It was you who deepened the kiss first, pulling his waist closer to yours and opening your mouth slightly. You allowed his adventurous tongue to make its way past your lips, consuming you. You felt your entire body sigh as his hand made its way to the back of your head, tugging on your hair slightly. The moan that escaped your lips at the feeling caused him to smile and pull back slightly; this was already so much better than anything he had imagined you would sound like, and he couldn’t wait to hear everything else you had in you.

Not wanting the kiss to end, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his again, this time with a lot more passion. He registered your need and trailed his hands down your back, then to the side of your thighs. The slight squeeze he gave you was all you needed, as you jumped slightly, his strong arms catching you as you did. Wrapping your legs around his waist as tight as you could, your lips didn’t break contact with his, as he took a few steps around the counter and towards the couch. Sitting down, he set you in his lap, and moaned against your lips at the weight of your body on his; he could get used to that feeling.

The bottom of the dress you were wearing was now being pushed up your thighs by his large, strong hands to rest around your waist, all while your lips were still planted firmly against his. Running your fingers through his perfectly styled hair, you couldn’t help yourself as you bucked your hips against his. His mouth dropped open at the contact, your core, still clothed in the soft material of your underwear, brushing perfectly along the bulge in his pants.

Both of you needed to come up for air, and that initial contact was almost too much for you; you needed to slow down. Resting your forehead against his, you breathed out hotly, “shit, Aaron, I’m already out of breath.”

He reached his hand up to brush your hair out of your face, looking you in the eyes. “Why don’t we slow down a bit, okay sweet girl?” The breath that left your body indicated to him that you were a fan of that name. “Oh.. You liked that, didn’t you?” You nodded breathlessly. “Why don't you tell me what else you like. You must you know your body, your desires, your fantasies. I want to know. I want to make this good for you.”

Unable to contain the joy and acceptance you felt in your chest, you smiled wide and leaned forward to kiss him passionately again. “I.. I think so? I mean, I’ve never done this before.. With another person I mean.”

He laughed lovingly, running his fingers through your hair, “I know. But I’m sure you’ve touched yourself before. Tell me what you think about when you do.”

You could feel the heat rising in your face, because he was right. You had spent a lot of time alone, thinking about what you might want when the time came. You just never thought the person you would be with would care enough to ask. But Aaron Hotchner was not most men. He seemed to have a genuine desire to know how to please you, and you trusted him. You decided being honest was the best thing in this moment. “I mean.. Uhh..” you laughed nervously, “I.. think about.. you. A lot.”

You felt his hips move slightly underneath you as he re-adjusted himself. He cleared his throat, still trying to remain calm and collected, “I’ve also thought about you before, pretty girl.”

You felt your walls clench in anticipation, the thought of him stroking himself while imagining you was almost more than you could handle. Needing some sort of friction, you began rocking your hips back and forth slowly, dragging your now soaking underwear along the outside of his jeans. You could tell he was already hard, and any time you spoke, you could feel him flinching, strained against the confines of his pants.

“I’ve thought about your big, strong hands,” you grabbed his wrist and slowly brought his hand up your body, “touching me,” he got the hint as he brought his other hand down to match the one you were leading. “Squeezing me,” you cupped your hand over top of his as his palms reached your breasts, “and inside me,” you admitted finally, bringing one of his hands up to your mouth. Licking his index and middle finger, you soon wrapped your lips around them, twirling your tongue as you did.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, “what else?”

“Well.. I liked that.. sweet girl, I mean.”

He hummed at your admission, “what about..” he paused, almost preparing himself for your reaction, because he knew you were going to like it, “good girl.”

His prediction was right, and your body immediately reacted to his words. You began grinding your hips into his harder and faster, and you leaned forward to kiss him again. You whispered against his lips, “I’ve also thought about your lips, and your tongue, down there.”

He moaned against your lips, his hands now on your hips, helping you move. “And I’ve thought about how you would taste.”

Up until that moment, you had been so focused on communicating what you wanted from him, that you’d almost been blind to the building pressure between your legs. “Oh fuck, Aaron, I’m so close.”

He smiled against your lips, “I know, I know. That’s it, come on. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

That was all it took, as you felt your body reach that peak you’d summited many times before. Only this time it was different. This time you had Aaron Hotchner’s hands on your hips, helping you work through it, and it was better than you ever could have imagined. As pleasure washed over you, you collapsed against his body, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Breathing heavily against his neck, you felt his hands on you, rubbing gentle circles against your lower back, comforting you as you came down from your high.

Mild embarrassment at how quickly you’d come undone began to creep into your mind, and you laughed nervously against his neck. He kissed you through a smile of his own, as his lips trailed up your neck, along your jaw, and to your lips. “I’m sorry.. I don’t know what came over me.” You spoke quietly through an embarrassed grin, as you looked down at the wet spot you’d created on the front of his jeans.

Pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted your head so you were looking him in the eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. I want you to do whatever makes you feel good.” His words were sincere and you nodded in response. “Besides,” he added, leaning forward to whisper in your ear between soft kisses on your neck, “we’re going to give you at least one more before I’m even inside you.” You moaned at his words, bucking your hips into his instinctually, causing you to whimper at the over-stimulation. He smiled against your neck, laughing lightly at the affect his words had on you.

“Let’s take this to your bedroom?” He spoke as he brushed your hair out of your face, smiling softly at you. Nodding, you attempted to stand up, but your legs were already jelly. When you stumbled backwards, he reached out and grasped your waist, holding you still. You both looked at each other, eyes wide until registering that you were okay and thankfully hadn’t fallen over the coffee table. Neither of you could hold in the laughter that erupted from your chests, as Aaron helped steady you before standing up himself.

Pulling you into his chest, he let your legs adjust to their standing position, and you held each other tight until the laughter died down. Kissing the top of your head, he motioned with his hand for you to lead the way. Grabbing a hold of one of his hands, you made the short way past the kitchen and down the hallway to your bedroom.

Once inside, you turned to face him and he kissed your lips lovingly. He reached behind your back and pulled the zipper on your dress down effortlessly, before letting the material slip off your shoulders and hit the floor. “You are so beautiful. Even more beautiful than I had imagined.” His words made your aching walls clench again, and you couldn’t help but reach forward and begin undoing the buckle on his jeans. As you worked on the zipper, he pulled his shirt over his head.

Once his jeans were out of the way, you couldn’t help but stare at the tent in his boxers. He was large, you could tell, and he sensed your nerves returning. “Hey,” he placed his finger under your chin to bring your attention up to him, “don’t worry, we’ll take things as slow as you need.” As he smiled reassuringly at you, you nodded in thanks. “That’s also why,” he spoke as he closed the gap between your bodies, placing his hand on the back of your neck, “I said we’re going to give you at least one more.” He winked. Fucking WINKED. And you could feel your insides twisting in anticipation.

The look on your face told him you were okay with his plan, and he leaned down to kiss you passionately. Slowly leading you towards the bed, he stopped when your legs hit the edge. “Lay down, sweet girl,” he encouraged, and all you could do was nod again.

Once you were situated in the middle of the bed, he leaned forward and hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear. Lifting your hips off the bed, he slid them down your legs before placing his hands on your knees gently. Pulling your legs apart, you felt heat rise in your face yet again as he got his first glimpse of your already soaking core.

“Damn sweetheart, SO beautiful.” His words made you blush and cover your face momentarily. He spoke as he reached forward to pull your hands away from your face, “there’s no need to be shy with me. I only want to make you feel good.”

“Okay,” you spoke softly, leaning up to rest your body on your elbows. “I.. I want to feel you.. Your mouth. And your fingers.”

His eyes darkened at your words, as he knelt between your legs. Leaning his tall frame over top of you, he began by kissing your lips tenderly. Then he began his trail of kisses along your jaw, down your neck, across your collar bone, and between your breasts.

Looking up at you for permission, you nodded, and he pulled your bra down revealing your breasts. He wasted no time, his lips latching over one of them, twirling his tongue around your sensitive nipple, while rolling your other one between his thumb and forefinger. Your back arched at the feeling, and your hand instinctively came to the back of his head. After giving both breasts the attention they deserved, he trailed more kisses along your stomach, over your belly button, and down the inside of your leg stopping just above your knee.

"You’re okay if I keep going?” His words were sincere as he looked up at you from behind those beautiful eyelashes of his.

“Yes Aaron, please.” Your begging made him smile, as he kept going. Trailing more kisses back up the opposite leg, until he was right where you wanted him. Placing his first gentle kiss on the top of your heat, he slowly ran his fingers through your folds, spreading you open, and you threw your head back at the contact. “Oh fuck..”

You could hear him smile at your reaction, and he'd hardly even done anything yet. Running his fingers through your folds, he massaged you gently, gauging your sensitivity, trying to figure out just how you liked being touched. One movement, using two fingers along each side of your clit made you jump slightly, and he looked up at you, lust in his eyes. "So that's the one you like best..I think I can work with that."

Your eyes fluttered closed and you dropped your shoulders flat against the bed, unable to hold yourself up any longer. Continuing with the movement he'd just discovered you were a fan of, he proceeded massaging you, as a new sensation startled you again. He'd added his tongue this time, slowly running it through your folds. "Fuck, you taste heavenly." His words made you whimper, and he smiled again, enjoying the noises you were making.

He let you enjoy that motion for a short while, before adjusting to pull you apart with his fingers, and sucking directly on your sensitive bud. Your breathing slowly became more and more ragged, as you felt your body catapulting towards climax once more.

"Oh shiiiit" you groaned, "Aaron I'm so close."

"Good girl," he spoke between deep breaths, "I want you to cum for me again, okay? You taste SO good, sweet girl. Come on."

As your fists clenched the sheets, your legs tensed as your body approached the edge. With a few more strokes of his tongue, your nerve endings burst, pure euphoria washing over your body. Knowing you would pull away when it was too much, he kept up with the movements of his tongue, wanting to draw out your pleasure as long as you would allow him to. And he was right, because a few seconds later, your hands were in his hair, tugging gently at his brown locks, pulling his mouth off of you.

Your body shivered in pleasure, causing you to laugh breathlessly as your limbs curled up into your chest, almost as if you were subconsciously trying to hold onto the pleasure for as long as you could. As you lay there, your arms wrapped around your knees, Aaron made his way onto the bed beside you. His warm hand on the side of your thigh a comforting addition. As he settled in at your side, he leaned over and placed a tender kiss to your forehead, laughing softly through his nose. He began moving his thumb back and forth, causing goosebumps to stipple your skin.

As your breathing slowly returned to normal, you released the grip you had on your legs, allowing them to stretch out, your feet brushing against his legs as you uncurled your toes. Turning on your side to face him, your lips only inches apart, you placed your hand on the side of his face before kissing him gently. Lingering for a moment before pulling away, you mumbled, "That.. was incredible.."

Laughing against your lips he confessed, "I'm not done with you quite yet, sweetheart." You felt the breath leave your body, and you pressed your lips to his with much more passion this time. Bringing one leg up, you draped it over his hip, pulling him as close as possible, feeling his erection press directly against you. It was him that moaned this time, unable to hold back his desires, "I can't wait to be inside you."

"Fuck, me either," you gasped, moving your hips against his.

His strong hand was now on your hip, slowing your motions, "so eager," he teased, causing you to giggle against his lips. "We'll get to that soon, I promise," he spoke softly as he laughed right along with you, "but I think we're going to loosen you up even more first."

You pulled back, looking him in the eyes, pure desire burning in your dilated pupils, waiting eagerly for what his next move was going to be. His hand began making it's way from your hip to under your leg that was still pulling him close, until his fingers were between both of your bodies, right where you crave him.

"We'll take it slow, okay?" You nodded feverishly, ready to accept whatever he was willing to give you. "If you need me to stop, you just say so."

Kissing him deeply, you whispered a soft, "okay," before resting your forehead against his.

Running his middle finger through your slick folds, he teased your clit again, eliciting another moan from you. "I love the sounds you make. So fucking sexy." You felt your cheeks flush, his words travelling straight to the deepest parts of you. Your hips bucked into his hand instinctively, and once again he took the hint. Teasing your entrance slightly, he slowly slipped his finger between your tight walls, little by little, until he couldn't reach any father.

"How does that feel?" he asked, your foreheads still resting against each other.

Nodding lightly, you admitted, "good..doesn't hurt."

Smiling, he kissed your nose, "that's good. I'm going to add one more, okay?"

Nodding enthusiastically, you begged, "please."

As his second finger slid in, you both felt your walls clench instinctually at the welcome intrusion. "So tight sweetheart, fuck."

You'd had your own fingers inside yourself before, but damn was this ever different. His fingers were much larger than yours to begin with, on top of knowing that they were HIS fingers. Your body reacted before your brain could process everything, and you began moving your hips.

Pleased with how fast you were able to adjust, he tested the waters, allowing you to move your hips at your own pace, while slowly curling his fingers. As the pads of his fingers brushed against that spongy spot inside you, you couldn't hold back the sounds that formed in your throat. Deep groans rumbled in your chest before escaping your lips. "Oh FUCK, Aaron..please don't stop."

Taking instruction well, he began picking up the pace, every curl of his fingers shooting pure ecstasy throughout your system. "I can feel you..you're close again aren't you my sweet girl?"

Unable to speak, you simply nodded against his forehead, the movement of your hips getting more erratic by the second. Before you knew what was happening, you crested the wave, and began riding it over the top again. It was almost like you'd lost control of your body, as your legs shook and your hips twisted in every direction. Stilling his fingers inside you, he let your body ride out your high on it's own terms.

He used his other hand to pull you close, rubbing those same comforting circles on your lower back, all the while whispering in your ear, "there you go. Such a good girl cumming on my fingers. You're going to be able to take my cock so well aren't you? Yeahhh, good girl."

Your hips began to stutter as the pleasure got to be too much. Reaching down between your bodies, you grabbed a hold of his wrist and he understood what that meant, sliding his fingers out from between your walls.

When you let go of his wrist, he brought his hand up to your lips, "have you tasted yourself before, sweetheart?" Shaking your head no, your eyes flickered down to his glistening fingers, anticipation welling in your chest.

"Open," he instructed, and your body instinctually followed his lead, parting your lips. Repeating your motions from earlier in the evening, you closed your lips and swirled your tongue around his thick fingers, revelling in the taste of your own climax. As your eyes flickered shut, you heard him whisper, "I told you.. Heavenly."

The second he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, your lips were on his, feverish in your movements. You almost couldn't take it anymore, he'd done such a spectacular job of warming you up that you were no longer nervous or hesitant. You had all the confidence in the world that you could handle his length, and you were ready to put that theory to the test.

Groaning against his lips as you wrapped your leg tighter around his hip once more, feeling his length against your wet folds, you confessed, "I'm ready Aaron, please, I want you inside me."

His hand was already on the side of your face, as he pulled back to look into your eyes, "okay, whatever you want sweet girl."

Unable to contain the thrill that rose in your chest, you giggled lightly to yourself as you placed another kiss on his lips. Rolling over, you reached for the top drawer of your side table and pulled out a condom. As you turned back to face him, you found him propped up on his side, staring at you longingly. "What?" you asked, "I wanted to be prepared, just in case you know?"

Nodding through a soft smile, he reached out his hand and placed it on the back of your neck, pulling you into a loving kiss. You both smiled against each other's lips, before he rested his forehead against yours. "You're still sure this is what you want?" It felt like a million butterflies coming to life inside your stomach all at once; even after everything you two had just done, after you had just told him you wanted him inside you, he was still checking in on you, making sure you hadn't changed your mind. "I don't want you to have any regrets about this. My feelings for you aside, I want you to do what's best for you."

All you could do at first was stare at him, completely in awe of the gentleman in front of you. Nodding your head, you placed your lips against his gently, "Yes Aaron. I've wanted this, with you, for quite some time now. The fact that this is happening, with you, is more than I ever could have hoped for. I am completely sure."

His response was a gentle, "okay," whispered against your lips.

With that, his lips were firmly on yours once more, rolling you onto your back, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist. Placing one more peck on your lips, he leaned back, resting on his heels, before running his hands up the sides of your body. "Let's get this out of the way, shall we?" he teased, tugging at the strap of your bra. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you allowed him to reach behind your back and undo the clasp, pulling it down your arms and tossing it behind him. "You are SO beautiful."

As your felt your cheeks flush for about the hundredth time tonight, you placed your hand against his cheek, "you're not so bad yourself, handsome." He smiled at your words, before grasping your wrist in his hand and placing a kiss against your palm.

Reaching beside you, he picked up the foil package that was lying on the bed and tore open the corner. As he did that, you tugged at the waistband of his boxers encouragingly. He assisted you, pulling them down his thighs before adjusting on his knees and pulling them over his feet.

His erection was now in plain view, and you felt your stomach twisting in anticipation. He was large, and you were convinced that if this were happening with anyone other than him, you might be nervous. But you trusted him completely.

He rolled the condom down his length before leaning over top of you, propping himself up on his elbows. Brushing your hair out of your face, he smiled at you. "Hi."

"Hi," you whispered back. Both of you laughed softly before sharing another tender kiss.

With his fingers still combing through your hair, he spoke gently, but firm enough that his message was clear, "if you want to stop, at any point, you just say so. I don't want you to worry about me, alright? This is all about you." There was that man you so passionately admired shining through again. You couldn't even begin to describe how incredible it felt to be one of the few people in the world he let see this side of him.

You nodded, "promise."

And with that, he reached down between your bodies and wrapped his hand around his length. Running his tip through your folds, coating his length in your wetness, he lined himself up before asking once more, "ready?"

A breathless, "yes," escaped your lips, as he gently pushed forward.

Your body welcomed his tip with ease, but he kept things slow, all while his hands were still running through your hair. He proceeded with small, gentle thrusts, in and out, pushing in a little bit farther each time. A few whimpers escaped your lips, but you assured him it was all in pleasure. A mix of everything, the deep attraction you felt for each other, the amount of foreplay he'd showered you with, and the slow but steady pace he was taking, allowed your body to accept his full length in no time at all, and with relatively no pain.

As he bottomed out, he rested his body weight on yours, giving you time to adjust to the feeling. "How's that?"

Kissing him tenderly, you responded honestly, "SO good. No pain, just a lot of pressure."

Laughing lightly at your answer, he replied sincerely, "good, that's good. You're doing so well, sweet girl."

Kissing him once more, you began to move your hips against his, and he allowed you to take control, testing the waters. Dropping his head beside yours, he moaned in your ear, "you're so tight sweetheart. Fuck, you feel so good." His words only encouraged you more, as the tightness in your abdomen slowly dissipated.

Once you'd begun moving your hips faster, he started to take over, sensing that you were getting more comfortable with the feeling. That first long drag of his length out of your body, then back between your throbbing walls, completely knocked the breath out of you. As you exhaled hard against his neck, you couldn't stop the whimper that came along with it.

Afraid he'd pushed you too far, too soon, he stilled his hips. Staring you in the eyes, concern on his face, he asked, "are you okay?”

Almost unable to speak, simply because it had felt so. damn. good. and you wanted to feel it again, you mumbled something along the lines of, "I'm.. I'm fine.. don't stop.. OH please don't stop." As he registered that you were more than eager to feel that again, he did as you instructed, and he did not stop. One slow, long pull at a time, he slid out of you, only to enter you again a moment later.

As your moans filled the air, he began placing sloppy kisses to the side of your neck, smiling against your warm flesh. He'd tried to imagine what you might sound like many times before, but nothing would ever be able to compare to the real thing.

"So good. Fuck, so fucking amazing Aaron. More, please."

Your begging was driving him absolutely wild, and he decided to return the favour. "Good girl.. Fuck you're taking my cock so well, so warm, so tight. So much better than I ever could have imagined." That did the trick, as he felt your walls begin to tighten around his length. "Yeah, there you go. Good girl. Come for me again sweetheart. I know you can. I'm right behind you."

With his words, the pressure that had been building and building finally burst, sending shockwaves of pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before across your entire body. "Fuuuuuuck, oh FUCK." Pulling him as tight as you could, he continued his movements for a short while longer, drawing out your orgasm as long as he could, before your body couldn't handle it anymore. Stilling his hips, he sucked in air through his teeth at the feeling of your walls tightening around his length over and over again, spilling himself inside the condom.

As both of you tried to catch your breath, he propped himself up on his elbows again, and began running his fingers through your hair once more.

Opening your eyes slowly, you were met with a huge grin from him, "I love the faces you make when you're like this."

Smiling right along with him, you laughed breathlessly, "you should..you're the only person who's ever seen them." Your words made him laugh, too, as he placed a smiley kiss against your forehead.

Gazing into your eyes again, he spoke softly, "how are you feeling?"

Smiling back up at him, still in awe of how gentle and loving he had been with you, you gladly admitted, "incredible. Actually, better than incredible. I'd almost say..heavenly," adding a playful wink to punctuate your statement.

He laughed again, shaking his head lightly as he leaned in, his lips consuming yours once more.

#heavenly #hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch smut #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #hotch #aaron hotchner #ssa hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch girls #thomas gibson #criminal minds #bau #behavioural analysis unit #fan fiction

[wrathofrats]

I’m tired and delirious but we gotta talk about that fucking Swissdew video

I think it started with the bite a couple days ago.

It was meant as a joke, as most things are. Just Swiss wanting to fuck around and see if he could throw dew off his rhythm. He meant to just make a face at him and growl, but when dew moves his elbow back into his teeth, it’s truly not his fault that he bites down a bit.

He doesn’t bite him super hard, just enough to leave a small mark. He doesn’t think much of it.

Again, it was a joke.

He doesn’t expect dew to react the way he does about it. His next couple notes are off, constantly stares at Swiss, and he keeps his guitar lower than usual, refuses to lift it above his crotch.

And when they leave the stage and dew practically drags Swiss behind a wall to dry hump him like horny teenager?

“What’s gotten into you droplet?” Swiss pulls dew away from his lips, gasping for breath.

“Nothing, just post show adrenaline”

“And that’s why you’re about to make us cum in our pants instead of asking me to fuck you proper?”

“Just was an exciting show I guess” dew mutters and attacks Swiss’ lips once again.

It’s insanely hard to believe.

It’s even harder to believe when he hears a moan sounding like it’s being muffled by something under his bunk, and a rhythmic thunk of the mattress.

It becomes straight up unbelievable when he sees dews arm the next day with a bite shaped bruise on it that wasn’t there the night before.

he didn’t, did he?

he didn’t bite himself while getting off?.. did he?

It gives Swiss an idea. A terrible idea.

He follows the same plan. He runs up to dew and starts his same shenanigans to attempt to mess with him. It different this time though

“Saw that mark on your arm dewdrop” his voice is as quiet as possible as dew attempts to play through the nuisance.

Swiss bites down on him again, harder this time.

Dew straight up moans, muffled behind his balaclava and silent to an unknowing audience, but Swiss? Swiss could hear it loud as day, could feel it vibrate through him.

He makes a decision that even he can’t justify after it happens.

He doesn’t think twice about it. He sticks his hand in dews pants and dew slams his guitar over it, praying no one saw it happen. It doesn’t stop swiss though, he roughly starts to stroke him, completely unabashed and with an insane disregard for the thousands of unaware people in the audience completely mesmerized with the stunt.

It’s a quick interaction. Just bites him and touches him to leave him hard and needy in front of everyone. Makes him press his guitar to his body way harder than he’s ever seen him before.

#the band ghost #ghost #fanfic #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #swiss ghoul #wrath writes #dewdrop ghoul

[littleseasiren]

Fight for me - Part 6

Summary: After years in an abusive relationship, you finally get out. When the Avengers decide to raise awareness for your Woman’s Shelter, you bump into Bucky Barnes, the hottest, most complicated man you’ve ever met. He thinks you’re too good for him, but when your abusive ex reappears, Bucky knows he has to keep you safe - by any means necessary.

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Language, violence, kissing, dry humping, the Winter Soldier, little bit of angst, fluff

Words: ~ 3000

A/N: Grammarly is my beta reader, so any mistakes are my own. I know nothing about guns or Russian, so please ignore any mistakes. If you want to be added to my tag list, please comment or message me. Comments and reblogs will be appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Series Masterlist

It's late at night when Steve pours you a shot of Whiskey. "So, that was the Winter Soldier..." you ask rhetorically, thinking back on how Bucky had been screaming less than an hour ago when he had been triggered to become the Winter Soldier. 

It seems someone had found a back door in JARVIS' system and had used it to link with the security cameras and the intercom system in the tower. Thank God for Wanda. She had surprised the soldier and used her amazing powers to contain him in the gym long enough for Tony to release the sleeping gas.   

Swallowing the whiskey down, you enjoy the warm sensation in your throat, yet it doesn't seem to relax you after the events of the afternoon. It was five hours later and Bucky hadn't woken up yet. Bruce and Tony had taken the first two shifts to watch the sleeping soldier and to keep him safe. It was Sam's turn to watch him now.

"That was... that was like an echo of the Winter Soldier. The few times I've fought him, he was a lot worse. If Wanda hadn't been here you'd know what I'm talking about. When we first discovered that Bucky was the Winter Soldier, he took on Natasha, Sam, and I, and he almost won..." Steve's eyes take on a distant look, thinking back to that time.

"Wow, he's that good?" You knew he was a great fighter, Natasha even said he might be the best fighter in the Avengers group, but to hear it from Steve just made it seem more realistic. With Bucky's size and strength, you'd expect him to be slow, but he moved impossibly fast. The result of years of fighting and the serum coursing through his veins, you suppose.

"Yeah, he is that good. In the army, they said he was the best natural-born fighter that they had ever seen, and that was before he became a sniper too. When he's the Soldier, he's trained to do whatever the person who triggered him says. Doesn't matter if it hurts him, he has to listen. He's -" Steve is interrupted when Sam enters the kitchen.

"Yo, Cap. What do you need?" Sam asks, grabbing a shake from the kitchen.

"What are you talking about?" Steve's eyes narrow as he stares at Sam, "Why aren't you with Bucky?"

The colour drains out of Sam's face. "Scott said you needed me? You said he should watch Bucky instead?" 

When Steve jumps up from his seat, he's furious. "Fuck!" Sam shouts as he runs down the corridor, running to the gym.

Steve shouts to JARVIS to lockdown the tower and inform Tony about what happened before the two of you run to the gym after Sam. 

The bulletproof door of the gym is wide open and Bucky is nowhere to be seen. Steve cocks his head and is running down a different corridor when Sam flies through a wall, groaning as he tries to get up, the Winter Soldier lifting him by his throat, squeezing the life out of Sam with his metal arm.

Steve runs to the fight, kicking Bucky in the ribs, making him drop Sam to the floor. You rush to Sam, making sure he is still alive. From the corner of your eye, you see Wanda enter the room, fingers starting to light up as you pull Sam to a nearby wall to get him away from the fighting. 

Bucky hits Steve hard in the chest, making him bump into Wanda and lose her concentration. When she looks up, the Winter Soldier is on her, grabbing her two small hands behind her back and knocking her into the wall before she slumps to the ground unconscious. 

Steve runs to him again, the two super soldiers punching and kicking each other so fast, that you struggle to keep up with them. Like lighting, the Winter Soldier has Steve's right arm in his grasp, elbow pointing down before he brings his knee up, driving it into Steve's forearm. You scream as you hear the sickening sound of Steve's arm breaking, his bone sticking out of his bloody forearm. Not done with him yet, the Winter Soldier grabs Steve's shirt and spins him around, throwing him through a different wall into the next room.

You can't help the shiver spreading over your entire body as cold, merciless eyes meet your own. The Soldier bends down to you, grasping you around the neck as he pushes you against the wall, his eyes roaming over you.

"Bucky, please!" You shout, seeming to only anger the soldier in front of you as he snarls at you. "Winter, please..." You stammer, grasping onto his metal wrist, your hands too small to circle it completely. You take a chance and blurt out any excuse before it is too late. "They want me alive, don't they?" 

The light pressure on your neck relaxes, but his hand stays where it is. He stares at you, eyes meeting yours before dropping to your lips for just a second and back up again. 

"What are your orders, Winter?"

"Kill the Avengers and take you to them, unharmed." 

You take a chance and rub your hands up and down his chest slowly, trying to coax him down from the edge. His brows knit in confusion. Has anyone ever willingly touched him before?

"Do you know who I am?" You ask him softly, your thumb rubbing his neck as you move your hands up. 

"Your Y/N," he removes his arm from your neck and grasps your hips in both his hands, stepping in closer, "you're his woman."

Your heart beats in your chest, your mind racing to keep up with the soldier in front of you. "No Winter, I'm your woman. You're a part of him, so I'm yours too. I'm your kitten." You rub your nose in his neck, breathing him in as he does the same to you. You spot Wanda as she wobbles to her feet. 

"My kitten," he whispers, before kissing your neck. You move your hands up, eyes locking on Wanda, as you try and relay a message to her in your mind before your hands grasp Winter's hair. 

"Look at me, Winter," you beg him. He straightens up as you see Wanda exit the room, helping Sam slip out. "You don't want to hurt me, right?" He shakes his head before his lips meet yours, his kiss dominant and all too eager. When he breaks the kiss you continue, "Good. You know, if you take me to them, they'll hurt me..." 

"I won't let them." He says as he pushes in closer to you. "You're mine." His authoritative tone sends goosebumps down your spine. He has no doubt, no shyness as he stakes his claim.

"Did they say when you have to take me to them? Exactly when?" 

He shakes his head again as his hand moves up to cup one of your breasts. You moan in response. "So you can take me tomorrow, right?" He only nods in reply before he places kisses down your throat. Your voice is husky as you continue, "Let me make you feel good Winter." 

When he pulls back you point to the couch next to the door that has somehow remained intact. He pulls you with him as he sits on the couch, pulling you down so you straddle him. "Just relax, handsome. Let me make you feel good." 

His eyes are almost completely black as you lean down and lick his throat, placing small nips before kissing them better. You can feel how hard he is beneath you as he holds your waist and grinds you down on him. You meet his lips again, sucking on his lower lip as you pull his hair softly, making him moan in arousal. 

Pushing down your hips, you rub your core on his hard bulge, eyes widening when you feel him grow even bigger beneath you. You pull his hair to the side, making him turn his face away from the door as you kiss down his exposed neck, dipping your tongue in the hollow of his collarbone, making him shiver. His arms wrap around your back, holding you to him as he thrusts up into your clothed core, looking for relief the Winter Soldier hasn't felt before. You scratch your nails down his back softly, whining as his bulge hits your clit.

Through a haze of desire, you hear Wanda's voice in your head, telling you she's ready. You release your hold on Winter's hair as you run your hand down his chest before cupping his hardness in your hand, making him growl with need as he pushes into your hand. "That's it kitten. Shit... after I cum in your hand, I'm going to make you scream with my cock," Winter whispers in your ear, making you even wetter.  

Your need to get Bucky back conflicts with your rising desire, but when you see Wanda in the corner of your eye, you know what you have to do. You kiss Winter hard, fighting your tongue with his before you pull back. You cup him hard, making him moan in pleasure before you grasp the syringe Wanda floats to you and inject the tranquillizer into his exposed neck, making the Winter Soldier grasp your hips for a second before he passes out.

It takes four men to carry Bucky to his bed. After Steve had hit the alarm, Tony and Bruce had gone searching for Scott and had managed to capture him before he could find a way out of the tower. When they looked through the security tapes, they saw Scott enter the gym and wake a sleeping Bucky before triggering him again. Tony had wanted to place Bucky in a cell, but you and Steve had managed to convince him that everyone would be safer if the rest of the tower couldn't get to him. 

Steve had his broken arm set in a cast during that time and was now napping on the couch in Bucky's lounge area while you slept next to the sleeping soldier. On the cameras, it showed that Bucky had been himself when he woke up after the first time he was triggered, so you had no doubt that he would be himself again soon. The injection Wanda had given you had been made by Bruce and was stronger than anything a normal human could withstand. However, with Bucky's fast metabolism, you had no idea how long he would be out.

Four hours later you wake to Bucky muttering in his sleep a look of terror on his face. He pulls you to him like you are his safety blanket in a world gone crazy.

 "No, no!" He shouts, his body shaking.

You try to wake him up softly, knowing how vulnerable you feel when you have a nightmare. Steve is in the doorway, seeing if you need assistance when Bucky's eyes shoot open and he releases his hold on you. His gaze is distant before he realises where he is. He glances at Steve before he groans and pinches his nose, lying on his back in the bed.

"Please tell me it was just a bad dream," he asks, eyes focused on the ceiling.

"Afraid not, punk," Steve says from the door.

Bucky sighs before he sits up, facing the two of you. His eyes scan your body before he moves to Steve and flinches at his cast. "Steve, I'm so sorry. Who else did I hurt?" He turns to you before he continues, "Are you alright doll?"

"I'm ok, Bucky. He didn't really hurt me..." You grasp his metal hand in comfort.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be extra nice to Sam, he took the brunt of the soldier's attack. He has two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He's got a bruised larynx from your vibranium arm too. He's in the cradle now, Dr. Cho says he should be out in 30 minutes. Wanda is under observation with a concussion."

Bucky's shoulders tense as he tries to process everything. "Fuck," he whispers to himself harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose before he faces Steve once again, "I'm so sorry, Stevie." 

"It wasn't you Buck. Wanda managed to contain you the first time. If it wasn't for Scott betraying us, this would never have happened again." Steve smiles down at you as you move closer to Bucky, wrapping your arms around his side before he picks you up and puts you in his lap. "I'll tell the others your back, Buck. I'm going to go sit with Sam, when you guys are caught up feel free to join me." He waves in greeting as he departs.

"I'm so sorry, kitten. I never wanted you to see me that way. I never wanted you to meet him." He pulls you to his chest, kissing you softly.

"It's ok, Bucky. He didn't really hurt me."

"Thank God for - wait," he pulls back and stares down at you, "I didn't really hurt you? So I did hurt you a bit?"

"I..." you want to spare him any more bad news but you know you can't lie to him. "When I injected him... he just gripped my hips a bit. Nothing major, I promise Bucky. I just have a bruise or two."

He leans his forehead against yours softly. "I'm so sorry doll. I'm so sorry for hurting you... and I'm so sorry that I forced you to... distract me in that way. I know after everything you've been through, being forced to play that role again must have been terrible. You must hate me now."

"What? No Bucky. You didn't force me into anything. I wanted to help you, I just wish that I didn't have to hurt you." You hold his face and lean in close. Blue eyes full of sorrow meet yours hesitantly. "I love you Bucky, and Winter is a part of you. There's no piece of you that I could ever hate."

Bucky's eyes widen in response as he grabs your waist once again. "Please, please... Say that again," he stares at you intensely, watching the expression on your face.

You giggle softly as you wrap your hands around his neck. "I love you Bucky, I love you so much!" 

His lips descend on yours, his kiss deep and demanding as he deepens the kiss, holding you to him. You run your fingers through his hair as you return the kiss.

Just when you feel you can't breathe anymore he pulls back. "I love you Y/N. God, I love you so fucking much. I'll rip the world to shreds to keep you safe if I have to."

This time you pull him closer, clutching at his hair and pulling him down to you, kissing him with everything you have. Reluctantly the two of you part, knowing you have to visit Sam before the night is through.

Bucky's flesh hand trembles as he enters the medical wing in the Tower, nervous at having to face the others. You grab his hand between the two of yours, doing your best to help him relax with a quick squeeze. With a quick smile in your direction, Bucky takes a deep breath before he faces Sam and Wanda.

"I'm so sorry you two," Bucky says as he faces the two of them. Sam is pale as he lies in a hospital bed, with Wanda and Steve in the seats next to him. Wanda has a huge bump on her head and seems exhausted. 

"Wanda, I-" Bucky starts to say but Wanda surprises him and runs to him to give him a hug. 

"You are not to blame for what he does, ok? I know how awful you feel, but we all know it wasn't you Bucky," Wanda says as she pulls back after a few seconds. 

When Bucky starts to argue, she interrupts him once again. "I don't want to hear any apologies, Sergeant. Even Sam agrees with me, right Sam?"

Wanda moves to Sam's side once again, waiting for him to answer.

"She's right you know, B. Even when the soldier was kicking my ass, I could see in his eyes that it wasn't you. The two of you are like opposites. He even fights more with his left arm while you usually prefer your dominant right side. He's like the evil mirror version of you." Sam's voice is hoarse and soft as he speaks, his throat still sensitive from being strangled half to death.

You and Bucky move closer to Sam. "I'm still so sorry Sam. You almost died."

"You don't need to apologise, Bucky. We're a family, and family sticks together right?" Sam's words cause Bucky's eyes to widen, they're shiny before he blinks away the unshed tears. The thought of Sam forgiving him so easily is difficult to accept but is also a huge relief.

"Yeah, Sam. Family sticks together." He glances at Steve and Wanda, "Till the end of the line," he whispers. He pulls you close as he kisses the top of your head, his smile beaming as he understands what it's like to have people care for him for the first time in seventy years.

Tag List:

@crazyunsexycool @morganmofresh @dottirose @cjand10 @buggy14

#bucky barns x reader #bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky angst #bucky fluff #steve rogers #the avengers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #winter soldier #bucky x you #bucky barnes

[georgiapeach30513]

Kindly Unspoken, Part 12

Summary:  Andy invites you over

Pairings:  Andy Barber X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, dry humping, implied past sexual abuse, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:   4.1K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

Looking at your desk you sigh as you move aside one of the lavender pens.  Reorganizing the color coded post-its, and look back at your computer.  Creating a chaos in front of you, so you quit thinking about Andy.  You liked Andy.  More than liked him, you were falling.  

And thinking of taking your relationship to a more intimate place terrified you.  And you wanted it.  And worried about it.  And didn’t want to tell Andy the truth.  And wanted him.  Goodness, you wanted him so bad.  No one had ever touched you like him.  No one had ever made your skin feel tingly all over.  No one ever came close enough to start taking those bricks out of your walls.  No one, but Andy.

Each conversation with him saw that wall getting smaller, and you wanted him.  Wanted him so badly that you were touching yourself again.  “Angel?”

“Hmm?” You ask, forgetting the nonsense that was going on with your desk.  Your coworker notices immediately, and taps her finger on your desk.  “Oh, that.  Uhh…”

“What are you avoiding?” You reach towards the mess of pens, but withdraw back.  No.  It was a distraction.  It was so you didn’t have to think about Andy’s hands on your body.  You didn’t want to think about his lips making a trail up your neck.

Your hand goes to the nape of your neck, and you scratch the area three times, “I like him.”

“The lawyer?” Majorie asks before she sits down in the chair in front of you.  “Okay, so how much?”

“I want him to be the one.”

“Woah,” she whispers.  Her eyes drift to your desk, watching your internal battle of trying not to move anything.  “The new first.”

“Yeah.  No.  No, this is the real first.  The first that counts.  Marji — I think about him when I’m in bed.  He takes his time with me.  Everything is my…it’s mine — my timeline.  He’s not rushed or pushed, and he hasn’t stopped talking to me.  Me.  The girl who is broken, and does things in threes, lines up everything perfectly, has my books in alphabetical order.  And I love his daughter, and their family.  I got to meet Amaris’ aunt and uncle in their home.  And they’re so sweet.  She…I feel like I’m like her.”

“Oh, honey, this is great.  I told you there would come a man that would put up with all this, but also that you would know was worth it.  Andy wants you.  Not your body.  That’s why he keeps talking.  And meeting his family.  That wasn’t weird?” You shake your head no.  “She’s the one with the baby?”

“A baby that Andy adores.  Marji that baby calls him Dede, and I get all tingly in my belly.  Andy didn’t get to see Amaris grow up, but he gets to have this sweet angel of a niece, and that baby loves him so much.  And…I don’t want anyone else to give him that.”

“Why?  He’s a great dad.  He’s…”

“I want to give him that,” you interrupt.  It wasn’t an easy conclusion to come to, but you wanted to give Andy a family.  You wanted to wake up next to him, and make him and Amaris breakfast.  Have him hold your baby.  “I’ve never…I didn’t think I wanted that.  I didn’t think I would want to have sex with anyone.  I never even got urges, you know?  But then he touches me, and it’s exciting and scary, and…”

“Honey, it’s a new start.  Remember that.  You’re getting all this with Andy.  Everything in the past doesn’t count.  He’s your first,” with tears in your eyes, you slowly put your desk back in order.  “You may never stop with your rituals, and need to put things in order.  So much was taken from you.  And now it’s time to give it to someone.  Andy won’t take from you.”

“I really like him.”

“I can tell.  Don’t let those butterflies go away.  But also, don’t be embarrassed.  Just let things happen.  Enjoy yourself.  I promise you that Andy is.  So just get out of your pretty little head,” furrowing your brows, you wipe away the tears that you hadn’t realized were leaking down your cheeks.  “Remember to breathe.  Go with your gut.  Trust yourself.  And let things happen for you two.  You both deserve that.”

“What are you doing now?” Andy smiles, laying back on the couch.  This was the nightly routine.  Once Amaris was sent to bed, Andy was calling you.  “Wait, it’s Monday.  You are washing your jeans.  No, you’re folding your jeans.”

“I am.  And what are you doing?” Andy flops down on the couch, and the moan he releases goes right to your core.  The sound of his voice shouldn’t be that enticing.  “Andy?”

“I’m bored.  I wish you were here with me.”

“Amaris is there though.”

“But she’s asleep.  She even had some sleepy tea that her Aunt Doll made her because she’s been having trouble sleeping,” you fold your last pair of jeans, and turn to look at the television.

“But The Bachelor comes on tonight,” you answer with a little smile.  Already heading towards the door of your apartment.

“I’ve got a TV.  I’ll watch it with you.  We can go into the bedroom.  If you’re comfortable with that.  Amaris always knocks first.  The living room is just in the open.  I can make a little snack tray.  And…”

“I’ll grab some wine.”

“If you drink wine, I’m not allowing you to leave.”

“I know,” it is what you wanted.  You didn’t want to leave, and needed to hear that Andy wouldn’t allow it.

“Okay.  Okay — Amaris is a heavy sleeper.  She doesn’t get up with an alarm.  I have to physically wake her up.  And there’s always the guest room.  You…”

“Andy, let’s have this conversation when I get there.  You can drink your beer.  I will have my wine.  Make sure you put a few of those cookies we made in the oven.  I’ll be right over,” this was it.  Sort of.  It was going to take baby steps, and you are well aware of that.

But having Andy in a more intimate setting has butterflies fluttering around all in your belly as you pull on some shoes.  Packing a small bag of essentials, and you walk over to the mirror.  Twisting around to look at your body.  You could do this.  You wanted him, and Andy would protect you.  Andy would wait, and go at your speed.  You took comfort in that.  And of course, it could be nothing but watching The Bachelor.

He looks better at night.  Out of the suits and ties, and just Andy.  Your face sets on fire when he opens the door, no need to knock, and his hand slides around your waist.  Leaning forward he gives you the softest kiss to your lips, starting to pull away, but you place a hand on his cheek, continuing to hold the embrace.  “Let’s…let’s head to the bedroom.”

Andy looks up the stairs, waiting on you to fully walk in before he guides you to his bedroom.  It isn’t the most sexy set up, but it’s cute.  A bed tray with a few snacks, wine glass for your wine, even a few beers.  Pillows looking all nice and fluffy, and it is the most romantic thing you have ever seen.  

“Andy, this is perfect,” you beam up at him.  “Which side is yours?”

“It doesn’t matter,” an eyebrow cocks up as you stare at him, and he chuckles, “The right side.  It’s closest to the door.  It’s this thing.”

“It’s protective,” your eyes roll up to meet him, and that cool blue color of his irises have you looking away again.  “So have you ever watched The Bachelor?” You climb onto the side of the bed furthest away from the door, and give the other side a little tap.  “This season hasn’t been on long, but I know exactly who I want to win.”

“Who’s that?” Andy climbs in beside you.  Popping a top off his beer, he looks at you as you stare at the tv.  You are absolutely stunning when you’re not made up.  Nothing about you looked professional, and even your demeanor is different.  There isn’t this need for ultimate control.  And you’re comfortable.  Legs curled up, and leaning back on a pillow when you look up at him.  “Who are you wanting to win?”

“This…this girl he keeps calling Bella.  I think it’s short for bellisima.  It means…”

“Beautiful,” Andy whispers.  Your eyes coast around his face, landing on his lips, but then you flinch to look back towards the tv.  Why was this so hard? “How about we make this our normal Monday?”

“How so?” You wouldn’t mind coming here on Monday’s to watch the show with Andy.

“Well, we can place a bet on who is going to get the final rose.  We just hang out in the bed, drink, and have snacks.  Spend time together.  And you stay the night.  I…we,” he takes a deep breath, pausing the television, and reaches for your hand.  With a little nod, he fully takes it in his own.  Thick fingers that have the most gentle touch, intertwine with your delicate fingers.

“We’ve been dating for a while.  And Amaris knows something is up.  I would like to include her a bit more.  She loves you.  I…what do you think?  Maybe Tuesday morning breakfast together before school?  Not this time if you don’t want to.  But I do make a really mean pancake.”

The hand that isn’t being held moves on its own, and starts to rub over Andy’s thigh.  Amaris was a smart girl, and you both knew that eventually she would put it together that the two of you were more than friends.  You were hanging out for more than just observing her environment.  “Yeah.  Yes.  I would like to spend more time with both of you.  I knew that when I went on that first date with you it was going to eventually include her.  And I love…her, too.”

“Good.  Now, let’s watch your show,” whether it was the wine or the fact that there was a bit of a shift in yours and Andy’s relationship, you aren’t sure.  What you do know for a fact is that you feel safe.  Comfortable.  And you sink more into the bed and closer to him.  “Why do you think Bella is the one for…who is this guy?”

“Nick Vaughan, he’s a music producer.  Those two had an immediate connection.  The other girls hate her.  Nick seems to make these excuses to get time with her.  Their chemistry is obvious.  She just…”

“You’re right,” he looks down at his stomach for a split second, and only because your hand slides over his belly.

“What do you mean?” It was an odd statement.  Andy didn’t know these people, but he was watching Nick and Bella.

“It’s the way he looks at her.  Like nothing else matters.  He got himself into this show and its rules, but he’s ready to end it.  Because he just wants her.”

“Why — why would you say that?” Your eyes finally look up at him, and your hand starts giving his belly scratches.  He gives you the warmest smile, and you want to crawl onto him.  

“It’s the way I look at you.  I just want you, nothing else matters.  Because…” his adam's apple bobs, but his eyes never stray from yours.  “I love you.  And I don’t expect you to say anything to me.  I just need you to know.  We’re too deep, and I don’t want anything else.  Just…I need you to know.  It’s not just Amaris that loves you, and her loving you is such a huge bonus, but…”

“I love you, too.  And I don’t think I’ve ever said that to anybody,” you need him.  You need to feel him, and you want him to feel you.  The hand on his stomach slides up his chest.  Your fingers settling at the neckline of his shirt.  There is an absolute need to touch his skin.  

“I love you,” you giggle.  It feels good.  “I didn’t think it’d be that easy.”

“It’s that easy,” with his voice low, and raspy, he leans down to kiss you, and you pull him closer.  Your lips are perfectly slotted with each other.  Like the two of you are made for the other.  Nothing had ever felt this right.

A wave of euphoria runs through your body as your skin lights up.  A trail of chill bumps decorates your skin everywhere Andy is touching.  You couldn’t get close enough to him.  There is only one way to remedy this, so you sling your leg over him.  Settling your weight down on his lap.  

“I wanna hold you,” he whimpers into your mouth.  Andy is still cautious of your comfort.  

“Please, hold me,” your voice whines.  His hands slide up and down your back, settling on your hips, and he pushes you down harder onto him.  “Andy.”

“How are you feeling?” Breathlessly you answer, pulling away from his mouth.  Your body is on autopilot.  Searching for friction, and finding it by grinding over him.  Nothing has ever felt this good.  It is simple, but has so much pleasure.  

“I want you to touch me,” he slides his hands up your stomach, cupping your breasts, and you nod your head, “Yeah, please,” your bralette was hiding nothing.  Your nipples are poking through every inch of your clothing, and when Andy’s thumb barely grazes over your hardened bud, you shudder.

“You like that?” His voice is low enough to be a growl, and still you want more.  

“I want your skin on mine,” his eyes lock on yours as he brings his hands under your shirt.  The same motion of cupping your breasts, but you shake your head, “No, on the skin,” he slips his hands under the bralette, tweaking your nipple, and you stop your movements.

“I’m sorry,” he starts to move his hands, but you grab his wrists, shaking your head.  “Angel, tell me what you want.”

“I don’t want you to stop.  I want it.  I want it so bad.  And I’m not where I should be, but Andy I really want you.  I want all of you, but…”

“Keep your eyes on mine,” he presses his forehead against yours, and you start to gyrate over him.  “There ya go.  Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Uh huh,” you mewl, and he gives you a quick peck.  Rolling your nipples in between his thumbs and forefingers, your motions start to quicken.  His pressure gets hard every time you change your speed.  The two of you working in tandem.  

Keeping your eyes on him before it all becomes too much.  It was so much.  So much heat.  So much pleasure.  So much wetness.  You could feel yourself making a mess, but it didn’t seem that Andy cared much.  “You’re almost there, sweetheart.”

“Andy,” a whispered scream exits your mouth, and notice how fast you are moving on him.  “Andy.”

“I’m here.  You got me feeling so good.”

“Andy!”

“I know.  I know, baby, just keep going.  You’re almost there.  I’m gonna come right with you.  You’re doing so good.  Got yourself feeling so good.  Keep…oh fuck…going.”

“Andy!  Mmm…Andy.  I’m — I’m…I'm coming.  Yeah, I am.  Yeah.  Oh god, yeah!” Nothing had ever felt like this.  Nothing like that had ever happened.  No amount of touching yourself, and reclaiming what was yours.  It was sweet, and filthy all at the same time.

With your forehead still pressed against Andy’s, you pant in between kissing him.  “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He airily asks.

“I’m…I’ve never been that wet before.”

“Honey, that’s not just from you.  I came, too.  There’s more to sex than penetration.  You did an amazing job.  And I’ve never came harder.”

“You’re just saying that,” he shakes his head no.  He is holding back on something.  “Andy, be honest.  Be crass if you have to.”

“Do you not feel me throbbing?  Or are you throbbing too hard to notice?” You aren’t sure you understand.  This isn’t your area of expertise.  “If you want to touch me with your hand, you can,” scooting back on him, the evidence of yours and Andy’s juices had created a wet stain on both your pants.  “Hey, I like it.  Go ahead.  Use your hand.”

You lay a hand down on Andy’s crotch, and have to immediately bite your lip.  He was heavy.  So thick, and his pulse was pounding on your palm, “You did that.  And it felt amazing.  However, I think that’s all for tonight.”

“You want more.”

“So do you.  We’re not in a rush though.  That was perfect, and plenty for tonight.  But I think we need to change out of these wet clothes.  And actually watch your show.  What do you think?”

“I like that idea,” Andy tries to be respectful when you crawl away from him.  But everything in him is screaming to look at your ass.  Seeing that pretty wet spot on your shorts that was a mix of the two of you makes him want to shove his fist in his mouth.  There is an innocence that he wants to protect, but if that wasn’t the hottest thing he had ever witnessed.

Grabbing your bag, because you came prepared, you skip into his bathroom, and he leans back on the bed.  You are going to be the death of him.  It was the first time all over again with him, and he needed to keep you safe during anything sexual.

Huffing out a breath, he hauls himself out of the bed for clean dry pants.  Changing quickly because he wants to wait in the bed for you.  Wants to hold out his arm, so you will cuddle up next to him.  And seeing your smiling face as you walk out of the bathroom is more than enough for him.

He didn’t leave.  Didn’t get scared.  Andy was all in just like you are.  There is still a lot to navigate, but he was worth it.  You are worth it.  

You snuggle up into his arm, and your hand finds its favorite place to rest, his belly.  Andy turns the show back on, and you watch as this stupid little show makes you feel even closer to him.  It was silly, but it was a way to open up about love.  You were watching this show when Andy told you he loved you.  And you loved him.

“Can — can I lay on you?” Looking up at him, he gives you a kiss to your forehead, nodding his head, and you lay your head on his chest.  A steady, but a bit speedy sound of his heart relaxes you more than you could imagine.  It feels safe.  Loved.  Perfect.

“Amaris,” Andy gives his daughter a light shake, and she buries her face more into one of her Squishmallows.  “Amaris, you have a visitor this morning.”

“Who?” She shoots up in the bed, looking towards her bedroom door, and then back at Andy.  “Is it who I think it is?”

“Yes, and…”

“I knew it!  She’s here in the morning, and it’s not her job to observe me, is it?” Andy shakes his head no, and that permanent grin spreads over his face.  He had the best sleep of his life.  Could smell the breakfast that the two of you prepared together.

“So…you are dating?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me, why?”

“I needed to know that it would last past a couple of dates before I got you involved.”

“Why?”

Sighing, Andy sits down on her bed, and pulls her closer to him, “You’ve had so many changes in such a short time.  I didn’t want you to get attached to her as my girlfriend, if I wasn’t sure it would last.”

“And now you’re sure?” He was.  He had never been more sure about anything.  Last night was perfect.  For all the heartbreak he had been through, it was made up by you staying the night.  “So you’re getting married?  And she’s going to move in?  And become my mom?”

“It’s still too soon for that.  But she wants our dates and time to include you now.  We’ve navigated the early stages of our relationship, and we’re comfortable enough, as a couple, to have you be a part of it now.”

“So I determine if you marry her or not?”

“Sorta.  You and I are still new with this father daughter thing.  But I never saw myself being a single parent.  I want her in our lives.  And if things don’t go well with all three of us, yeah.  Our dynamic can’t be too off.”

“I love her though.  I told you to date her.  I want her here everyday.  Because she makes me happy, and she…daddy, does she make you happy, too?” You make Andy so happy.  But even more so, he felt at ease.  He wasn’t overthinking anything.  Things felt right.  “Then I don’t see the problem.”

“We’re new, sweetheart.  But right now, let's get you fed so you can brush your teeth, and get dressed for school, and we’re taking you to school this morning.  Both of us,” Amaris leaps out of the bed, and starts to run down the stairs.  Getting there as soon as you have all the plates set down at the bar.  Wearing actual clothes because you weren’t ready for the conversations of sleepovers with her dad.

“Good morning, Angel,” she giggles, crawling up into a stool.  “Daddy makes the best pancakes.  He has a secret ingredient, but he won’t tell me what it is.”

“I do, and I still refuse to tell you,” he responds, stepping behind you to get to the coffee pot.  His hand skims your back before you take a spot on one side of the little girl.  “Angel made the eggs though.”

“They’re extra fluffy.  Do you have a secret ingredient, too?”

“I do.  And I won’t tell you.”

“It’s sour cream,” Andy’s whispers into her ear as he sits down beside her.  “Would have never thought about doing that.”

“They’re delicious.  I need a recipe that has a secret ingredient.”

“Your dad puts a bit of sprite in his pancake batter.”

“Oh, I like the two of you together.  Telling secrets.  Okay, okay, my turn; I added cinnamon to the chocolate chip cookie recipe we made the other day.  That’s why it tastes different.  Just a dash.”

“I’m going to have to keep you girls safe.  Everyone is going to know all our secrets, and won’t invite us to parties for our recipes anymore,” Amaris snorts as she stuffs a bite of pancakes into her mouth.  

It was enlightening to look between the two of them knowing that all of you did not have traditional family homes.  Andy might not have grown up in the system, but he had a single mother.  Amaris may still be young, but she was old enough to remember.  It was a band of people who were often forgotten, and yet now it felt like a family.  This felt right.  And it scared you.

There isn’t anything in the world you wouldn’t do to make sure that Amaris didn’t grow up the way you did.  You wanted her to have a good and happy home life.  One where she was safe, and could trust the people she was around.  And you wanted Andy to get his family as well.  And somehow in the process you were getting a family.  

“How do you like daddy’s pancakes?”

“They’re delicious.  His secret is safe with me,” Amaris’ head looks between you and Andy as you share a lingering gaze with him.  The urge to touch him is strong, but a child separated the two of you.  

“Do I get to go on the next date?  Maybe we can go mini golfing.  Or to the aquarium.  Oh!  We could go to a Bruins game.  Just whatever it is, can I go, too?  Please, pretty please?”

“Amaris, go get dressed, and we…”

“I think a Bruins game sounds perfect,” his eyes flick up to look at you, mouthing thank you.  “Maybe sometime soon.”

“Yes!  I love you daddy.  Love you, Angel!” She screams, jumping into the floor to ready herself for school.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.  But I’m not just dating you.  She should be included.  If this works out, she’s part of this equation.  And I enjoy being around her.  Seeing these things through a child’s eyes.  And I know someone who works at the Garden.  So I can get us tickets, and we can have a group date.”

“And I’m going to kiss you before we get our little audience, okay?”

“Okay,” whispers out before his lips touch your own with such tenderness.  It feels like the start to the rest of your life.  There is comfort in this homey familial vibe of today.  This could be your every day.  Everyday with them.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @peaches1958​ @redbloodedgurl​ @thedarknessilove​ @whimsyplaty92​ @superforgottensoul​ @lilac-tea-time​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @cjand10​ @midnightramyeoncravings​

#kindly unspoken #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you #andy barber fic #andy barber fics #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber smut #defending jacob #chris evans #chris evans characters

[girl8890]

JK | Hieros Gamos (II)

BTS ML | Mood Board

Summary: After a fight with Jungkook that leaves y/n even more confused than before, one last argument with her family has her running to find her own answers. One of those answers, was already waiting at the door for her. 

Paring: God!Thanatos!Jungkook x Goddess!reader

Genre: greek gods!au, soulmate!au, smut, angst, some fluff 

Rating: 18+

Warnings: family arguments, confused reader, running away, mentions of past war/murder, secrets reveled, flirting, past masturbation mentioned, inexperienced/virgin!reader, heavy petting, dry humping, thigh riding, clothed sex, horny jk, kinda dom!jk, nipple play, jk is just so much in loveeee~

A/N: This part is much longer than part 1, so sit back and get comfy! I’m really getting into this mini-series now, and this part is a doozy. Secretes are revealed, connections are strengthened as well as broken, and I may have hinted at what y/n’s powers actually are… hehe. Enjoy part 2! 

Part I | Part III

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

Time has always been different for gods. A year for mortals is a blink of the eye for gods. That’s why when a month past since you last saw your invisible friend, you didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

A month should have been nothing, but in reality it was everything. Knowing him for so long, and being in the dark about the world for so long, the longest you’ve been okay with staying away from him was for a few days because talking to your family was like reading ancient script from a wall. But after the fight you two had, where you couldn’t help your anger from not only your family keeping secrets from you but your best friend too, it really hurt you.

Still does.

Your family has been asking what’s wrong, and you always have an excuse. Not wanting to tell them the truth, or admit it out loud, either. That someone they don’t know about is haunting your mind. Your friend has always haunted your mind, though. It just wasn’t until night fell that you allowed him too. When his voice would tickle your ears and consume your mind, you always found yourself reaching under your dress to feel just how much his voice alone affected you.

But you don’t want to think about that right now. You want too scrub your frustrations away into this piece of clothing that you have been washing for the past twenty minutes. You don’t want to think about how pretty his voice sounds... or how much you long to touch him just once... not even how you imagine his lips-

You scream out your frustration, hating yourself for letting these thoughts consume your every waking thoughts, and then start scrubbing the piece of clothing even harder. Making the water in the basin slosh around so much that it tips over the edge in small waves. 

“Wo-wo, there little miss! Worrying about things that haven’t happened yet, shouldn't affect the clothing,” Your aunt, Clotho, pushed her hands out to you like that would somehow sooth your frustration.

You blow out a puff of hot air, and instead of giving your aunt any of your attention, you take the wet piece of clothing, and the rest of the clothing that have gone unwashed, and leave the room. That doesn’t stop your aunt, including your other aunt, and mother, from searching for you later. 

It was while you were sitting on a ridge of the cave that looked out to the rest of the world. The only spot in the entire cave that could be considered a window when compared to a normal home. You look out at the dead earth that surrounds the cave, taking note of a soul that's drifted too far away from the entrance of the underworld and how it soon dissipates into thin air. Probably grabbed by the reaper of souls or even the River Styx’s guardian. 

You longed for a life like there's. Even if something as messily and gruesome like reaping dead souls, and rowing those souls across a river doesn’t sound at all fun, but it’s better than being stuck in a cave for all of eternity for no reason. This isn’t even your job, and your stuck here! Not because of a godly punishment, or because you even wanted to be stuck here. Your birth in this spot was the only reason. 

The fates coined this cave as there's, so this is the spot people travel to when they want to seek out their abilities. You, on the other hand, don’t have a single power that leads people to find you in this cave. Heck, you don’t even know what powers you have worth something like that. You’ve never had the courage to go searching or practicing for it. You can choose to leave—or you should have the choice to leave—to go find out exactly that, but yet, you’re still here. 

“Why- “the long-“ “face, darling.”

Unlike most people, you don’t find the fate sister’s talking annoying when they speak like this. Your brain is wired for it now, after spending every day since birth hearing it.

“You know why,” You say without looking at the fates.

The fates glance at each other, and all three of them shrug their shoulders at the same time.

“We can't read your mind, daughter.”

“Trust me-” “We’ve tried.” “Ow!”

You grin when you hear your aunt, Lachesis, yelp in pain from undoubtedly getting smacked in the back of the head by your mother. Not because you find your aunt’s pain enjoyable, but you love the bound the three fate sisters have. You also knew they tried readying your mind before, but I guess that’s just a part of one of your own useless abilities worth mentioning. Although, having the ability to keep even your own fate and mind as off limits to them is special in its own way. Otherwise they would have found out about your invisible friend and that’s a no-go. 

“Nothing any of you can fix. How about that.” You say rhetorically like you’re breathing out air. Knowing no matter what your frustrations are, it will be heard by the wrong ears to know about them. The fates never wanting to give you clear answers.

You look over at the three of them when a moment of silence has passed, and they’re all wearing the same expression: unconvinced. Unconvinced that they can’t solve your problem, which they can. They just choose not to help. Granted, an hour ago your focus was more on your invisible friend, but now that your family is in front of you, they just remind you of what’s been bothering you for what feels like forever.

You roll your eyes at them. “Fine! You want to know what’s wrong?” Your harsh wording make their eyes widen, but they all sober at the same time. Always ambiguous with their emotions. “I want to leave.”

That makes the fates break up in a frenzy. All three of their minds racing at what you just admitted.

“You can’t!” Aunt Clotho shouts. “Why would you?” Aunt Lachesis questions. “You won’t,” Your mother, the most inflexible of them all, Atropos, demands.

You huff out in anger, sliding off the ledge of the cave you’ve been looking out on, and stomp your feet like a child. “Why not? I hear story after story of the world outside of this cave. I want to explore it. I want to live out there.”

Your mother steps forward, breaking up the placement she usually stands in next to her sisters. “Y/n, darling, you can’t. Your travels will lead you down rocky paths. One’s that have sharp rocks, and dark fellow travelers.”

You grit your teeth, hating the riddle she just bestowed on you. “How would you know? None of you can see my fate!” They all gasp in unison. “And I’m done being told I’m going to die if I leave this cave! Your all so- so - ugh!”

You smack your sides harshly, unable to put into words what you were never given to announce your hatred of their constant protectiveness. Instead of letting any of them sway your decision, you walk away from them. They don’t follow you, and that’s how you want it this time. They never do follow you.

Never for you.

You run right into your room, and pack a bag. The only reason you didn’t do this eons ago is because you had a friend you didn’t want to leave behind, but your done waiting for answers from him too. Your done waiting for answers that are right outside this cave. Answers to questions you’ve not even let your mind wonder too for awhile.

You know who your father is. He’s the main reason you thought your family wanted to keep you locked up in a cave like this, but you always wondered how having a primordial god as a father was possible, and why he bestowed your mother the gift of pregnancy—a gift he shouldn’t have been able to give.

Another question that floated into your mind a lot: What were the other gods like in person? You’ve seen only few come in and out of the fate’s cave. One being the queen of the underworld herself, but that was many moons ago. Is there a moon god? There must be. You knew of the house of Nyx, and about all her children that your family warned you away from. Aunts and uncles that’s blood was so taped your family didn’t consider them their own blood since the war. But, who was the one that resided as the personification of your favorite rock in the sky? The part of the sky that keeps the tides calm?

You have so many questions, but one question...

One question that should have been answered for you years ago, but only you could answer… who are you? Who are you really? That’s a question you can only answer yourself, and it’s the hardest one to answer. An answer you’ll only find by leaving this cave and exploring the rest of the world.

You finish packing a satchel that you made for yourself one day while you were board. You look down at the many sewed in fabrics, and run your hand across it. Although you had fate’s blood in you, sewing wasn’t really much of your thing. You were pretty good at it, though. This being your first and last piece of fabric you ever sewed, and it still being kept together even though you made it years ago. Something you sewed while talking to your invisible friend…

Your eyes become glossy when you think about leaving him, but you shake your head at the thought. This is no time for second guessing yourself. He made his choice to keep you in the dark, and that was the end of it. No turning back.

You pick up your bag, hoist it over your shoulder, and head for the entrance of the cave.

☙❦❧

It wasn’t your fault everyone around you kept life outside these cave walls a secret. It wasn’t your fault that your only friend kept his life a secret, either. Truthfully, it was all formed in a plan to protect you. Protect you from the god who would want to smite you down for just being who you are.

The daughter of Atropos, the inflexible fate that could cut a lifespan at a flick of her wrist. See anyones future thoughts, and present and past thoughts too because of her connection to her sisters. But even with all these gifts she bestowed upon you, your fathers adventures mind took over. You were nothing like him, not really, and the fates were all too young to remember what he was like unpersonified.

So when he came as a ghostly figure, one that not even Jungkook could touch, your mother did not believe him when he told her his name. When he told her he wanted to make a god with her, she believed him even less. But you we’re born somehow. Not by hieros gamos, or even the shaping of clay. A simple poke to Atropos’s belly and she had you within nine months.

Who knew someone so infertile, could make a goddess like Atropos plump like she was? She never got answers as to why he wanted to make your mother pregnant, and besides casting your fate before your birth, none of the fates had a say in your life. Not to the extent they were used to, at least.

But your father was still your father, as absent as he was. Telling you who your father is was the last time any of the fates bestowed you with knowledge of your life. Not that Zeus would want to kill you for having such a Titian like power. Not how you somehow formed a connection with the god of death before you even hit two hours old. But the name of your father they did tell you. It was something trivial to them because even if you wanted to meet him, you really couldn’t. Not unless he wanted you to. 

Your father is the name of a personification, and the name of a place that mortals and gods alike feared to be sent too one day.

His name was Tartarus.

And that’s exactly where you planned to go.

☙❦❧

The second your feet crunch against the open worlds surface, Jungkook’s wings itched. He knew you were out of the cave the second you breathed in the toxic airs. Luckily, he was already in the underworld, talking to Hades about plans with the overflowing amount of souls that have been coming in lately. One second Jungkook was there… then the next second he wasn’t. Feeling the pull to you instantly, and having no thoughts of trying to repent it. 

“I’m not sure, Jungkook. Don’t you think-“ Hades turns in the direction of where Jungkook once stood. He glances around the throne room, seeing no one but Persephone there with him. “Where’d he go?”

Jungkook has never flew faster in his life. Even during the war, he never flapped his wings this hard to pick up speed. With that thought, he slowed his pace a bit. Right when he got in front of Charon to think about what exactly he was going to do. You are out of the cave. You are free. The fates and him never discussed what he was allowed to do if you ever did that! He hasn’t thought about the possibility of you leaving in years. 

But there you were, in his line of sight now. Outside of the cave and walking towards the entrance to the underworld. 

He looks around at the lost souls, seeing you right at the edge of them. To far away to see him, but at the same time, you’ll be deciding to walk through the souls and see him soon. You don’t know enough about the world to go too deep or understand anything about the underworld. The fates cave being at the outer edge of it all.

Charon, the person that allows souls to cross the River Styx, looks over at his winged brother. He’s frantic. Pacing back and forth along the shore, wings sucked into his body, and he’s constantly putting on and taking off his hood. Like he’s not sure how he wants to look right now: dark and mysterious, or like an open book and angelic. Charon would usually ignore the god of deaths antics, but he’s scaring away the souls that have tolls for him. Even if they’re just spirits, there’s more mortals than nymphs around. Seeing the god of death’s skeleton form is making them all cower away from the shore and the deity.

“Jungkook, why must you pace here?” 

Jungkook doesn’t stop looking towards you. You’re still trying to figure out how to get through the crowd of souls that you, in all rationality, could just walk through.

“I-I… nothing,” Is all Jungkook can say in response to Charon’s question. Paying him no mind and only focusing on what’s important to him right now. 

Charon raises a curious eyebrow. Never seeing Jungkook so flustered before. Jungkook has always been a confident god. One that would use his sickle and deathly face to scare others away from him if needed, and didn’t care how other’s perceived him for it. But now, he doesn’t even have the sickle! Leaving it in the throne room where he was once talking to Hades in.

He follows Jungkook’s line of sight, and sees a women standing at the other side of the mass of souls. 

“You could just go and talk to her, you know?”

Jungkook stops his pacing, looks over at Charon and squints his eyes at him like that was the stupidest thing he’s heard all day. “I can't just do that!”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“Then why are you pacing the shores like you’re trying to reheat the sand?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and continues his pacing. “Because I can.”

It’s Charon’s turn to roll his eyes. One soul has become brave enough to pass Jungkook, only glancing at the being she only sees as bone. Giving Charon the coin her living loved ones buried her with. She enters the boat, and Charon hopes other’s will be as brave as this mortal to pass the skeleton of a man... but no one does.

As cool and collected as Charon usually is, there has already been problems with too many souls in the living world dying because of the war between countries, so having problems on the shores would not be good either. Although no one has made a fuss about the line to the boat not moving yet, souls tend to get antsy after awhile, especially if they have no coin to give the boatman to begin with. 

“You know a person has to give me a coin to cross the River Styx, don’t you Jungkook?” Without looking at the boatman, Jungkook nods his head. “You should probably make sure she has one. If she wants to cross, that is. She does know that, doesn’t she?”

Jungkook stops his pacing again, digging his boots into the sand as he stops. You probably don’t know that, but that’s not what makes Jungkook stop in his tracks. He sees the souls around him, scared to even look at him, but he doesn’t care about that either. None of them are moving in the like besides the one mortal women that entered the boat. Starting a crowded line even though some of them probably don’t even have a coin to cross. 

Jungkook has seen what happens when souls get frustrated. He also sees the bag you’re holding. All it takes is one soul to realize...

“Are you alive?”

Scratch Jungkook’s thoughts from before. Now he's never flown faster in his life. 

☙❦❧.

You were waiting in the line of souls to get on the boat, not wanting to be rude and pass right through them, when an older male soul asked you, “Are you alive?”

You look over at the ghost of a man, not knowing what to say. Although your family has told you very little about the world, you know that souls tend to grab onto anything living. You only knew this because it was one of the fates sayings they used to say to you so much. A saying that always made you jitter in the cold even if it was warm where you lived. 

Every mortal is afraid to die. So afraid, that even after death they will fight to live. 

You glance around, realizing other souls have turned around to look your way. All of them wanting to look at the living girl that took the one souls attention. You try to lie, but even to you is sounds false, “N-no! Just waiting to get on the boat.”

The man squints at you, unbelieving. “Did you die with that on?” He points to your bag over your shoulder, and by the way you look at it he knows you didn’t die with it, or die at all. “I knew it! Your a living soul... Please help me! I shouldn't have died! It wasn't my time.”

“U-ugh...”

“Help me too! I don’t have a coin because I died at sea. Do you have a coin too spear?” A older male soul says to you, joining the conversation. 

“What coin-”

“Please tell my daughter I'm sorry.” “I didn’t mean to jump off the roof!” “I don’t deserve this!” “Help us!” “Help me!”

So many souls were gathering around you, that you don’t know what to do. You’re crouching on the floor, now surrounded by many souls. You cover your ears, wanting their pleads to stop, and shut your eyes tight. You’re so overwhelmed by everyone and have never been around this many people before. Only small groups of five or six have ever visited the fates before. This group of souls stretches out to the hundreds! 

You’re wishing them to go away. Praying to whatever god that could hear you to make them go away. You would even go back to-

Before you could finish that regretful thought, you’re suddenly no longer surrounded and being hoisted in the air. Gasps and even a feminine scream is heard from below you. 

You grab onto the being that’s saved you, but keep your eyes shut. Feeling woozy in the air, but grounding yourself by holding onto the person even tighter. It's a hard body, and one with dipped shoulders. Your face is buried in whoever your savors is neck, and your arms are grasping at their back. Holding on for deer life as you fly through the air. Your legs are wrapped around the person’s middle, and strangely enough when you squeeze the person closer to you they squeeze back. Keeping you as close to them as possible as you fly away from the swarm of souls. 

By the time you feel you’re savor and you hit land, you’re too sacred to let go of them. They don’t mind, though, because they actually sit down with you in their lap when they realize your not letting go

“A-are we safe now?”

Your savior chuckles at your question, and your eyes shoot open wide when a familiar voice is heard. “Not sure. Would you stop holding onto me like this if I say we are? If your answer is anything else but no, then definitely not.”

You know that voice... you’ve heard that voice in your dreams before and in person too for years. You let your arms and legs go slack around him, feeling your bag fall off your shoulders while you’re still sitting in his lap. Then you slowly pull your face away from his neck. Looking up at your invisible friend for the first time...

“Ghostie?”

He smiles down at you, although it looks strained. “Hi, nae salang.”

You blink. Process everything. Then say without thinking, “You’re really pretty.”

Your face instantly lights up like the sun. You physically feel the heat that’s radiating off of your face. You’re so embarrassed by what you just said.

Jungkook doesn’t find it embarrassing, though. He bites his lip to fight the real smile trying to bloom on his face. Thanking all the gods, even Zeus, for giving him the looks that he has and creating a reaction like that on you because of it. 

“I-I meant...”

“I think you meant I'm drop dead gorgeous! Hotter than the Helios himself, am I right?” You playful smack his shoulder at the teases, but you can’t help the small smile from forming.

So this is what your friend really looks like. Sharp jaw that could cut glass, smooth skin that make your fingers itch to touch him, and raven black hair that looks so soft you want to run your fingers though it. Not to mention the lip piercing and a eyebrow piercing. You knew that body piercing existed. Your own family looking down at the new trend for some reason, but seeing them on your friend now is making your stomach do flips. We don’t even need to get into the tattoos. The beautiful art work printed on his skin has you wanting to know what it feels like to trace every symbol on his arms. 

And you feel the hard body underneath yours. There's not a single layer of fat on him. Completely clean all over. Your starstruck, really. You never knew what to expect if you saw him in person like this, but even now that you’ve seen him in person, you have a grueling question that slips past your lips as soon as it pops into your head.

“Why didn’t you let me see you before?”

Jungkook remains neutral in front of you, but inside there's a roaring fire being lit. Not only is he touching you for the first time, feeling your beautiful body still wrapped around him that he’s been itching to even brush across all this time. Finally being able to let you see himself too, is truly a blessing in disguise. But even now that you’re both visible to each other, he’s tongue tied coming up with answers to your question. 

He knows he should tell you the truth now. He wants to tell you, but there’s still that never elongating fear still lingering in his mind telling him you’ll hate him - be afraid of him even - if he tells you everything you’ve wanted to know for years... like who he really is. 

After a moment of silence, and watching the turmoil cross your friends eyes, you do something you never thought you would be able to do... you reach your hand out, and touch his face. Cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb out for comfort, but in reality it’s because you can’t help yourself and want to touch him. 

“You can tell me. I won’t be mad, I promise... I’ll swear on the fates if I have to.” He chuckles at you bringing up your family in such a joking manner, but that just brings him to the realization of when he swore on the actual fates. 

He’s touching you... currently having you in his lap... so he broke his promise to the fates. 

They never swore on it with blood, not even on a body of land like the Styx, but it’s a broken promise nonetheless. Having you here, though, in his arms where you’ll forever be safe, is worth any destruction that comes his way from here on out.

He breathes you in, the aroma coming off of you smelling like roses and honey, and he holds it in for as long as possible. Only blowing it out when you start to blink up at him in confusion.

“I... didn’t tell or show you who I was... because... I was afraid you would-... hate me?” Real smooth, Jungkook. Even after he ends his explanation, that ended up somehow sounding like a question, he mentally smacks himself. 

Why the fuck is it so hard to talk to you right now?

“Afraid I'd hate you? You haven’t even told me your name yet, so how would I know who you are?”

Jungkook screws his eyes shut, not wanting to face you when he tells you the truth.

“My names Jungkook.” I quite gasp his heard from you, but he doesn’t open his eyes. The sound not helping his current predicament. “I'm the god of-”

“Death,” You finish for him. “I know who you are.”

You wiggle in your spot on top of him, feeling a little shocked, but don’t get off of him. That just serves to wake up other parts of himself, so he wraps his arms around you tighter, around your waist, and stopping you from moving. Your movement making his eyes go wide, and having to face your equally surprised face. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, glancing at his arms on your waist. He makes them go slack again, and hoping your innocent mind doesn’t realize something is now probably poking you in the ass.

“Why would you think I hate you?” You ask, not understanding why Jungkook is now acting weird, but ignoring it for the time being.

He clears his throat, and tries to seem relaxed again. “Because of how the fates talked about me to you.”

“And that is...”

Now it’s Jungkook's turn to blink in confusion. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They never told you anything about me?”

“Oh! No, they told me a lot of things about the house of Nyx. But what I'm not understanding is why would you think I care?”

Gut punched. Smack in the face. Floored. These are all the different kinds of emotions that Jungkook is now feeling. 

“I’m so confused.”

“How do you think I feel,” You say, unimpressed. 

If this entire time Jungkook didn't tell you who he was because of stories from before you were even born, your going to punch him. And you tell him just that... he laughs.

“Well, I guess I’m gutting punched then,” Jungkook says, feeling incredibly lighter about the situation now. Even after you actually punch him in the shoulder, which Jungkook barely felt because of his layer of muscle in his bicep. He didn’t even flinch, but now your fist is kinda sore. Your eyes go wide for a second, unbelieving that god has this much muscle on him. 

You then glance around the cave, trying not to think about Jungkook and how amazing his everything is, and you see that he flew you to the other side of the cave. You wondered why so many of the fates stories of this place were so gruesome. Especially the part of getting across the River Styx, when the souls judgement would be given. Looking around the cave now, it’s kinda peaceful. Not that you wanted to stay in that part of underworld. You’ve spent to much of your life in a cave to ever stay in one for to long again! But, looking around at the cave that’s filled so many stories with terrible tails, you think it’s a stunning sight. Sparkling walls with moisture and the souls passing by add to your curious mind. Wanting to know what their living lives were like.

Jungkook watched silently as you took your fill of the rest of the underworld. You only living in a part of it since you were born must have been overwhelming, but the look on your face now didn’t make him think you were overwhelmed. You made the same look when you thought about…

It suddenly dawned on Jungkook that you’ve only ever lived in a cave, so this one must be reminding you of your family. Granted, this cave is much different then the one you lived in. Still full of rocks and no flowering green in sight, but having eerie dripping of unknown water and random passing souls is very different from the fate’s cave. Basically, much worse then the cave you lived in.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks. Wanting to make sure you’re not regretting leaving. You look back at Jungkook, smiling softly when he probably caught your wondering eyes and not wanting to worry him about it.

“I’m okay. Just thinking about my family, and how they lied about so much to me.”

“About what?”

You look around the cave again, letting go of him with one of your hands to gesture to it all. “This place and how it’s so-...“

“Terrifying,” Jungkook interrupts. “I know it can be-“

Beautiful.

Jungkook is stunned silent. Your lips did not move, and yet he heard you. You look at him now, concerned about his silence, but Jungkook is totally shell shocked.

He knew this was possible. Being able to hear the person you did hieros gamos with’s thoughts. But that’s just it. You both never did the act itself. This should be impossible, your connection together should be impossible, but yet it all is happening to him and to you. Maybe leaving the fates cave let this be possible, but it has so many emotions flowing through Jungkook right now. This little instance, hearing you just think the word beautiful, is just another reminder of what you two are to each other. Your not just a regular girl to him. Not that Jungkook has ever forgotten, but it’s way more then just a god loving a goddess. It’s entirely more.

Your souls are connected for eternity, and right now your soul looks absolutely marvelous to him. 

“You’re beautiful too,” Jungkook says without thinking, but doesn’t feel embarrassed about it either. He doesn’t care if it makes you ask questions because in this moment you can ask him anything right now, and he would answer. You could ask him to burn the whole world to the ground, and he would do it. This spark through your connection has turned Jungkook into putty, and you’re now looking at him like he’s just given you the moon.

“Oh,” you say in the smallest of voices after a moment. “Um- thank you… J-Jungkook.”

Jungkook grips your waist tighter for a second. Hearing you say his name for the first time is making him want to fly around the universe. He feels like he’s on the god damn moon at this point. Your just so… everything. Your everything to him. You make the god of death blind to the world. Only wanting to ever see you in his line of sight and hear you say his name on repeat into his ear.

While Jungkook continues to look at you with stars in his eyes, it makes you squirm in his lap again. This time Jungkook doesn’t stop you. He relaxes his hands and lets your bodies rub together. Softly groaning and make you raise an eyebrow at him when your butt knocks into his ever growing cock in his pants. All his senses are going haywire. He didn’t think hearing a single word from your thoughts would get him like this, but truthfully, everything about today has been surprising.

He’s not someone that could be easily seduced, but he swears he’s bewitched by you right now. And you’re slowly realizing what it is that keeps bumping into your thigh. You stop moving, and take in your current situation. Nibbling on your bottom lip when it dawns on you that you’re in the lap of the god of death, and how he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you.

What dawns on you even harder, is that you like it. You shouldn’t like it. You should be mad at him! He’s kept so much from you, so you shouldn’t be caving to your secret desires - but at the same time, there hasn’t been a moment since seeing him in person, and finding out who he was, that you’ve been mad at him. Is it okay to just let things go like this? Is that string of a connection you keep seeing between you two that makes you like this?

Your not sure when you started seeing that connection, or feeling it even, but it’s glowing right now. Getting brighter and brighter, and you’re not sure what to do with it. Wanting to reach out to it, but at the same time not sure if you should.

You stutter out his name, wanting to grasp onto something you know. All your other confusing emotions making you feel hotter for some reason. “J-Jungkook... I - um...”

He hums as an answer to his name, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You place your hands on his chest, but you don’t push him away to create distance. In fact, there’s becoming less and less distance between you two as the seconds tick by. The pull of that bright connection pulling you both towards each other like magnets.

You’re so inexperienced with this feeling, but you’re matching it to the feelings you get at night when you only had Jungkook’s voice to go off of. It’s making your face heat up with the rest of your body. Your mind is spinning.

“W-what’s happening?” You ask Jungkook who looks equally in a daze as you feel. Right before your lips touch, something you’ve both been craving to know the touch of for years, you get a response that rocks to your core.

“What is right.”

And then your lips are joined. A first kiss for you, and the first that mattered to Jungkook. A kiss you’ve never felt before, and a kiss that Jungkook has been craving longer than you know about. The bonds between you two pulsed, and you both gasp when you feel it. Staring into each other’s eyes like you can’t believe what just happened.

You don’t know what it is, and he has a good idea. You don’t care about it anymore, and neither does he. Jungkook pulls your body flush against his, reconnecting your lips to each other’s in the process. You whimper at the rough kiss, and it has Jungkook groaning into your mouth. Wanting to pull more noises like that from you. Enjoying the taste of your lips on his, and feeling you vibrate on top of him when he touches your bottom lip with his tongue.

It’s a frenzy of kisses between the both of you. Your very much inexperienced, but Jungkook is just happy to taste you. Happy and used to taking the lead. Forgetting how innocent you are, he grabs ahold of your ass in his two hands. Squeezing the squishy flesh. You gasp into his mouth, letting him take the opportunity to touch your tongue with his. Your tongue is hesitant, but curious - letting Jungkook’s consume your mouth completely.

You feel how your body is shaking. How your mind is only concentrating on the man underneath you like it’s never had before. It’s an experience you don’t want to stop, and Jungkook doesn’t even have the ability to stop it.

Jungkook starts to move your bodies, rubbing against each other. You feel his cock that was once poking at your leg drag over your clothed core. It has you squeaking, and Jungkook chuckling by the cute noise.

“So sweet and innocent,” He says against your lips, in fucked out daze. You hold onto his shoulders, keeping your eyes screwed shut, as he continues to move your bodies against each other with his hands on your ass. The feeling is intensifying as your movements get rougher, but the way Jungkook is looking down at you right now is making you want that feeling so much more. You want to be good for him.

Something inside makes you do it. Makes you feel brave enough to let out your first moan, and just like you hoped, he loved the sound. Jungkook detaches your lips from each other, groaning a deep “Fuck,” that goes straight to your core that he continues to grind against. “You sound so lovely, y/n.”

You bite your lip, turning red when his praise has even your insides tightening. You stutter out his name again, trying not to combust by the way you want to suddenly mold into Jungkook’s skin. Meanwhile, Jungkook is trying ever way possible to become your skin.

He nips at your ear, gliding his tongue across your lobe and enticing more high pitched noises from you. He then drags his tongue downwards, licking the salty surface of your neck. All while watching you in the corner of his eye, seeing your face contort in so many different faces he’s never seen before on you. He loves every one, and wants to see them all on repeat. Maybe even forever if you’ll let him. 

Continuing his decent, he raises your head with his hand at the back of your neck. Tipping your head backwards gently so he can get better access to your chest he’s now exploring with his lips. Everything about you tastes and feels so amazing! So amazing, that when you start meeting Jungkook’s movements with your own his eyes roll into the back of his skull. Feeling the warmth of your pussy through his pants and your thin undergarments. He groans against your chest when at just the right angle he can feel some of your wetness leak from you.

The urge to pin you against the ground and fuck your virginity away is strong, but looking back at your face has him resisting - as hard as that is. He doesn’t want to be the guy the fates expect him to be and one your don’t deserve. A type of god that horns on girls and takes them however he pleases. Not caring about when or how. That’s not Jungkook. Not with you or any other girl he’s been with in the past.

He’s never been selfish, and he’s not going to start now just because his mind is in a frenzy. “Put your hands back on my shoulders, nae sarang.”

It takes you a few seconds to process his words, not even realizing your hands slipped from his shoulders while he was attacking your neck before. “O-okay.”

You slowly place your hands back on his shoulders, not sure what to do or what Jungkook was going to do. He then lifts your body up, positioning your core right on his thigh. As much as he loved your wet core grinding on him before, it ended ups being too much. Jungkook has been alive for many years, so simply grinding on each other won’t get him off, but he also didn’t want to push you to what would get him off if you continued the way you were.

When he places you on his thigh, you shuffle a little to get comfortable. He then places his hands on your lower back over your dress this time, rubbing the soft fabric you’re wearing and comforting you while he does it. Jungkook then smirks up at you, making your eyes widen a little for a second at his sudden dirty expression. “I’m going to make you feel so good, y/n. Do you want to feel good, nae sarang?”

You swallow against the lump in your throat - hands shaking as you grasp onto his shoulders tighter. You don’t even know what could make you feel even better than before, and your a little nervous to find out. This is Jungkook, though. The friend you’ve had since the beginning of your life. The friend you’ve wanted to always feel this good with, but couldn’t in the past out of nerves and the problem of never being able to touch each other. Now, you want him to touch you in ever way he can.

So, you give him permission to take your everything. “I want you to make me feel good, Jungkook... please.”

Jungkook suppresses a groan, surprised by how dizzying your words just got him, and pushing the thoughts in his head as far in the back of his brain as possible. Jungkook then positions his thigh higher, making sure it’s directly against you, and begins moving you back and forth on his thick thigh. The feeling is instant. Before, it was brief feelings of pleasure that had a rest in between each movement, but now it’s a constant.

You grabs onto Jungkook’s shoulders even harder, digging your nails into his shirt, trying to place all your feelings there, but your mouth still opens up to let out even higher pitched moans and whimpers. Your toes are curling, it feels so good. When one of his hands greedily grasps at your ass again, instead of just empty moans your voice fills with his name. His name falling breathlessly from your lips and pushing every syllable into his ears. “Jungkook! Oh my- mmm!”

Jungkook can’t take it anymore. He pulls your body closer to him, still shifting his leg so you don’t stop feeling is thigh on your most intimate parts. He then starts attacking your chest again with long licks and kisses. Wanting to touch you even more, and more intimately then before. While your still screaming out your euphoria above him, he slowly pushes one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder. You feel it fall, and get red in the face for what feels like the tenth time today when you realize your left breast is exposed to him.

The only indication that you resist this is with a small gasp, but it’s soon covered up by another moan when his thigh rubs your clit just right through your undergarments. Jungkook takes this as an invitation. Licking his lips before he attaches them to your nipple. Sucking on the bud and feeling you vibrate all over uncontrollably because of it.

His teeth nip at the bud, and his tongue licks at the surface. Your head is spinning. You’re so sensitive, more than you thought you would be, and all this overstimulation is putting your stomach in knots. “J-jungkook I-… I think…”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t stop. Grinding you harder on his thigh, and using all the tricks he can do with his tongue on your nipple. And he’s got a lot of tricks. Swirling around the bud, and sucking. Nibbling, and licking. Pulling, and flicking. 

Your wetness is soaking his pants now, making his thigh raise even higher to touch as much of it as possible. Wanting to feel how much he’s affecting you right now like you’ve affected him for eons. All the while his cock is dripping pre-cum in his pants right now, and he’s trying his best to ignore it by paying attention to making you feel as good as possible. 

Jungkook hasn’t had anyone since you were born. Since the hieros gamos somehow formed between you two; and his love for you became inevitable. He wants to hear you scream his name for the first time while you cum. He wants to be your first everything, even though he’s never had the urge before. He wants to teach you all the tricks of making love, and watch your sensitive body quiver as you make it through his first teaching.

One more rough thrust against your clit and flick of his tongue in your nipple, has you seeing white. Somehow also sees the night sky’s stars too as your orgasm ripples through your body in waves. It feels like it’s never ending. You’re screaming out his name, burying your face in his neck, and feeling like you’re wrapped up in heat. In Jungkook’s heat.

He holds you through your tremor of an orgasm. Embracing you tightly to him, and kissing your temples. Praising you on how good you did, and how sexy it was to watch.

Jungkook is done for. He can’t let you go. He wants to keep you in his arms forever, and tell the fate to have their Demeter moment with a different child. Your his. You’ve always been his. And Hades forbid anyone that tries to take you from him...

He wants to tell you how he feels - what you mean to him - but he doesn’t have to. Right before you drift off, your orgasm making you utterly exhausted… you hear him say it without words...

I love you.

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Final

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

River Styx - Styx is a river that forms the boundary between Earth and the Underworld.

House of Nyx (Goddess Nyx) - the personification of night. Most known to be scene as a shadowy figure, Nyx stood at or near the beginning of creation and mothered other personified deities such as Hypnos (Sleep), Death, and Erebus (Darkness). The house of Nyx consists of all the deities that were born from Nyx and stayed loyal by her side.

Tartarus - the deepest part of the underworld where mortals and gods are put after they defied the higher gods (Zeus, Hades, etc.,) to suffer for eternity. The primordial god, Tartarus, is the pit itself. He was the body of the pit itself rather than an athropomorphic deity.

Helios - God of the sun. 

Charon - the son of Erebus and Nyx (Night), whose duty it was to ferry over the Rivers Styx and Acheron those souls of the deceased who had received the rites of burial. In payment he receives a coin that was placed in the mouth of the corpse.

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