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fckeddiemunson · 3 months ago

Note

If possible can you write something for 7 and 9 with Loki? If not, just 7. No pressure though. Thank you!!! 🩷

Promp: "You can take it" AND "You take me so well"

Rating: R (Jotun!Loki)

Promp Series: HERE

Note: how about i'll do ya one better and do BOTH by combining ;) they sound like they go together anyway Lol

You exhaled a sigh of frustration while you tried to tame your tongue for the seventh time today. It shouldn’t have bothered you, you knew he was only trying to be attentive and somewhat thoughtful.. but at the same time, your defensiveness always made you want to bite first, lick later.

‘’will you stop that.’’

‘’stop what?” Loki asked, his voice genuinely curious without his usual mocking, teasing tone behind it.

The way you stopped abruptly in the snow was followed by a mild feeling like someone was right behind you and you knew he had stopped quick so he wouldn’t bump into you. Spinning around, you were right and found yourself nose to nose with the god of mischief who didn’t hesitate to grin when he saw your face while you instantly had an irritating eye twitch.

‘’stand up straight.’’

‘’yes mother.’’ He chuckled and stood to his full height immediately, causing you to have to raise your chin just so your eyes could keep in contact with him.

‘’this isn’t funny..’’

‘’what are you referring to darling?” there it was.. there’s that teasing tone that matched his grin- how he stared down at you with his arms clasped behind his back like he didn’t know what he was doing.

Liar.

‘’look..’’ you sighed, knowing you were gonna try your best to contain your frustration so your eyes abandoned his a bit to concentrate. ‘’I know you are taller.. faster.. stronger.. a god-‘’

‘’keep going…’’ he said seductively and you felt your nails dig into your palms while you flashed a glare up at your boyfriend.

‘’and I’m a mortal and am a bit more restricted with such things. I know you care and are trying to accommodate- but I feel like they are just reminders like I’m.. I’m.. some weakling next to you-‘’

‘’weakling?” he furrowed his brows in genuine confusion.

‘’I’m basically handicapped compared to you.. you could have made it through this forest by now- Hel, you’re not even wearing a jacket-‘’ you waved a hand at him, seeing how his Asgardian attire seemed sufficient enough to make it through the cold and you weren’t truly sure why it was relevant. ‘’you walk slower because of me. you hold back because of me. you bend your damn knees just to show me some eye contact..’’ you began to pout.

‘’darling,’’ he stared and took your hands in his gently, going to bend down to look at you but paused, quickly standing up and now looking like he didn’t know what to do while his thumbs stroked your skin to try to gain your attention that way. ‘’I’m part Frost Giant, jackets aren’t needed for me- I hold back because I am the more dominant strength and I walk slower because I am taller.’’

‘’that’s the point Loki,’’ you sighed and looked up at him. ‘’we are different, and I hate how you have to accommodate on your end because of me..’’

‘’darling- everybody is different, everyone-‘’

‘’no one on this team changes for me. I’d rather get left behind and have to run faster than to have everyone hold back and make me feel weak-‘’

‘’you’re not weak darling, and they don’t change because they don’t love you like I do.’’ He said gently and pulled you up against him, a hand wrapped around your shoulders with the other pressing against your head to have it rest against him. ‘’I don’t want to-‘’

‘’don’t hold back.’’

Loki’s brows furrowed and glanced down at you while you stared out into the snow terrain in thought, cheek against Loki’s cold armor but you didn’t mind. ‘’I’m sorry?”

‘’I said don’t hold back.’’ You repeated and looked up at him, chin resting on him while his arms held you. ‘’for a day. Hel- start right now. Don’t hold back your strength, don’t hold back your speed, nothing. I’m good at adapting.. just do.. what you would normally do..i can take it..’’

Loki stared at you a moment, looking a little worried and also looking like he was trying to figure you out. eventually he sighed, giving you a nod while he somehow straightened up even more. How tall was he??

‘’alright darling, if you feel like you need this, then I’ll do it. Starting now until the end of the day, I will not accom- er.. I will do what I normally do.’’

You felt yourself relax a little and nodded, shivering once you pulled away to begin walking again and nodded towards where the jet was waiting for you both. ‘’okay, let’s get out of the cold then.’’

‘’it doesn’t bother me’’ he chuckled and dodged your arm from swatting at him before he began walking with you.

‘With you’ was an understatement. That man looked like he was taking on a casual pace but he was already five steps ahead. Literally. Yet you asked for this and you began to trot to keep up, looking on the bright side of things that at least you had a good look at his ass while he left you behind. You knew he was listening, making sure you were still behind him than to glance over his shoulder and risk belittling you. You’ll take it, and were curious on just how much different life back at the tower will be with a god that wasn’t holding back..

The more you actively tried to pay attention to how different Loki would be now that he wasn’t holding back on anything amongst ‘you mortals’, the more you realized there wasn’t actually much he really changed. You kinda felt bad bringing it up at this point but after today, things will go back to normal anyway.

He didn’t bend or lean down to talk to you anymore- having made you feel small or a pet being talked down to. If anything, he actually looked somehow ten times hotter when he looked down his nose at you with his full height at attention. Running was the only thing that you didn’t mind taking a break on- of course you would look like you were fine and hide your pants until he would turn his back again. Holding back a glare, you knew he was smiling when he continued on.

Lets not forget the nearly bone breaking grips and cuddles. He did have to apologize when you practically got shoved forward when his hand came in contact with your ass playfully but it was easily forgivable when you found out how aroused you got from it anyway.

Most people would be excited to have a tall boyfriend- there were many special benefits that you’d miss if you were any taller or he became shorter. You loved hearing his heart beat when you hugged. How he could save you a trip climbing up the counters by just reaching up on top shelves. How he would stand behind you with his threatening aura and let you run your mouth at someone that most likely would have gotten you into big trouble if you were alone. Stuff like that..

The idea was to apologize at the end of the day, knowing he didn’t actually try to belittle you or make you feel weak.. the more you thought, the more you appreciated. He was right, he did these things to take your feelings in consideration- no one in the tower really did that.

Your apology would have to wait because as soon as the bedroom door slammed closed, you were then pressed right up against it before Loki’s lips followed suit right onto yours. Affection was noticeably different today when he wasn’t holding back, and when he kissed you his body would also press up more firmly against yours, enough to take your breath away before he would then pull back and change positions.

You bounced onto the mattress, aroused more than ever while somehow feeling like a rag doll. You asked for this, you were prepared and knew sex was coming at the end of the day.. so why did your heart race at the same time like something deliciously scary was about to happen..

‘’darling..’’ he drew your eyes up to attention, seeing him begin to stripe down while he stayed at the foot of the bed. His voice was raspy, lustful while his eyes took their time coming back to yours while you laid there in your sports bra and shorts. ‘’you’ve asked me to not hold back..’’

‘’yes..’’ you confirmed quietly, a little unsure of what he was getting at while you tried your hardest to pay attention the more skin he revealed.

‘’I wish to warn you that holding back my.. Asgardian form also comes into play..’’

His words had your eyes look up at him and rounded. He had shown you his Jotun form before- there was no judgement there, but what did he mean hold back? Your confusion made him smile sheepishly a little bit while his hands made their way now to slowly undo his belt.

‘’you see.. it takes a bit of magic to stay in my Asgardian form. My natural one is indeed, Frost Giant.. think of it as a constant concentration in the back of my mind that I hold all day and night to the point where it’s all muscle memory..’’

You nodded slowly, squinting while you willed your eyes to stay on his while they screamed to watch as his pants came down and left him in only his boxers. However, there was a slight hint of red beginning to form in his eyes before you began to realize he was changing.

‘’you wish for me to not hold back.. to drop everything.. darling..’’ he drew in a breath, closing his eyes while he inhaled and rolled his shoulders back- beginning to grew taller- bigger in all aspects and blue.. gods that glorious blue.. ‘’this is me not holding back..’’

You felt your mouth salivate, watching how every inch of him changed into that glorious form he rarely showed you- or anyone else. The temperature in the room noticeably changed and you felt your nipples come to peaks within your bra, making Loki’s even more large cock twitch in his boxers.

This had you gulp.

‘’Loki.. if you’re afraid of hurting me in this form.. don’t be- I told you I can take it..’’ you didn’t sound to convincing, there was a small hint of worry in your voice while your eyes looked at the bulge in his pants shamelessly that twitched and screamed to be buried inside of you.

You wanted it.. SO bad.. but you also needed to keep in account of being ripped in half- despite preparation.

‘’darling I know what you are thinking- we don’t necessarily need to have sex tod-‘’

Loki’s words were nearly cut off in a choke of words when you lifted your bra from over your head and tossed it aside, followed by your hands now grasping at your bottoms.

‘’I said I can take it- and for you not to hold back today.. to do what you would normally do- and sex is one of them.’’ You said more confidently, determination now leading you on while you also watched his cock strain while Loki’s eyes watched how you stripped and leaned more forward in front of the bed.

‘’I hope you understand what you’re getting yourself into darling..’’ he said quietly, his eyes watching your hands slowly reveal your dripping cunt while your hands managed to slip your shorts and panties off simultaneously. Loki’s hands slowly came to the mattress, his new size making the mattress dip down even more before he began to crawl forward hungrily.

When he lowered himself onto his stomach in front of your pussy, the bed lightly creaked beneath you. If the bed broke, so be it. It would make things ten times hotter anyway. your fingers nervously curled into the sheets, your body laying you back more while you felt Loki’s eager hands hook under your legs to pull you forward just a bit more before leaving them over his shoulders.

‘’trust me darling.’’ he promised, knowing he’d stop immediately if you even so much as breathed your safe word before his tongue ran a long stripe along your cunt.

The cold wet sensation had a gasp leaving your mouth and your head falling back onto the mattress. Gods it was so cold.. so sensitive.. it made you shiver in all the best ways while your own body heat combined the perfect combination. Loki’s tongue moved slow, wanting to feel every reaction he could pull from you while the tip of his nose pressed to your clit and his tongue began to tease at your entrance.

His longer fingernails dug mildly into your thighs, leaving half moons while yours nearly ripped the fabric breathe you. Your back arched up, your eyes fluttering and your breath hitching. You could tell every part of him grew a bit bigger to where even his tongue began to stretch you out the more be began to plunge in and out with his nose brushing against your clit.

You felt that delicious coil begin to build and your hands already found themselves gripping onto his hair. How you wished you could have had this suggestion long ago if this is how you knew it would have felt.. sex with Loki was absolutely amazing- but having him in this form was icing on top of icing on the cake!

‘’so wet for me.. do you have any idea what you do to me..’’ Loki murmured, raising his head to kitten lick your clit while you watched how his hips ground into the mattress to try to find some relief.

‘’I need you..’’ you breathed, your mouth falling open now and again whenever he would lick across your entrance and back to your clit, teasing you to the point where your legs began to shake around his head.

‘’I know darling, and you will have me. but not until I have you prepared.’’ He smirked before he began suckling on your clit, making you gasp and buck your hips against his face- an arm coming across your pelvis to keep you down and still.

getting you properly wet for him was not an accommodation for his new size, but to take him in general and something he always did when you both were making love. Yet you wondered if that normal preparation was gonna be enough to take much more of him..

a large finger began to slowly ease its way into your entrance, making you moan and feel your cunt immediately begin to grip around it. Loki’s moan by feeling it to made vibrations send your clit into a frenzy. You squirmed beneath him, feeling how he would pause now and again before adding more of his finger into you until he finally got to the second knuckle.

‘’gods darling and that’s only one-‘’ he moaned, his eyes lowering to see just how stretched you were while your body began to shake.

Just one of his fingers alone made you feel the stretch, causing you to whimper when he slowly began to glide it in and out with a curl. Your hips began to follow his motions before you would whimper, him now and again surprising you with a lick now and again to your clit that would make your cunt clench down around him.

‘’so tight.. so tight for me..’’ he crooned, watching the sight with half lidded eyes and a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You couldn’t very much move, his larger arm draped across your pelvis that practically kept your lower half from moving. To sit up, you’d have to do a crunch and your body wasn’t strong enough to keep on your elbows when he would constantly surprise you with his tongue and shoot your pleasure up through your body like electricity.

His cold temperature mixed with the warmth of your cunt made you shiver and sweat at the same time. Your breathing came in pants, your fingers returning to grip the sheets while your head thrashed from side to side the faster he pumped. He then pulled out just to the fingertip before you felt him run his tongue against your entrance beside his finger.

Your eyes fluttered, head raising a little to see exactly when he was doing before you felt it. He began to slide a second finger along the first one and began to ease both of them slowly back into you- this time without pause. You moan left your lips while your back arched, eyes rolling to the back of your head while you felt the stretch even more than the first- despite your arousal.

‘’you are doing so well for me darling.. look at you, all wet and stretched.. you might be able to take me.’’ he cooed, leaning his head down to begin to leave open mouth kisses against your clit and run his tongue against it while his fingers continued to penetrate you.

The stretch was deliciously there, how it would almost begin to sting until you finally felt him stop and leave you stuffed. You could tell both digits were up to the second knuckle but he remained still while your body went to work at adjusting. Every now and again his fingers would flex, fingertips tilting up to feel your walls and would make you twitch and squeeze around them.

‘’you are so beautiful like this.. taking me so well in your pretty cunt.. I almost don’t want to let you leave this bed except for two exceptions.’’ He smirked and his eyes flicked up to yours that were fluttering and lust drunk. ‘’to stretch and to suck.’’

You felt your body shiver in pleasure at the mere thought of it before he took that opportunity to pull his fingers out and stop at the tips. Your cunt squeezed at the loss, searching for him before he began to push them back in more and make you moan. He did this a few times at a slower pace, bobbing his head up and down to lick against your clit before you began to feel even more stretched.

Your breath hitched, body tensing instinctually while he began to spread his fingers apart and begin to scissor them slowly, continuing his in and out motion at the same time. The stretch was indescribable- almost reminding you of your very first time, funny enough.

Your legs began to squeeze around his head, knowing he’s reassured you several times that you could squeeze your hardest and he’d be fine. ‘Every man’s dream to be taken out’ as he calls it. At this point you really had no control over your body because it acted all on its own. It’s as if it knew how to accommodate and react just how Loki wanted. The faster he went, the more your hips would buck and search for more. Your arousal could be felt dripping out now, leaving the most pornographic sounds as his fingers squelched back in and spread.

‘’I do believe you can manage this.’’ He smirked, the crueler side of him.. the more dominant side that tended to take over began to show while your eyes caught sight of his lustful, wicked grin.

It’s as if he couldn’t look away at the scene, seeing you stretched out more than he had ever seen you because- quite frankly- two of his Jotun fingers were a little over the equivalent size of his Asgardian cock- which was big already. You noticed slight movement and risked raising your head to investigate.

First, there was his large fingers raising your belly up and down to indicate exactly where he was inside of you. Second, his other hand helped him sit up to rest on his knees and heels before it lowered his boxers enough to spring his cock out.

When you said you’ve seen Loki’s Jotun form before, you did- but not ALL of it. He didn’t like to show it much so it was always quick peaks of merely face and upper body. This was your first time being his lower half, particularly his dick and the sight alone had you trying to sit up to reach out for it, making his free hand land on your chest and push you back down.

‘’ah ah ah darling, patience. I need you to be absolutely still for me so that I don’t break this perfect cunt.’’ he tsked and you could feel your arms stretch up above your head by themselves, making your eyes shoot up to find them bound magically to the bedposts.

‘’please..’’ you whimpered, not sure if you were whining to touch him or for him to take you already. His hand returned to his cock and he began to stroke it slowly while his other hand continued to scissor you.

Your eyes drank in the sight and your legs shook along his thighs with need and anticipation. You knew prep was necessary, but you were a very impatient person sometimes and could feel the muscles in your arms begin to ache while they unconsciously pulled to try to break free.

‘’eager aren’t we pet, you know I hate to leave you waiting.’’ He sighed with a playful mock in his voice before he began easing his fingers out of you but stopped to where only his fingertips remained inside.

His other hand began to slowly rub the tip of his cock against your clit, making you moan and squirm on the bed, doing your best to try to remember to remain still. Your eyes watched him, knowing if you were the one to hold his cock, your hand wouldn’t even be able to wrap around it fully. If his fingers were being shown through your belly when he pumped you, your body began to hesitate with his cock size. Your eyes flicked up to his awaiting ones, where he looked down at you with love and hunger.

‘’you can take it.’’

His fingertips then began to part, spreading you open into another scissor position. You felt the stretch even more when his fingers spread you wider than what they had been doing earlier. They then paused a moment before you watched Loki guide his cock with his other hand down towards your entrance and right between his fingertips like a landing strip.

The way Loki’s breath shuddered out of pleasure seemed to feed your own, loving the sound of his own noises while you willed yourself to relax and let him in.

‘’you’re so perfect..’’ Loki whispered, his voice being a balm while you felt him slowly slip his cock into your entrance, squeezing between his fingers until he pulled them away once his cock was in about an inch.

Your mouth opened into a silent cry, eyes squeezing shut while your back lifted off the mattress. Your cunt instinctually closed around him, almost choking him while his body came down onto his palms beside your shoulders, caging you beneath him. you barely registered his forehead pressing against your chest, feeling his shallow breaths fan your skin while his arms shook and willed himself to remain still.

There was a pleasurable sting to it all, a hot pain that also came soothed with his cold temperature. A delicious mix that balanced both sides. After merely a moment of calm, you felt the pain ease away and another inch slide in to revive it. Your nails would have been digging and drawing blood if he hadn’t tied them above your head- so you had to settle for your own palms.

The perks with Loki was that no matter what, he was able to heal all wounds. So fuck it.

You drew in deep breaths and met his eyes when he lifted his head, looking down at you while his ink locks framed his face. His eyes were a beautiful deep red and yet you would have recognized them in any color that they were your lover’s. your legs widened, tilting your hips slightly while you bit your bottom lip.

‘’you’re s-so big..’’ you murmured, feeling already full but knew fully well it wasn’t even half.

Loki grinned with a breath laugh, leaning himself down to capture your lips and swipe his tongue along your bottom one. You were happy to oblige and upon doing so, Loki added another inch of his cock into your cunt. your whines and moans were drowned when his tongue began to dominate, enjoying but also helping to distract while he lowered his hips slightly so his body could better drag against your clit with each rock.

He did this until all of him was buried to the hilt- rocking against your clit and massaging your tongue with his own. By the time you were full stuffed, your body was shaking and scrambling to adjust while Loki remained still. He pulled away enough to look down at the sight and grin at you after, watching how you squirmed.

‘’you take me so well..’’ he rasped and began to slowly rock his hips into you.

Your head fell from side to side, panting while your legs came and squeezed along his body that blocked them from closing. Your pleasure continued to build, feeling how his curls would drag against your clit in a maddening pace. He made sure his cock dragged along every inch, making sure you felt him thoroughly- all of him while his mouth came now to suck at your neck.

‘’so full..’’ you whimpered, feeling the bulge in your stomach without even having to look down.

‘’so tight..’’ he murmured, licking along your neck before covering it with teeth and kisses.

The more he would move, the more the pain would turn into pleasure. By now he was taking on a steady rhythm of long strokes with his weight being held now on his arms, holding the plank position so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck. You relished the smell of him, the feeling of him, shivering not just with pleasure but with the way his cold matched your heat. You wouldn’t be surprised if your entire body was hidden from sight, granted how his body was far larger in this form and he made sure not to crush you in any way you wouldn’t like.

‘’gods I’m.. I’m..’’ you whimpered, feeling him begin to thrust at an upper angle to rub against that special spongy spot-on repeat. Your orgasm was so close and your pleas along was enough to spur him on and chase it faster with each thrust.

‘’cum my darling.. cum on my cock- let me feel you tighten around me like a good girl..’’ he growled, nudging your face to the side with his own slightly to better access and catch your earlobe with his teeth.

He moved faster, the bed creaking below and the headboard banging against the wall. Neither of you cared, let along the shameless moans you both would give before you finally had your orgasm wash over you like a storm. Your body squeezed around him, getting impossibly tighter while Loki groaned with how much your cunt seemed to strangle him. one of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against him body while he plunged mercilessly into you while you rode out your orgasm.

It wasn’t long before Loki came as well, pushing himself as deep as he could before you felt the feeling of hot liquid spill inside while your walls fluttered and milked him. your body shook, feeling how his cock just kept spurting to the point where some trickled out and dripped down. He made sure you were stuffed and plugged, keeping inside you while his body shook and panted. You weren’t sure when your hands were free but they quickly wrapped around him and you inhaled deeply against his neck.

One of your hands played with your hair, feeling his muscles relax and he had to quickly lay on his side to not land on top of you, making you laugh softly at just how much of an effect you had on him. his cock slowly slipped out and a bit of his essence began to flow out but you didn’t care. You curled up next to him while his body began to feel warm again. By the time you opened your eyes and raised your chin, he was back in his Asgardian form, smiling down at you with exhaustion and love.

‘’are you content with how things were today darling?” he smirked.

‘’I definitely wouldn’t mind this,’’ you giggle and press your cheek against his chest while the two of you laid together. ‘’but I’m sorry..’’

Loki’s brows furrowed and he looked down at you before his head fell back into the pillow, his arms pulling you closer with his thumb stroking your bare skin. ‘’why are you apologizing?”

‘’because you’re right.. I looked at you as holding back because I saw myself as weak- how you had to hold back, slow down, be careful and such.. but I came to realize today, that we adapt to those we love because.. well.. we love them.’’

Loki smiled and pressed a kiss to your head before he closed his eyes. ‘’I never feel like you hold be back darling, nor do I ever see you as weak or limited. Everybody is different, and you have far more strengths compared to mine that you know. I may have underestimated you.’’ There was a light tease in his voice that made you raise your chin and look up at him.

‘’strengths?”

Loki chuckled and held you impossibly closer to his side. ‘’you were able to take on my Jotun form darling. As a mortal, it surely should have been impossible.’’

Your eyes widened and you raised a brow. ‘’you took that risk??”

‘’I merely was doing what you requested darling- to not hold back. After all,’’ he smirked and looked down at you, his red eyes having returned and you already began feeling yourself get aroused between your legs.

‘’you said you could take it.’’

Other Jotun!Loki Fic: "Feral" & "Menu"

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @angelofthorr

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fckeddiemunson · 4 months ago

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fckeddiemunson · 4 months ago

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ties that bind [3/8]

SUMMARY: Quentin Beck-- your old college biology professor-- is still a bastard. Apparently, you’re kind of in to that.

RATING: Explicit

WORD COUNT: 7k+

CONTENT WARNINGS: extremely under-negotiated kink, character-typical behavior (negging, being manipulative and an asshole, etc), me bestowing upon reader!character my own shameless oral fixation/pathological lack of a gag reflex, gratuitous sex, overstimulation, me pretending that condoms are optional (they are not irl!) the most FUBAR relationship ever etc.

PART 1 | PART 2 | [PART 3] | PART 4

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, there are many things that you are immeasurably grateful for in the aftermath.

One of the most immediate ones– which might have been surprising in the moment, if there were any parts of your brain capable of engaging in conscious thought at the time– is Beck’s ability to be completely unmoved by anything . The knock on the door had made your blood run cold, sent a shock of nervous adrenaline lancing through your body that had cut clean through the not-unpleasant haze of whatever the fuck you had been feeling before that–

Beyond cursing under his breath, his eyes flashing dark with some unidentifiable emotion, Beck didn’t react– didn’t panic– at all. He had fixed you with a pointed stare and pressed a finger to his lips– be quiet – and then, apparently otherwise unfazed, he had reached for his belt from the desk and began working it back through the loops of his dress pants.

The knocking– a student, presumably, because it was office hours, after all– stopped after a few minutes, and then there was silence, and when that silence had dragged on for what you deemed to be an appropriately safe amount of time, you slipped out the door of his office, not looking back once. Beck didn’t say anything to you, and didn’t make any attempt to stop you from leaving – your brain had been buzzing, overstimulated and racing with frantic, scattered thoughts that you couldn’t hold onto long enough to complete before they would disappear from you and others would take their place, and because of that none of it had actually felt real then. It would have, probably, if you’d been forced to focus on him again for even a moment– but he didn’t say a word, and so you didn’t have to, and you were glad for that, too.

You don’t remember getting back home, only that you must have. It had been a Friday, another thing you’re grateful for, because looking at yourself in the mirror of your apartment bathroom after having mechanically directed yourself through the process of a too-hot shower, there was a rapidly-darkening bruise at the base of your throat, another right over your jugular– something you knew, instinctively, in a distant and far-away part of your brain, would be there for a while. The sight of it triggered a twinge of something, like an echo, the flutter of your slightly-uneven pulse quickening in response– but it was still too recent to really register, then, still felt like a fantasy, or some strange hallucination existing in the realm somewhere between a dream and a nightmare.

It’s not until probably about eleven at night that everything slots into place and the memory fully realizes itself, integrates into the collection of all the other facts and realities that you know to be true. You’re laying sprawled out on your bed, motionless, staring up at the slowly-turning blades of the ceiling fan in the dark; these moments trickle back in reverse-order, in broad strokes, mostly. And maybe it’s because it’s late and you’re tired and you’re not thinking straight or really thinking much at all, but also maybe for other reasons that you refuse to acknowledge or elaborate on– but the very first thing you recall in its’ entirety, in brilliant, blinding detail, is what he’d said to you, his mouth low over your ear and his breath coming fast and hot–

Come on, honey. It plays back in your head, the edge to it, biting and cruel, not really urging you on as much as just telling you, like he knew that he was going to make you cum and he knew that there was nothing you could do to stop him if you’d even wanted to–

The surge of heat that flushes through you at the memory is so immediate and overpowering that it shocks you to your core. Your breath catches and then escapes in a totally involuntary, inarticulate sound, and you cover your mouth with your hand and screw your eyes shut as tight as you can— because after that it’s like the floodgates have opened or the dam has been breached and whatever wall you’d constructed between yourself and what had happened is gone, destroyed, swept away in the rush of everything you’d repressed rearing up to the forefront of your mind again, drowning out any other thought in a sea of white noise.

The mess of emotions that surges up with it is thorny and unfathomable and entirely too complicated for you to even begin to extricate, but you can recognize immediate, surface sensations, and wanting is one of them, the strongest one, probably, followed by fury and frustration and shame, none of which, you realize– alone or together– even come close to the intensity of your desire. Which is fucking embarrassing, honestly, what the fuck had he done to you? What the fuck had you let him do? And more importantly why and how do you already know with such a crushing and steadfast and terrible certainty that you’d let him do it again?

Your mind brings to the forefront, completely unbidden, the thought of what Beck might be doing, right now– you wonder if he’s thinking about it, like you are, but your instinct tells you that he’s probably not. He’s probably doing whatever the fuck it is he normally does at this time, collected and generally unfazed; you imagine that if he had any idea of you, the state you’re in, he’d smile one of those infuriatingly condescending smiles like every other time he’s managed to burrow his way under your skin, and your cheeks and your chest burn with an all-too-familiar embarrassment.

It’s not fair.

There’s an ache between your thighs again, a need, pulsing and trembling and wearing incessantly on the foundations of your fucking psyche, and you really, really, really want nothing more than to ignore it, to just roll over and go to sleep and not give him another inch of your resolve or the fucking satisfaction, but–

But the look he had fixed on you, before he kissed you, it plays behind your eyes; the feeling when he did kiss you, finally, how it had sated that frustration inside in a way that the confrontation hadn’t, better than anything else ever had to a degree that it was fucking frightening.

You don’t push the thoughts away.

So. Yeah. You’re grateful for a lot of stuff, in the immediate aftermath. Most of all, you’re grateful that it’s Thanksgiving break– that there are a whole ten days before you have to see Beck again, if only because it’s reason enough to justify that touching yourself to the thought of him later that night isn’t going to just make this whole thing that much fucking worse.

Ten days, it turns out, is not actually long enough for any of what you’re feeling to fade.

Come Monday morning you’re so high-strung that your anxiety is palpable– you drop your backpack on the floor twice just trying to hang it on the hooks on the wall outside of the lab, which is apparently out of character enough to warrant a concerned Hey, everything all right? from Dr. Banner, which absolutely does not help. Somehow, you manage to spin something about underestimating what a ten-day-break from XL coffees does to a person’s overall tolerance for caffeine, a spur-of-the-moment excuse that you’re quite proud of, especially considering it gets a laugh out of both him and your fellow grad students.

You don’t actually see him at all that day. There are moments where you can almost completely forget about it, absorbed in lab busywork or chatting with labmates or grading assignments for Dr. Banner’s undergraduate microbiology class, but then there are also the moments where you’re alone and unoccupied and the thoughts are unavoidable, that same turmoil of emotions leeching up to the surface like a fresh bruise that you just can’t stop yourself from pressing down on.

Tuesday, too, is much of the same, and then Wednesday and Thursday after that; you’d have thought it would get easier with time, but it actually doesn’t– the longer it’s been since that day the fuzzier and more distant the memory, sure, but that frustration starts to build again in its’ absence. It’s kind of ironic, in a grating, infuriating way, the fact that you’re pissed off this time– for the first time– because he’s avoiding you, instead of the opposite. But it’s also so just like him– of course he’s unaffected, immune to this, and of course you aren’t, and of course he doesn’t give a shit. None of this is new, not really, it’s just different.

On Friday you end up having to stay late because one of your labmates fucks up a chemical extraction procedure that you were meant to be handling for the undergrads, meaning somebody has to remain in the lab for an extra three hours to run the dry ice bath and then transfer and separate the extract– it can’t be the person who actually fucked up, because they have work, apparently. But it could be you, of course, with nothing better to do, and you readily volunteer, because doing something is actually leagues better than sitting at home and wallowing in your myriad of unresolved issues– anger, mostly, but also other less appropriate things that you don’t want to think about.

So.

It’s five-thirty when the extraction is finally finished. You’ve run through the motions of locking up, putting all of the supplies back in their respective places, shutting off the overhead lights, kicking the door jamb out from where it’s wedged, the door itself having already been locked when Dr. Banner left at three. It’s November– December, now, actually– and so it’s dark and near-freezing outside by the time you’re done; the other end of the chemistry building is nearest to the parking lot, and so you decide that, in the interest of retaining feeling in your fingers, you’ll go down through the building and exit on the other side, thereby limiting the amount of time you actually have to spend out in the cold. 10/10, all-around solid plan.

Except Beck’s office is on this end of the building. You know that, and the knowledge prickles somewhere at the base of your spine as you sling your backpack over your shoulder and head in that direction, but you also know that it’s late, and that he doesn’t really ever try to hang around past four– much less past four on a Friday– so you’re comfortably certain he’ll have already gone.

(You’re wrong, because of course you are.)

You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner, staring down at the faded tiling pattern on the floor and not really paying attention, until the sound of a door closing echoes down the hallway. You glance up, instinctively, drawn towards the noise, and–

Oh, fuck.

You see him before he sees you, and your brain kind of– short-circuits , freezes and stalls and shuts down like a glitchy computer. He’s turned with his back facing you, probably locking up. If you were thinking more clearly, maybe you would have turned back before he finished, but you don’t, can’t, frozen to the spot and unblinking.

Beck turns from the door, stowing the key ring in his pants pocket, and when he sees you his expression shifts from a kind of neutral ambivalence to one of those too-knowing smiles that had always struck you as just a little bit wrong in ways you hadn’t been able to figure out, not until he’d pinned you against his desk and–

You swallow, screw your eyes shut tight for a moment, and try your best to rid your mind of the thought.

“Hey,” Beck calls out to you, “Heard you might be here late, honey.”

His tone is deceptively mild, conversational, but even so the nickname still kindles that heat again, brings all those thoughts you were trying so hard to suppress flooding right back to the surface, the echo of come on, honey that had played back endlessly any time you’d so much as closed your eyes ringing in your ears, somehow even louder than your thundering heartbeat. It takes an embarrassingly long second before the rest of what he’d said starts to filter in, drowned out at first by the immediate surge of heat that had flooded you; he knew you were here, you realize, and he’d probably been waiting for you. Waiting to get you alone.

Three weeks ago that thought would have made you furious. Now, though–

“Yeah,” you say, still moving towards him– towards the door, fuck; even the way you phrase the thought in the privacy of your own head feels like you’ve betrayed yourself. You’re aiming for nonchalance in your reply but you miss that mark terribly, breathless with anticipation and unable to fight off the impulse to shiver. “Somebody fucked up an extraction that we needed to have ready for Monday, so I said I would stay—Dr. Banner’s gone to New York City for a conference, or I would have just come in over the weekend.”

You’re talking a lot, you realize, the words tumbling out of your mouth with a far greater ease than you’re used to when it comes to him; you know he’s able to tell, that he’s aware of the difference, he must be. But he doesn’t react or respond to it at all, just watches you, eyes dark and warm and expression infuriatingly unreadable.

“You’re a good student, to help out like that,” he says, after a long, unbearable pause, “Bruce is lucky to have you.”

A part of you has trouble comprehending the sentence as complete, still waiting for the other shoe to drop; the inevitable backhanded insult you’ve learned to expect whenever he says something even remotely positive, but it doesn’t come. That’s-- actually worse, somehow.

Beck tips his head towards the door. “Leaving? I’ll walk with you.”

That hum that had started in your body at the sight of him, the one that felt like it reached every part of you, even down to your bones; it ramps up higher. “Yeah, okay.”

He doesn’t smile, but his mouth quirks up at the corners, like he wants to.

You walk in silence, your heart in your throat, a rush of energy flooding through your body, suffusing your cheeks with warmth and filling your ears with the thunderous echo of your pulse and driving a reflexive, arrhythmic twitch in your fingers that you try to hide in the bulky sleeves of your coat. This is probably the longest amount of time you’ve spent in each other’s company without him trying to upset you on purpose or you barely restraining yourself from ending up at his throat since– the last time. The thought of it– what had happened the last time, even as abstract and ill-defined as the notion was– still makes things worse, heightens your awareness of the space between your bodies; closer than you ever would have allowed him to be, before all of this. Still not close enough.

Beck trails to a stop at the end of the hall where the staircase to the upper floors sits across from the double doors that lead to the parking lot outside, having ended up a few steps ahead of you. You mean to just keep going; the door is within your line of sight, barely ten feet away, but it’s like as soon as you’re faced with having to move past him your feet are rooted to the ground, frozen, immobilized.

He’s staring at you again. You fold your arms over your chest, glad for the shapeless mass of your oversized winter coat that hides your reflexive, miniscule shiver.

“Ah–Y’know what, I forgot, there’s some things I need to grab for my lab,” he says after a moment, as if it had only just occurred to him, jerking his head towards the door to the supply closet that’s tucked underneath the adjacent staircase and offering you an apologetic grimace that feels— exaggerated. Pre-planned. Performative. “This’ll probably take a minute. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

You have a response already half-formulated in the pause that follows before he adds, somehow still casual, “Unless you think you could stay a little longer and help me out.”

The implication isn’t even really an implication at all, evident in the way that he’s looking at you, obvious and unrepentant, and the tremble that it elicits from somewhere near the base of your spine, that knot of anticipation in your belly twisting and turning and coiling tighter– you already want it, him, and you’re certain he must be able to tell, the way your pupils, which are probably dilated already, must blow out even wider, like planets, like deep, endless oceans of black–

“It’s late, though, and I’m sure there’s other things you’d rather be doing.” That edge is back, mocking, sly, manipulative like he’s trying to trick the words out of you– no, actually, nothing. He turns to the door underneath the staircase and reaches for the key ring he’d shoved in his pocket earlier; you’re jealous, somewhere deep down, at how steady his hands are, firm and methodical, as he flips through a set of near-identical keys until he finds the one to the closet.The click of the lock is nearly drowned out by the sound of your own pulse thundering inside your head, every inch as unsteady and as volatile as you feel.

The door swings outwards on creaking hinges. Beck fixes you with this look; like he’s already won, just by virtue of the fact that you haven’t moved. Maybe he’s right. He’s always been capable of deciphering exactly what you were feeling at any given moment in time, regardless of whether or not you wanted him to, always been better at getting you to rise to his bullshit than you ever were at getting him to rise to yours. He knows you, knows what you’ll do oftentimes much sooner than even you do. And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising— he’s a tenured professor, he taught you for four years, and he’s got nearly two decades on you. He was always going to be better at this.

Whatever. You don’t really care if you’re proving him right. You’re tired of fighting it, and you were never all that good at it anyway.

The inside of the supply closet is dim and dusty and cluttered and probably covered in cobwebs, but you don’t care. He’s touching you before the door has even closed all the way, stripping your coat from your shoulders and pulling you towards him by the waist, the press of his hand wide and firm and so fucking warm even through the fabric of your sweater; and fuck yes, god, even that, that one point of contact, it soothes that burning restless ache that had built inside of you for the past two weeks better than any of your own attempts at doing so ever did—

You’re the one who closes that last sliver of space, this time– and it should probably be surprising, how eager you are to do it, to drag him down by his shirt collar and push yourself up on your toes and kiss him, that nameless thing inside that’s followed you for the last two fucking weeks finally going quiet. He makes this noise against your mouth in the very first few moments, a rough and low and surprised sound, like he’s taken aback for a second. But it’s only a second, and then your back collides with the sharp plastic edges of the overstuffed rows of shelving that line the walls of the room hard enough that it forces the breath right out of your lungs, and in the moments where that gasp has your mouth opened up he licks into it, his tongue curling over your teeth and sliding against your own and wringing out a sound from you that you don’t even really try to stop this time.

Beck hasn’t even taken his coat off, you realize dimly. It doesn’t fucking matter. His thigh is pressed up between your legs, the pressure obliging the warmth there, and you can feel his cock already hard against the jut of your hip– you wonder, hazy and far-away, if he was hard before this, before you’d even kissed him, if he had been thinking about it the whole time he was walking you to the door. He works a hand up under your sweater, and you lean into it– rough, large, warm, god, he must just run hot, because you can feel him even in the spaces where your bodies aren’t touching, his presence, like the air around you is made a few degrees warmer for it.

When that hand under your sweater smooths down your abdomen to thumb over the button of your jeans there’s this frantic swell of panic at the immediate and overwhelming flush of heat that accompanies it, the trembling pulse between your legs— he hasn’t even touched you yet. He’s going to take you apart, again, and it’s not even going to be fucking hard. You want him to, shivering at the thought, but it’s your pride that stops you– for all that bullshit about being done fighting him, you’re not, really.

A four-year habit is hard to break. Go figure.

It doesn’t take all that much force to push him the grand total of two feet backwards until his back is to the opposite row of shelves in the closet; he lets you, or more accurately, he doesn’t resist, if only because you don’t think he’s expecting it. With the door closed the little room is dark, the shape of him just a darker outline against a field of murky, shapeless gray, the only light the sliver of it from outside that spills out at your feet. It works out, though, because you can see everything that clutters the floor– old paint cans and ancient long-retired confocal microscopes and unlabeled industrial-sized plastic buckets of god-knows-what– and you can see right where there’s the space for you to kneel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Beck says when you do; the question is clearly rhetorical, amused and a little patronizing, like he thinks you’re out of your depth again. You hate that it gets to you, but it does, brings that familiar annoyance searing back, bright and vicious and spiteful in the pit of your stomach. It’s the way that he’s looking at you that really does it– like he thinks that this is beyond you, or maybe just that he thinks he’s somehow uniquely fucking special, impossible to satisfy, and all of that– every possibility, every interpretation– it all pisses you off.

“You’re such an asshole,” you reply, irritated, stubbornness ticking at the muscle of your jaw. “Do you want me to or not?”

Beck laughs at that, loud and sharp and something that might have even been pleased. He reaches to run his fingers through your hair and pulls, just a little, the pinpricks of pain rippling across your scalp as he forces your head back so that you’re looking at him, really looking at him, not just sneaking glances like you had been before. He has one of those bared-teeth smiles, something that base and instinctive part of you interprets as a challenge, even though it doesn’t really feel like it’s meant to be one. It feels like it’s meant to be a warning, maybe. Or a threat.

“Go ahead, honey,” he says, grinning wider.

Beck doesn’t react at all when your hands find his belt, his breathing steady and his expression even and his posture annoyingly fucking relaxed; doesn’t move to help you with it, either, satisfied to just watch as you work it open and tug his jeans and his boxers down his thighs. He’s still unaffected even when your palm slides over the hard outline of his dick through his boxer briefs, and, god, if that doesn’t just piss you off more– the way that he’s just so effortlessly immune to this, the same way he’s always been immune to any of your retaliatory attempts to incite him. The painfully obvious way that you’re not; the way the sight of his cock, hard, twitching lazily, makes this unbearable warmth pool somewhere inside of you, your breath catching somewhere, hesitating enough that you know he must notice. No, you– you’re whatever the complete opposite of immune is. Vulnerable. Hyperreactive. Exposed.

Except–

When you reach out to touch him, several things happen at once; the muscles in his thighs twitch and his posture stiffens and his breathing goes still, all just for a fraction of a second before he’s relaxed again. That tension is gone so quickly that you might have thought you’d imagined it, if it didn’t happen again when you lick a long wet stripe all the way up from the base of his cock and then again when you curl your tongue in a slow circle around the tip–

Maybe, you think, maybe he’s not really immune to any of it. Maybe he just hides it better.

It becomes more obvious when you put your mouth on him, not even really halfway; in the near-dark of the room you can see the shadow of him as he drags his hand down the lower half of his face, can hear, as wound-up and hyper-aware you are, the trembling breath as it leaves him, hitching when your tongue presses up against the underside of his cock as you pull back and move down again, further each time–

“Fuck,” Beck groans under his breath, the sound rough and low. “Oh, fuck, honey.”

Yes, you think, the rush of satisfaction so immediate that it takes you by surprise; whatever flicker of shame that inspires in you is ridiculously easy to silence. Beck makes another noise, wordless and low, pretense of invulnerability abandoned-- his other hand has wrapped around one of the supporting beams of the shelf, like he’s trying to steady himself, and when you finally reach all the way down to the base and stay there, just for a moment, unmoving, his grip tightens around it so hard that the flimsy plastic cracks in his fist. Your answering laugh when you pull back is more of a hum than anything, muffled by him, cheeky and pleased– but that ruins it, whatever small amount of control he’d granted to you, something bordering on growl vibrating out of him that you would probably call touchy if you were able to speak, and then his other hand fists in your hair and he pulls, hard, drags your head back down until his cock is buried in your throat and your nose is pressed right up against his stomach.

It shouldn’t make you feel the way it does— your tongue pressed flat against the base of his dick, your mouth flooding with saliva and your throat working around him and his hand on the back of your head, holding you there, the tremble that shudders through the solid muscles of his abdomen so close you can feel it — but your body is betraying you, again, again, just like before, your thighs pressing together with your hand squeezed between them, and even the insignificant pressure of your own palm through your jeans is enough that you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from making some embarrassing involuntary sound if it wasn’t for him, the way he’s compressing your fucking voice box–

There’s the snap of plastic again, that same beam from earlier; he needs to let go of it, you think, the thought fuzzy as he pulls his cock out and saliva trails down your chin and then fuzzier still as he rocks it back in again, or he’s going to break it clean in half.

He moves like that for a while and you just let him, or worse, you fucking enjoy it; until eventually the pressure of his hand at the base of your skull lessens and his grip goes slack and you can move again, your tongue curling up around the tip of his cock and then pressing firm to the underside of it when you take him back into your mouth–

“God, honey, you’re such— such a terminal fucking overachiever, aren’t you,” Beck says, that edge in his voice, biting and mean, and you would roll your eyes at him if you could trust yourself enough to even open them, terrified that whatever way he must be looking at you right now would simply cause you to evaporate on the spot. The words alone are rough and cruel and dripping with condescension, but there’s still, contained within them, that begrudging admission that it’s good, that compliment hidden inside an insult or maybe the other way around, and it pleases you in a way that you know it really shouldn’t. He makes another sound, slurred and inarticulate, fist tightening in your hair— that control, it’s slipping through his fingers, that immaculate and insufferable level of self-constraint shattered and crumbling, and you’re dizzy with the thought of it; that you might be able to finally do something–even just once– that might actually get to him.

It doesn’t take long, after that. He wavers between letting you move, as willing and embarrassingly fucking eager as you are to do it, and moving for you, hand firm on the back of your head as he fucks your open, waiting mouth. You can tell when he starts to get close, passes the point of being able to fight it off just by slowing down, the muscles in his thighs twitching and his breathing turning rough and irregular, hitching and catching and forced out of his chest–

“Fuck,” He grits out, his palm suddenly flat against your forehead, pushing you back, away, muscles gone rigid and still. “Don’t.”

“Why,” you reply, breathless, aiming for something like teasing or taunting but ending up so shot through with desire that it doesn’t matter what you were even trying for anyways.

He doesn’t even warrant that with a response, just looks at you, eyes dark and pupils blown out so wide that you can’t even tell where the sliver of his irises even begins– he looks at you like you must be fucking stupid, like the answer is obvious, and—

You shiver.

Yeah. It is, actually, obvious.

He drags you up from the ground by the collar, pulls so hard that you stumble to your feet, off-balance, and nearly come crashing into him. He only looks at you— at your mouth, swollen and bruised and spit-slick and red— for a moment, and then he kisses you again and you melt for it without so much as a single fucking thought.

Beck forces you back against the other set of shelves; it’s not hard, with only about four feet of space spanning the whole room and with you swaying and unsteady and caught up in chasing his tongue as it roves through your mouth, for him to push you until the hard plastic corners are digging into your spine and the backs of your thighs again. He doesn’t let you touch him, grabs your wrist and pins it to the edge of the highest shelf up above your head when you try, fingers squeezing so hard that it hurts a little bit– that sends a sharp thrill of self-satisfaction flickering through you, the thought that he can’t take it, that you got him that close–and then he tears at the button of your jeans, the zipper, yanks them and your underwear only halfway down your thighs, just far enough to be able to–

The noise you make when he touches you is drawn from you so abruptly that you can’t soften it or even really try to make it sound less desperate; not that it would matter anyways, with the way that your body arches up, into him, how wet you know you already are despite having spent the last fifteen fucking minutes with his dick in your mouth and without him even really touching you at all–

“You fucking liked that– you were getting off on it, weren’t you, honey,” His mouth breaks from yours just to say it, like he knows what you’re thinking or maybe just like he’d been thinking the same thing, not even really asking as much as just stating a fucking fact, that stupid smug smile spreading wide across his face again.

“Fuck you,” you manage to reply, not even really succeeding in saying it with any amount of vitriol, voice breaking at the last syllable; all he has to do is touch you again and everything inside of you goes hot and white and blank , your free hand flying out to grab a fistful of his shirt, so tight that your knuckles are drawn and bloodless, squirming uselessly against the solid unyielding hold he has on your other wrist as he works two fingers inside of you and curls them and finds some horribly sensitive something that you hadn’t even known was there, rubs the rough pad of his thumb against your clit as he works them deeper and no, no, fuck, it’s not fair–

He doesn’t make you come like that, even though it probably would have been so easy, and maybe later tonight or tomorrow or sometime next week you’ll remember to be ashamed of how absurdly fucking easy it always is for him to get anything from you, even this, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care. He fucks you open on his fingers until you’re whining and rocking back against him and begging for it in all but actual words, and as soon as the muscles in your abdomen start to tense and the pitch of your moans shifts up higher he stops short and tells you to turn around. You don’t bother to suppress the sound that elicits from you, petulant, frustrated and wavering, but you still do what he says; when he tells you to bend, to put your hands out flat on the shelf, you do that, too, without even really thinking about it. There’s something in the back of your mind that’s absolutely indignant at your immediate compliance– add it to the fucking long list of things you’ll think about later– but it falls silent as soon as he takes the space behind you.

His hand skims your hip and you take in a shaky, shuddering breath– you can’t see him, what he’s doing, and everything in your body is still wound so tight, the combination driving such a vicious surge of anticipation that it feels for a second like you’re going to come apart at the seams, or that you might have already and just failed to notice.

Beck notches the head of his dick right between your thighs, presses forward a little, urges you up on your toes until he’s aligned just right– there, right there, you think, trembling, yes, fuck, come on, please— and then he leans over you, his arms caging yours, his much bigger hands covering your smaller ones so completely, pushing them harder into the gridded plastic lattice of the shelf. You can feel his breath against your neck, warm, the heat of his body bleeding right through his clothes, soothing the prickle of goosebumps that had spread across the exposed skin of your lower back where the edge of your sweater has ridden up, bunched around your waist. It’s cold, here, much colder than it had been in the hall– presumably because there’s no heat to the storage closet, because why would there be– and that just makes it better, honestly, how much larger he is, how fucking warm.

Please, you want to say, only remembering your pride at the last second, but then he moves closer and pushes into you anyways like he already knows what you want, and that’s fucking gone, too.

This time— balanced up on your toes, your hands braced against the shelf, the latticed plastic surface biting into your palms and his hands over them, keeping them there, your legs only spread as wide as the jeans pulled half down your thighs will even allow— you know it will take even less to break you than it did the day in his office. Beck is barely moving, short shallow motions as he works you open, but even still he’s already nudging something sensitive and electric inside of you that has your head dropping down against your outstretched arms, against his, too, where they overlay your own. It’s the angle, probably, you manage to think, flushed and shivery and barely breathing; or maybe it’s just him, and he’s just too good at this. He finally bottoms out and the noise you make– stretched out and filled up and satisfied, that stupid needy thing inside of you gone completely fucking silent at last-– is so unlike you that for a second you don’t even really register it as your own, even muffled as it is by the fabric of his shirt where your face is pressed to the inside of his arm. There’s a twitch in your fingers, like you’re searching for something to hold onto, and Beck obliges that with a mocking chuckle that rumbles out low in his chest and vibrates against your back– he threads his fingers through yours, his palms over the tops of your hands. There you go, honey, he murmurs against your neck, saccharine, patronizing, like you’re this poor pathetic helpless thing, and any other time you probably would have hated him for it. Maybe you still do, even now, and maybe that just makes it even better.

There is something– probably something significant– that is just deeply wrong with you both, you realize, and then he starts to fuck you in earnest and the thought vanishes.

This isn’t anything like the last time– every inch of you goes soft and pliant like you’re melting beneath him, not fighting it or fighting him or even trying to. Every time he rocks into you it wrings out this desperate hiccupping keen that might have just been the same continuous sound, stretched out, fading and then brought back to life again before it can ever really end. He releases one of your hands to reach down to touch you, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across your clit, and that involuntary noise he’s pulling out of you pitches up higher in response, taking on this breathless shivering quality that you recognize– you’re still fucking wound up from before, vibrating with it.

You realize far far too late that he fucking did this to you on purpose, made sure to keep you from touching him, make sure to get you close before he’d even started. The thought of him fucking you past your rapidly-approaching orgasm triggers something panicky and nervous inside of you; anticipation and apprehension and the sinking realization that you had missed something like you always do, and he had gotten the better of you, again. But there’s nothing you can do about it, really, not now, its’ approach inevitable no matter how hard you try to force your breathing to steady or your muscles to relax–

You know he must be able to feel it, just like last time, the way that you tighten around his cock, the shivering pulse of your muscles and the tremble that runs the length of your whole body. He still hasn’t stopped touching you, and he hasn’t stopped moving, either, the shelf and all its’ contents shaking with the rhythm of it, and you can’t silence the sounds or even try to mute them, the wordless inarticulate whine that pitches up higher each time his cock sinks back inside—

“Be quiet,” he pants against your shoulder. His hand– the one that had still been covering yours and pressing it harder against the latticed surface of the shelf– it moves up to your throat and then higher still, curling around your jaw, and you should remember to be embarrassed about how quick you are to just let him when he pushes his fingers into your mouth, should be fucking ashamed the way your tongue roves around them, instinctive, obedient, but you can’t think , can barely even remember to breathe. It’s somehow even worse, more overwhelming, now that he’s not bracing his weight on the shelf, the bulk of it resting against you, makes it so that his cock reaches somewhere even deeper inside, his other hand still splayed flat below your stomach, his fingers still against your clit, firm, not really even moving, the friction generated just from the force of him fucking you enough to make something drop out of the pit of your stomach like you’re free-falling because you know with a startling and crystal-clear certainty that you’re going to— that he’s going to make you— again—

Beck must know it too (of course he does, of course) because he presses the fingers in your mouth further in and down firm against your tongue to quiet the noise that breaks out of you when you come for a second time, something that probably would have been closer to a sob than anything, but stifled as it is it just comes out as another incoherent sound. You’re shivering, muscles in your calves and your thighs strung taut, sore and burning like they might give out under you, and when he starts to really touch you again you almost bite down on his fingers, hypersensitive and overstimulated and unable to even move to escape it, with the shelf in front of you and the weight of him pressed to your back–

Maybe he makes you come again, or maybe he doesn’t— it doesn’t really matter, anyways, the usually-clear delineation between your orgasm and the build to it has been erased, your body so high-strung you can’t even tell the difference anymore. It all just bleeds together, like trying to stay standing and upright in the ocean, in water that’s chest-deep, knocked down by a wave and only barely able to regain your footing before there’s another, and another, and another, rhythmic and relentless and entirely without respite. Beck chuckles, breathless, the sound low and mocking and warm against the shell of your ear, laughing at you, at the state of you, presumably, and it just drives that tide even higher, until you can’t keep your head above water even in the spaces between the waves.

You should have expected this, you think, with whatever part of your brain that’s still even capable of it— just like any other time you’d ever tried to get the better of him. He always pays you back tenfold.

It could be forever or it could be ten seconds before his own breathing starts to catch and turn ragged, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway, each of his thrusts making something bloom hot and bright across the backs of your eyelids, closed as they are– actual physical evidence of your brain short-circuiting, of everything falling apart; your thoughts, your sense of time, your tenuous, tattered hold on fucking reality. He moves both hands to your waist to pull you back against him, pace growing rougher, more erratic, and without his fingers in your mouth to mute the sound you have to bury your face in the crook of your arm to stifle it as best you can, fingers twitching uselessly, catching in the grids of the shelf and curling there even though it makes the tendons burn, holding tight like you’re trying to anchor yourself to it, to something , anything at all—

“God, fuck, yes,” Beck groans into the crook of your neck, one arm wrapped all the way around your waist and holding you there, flush against him, finishing so fucking deep inside that you think you can feel it in every inch of you, the steady, slowing pulse of his cock, the warmth of it, his trembling, indistinguishable from your own.

It takes a while for everything to settle, after that; for his breathing to steady and for your body to stop shaking and your brain to return to some approximation of functioning . You notice the details in pieces; the crisscrossed marks on your palms and forearms, bitten into the skin there from the latticed grid of the shelf, the ache in the muscles and tendons in your thighs and your calves , the feeling more pleasant than painful.

Eventually, Beck pulls out and his weight shifts away and a shiver runs right through you at the immediate chill of the air in the space he had occupied, the absence of that warmth; you try to straighten up, to stand, but make the fundamental mistake of letting go of the shelf before thinking to check if your numb, trembling legs can even support your weight–

The warmth is back, and you don’t fall. “Careful, honey,” he says, mocking, mouth pressed against your hair, steadying you in his arms; you don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s grinning wide again.

“You be careful, asshole, you’re gonna stain my sweater,” you reply, unthinking, only fuzzily aware of how it’s slid back down from where it was rucked up around your waist and the solid pressure of his dick against the small of your back, still mostly hard.

He huffs out a laugh.

“Oh, right , of course, my mistake. I’ll be sure to just let you fall next time,” he replies, languid and amused and still a little breathless— and something inside of you trembles, somehow, even fucked-out and shivery and already sated as you are, going a little more lightheaded just at the thought.

Next time.

You don’t even bother to argue or to even act affronted at the presumption, the ability to even shape the words, much less deliver them convincingly, beyond anything you’re capable of right then.

His grip tightens around you for a split second before he lets go, and you’re sure that, like everything, Beck must have noticed that, too.

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fckeddiemunson · 4 months ago

Text

Two can play (but three's more fun) | Steve Harrington x reader x Eddie Munson

stranger things masterlist / inbox

summary: when Steve catches Eddie staring a little too long at his girlfriend, he doesn’t throw a punch—he extends an invitation. And as Eddie quickly learns, Steve doesn’t just share; he teaches, with slow, filthy demonstrations.

word count: 5.2k

tags / content warnings: smut, just pure filth really, posessive steve, desperate eddie, a lot of swearing, I couldn't help it, maybe some repetitive words but smut vocabulary just has it's limits

a/n: I got insanely stoned and wrote this so if it came out too horny i'm sorry, also im ovulating oops. I've prolly been very inconsistent with grammar tenses but I can't be bothered to check it. I usually correct my grammar after i've already posted so the masterlist link has significantly less errors than earlier versions

The living room was bathed in the flickering glow of the TV, some forgotten horror movie playing on low volume—The Thing, maybe, or was it Halloween?—its eerie soundtrack warping under the weight of the thick, sweet-smelling haze curling through the air.

Eddie had outdone himself with this new strain, something sticky and potent that left his limbs heavy and his usual sharp edges dulled into something languid and warm, his thoughts perhaps a bit too syrupy.

“—I know I talk a big game, man, but fuck. I have no clue what I’m doing when it actually comes down to it.”

His voice was a low mumble, words slipping out like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. He tipped his head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers.

Steve blinks at him, slow and rhythmically, before snorting. “What, like… at all?”

“Yeah, man. Like—” Eddie waves a hand vaguely, the silver of his rings glinting as he moves. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what sounds are real and which ones are fake? It’s fucking Russian roulette.”

The next reaction from Steve is immediate, no hesitation. Just a lazy, knowing smirk as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Huh. Well, once you know the difference, it becomes pretty obvious.” He pauses, just long enough to take a quick glance over Eddie’s face. “If you really need some pointers, I can ask my girlfriend if she wants to help you out.”

Eddie nearly comes crashing to the fucking floor.

Because fuck. He’s had a crush on you for, like, forever. Not that he’s ever admitted it out loud — not when Steve Harrington has a reputation for rearranging the faces of guys who so much as look at you wrong. Eddie has seen it happen: some poor asshole at a party, fingers skimming your ass as you passed, and bam — Steve’s fist in his jaw before anyone could blink. There’s even a rumour some other idiot once stared just a little too long at the way your lips wrapped around the neck of your beer bottle and then slurred, “Wanna spin the bottle?” Word is, Steve dropped him in one hit. No warning. No theatrics. Just pure, primal instinct.

So yeah, Eddie’s kept his mouth shut.

But now? Now Steve is watching him with this lazy, half-lidded expression, like he hadn’t just detonated a goddamn bomb in Eddie’s head.

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie pleads, his voice rough.

Steve just grins — slow, deliberate — his eyes dark with something Eddie can't name. “Nah, man. She’s actually really into that kinda stuff.” His voice drops, gravel scraping over each word, and Eddie’s stomach flips “And I’d do anything for her.”

The air feels thick as Eddie’s pulse roars in his ears, his throat suddenly bone-dry. Was this a test? A trap? Christ. Harrington was going to be the death of him, and worse—Eddie knew he’d fucking thank him for it.

His fingers twitch at his sides. “...Yeah?”

Steve’s smile only widens, but his eyes soften. “Yeah.”

When Eddie shows up at your place the next night, he’s strung tight enough to power Hawkins twice over, his pulse hammering in his throat. He’s spent the last twenty-four hours convincing himself he’d imagined the whole conversation, that there was no way Steve Harrington just offered—

And then you open the door.

Dressed in nothing but one of Steve’s old band tees, the fabric riding high on your thighs, you greet him with a smile that damn near stops his heart. “Hey, Eddie.”

His mouth goes dry. And before he can choke out a response, Steve is behind you, hands sliding possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. And then — Jesus Christ.

The kiss Steve gives you isn’t just heated — it’s filthy. All tongue and teeth, your fingers twisting in his hair as he backs you against the doorframe, his hands already under your shirt like it’s a regular Tuesday afternoon.

Eddie’s knees nearly give out.

“Watch,” Steve murmurs against your lips when he finally breaks away, his gaze flicking to Eddie over your shoulder. His voice dark and commanding. “And pay attention.”

Then, right there in the doorway, Steve pulls the shirt over your head — meticulously slow, like he wants Eddie to memorise every second. And, well — Eddie does.

He memorises the way your breath hitches when Steve’s fingers brush over your ribs, the way you arch into his touch, the soft, real sounds spilling from your lips as Steve’s mouth finds the top of your breasts—

Eddie’s throat protests as he swallows, fingers twitching at his sides like he can’t decide whether to bolt or drop to his knees.

Steve notices —of course he does— and his lips curl into something dangerously close to a challenge. “You just going to stand there, Munson?” His hands slide down your hips, squeezing just hard enough to make you softly gasp. “Thought you wanted to learn.” Eddie manages to get control over his brain just long enough to answer “I— Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. I do.”

Steve hums, pleased, and spins you around to face Eddie fully, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach. “Then get over here.”

It’s not a request.

Eddie moves like a man in a trance, close enough now to feel the heat of your skin, to catch the intoxicating scent of your perfume. His gaze darts between your face and Steve’s fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your collarbone.

“First lesson,” Steve murmurs, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. “Don’t just touch. Listen.” His free hand reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and dragging it toward you. “Feel how she reacts.”

Eddie’s fingertips brush your waist—hesitant at first, then firmer when you shiver under his touch. His breath hitches as you lean into him, lashes fluttering when his thumb grazes the delicate curve of your ribs.

“Good.” Steve’s voice is low, eyes locked on Eddie’s every twitch. “Now kiss her.”

Eddie’s head jerks up. “What?”

Steve’s grin is all teeth. “Unless you don’t—”

“No, I—fuck.” He surges forward, crashing his mouth against yours like a man starved. It’s messy and desperate, and he barely gets a taste before Steve yanks you back by the waist, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.

“Jesus Christ. Not like that.”

Eddie stumbles after you as Steve kicks the door shut behind them. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest—then snaps it shut. Because Steve’s right. He’s a wreck.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?” Steve’s voice is rough with impatience. “Kiss her again.”

Eddie hesitates—just for a second—before lust wins the war. This time, when his lips find yours, it’s still hungry, but it’s also aware, his movements more controlled. For a heartbeat, he’s terrified Steve will deem him unworthy of you altogether and kick him back to the curb—until you moan into it, until your fists twist in his shirt and drag him closer.

Steve groans in approval against your shoulder. “That’s it,” he rasps, pressing you forward just enough that Eddie can feel your heartbeat against his chest. “Now slow down. Make her want it.”

Eddie whimpers, but obeys, pulling back just enough to tease your lower lip between his teeth before licking into your mouth like you’re water and he’s been dying of thirst.

The sound you make — the soft, wanting whine—it's the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Steve pulls you back again, but this time, there’s satisfaction in his grin. “See?” His thumb swipes over your kiss-swollen lips, smug. “She likes it when you take your time.”

Steve doesn’t let go of you—not really. Even as he nudges you toward the couch, his palm stays glued to the small of your back, steering you like he owns every inch of space you move through. Eddie doesn’t need to be told to follow; his pulse hammers in his throat, fingers flexing like he’s already imagining the weight of you beneath them.

“Sit.” Steve’s order cracks through the air, and Eddie drops onto an armchair like his strings have been cut.

You don’t get the chance to join him. Steve catches your wrist, yanking you back against his chest instead. His mouth brushes your ear, voice a low, possessive hum: “Nah, sweetheart. You’re staying right here.” His fingers trail down your arm before guiding your hand to Eddie’s jaw. “Let him earn it.”

Eddie’s breath stutters. Christ. Up close, you’re devastating. The way your eyes shimmer with pure lust, the way your lips part—just slightly—when Steve’s fingers skim over the lace of your bra. The syrupy moan you let out when he pinches your nipple over it, just enough to make your back arch—

“See that?” Steve’s voice is rough against your ear. “She gets loud when she’s turned on. You just have to know how to listen.” Eddie nods, swallowing hard. His hands hover over your hips like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve under his touch. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, Munson. You’re not going to break her.” He grabs Eddie’s wrist, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. “Feel how warm she is? How fucking desperate?”

Eddie’s fingers twitch. He can feel it—the rapid rise and fall of your breath, the way your skin burns under his touch.

“Now”, Steve murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder, “show me what you’ve learned.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time, when he kisses you, it’s relaxed—calculated. He licks into your mouth like he’s savouring it, one hand sliding up your ribs while the other tangles in your hair. And when you moan, when your hips jerk forward like you just can’t help it, Eddie groans against your lips like he’s just discovered fucking religion.

Steve watches, eyes dark with approval. “Better,” he rasps. Then, with a smirk: “Now get on your knees.”

Eddie freezes, and Steve arches a brow,“got a problem?”

“No—fuck, no.” Eddie’s already sliding to the floor, knees hitting the carpet with a thud. His hands find your thighs, gripping just tight enough to feel the muscle tense under his fingers.

Steve’s smirk widens. “Good.”

The praise goes straight to Eddie’s dick.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp—and God, Eddie’s never been so hard in his life.

Steve’s voice is a murmur as he trails a path down your throat, bruises already blooming under his mouth. “Now, make her beg.”

Eddie’s breathing is ragged as he looks up at you—fuck, the way your pupils are blown wide, the way your chest rises with every shaky inhale. Steve’s fingers are still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a tenderness that feels domestic. Your eyes meet Eddie’s just before they flutter shut, and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth finds the inside of your knee first, lips dragging slow and hot up your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Steve hums, tracing your ribs and sliding your bra strap down your shoulder. His palm cups your breast as it spills free, kneading with a lazy possessiveness that has your hips jerking forward — but Eddie holds you steady, determined.

His tongue traces past the waistband of your panties like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you, and when his eyes flick up to Steve, all he finds is lust, raw and unfiltered. So Eddie hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls, dragging it down your legs as he kisses a trail after it, reverent even in his hunger. His fingers work you with surprising precision, his gaze desperate for approval — and when he curls them just right, you gasp, arching into his touch with a moan loud enough to make Steve’s smirk falter. He wasn’t expecting that.

The slip in Steve’s control sends a thrill through Eddie, and he murmurs against your thigh, voice rough: “You sound so fucking sweet — bet you taste even better.” Steve’s grip tightens on your hip, hard enough to bruise, but you don’t seem to mind.

He’d meant to teach. Now, he’s learning.

And the way you’re unravelling under Eddie’s touch stirs something awake inside of him. Eddie’s got a musician’s dexterity, his fingers able to coax sinful melodies from you with every twist. When you whimper Eddie’s name, Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop him. Just watches with a gaze darker than the midnight sky itself as Eddie’s breath ghosts over you, your thighs trembling. “Please—”

The word barely leaves your lips before Eddie adds another finger, crooking them until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. He groans against your skin, resting his forehead against your leg as the vibration tears another broken sound from your throat. He fucks you with his fingers — slow and deep, then fast and relentless, like he can’t decide whether to savour you or ruin you.

Eddie, drunk on your praise, dares to glance up at Steve with a smirk. Steve’s nostrils flare, but instead of shutting him down, he drags a thumb over your cheek and growls, “You gonna cum for him?” You can’t even answer. Your back arches, toes curling, and Eddie drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. The moment you shatter, he loses it. He’s not sure what destroys him more — the way you choke out his name, begging him not to stop, or the filthy, approving rumble of Steve’s voice as he speaks, “Good girl.”

Eddie finds himself at an impasse, torn between begging for more and staying silent as the two of you decide his fate. His fingers twitch where they grip your thighs, his breath ragged, his entire body coiled tight with anticipation—and fear. Steve detaches himself from nipping at your collarbone when Eddie wavers, his movements faltering. A reprimand flashes in Steve’s darkened gaze, sharp enough to make Eddie shudder again. “Didn’t you hear her, Munson?” Steve’s voice is a low, warning growl. “She told you not to stop.”

But Eddie freezes. The reality of where he is—what he’s doing—hits him like a freight train. He has no idea how to continue.

But Steve doesn’t tolerate hesitation. His hand fists in Eddie’s hair, yanking him forward with a rough, “Stop thinking.”

Eddie obeys like a man possessed, and the moment his tongue drags over you, his whole body jerks—holy shit. You taste even better than he could’ve dared to dream. Sweet, addictive, and the way you gasp when he flicks his tongue over your clit? He’s ruined. Forever.

Drunk on you—on the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way you’re so wet it’s coating your thighs—he laps at you like his life depends on it. Steve watches with drowsy satisfaction, his palm sliding possessively up your stomach to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple just to hear you whimper for him again.

“Listen to how she sounds when you do it right,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sound in the world?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer. Instead, he tilts your jaw toward him, locking you in a searing kiss. You moan into Steve’s mouth as Eddie continues, his tongue relentless, his own desperate noises vibrating against you. Steve chuckles darkly when Eddie whimpers, his cock straining against his jeans just from tasting you. He hasn’t even touched himself, but he’s so close he’s shaking.

“Are you going to come just from this, Munson?” Steve drags him off you by his hair, grinning at the dazed, wrecked look on Eddie’s face. “Fuck, look at him, darling. He’s a mess.” Eddie’s lips are slick, his chest heaving, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. Steve doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He pushes Eddie back into the armchair, his grip firm, dominant. Then he guides you onto the couch with a smirk.

“You did good,” he tells Eddie, voice dripping with condescension. “Now let me show you great.”

Steve doesn’t waste time. In one smooth motion, he hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wide —putting you on display— before dragging you to the edge of the couch. His gaze locks onto Eddie’s, making sure he’s watching as he leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, a shudder running through you at the sensation. “See how she shivers?” Steve murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, laced with something Eddie can only describe as devotion. “It’s because she knows what’s coming—” Then he devours you.

Unlike Eddie’s frantic, eager strokes, Steve’s tongue moves with precision — deliberate, decisive licks that have you arching off the couch within seconds. He teases you, circling your clit until you’re gasping, then he pulls back with a cruel smirk.

“Steve—” you whine, fingers scrambling at his hair. “Patience, sweetheart,” he muses — before sucking your clit between his lips, hard. Your cry echoes through the room, and Eddie’s hands clench into fists, his hips jerking helplessly as you overwhelm his senses without even touching him. Steve doesn’t let up; he works you with his mouth until your thighs tremble, until your moans grow longer and heavy, until you’re right there—, and he pulls away.

“No, no, baby, please—” you beg, but Steve just clicks his tongue, amused, sliding two fingers into you without warning. “Look at her, Munson,” he orders, curling his fingers just right, making you sob beneath him. “This is how you give her what she deserves.” His thrusts are ruthless, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. You’re a writhing, whimpering mess, your nails digging into Steve’s shoulders as he fucks you on his fingers, his eyes locked onto Eddie’s the entire time.

“She’s close,” Steve taunts — he doesn’t even need to look at you to know, too busy watching the way Eddie’s jaw clenches. “You want to see what happens when she comes on my hand?” Eddie can’t even speak. He just nods, frantic. Steve smiles wickedly and makes do with the response. “Then watch closely.”

He crooks his fingers again, pressing deeper, and you don’t just shatter — you explode. Your back bows like you’re possessed, broken screams tearing from your throat as you squirt, and Eddie swears he’s seeing stars. Your hand finds Steve’s bicep, clinging desperately, like you’re afraid he’ll stop. Eddie can’t look away; he doesn’t dare blink — if he misses a single second of this, he’ll never forgive himself.

Steve works you through it, drawing out every last spasm until tears streak your face, until you’re oversensitive, trying to squirm away. Only then does he finally relent, licking his fingers with a satisfied hum before brushing featherlight kisses up to your neck. The moment you feel his proximity, you meet him in a kiss — not heated like before, but purposeful, delicate, like Steve is guiding you back to reality with it. He doesn’t rush you; he just lets your fingers weave through his hair until your breathing steadies. Then, he speaks again. “That”, he says, “is how it’s done.” He meets Eddie’s stunned gaze. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about getting your dick wet until she’s clenching around nothing.”

Eddie’s so hard it hurts. His cock throbs against his jeans, neglected and aching, precum soaking the fabric. He’s never been this turned on in his life—and the worst part? Steve knows it. The bastard smirks, dragging a thumb over your lower lip. You suck it in eagerly, tongue swirling, before he pulls away and stands. It’s a fucking performance. Steve undoes his belt like he’s savouring the way Eddie’s eyes cling to his hands, the leather slipping free with a final, damning shush. You whimper, still boneless from your orgasm, but your eyes flutter open when Steve’s palm slides up your thigh, squeezing. “Please, Steve?” you breathe, and his grin turns feral. “Not yet, love.” He glances at Eddie, whose throat bobs under the weight of his stare. “Munson hasn’t earned it yet.”

Eddie’s stomach drops. Fuck. He’s dripping in his pants, his hips twitching like a fucking teenager, and Steve’s going to make him wait? But then—

Steve grips Eddie’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “You want her?” he asks, voice rough. Eddie nods, greedy. “Then prove you can take care of her.” And just like that, Steve shoves him onto the couch with you. “Do it like I showed you.”

For a heartbeat, Eddie can only stare—at the way your breath hitches when he touches you, at the way your eyes lock on Steve, who’s sprawled in the armchair like it’s a fucking throne, lazily stroking his cock. Your lips part, and Eddie swears he sees your mouth water—fuck, it’s obscene. His hands tremble as he touches you—really touches you—this time. His mouth finds your thigh, kissing up the sensitive skin, trying to mimic the way Steve had worshipped you earlier. But when his tongue drags over you, your breath catches—wrong—and Steve’s low chuckle cuts through the room like a knife.

“Christ, Munson,” Steve sighs, his grip tightening around his cock. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Eddie grits his teeth. He is. He’s thinking about the way Steve had made you scream, the way your back arched off the couch like you were trying to fuse into him. He’s thinking about the fact that Steve’s watching, lazily stroking himself while Eddie fumbles like a virgin.

And the nail in the coffin? You’re watching Steve too. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes heavy with desire—but not for Eddie.

“Fuck,” Eddie rasps, pulling back. His voice is wrecked.“I can’t—I don’t—” Steve leans forward, fingertips ghosting over your throat as you keen toward him. “You can,” he growls. “Stop trying to perform. Just feel her.”

Eddie’s breath comes in sharp bursts. This time, when his mouth finds your cunt, he doesn’t think. He listens. To the way your breath catches when he licks a slow, experimental stripe. To the way your hips jerk when he sucks just there. And when your fingers fist in his hair—finally—it’s not to guide him, but to hold on.

“There,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Now you’re getting it.” Eddie moans against you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat. Fuck. He’s dizzy with it—the taste of you, the sounds you’re making, the way Steve’s gaze burns into him like a brand.

But then Steve stands. Eddie barely has time to register the loss before Steve’s dragging him up by the collar, spinning him around to face you—really face you. Your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your thighs slick with Steve’s work.

"Look at her," Steve growls, his voice a dark scrape against Eddie’s ear. "Don’t just glance—really look."

And Eddie looks. He sees the damp flush between your breasts, the way your hips lift like you’re already chasing it, the way your pupils blow wide when Steve’s thumb swipes over your bottom lip. "She’s not yours," Steve breathes, dragging his teeth over Eddie’s earlobe. "But fuck, look how bad she wants you to try."

Eddie’s pulse races. Then Steve steps back, gesturing like a king permitting a subject to kneel. "Go on. Make her forget my fucking name."

So he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the noise in his head, to sync himself with the thrum of your heartbeat beneath him, to dissolve into every breath you take. He wants to belong here, in this moment, where Steve’s approval hangs heavy in the air and your pleasure is the only thing that matters — success. A satisfied hum from Steve when Eddie finally finds the right rhythm, a broken moan from your lips. But your eyes — your eyes stay locked on Steve, even as Eddie’s mouth works you over. It’s still him you want. Hunger battles with pride in Eddie’s chest. He hates how badly he craves this—how much he needs Steve’s approval—but god, he longs to pull those sounds from you himself, to unravel you with nothing but his touch. And so he moves like a man possessed, single-minded in his mission to play you like an instrument, to pluck every string until you snap.

Your taste is intoxicating, something he’s already addicted to, something he’s not sure he can live without anymore. Your eyes scrunch shut as pleasure blooms, so lost in it that you don’t even notice Steve speeding up his strokes, his grip tight on his cock. Eddie gets close—so close he can practically taste your climax—but you linger on the edge, just out of reach. He’s aware he’s missing something, some final piece to send you over, but he can’t find it. Then your eyes flicker open again, searching for Steve’s gaze like it’s the only thing that can save you. And Eddie knows—he’s pushed his luck too far. Steve’s patience snaps—not with his pleasure, but with Eddie’s failure to give you yours. Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged back, the warmth of you ripped away too soon. Steve looms over him, a predator in human skin, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “If you want to get a chance to fuck her,” Steve growls, voice dripping with challenge, “you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Eddie’s brain becomes the mental equivalent of a dropped Wi-Fi signal—because did Steve just imply—?

Every touch, every taste Steve has allowed him, Eddie has devoured with insatiable hunger. But now it hits him—this is more than just a demonstration. Steve might actually let him fuck you. Or he would have. Now, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever get the opportunity again. A sharp, breathy cry from you yanks him from his thoughts. Steve has already turned you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, one foot perched on the armrest behind you like a damn king claiming his treasure. Eddie is so close to your face now, your slick still glistening on his chin as you blink up at him, dazed. Steve teases your entrance with his cock, just enough to have you pushing back, begging for it. And for one glorious, heart-stopping moment—you look at Eddie.

Not at back at Steve.

At him.

Your gaze is pure, primal desperation—like he’s the one you need. Steve drives into you in one brutal thrust, and your eyes screw shut in ecstasy. You sob Steve’s name, but your eyes flicker back open as you you look at him.

“Baby, please—” And it dawns on him—you are begging Steve, but not for Steve. No, you’re begging for permission, your gaze locked onto Eddie like he’s the only thing anchoring you to earth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, but Christ, he already knows he wants it just as much.

Steve, of course, does understand. He drags his cock into you agonisingly slow, pressing tender kisses along your spine even as his voice comes out harsh. “You think he deserves it, honey?” You whine, desperate, but Steve doesn’t need more than that. He leans over you, his thrusts deliberate, sinful. “How could I ever say no to you?”

And fuck, Eddie gets it now—gets why Steve turns possessive, gets why you love it. He’s watching the two of you move like a single entity, Steve’s hips rolling into you with a precision that rewrites Eddie’s entire understanding of sex. And the real tragedy? He’s pretty sure you’re only getting started. Your fingers fist in Eddie’s collar, yanking him down hard. His breath stutters as your lips take him in, hot and needy, and he doesn’t think—just reacts, his hands tangling in your hair as Steve’s thrusts rock you forward, forcing Eddie deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, the vibrations nearly undoing him right there, but then your hand tugs at his belt loop like it’s personally offended you, and Eddie’s thoughts fry into static. What do you want? He glances at Steve for answers, but the bastard just laughs, driving into you harder like he’s savouring Eddie’s confusion.

And God help him, Eddie looks. It’s downright pornographic. Steve’s cock glistens as he pulls out, your body clinging to him like it never wants to let go, and every time he sinks back in, you clench, a broken noise tearing from your throat.

As Eddie freezes, you take matters into your own hands, undoing Eddie’s belt with ruthless efficiency. The zipper’s barely down before his jeans pool at his knees. He looks at Steve again—helpless—but Steve just shakes his head, smirking. “Jesus, Munson. Keep up.”

Your fingers brush the straining outline of his cock through his boxers, and his hips jerk. Your mouth finds the spot beneath his ear, teeth scraping, and—fuck—it nearly sends him over the edge right then. You’re not gentle. You know exactly what you want. In seconds, his dick is in your hand, your grip perfect, and the first stroke has him grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He wants to keep his eyes open—to watch, to devour every detail of every second—but his body betrays him. A shudder wracks through him, his lashes fluttering helplessly before his head falls back, lost to the crushing wave of ecstasy."

“Fuck—!”

Steve’s voice cuts through the haze, dark with amusement. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show him how good you can be.” His hand tangles in your hair—not guiding, just holding—like he wants Eddie to see he’s the one in control. That every gasp you make, every shudder Eddie can’t suppress, is because Steve orchestrated it.

“Bet he’s never felt anything like you.” Eddie’s thighs tremble, his cock twitching against your tongue. He’s close, too close, and Steve knows it—fuck, he’s enjoying it. “Look at him,” Steve murmurs, dragging his cock out of you just to slam back in, punching a moan from your lips. “Already shaking for you. Bet he wishes it was him inside instead.” His thumb swipes over your clit, and you whimper, your rhythm on Eddie faltering. “But he’s got to earn that, doesn’t he?”

Earn it? Eddie’s vision blurs at the edges. He’d shamelessly beg if it meant— Then your tongue swirls over the head of his cock, and he chokes, almost falling forward into you.

“Steady,” Steve warns, though his voice is anything but calm. “You cum before she does, and I’ll make you watch while I fuck her twice as hard.”

Eddie’s groan is nothing short of pure agony. Steve fucks you more slowly then—cruel, like he’s savouring Eddie’s torment—dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to make your eyes water. But your dedication doesn’t waver; if anything, it burns hotter. “Shit—” Eddie’s hips jerk involuntarily, but you swallow him deeper, humming around the salt-bitter heat of him. His fingers scramble at the cushions, knuckles white. “Jesus, sweetheart, where the hell did you learn—?”

Steve’s laugh is a dark, knowing thing against your neck. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider as he presses inside, slow, letting you feel every fucking inch. “She’s full of surprises,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “But you’re not going to last long enough to find out, are you?”

Eddie’s groan disintegrates, the way you swirl your tongue around him, the slick pressure of your throat—it’s nothing like the groupies who’d thrown themselves at Corroded Coffin. This is ruination. This is worship. Your mouth works him with practiced greed, and Eddie’s vision blurs.

“Fuck, I’m not—I can’t—”

“Yes. You can.” Steve’s voice doesn’t leave room for argument—this isn’t a suggestion; it’s a command. His hand moves from your scalp to your nipple, pinching just shy of pain until you whine around Eddie’s cock. His other hand slips between your legs, circling your clit with filthy precision. “You going to come for us, sweetheart?” he rasps. You nod frantically, lips stretched lewdly around Eddie. “Good. Let him see.” You break with a cry, muffled around Eddie’s cock, and Steve growls as your body clenches around him. “That’s it,” he grits out, hips snapping harder, “that’s my girl—” Eddie’s spellbound.

Steve fucks you through it, your tears smearing Eddie’s thighs. His breath comes in punched-out gasps, cock twitching against your tongue—

Steve loses control first. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Eddie’s hips stutter when you whimper, oversensitive, as Steve grinds into you one last time—claiming you like he wants to brand the feeling into your skin. And then— “Fuck!” Eddie’s back arches, his cock jerking as you pull off with a slick pop, begging Steve for mercy. He comes untouched, frustration and relief searing through him as he gasps your name like a prayer. Steve laughs, low and satisfied. Eddie’s too wrecked to care, chest heaving—until Steve’s next words send him tumbling straight back into want.

“Let me know if you’ve got any requests for the next lesson.”

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fckeddiemunson · 5 months ago

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Jake Gyllenhaal as Iago in Broadway's Othello (2025)

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fckeddiemunson · 5 months ago

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fckeddiemunson · 5 months ago

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Jake Gyllenhaal as Lago in Broadway's Othello (2025)

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fckeddiemunson · 5 months ago

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JASON ISAACS as CAPTAIN HOOK ↳ PETER PAN (2003)

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fckeddiemunson · 6 months ago

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older!neighbor!eddie finding out somehow about his (reader) neighbors age kink through a mutual friend and teasing her w it when she goes over to talk to him abt smth 😳🫣

The Life And Times Of a Teenage Rock God

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x Reader

WC: 12.2k

Summary: Eddie is fine on his own, he doesn’t need, nor does he want, a wife. He loves his solitary lifestyle, it suits him just fine. That is until he meets his new neighbor…

A/N: I need to stop creating overarching storylines and just write the requests as is lmao. Me making Eddie an anti-wife guy for irony is what pushed this to 12.2k words. It took me a minute to get inspiration for the request, but here we are. I did change it just a bit to something that made more sense for me. If my Eddie x Popular!Reader fic is late, it’s because of this. Pls forgive any mistakes, I'm washing my hands of this brain worm. Also, idk what timeframe we’re in here, Eddie grew up like he did in the show, but I didn’t write it like it was 2009 because the 2010’s era makes me cringe. Anywhores, thanks for the request! My inbox is open, but I can't promise anything.

Tags: it’s a lot- here we go, SMUT, 18+ minors dni, unprotected sex, cum eating, PiV sex, pussy eating, cum play, breeding kink, age kink, age gap (E is 43 R is 27), pregnancy kink, thoughts of pregnancy sex, use of the word ‘whorish’, kind of dumbification, humiliation kink kinda, slight degradation but in a condescending way not really name calling, overuse of the word hole, hole as a nickname, pubes, breast play, nipple stimulation, sir kink, eddie gets dommy, reader gets a little subby- just a smidge, thoughts of cock sucking, egregious flirtation, dirty talk, begging, innocence kink, a few jokes during sex, messy making out, reader gets insecure about her pussy before eddie eats her out, jealousy, yearning, mutual pining, strangers to lovers, eddie’s jumping the gun wanting you pregnant and married to him after first meeting, Robin and Vickie are wives (don’t talk to me about the US gay marriage timeline- they’re wives), Steve has an OC wife named Jess, possessive!Eddie, mentions of fighting a guy, Eddie is so cutesy old fashioned, I can’t think of anything else- if I missed anything pls lmk

Masterlist

Eddie didn’t feel very old, he’d rather argue he’s pretty spry for 43-years-old. He ate decent enough, long gone were the days of living off of Funyons and Mountain Dew. He kept fairly fit, he didn’t hit the gym, but he did a lot of manual labor at the shop as Head Mechanic.

Of course he felt his age a bit when the kids, who were no longer kids, came back into town with their wives. Lucas and Max, the girl he used to refer to as the scary redhead who he now knows is a scary redhead, Mike and El, and Dustin and Susie. Hell, even Harrington’s group of rugrats age him a bit. It’s like every time one of Steve's kids hits 3-years-old he decides it’s time for another kid, poor Jess, Eddie thinks.

He thinks his life of solitude has kept him young, no screaming kids giving him grey hairs, no nagging wife causing him frown lines. Life is good.

Robin doesn’t believe that for a second, though. She’s been trying to get Eddie back out there for five years now, completely ignoring his pleas for her to stop setting him up on dates with the girls she knows. He always has weird experiences with her friends, he’s not sure how she befriends such eccentric women.

Every summer since the guys moved into the same neighborhood twelve years ago, Steve throws a block party open to all neighbors. It’s a huge barbecue pool party type of thing, complete with Steve’s array of stupid aprons.

This year he’s wearing the one Eddie got him as a gift for his birthday. It’s black with a spatula and a two-pronged fork crossed in an ‘X’ formation with the words, 'My meat isn’t gonna rub itself.’ Eddie thought it was hilarious, Robin, on the other hand, shook her head muttering, ‘dinguses,’ under her breath.

Every time they get together Robin tries to show Eddie how nice it is to have a wife, often using Vickie as an example. It makes Eddie roll his eyes, she’s so transparent, can’t hide her endgame if her life depended on it.

Vickie hands Robin a plate of food she gathered for her from the buffet style table, Robin too engrossed in a conversation with Eddie about the difference between Metal and Rock.

“No, you misunderstand me- my point is rock is like an umbrella,” she makes a broad gesture above her head, “and metal- oh, thank you, hun,” she tips her head back to smile at Vickie’s figure behind her shoulder, taking the plate from her hands.

Eddie can’t help but smile at their cuteness, he remembers hearing from Steve how horribly nervous Robin was about even talking to Vickie. Now they’ve been together for twenty-two years. Even that makes his cold, dead heart thaw a little. That is until Robin gives him a pointed look.

“Seeee? A wife is a plus! You don’t have to get your own food!” She says it like she’s trying to sell him the newest upgrade to his cellphone, it makes him shake his head, an amused expression settling onto his pale face.

“Uh,” Vickie cuts in, finger in the air as if making a point, “yes you do have to get your own food. I’m only doing this because of that thing you did earlier,” voice lowering like it’s a secret Eddie shouldn’t hear.

“Ah,” Robin nods, catching on to Vickie’s insinuation, “yes, that thing that I did to you earlier with my thing on your thing.”

Eddie snorts, Robin has not changed in all his years of knowing her, never really a smooth criminal.

“You guys do know I know how the birds and the bees work- or,” he pauses, stuttering a bit before continuing, “I guess the bees and the bees in this case.” His brow is scrunched, lip curled, cringing at his awkward save.

“You know I’d like to think that you do, Eddie. I really would, but I don’t see a ring on your finger,” shaking her head, reprimanding him.

Eddie lets out a laugh, “What are you, Saint Robin? I need to marry first before I can have sex?”

“Well-,”

“-And by the way, I have had sex before,” he laughs.

“Sure you have champ,” she pats his knee condescendingly, a look of faux pity on her face.

“Whatever, I don’t need to take this from you,” he gets up to check on Steve at the grill.

“Hey buddy!” Steve draws out the greeting, flipping a burger before looking at Eddie.

Eddie grumbles a greeting, turning to face the party, his back to the grill, a cold beer in his hands.

“I hate these singles, you know-,” Steve’s shaking his head, looking down at his ministrations preparing to complain, but Eddie’s already cutting him off.

“Oh please! Like you couples are a joy to be around, it’s always, ‘I gotta ask my wife,’ ‘Sorry I can’t come out tonight, I’m too busy looking for my balls,’” he mocks. “News flash! They’re rolling around in her purse!”

Steve opens his mouth to ask Eddie what the hell he’s so bent out of shape for, but he never gets a word in. Eddie’s too busy going off on one of his grand speeches, just like old times.

“I don’t need anybody, okay? I’m perfectly fine on my own, in fact, I’m more than fine. I'm happy! I’m glad I don’t have anybody waiting for me to get home! I’m fucking ecstatic that I get to eat alone, nobody takes my food, I probably save thousands of dollars buying everything for one! Not everybody wants to be married and pop out a whole baseball team like you and your wife, Steve!” Eddie’s meltdown draws the attention of a few surrounding partygoers, earning him some judgemental stares and curled lips.

Steve looks at him like he’s grown two heads, his eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape as he lets Eddie’s words become stale in the hot summer air. Just really letting him stew in it before he decides to speak again.

“Okay…project much?” He shakes his head in disbelief, “I was talking about the burgers. Robin bought me individually wrapped burgers, in single packaging. It’s been a bitch to unwrap all 30 of ‘em,” he emphasizes his explanation, a level of sass in his voice he hasn’t released in years.

Eddie deflates at the sight of the scraps of white paper and cellophane littering the ground on the other side of the grill, feeling incredibly stupid right about now.

“Oh…yeah, I knew that…” He shoves his free hand into his pocket trying to fight through the embarrassment, “I love Jess by the way, she’s lovely, gorgeous family you have there,” he rushes out, nodding his head.

Steve looks at him incredulously, “Shut up.”

“Shutting up.” Eddie nods, pressing his mouth shut, resigning himself to standing in the awkward tension he created.

Thankfully, he’s ‘saved by the Robin’ as she comes rushing over with Vickie hot on her trail, “Steve, you have a new neighbor! She just pulled in with her U-Haul, it looks like she’s unpacking everything herself.” She stops to catch her breath, all the information spilling out in one excited spiel, then she turns her bright eyes to Eddie which makes him raise his eyebrows at being singled out, “And she’s a total hottie, maybe a little young, but you could be a manther!”

Eddie recoils in disgust at the name, here we go again, he thinks. Matchmaker Robin to the rescue.

Steve looks at Robin like she’s crazy, “Robin,” he bites with a clipped tone, yanking her proverbial leash like she’s a much too excited dog. He can’t believe she just said that in front of her wife. If he said that in front of Jess, the balls that Eddie claims are in her purse would soon be at the bottom of Lovers Lake, right next to his weighted body.

Vickie quickly cuts in, coming to her wife’s defense, “Oh no it’s fine! She is a total hottie,” she nods understandingly.

“Robin, I am begging you to stop setting me up with the women you know,” he holds his hands up, pressing them together, pleading with her. “Also, no offense, but you’ve lost all credibility in determining hotness, the last girl you set me up with looked like Uncle Wayne in a wig and a tube top,” he deadpans.

“Um,” Vickie jerks her head back like she’s been slapped, a frown etched into her freckled face, “full offense taken, by the way.”

Before Eddie can tell her he didn’t mean to call her hotness as Robin’s wife into question, Robin is pulling him and Steve across the yard to the neighboring house, the one that’s been up for sale for six months. Steve’s still clutching his spatula as he’s getting pulled away, he shouts behind him, “Honey, man the station! Don’t let my burgers burn!” He tosses the spatula to a very pregnant Jess who scrambles to catch it.

Eddie’s attempting to go deadweight, leaning back against Robin’s strong pull, but the woman must be on steroids because she’s trucking Steve and him along just fine.

She pulls them from the backyard to the side of your driveway, when they arrive your back is turned to them. You’re wearing high-waisted jean shorts and a pink tank top in an attempt to stay cool in the hot Indiana sun.

You’re reaching for a box you creatively labeled ‘clothes’ when you hear a woman’s voice behind you, causing you to turn around.

“Hi, I’m Robin! Welcome to the neighborhood- I don’t live here, here, have two men,” it all comes out in a jumble as she pushes Eddie and Steve forward towards you, “They can help you move whatever you need!”

As quick as she arrived, she hurried away. You didn’t even get to introduce yourself to her, she just spoke quickly at you then shoved two random men towards you. You watch her retreat back to the block party, amused confusion riddling your face.

In her absence you turn to look at the men in front of you, hesitating on what to say, you’ve never had this happen before. You open your mouth to say something when Steve gets there quicker, “Sorry about her,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, vaguely gesturing to where Robin disappeared to, “she can be really direct. I’m Steve! Nice to meet you.” He shakes your hand as you tell him your name, both of you silently wait. It’s Eddie’s cue to introduce himself, but he’s too busy staring at you.

Eddie’s jaw dropped the moment you turned around, he’s convinced he’s never seen a woman so beautiful in his entire life. The way your clothes fit you so nicely, your shorts might as well be painted on you. He’s immediately thinking lewd thoughts at the sight of the unyielding jean hem squeezing the fat of your thighs.

He’s pretty sure he could paint your every feature from memory with how deeply his roving eyes are consuming your image. Don’t even get him started on the way your tank top accentuates your breasts, he feels like a teenager all over again, trying to think of math equations so he doesn’t pop an ill-timed boner.

Then all of a sudden you’re looking at him, everything is in slow motion, you’re coming closer, he’s breathing in deeply through his nose to desperately catch your scent, you’re gorgeous lips are moving and he’s imagining them moving up and down on his cock, then he feels a sharp pain to his ribs and he’s jerking forward, a spluttering cough escaping him.

He feels like he just woke up from a dream, he realizes Steve knuckle-punched him right in the ribs, he rights himself and glares at his friend before turning to you again. Your ethereal face looks across between concerned and amused at the actions his so-called ‘friend’ committed. He’s going to have to have a talk with Steve about not hitting him like a 12-year-old in front of hot women, especially the hottest woman.

“What,” Eddie mutters the question, having missed what you said before when he was too busy thinking about your lips on his- stop. He realizes he sounds like a dufus, ‘what,’ smooth, Munson, he thinks.

But you don’t laugh in his face, call him an idiot and go back to your work like you probably should. No, instead, you just grin at his clearly dumbstruck face.

“I said, ‘And you are?’” You bat your lashes at him, tilting your chin down, never taking your eyes off of his.

“Eddie…Munson,” he cringes at the way his name felt foreign on his own tongue just now, what the hell are you doing to him? You’re like some kind of siren and he’s a sailor being lured, except you’re not singing, you’re not even trying to lure him and he’s already showing up with goggles, flippers, and a snorkel, diving into the waves in your eyes, all on his own free will. If you are a siren, he’s planning to be your easiest catch yet.

Steve’s watching his friend absolutely flounder in this interaction, shaking his head. ‘I’m happy alone,’ he mocks Eddie’s earlier words.

“Well, Eddie Munson,” you look him up and down like he’s a five course meal and you’re prêt-à-manger, “you look pretty strong, care to help a poor girl out?”.

“Yeah, I’m really strong,” he’s nodding, unblinking eyes on yours, his phrasing awkward in the context of the conversation. That wasn’t what you asked, but his mind is running about as fast as Dial-up Internet. Plus, he sounds like one of Steve’s boys whenever Steve asks if anybody can help him pick up the lawn chairs. The irony of a clearly younger woman making him feel like a horny, stuttering teenager again is not lost on him.

Your smirk only widens. Steve’s looking between you and Eddie in the silence of your nonresponse, suddenly feeling very out of place, the tension is thick like molasses. He clears his throat, drawing your eyes to him.

“I’m here too, by the way.” He raises his hand like it’s roll call back in high school.

You huff out an amused breath, “Come on, I could use both of you,” nodding your head back to the truck. You push a large box out of the way, clearing a path for them to pick up your dresser from inside the truck.

Eddie follows you, a little too close to your distracted body, his mind whirring at your comments about using him.

When you turn back to ask them to get the dresser you jump at Eddie’s proximity to you, you didn’t realize he was following so closely, practically on your heels.

“Oh! Jesus!” You backup a little from his body, a hand clutching your heart as you laugh at the scare.

Steve is quick to pull Eddie away from you by the back of his faded band shirt, apologizing for his friend’s creepy behavior, “Sorry, he failed out of obedience school,” he quips nervously.

Eddie’s too busy staring at you to hit Steve for his comment, “That’s alright,” you size Eddie up, a flirtatious glint in your eye, “he seems like he’d be better at giving orders anyway.”

Eddie’s fighting tooth and nail to withhold a groan at your words, the way you’re looking at him could send him into cardiac arrest. Every flirtation is accompanied with hungry eyes and an innocent smile, he feels like he could make a religion out of it. He’d develop a full on multi-level marketing scheme to recruit followers in your name, he’d indoctrinate as many apostles as he could. He’d create the rules to your religion himself, rule number one would be only he gets to fuck you.

Steve blanches at your brazen comment, both thankful you’re not looking at him like that and traumatized he’s being forced to watch a woman flirt with Eddie while Eddie fumbles the interaction astronomically.

You move on like you didn’t just say the nastiest thing Eddie’s heard in a while, “I could use help with the dresser, I was supposed to have a friend come help me, but he actually called to flake out right before you guys came over here.” You chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed for over-explaining yourself to these attractive strangers.

Eddie bristles at the mention of a male friend, he wonders if you have a boyfriend, that makes him feel even more weird. He tries to convince himself you probably don’t, and if you do he’d like to have a talk with the douche who left you to do all the grunt work. Grunt work, now he’s thinking about the grunt work he’d like to do with you. He has to mentally slap himself back into shape, you asked for his help, he’s damn well going to help you.

“No problem, we can do it right, Steve?” He looks to Steve who’s hesitating, if he knew he was going to help somebody move he would’ve stretched, or offered to pay for movers so he doesn’t have to do any work.

Steve begrudgingly nods. They work together to pull the dresser to the edge of the truck, carrying it into your new house at your direction, both releasing relieved grunts when they set the heavy structure down.

“Thank you so much, guys, really! Is there any way I could repay you?” Your brows are furrowed, a hopeful, wide eyed gaze bouncing between the two huffing men.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve waves his hand at you, heading to leave your mostly empty bedroom.

“No bed?” Eddie noticed the dresser was the only large thing in the U-Haul, no bed already in the bedroom either. He was thinking you’d need a little more help than one thing, he just gained the ability to talk to you. He doesn’t want to leave now.

You’re caught off guard at his question, “Oh! Um, no, it's being delivered tomorrow along with my couch and some other things,” you nod at him.

Confusion takes over his face at your explanation, “Where are you going to sleep tonight?” You have no couch, no bed, he doesn’t see any comfortable place for you to rest. You can’t possibly sleep on the floor, that’d be ridiculous.

You smile at his scrunched up face, appreciating the cute wrinkle in his brow, the concerned brown doe eyes, “That friend I mentioned earlier has an extra bedroom.”

“The flaky friend?” He knows that’s who you mean, but he feels the need to point out that the guy couldn’t show up to help his ‘friend’ with her stuff. And now he’s going to sleep with near you? Eddie feels like fighting this guy and he doesn’t even know him. He realizes his feelings are a bit dramatized, but you look like that!

Your smile widens at his comment, not taking any offense by it, but Steve cuts in before you can respond, “Okay, Eddie you got your answer, come on she probably wants to unpack now,” he gives you a tight lipped smile.

“Well we can’t just do one thing.” Eddie turns around, heading back out to the moving truck full of boxes, “Come on Steve, you could use the workout, Mr. Dad Bod.” He pats Steve’s beer gut causing Steve to smack his hand away.

You rush to follow their quick steps out, “No, you guys don’t have to help! I know you’ve got a party going on,” you gesture to Steve’s backyard, the chattering and the music still going strong. You can hear screaming kids and the splashing of pool water, it sounds like a great time, you’d feel horrible if they wasted such a beautiful day on helping a stranger move in.

Steve’s quick to tilt his head at Eddie who’s currently stacking two boxes onto each other to carry into your house, “Well, she does have a point-”

“Nonsense, Steve,” Eddie glares at him before nodding over his shoulder to the boxes waiting to be brought in, “Now come on, many hands make light work.” He’s already carrying the stacked boxes through your front door.

Steve just nods, resigning himself to helping, you look at him with uncertainty, “Are you sure? You really don’t have to-”

He opens his mouth to speak, picking up a box, but before he gets a word out Eddie’s jogging back, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course he is, plus this’ll be good because once we get your stuff inside you can come over to the party and have a drink!”

His easy grin is intoxicating as he looks at you, shiny brown eyes alight with excitement, it eases your discomfort immediately. “Sure, I’d love to,” you nod, smiling to yourself as you pick up a box.

Before you can take it inside Eddie pulls it out of your hands. You frown, about to ask him what he’s doing when he reprimands you. “Nope! Ladies aren’t for working, they’re for directing men and lookin’ cute,” he grins, leaning into you for emphasis, then he’s shoving the stolen box onto the one Steve’s already holding.

You scoff at his arbitrary ruling, “But I-”

He shakes his head, cutting you off, “No ‘but’s, now show me where you want these?”

Sighing, you have an amused smile permanently etched onto your face at his insistence on helping you.

Eddie was right, many hands do make light work. The men are done in no time, all the boxes brought into your house and placed in their necessary rooms, ready to be unpacked at your convenience. You’re directing Steve where to put the last box when Eddie comes up behind you holding your vintage Coca-Cola sign.

“You like a lot of old stuff,” he points out, looking between you and the sign. He nearly squealed earlier when he saw your massive framed Metallica tour poster, it was for the Damaged Justice tour back in ‘88, the one he actually went to.

You smile at his comment, appreciating the way his t-shirt sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders, showing off his muscle definition. You can see the many tattoos littering his pale skin, he must lotion himself religiously because they all look great for his age, assuming he got them when he was younger, of course.

Midway through helping you move he had put his hair up in a low bun, his poofy curly locks resting in a knot at the knape of his neck. A few pieces seemed to have fallen free at all the bend and lifting, they’re framing his face so beautifully it makes your mouth salivate. You hope to god he had a hair tie because of how often he puts his hair up, not because he’s got a woman at home.

Only one way to find out.

“Well, what can I say? I like my stuff like I like my men,” you smile sweetly at him, taking the Coke sign from his hands and meeting his eyes, “old.”

You turn around to put the sign back where he found it, you know his eyes are on you, the feeling makes you grin. No man has ever made you feel so powerful, you’re about to turn into a dictator if he doesn’t put you in your place, and god, do you want him to.

Eddie feels like he could run a marathon from the vigor that your comment has instilled in him, he feels twenty-two again. He doesn’t know how this night will go, but he’s praying to his god, that is now you, that he can go home with you.

Steve overhears your flirtatious comment, he sees the felonious hunger in Eddie’s eyes and he’s looking for the fastest exit out of there. He’s had it up to here with the eye fucking happening between you two.

“What’s that?” He perks his head up like he’s hearing something, his voice draws both your and Eddie’s attention, “Yeah, I’ll be right there, honey!” He calls out to his wife as if she was in the other room, not in the backyard next door.

You laugh, meeting the amused eyes of Eddie before looking back at Steve.

Eddie can’t help but fuck with his friend for his poor excuse of an exit plan, “I didn’t hear anything…did you?”

You bite your lip to contain the smile threatening to take over your face at Eddie’s offer to team up against Steve, you shrug impassively, not wanting to poke fun at Steve quite yet.

Steve knows exactly what Eddie’s doing and he could punch him for it, “Yeah, well, you’re not in tune with the vibrational frequencies of a very pregnant wife,” he chastises.

He goes to leave but not before stopping at your front door, turning to face you again, “It was nice to meet you, feel free to come over and join the party if you’d like,” he throws a genuine smile your way.

“Thanks, Steve! And thank you for all your help!”

He nods and then he’s out the door, effectively leaving you all alone with Eddie for the very first time.

Eddie’s watching the door Steve just left out of as you turn a flirty smile towards him, “Is your wife calling you too,” you ask after a beat of silence, an amused tone saturating the question.

Eddie’s eyes reach yours, a small smile on his lips before he shrugs, “Don’t have one.”

It’s a simple answer, but you can never be sure what you’re walking into so you ask what feels like the most logical next question, “Widowed?”

“Single,” he quickly clears up, his eyes watching your every move with rapt attention, trying to see your reaction to the new information. Just like the siren you are, you give nothing away, remaining mysterious and alluring.

Your eyes narrow at him, tilting your head, “Looking?”

“I wasn’t.”

The conversation is like a tennis match, both of you keeping up with unbridled enthusiasm, no clear winner in sight.

You distinctly note the past tense he used to answer your last question. You wonder what he means by that, he wasn’t looking for a relationship? Is he now?

Eddie, on the other hand, is wondering how you’d look in a wedding dress, all pretty and innocent in white. He damns Robin for putting those types of thoughts in his head, always talking about how he should have a wife by now. He feels smug at the thought of showing you off to her, his pretty little wife.

But then reality crashes back through and he’s thinking about that theoretical boyfriend that might not be so theoretical. Sure, you’ve been flirting with him pretty much this whole time, but he doesn’t know what the new generation gets up to. Maybe you and your boyfriend get off on cuckolding, he doesn’t know.

Only one way to find out.

“How about you?” Narrowed eyes copying yours, nodding at you.

“Oh, I just got here. I don’t think anybody’s calling my name,” you smirk, eyes teasing.

Do you want them to, he thinks.

His smirk matches yours as he tilts his head, noting how you dodged the question, he knows you know what he was asking. You’re purposely being difficult, he’s addicted to it, he wants to figure you out and he wants you to make him work for it. You’ve got a head start already, and so far, he’s eating it up. No modern porn or nudie magazines have ever exhilarated him like you are in this moment, and he’s only known you for an hour and a half. Your voice is like an aphrodisiac in and of itself.

“You know what I was asking you,” he mutters, you shiver at the way his voice seems to have dropped an octave.

“I’m browsing,” you flash a flirty smile, an innocent shrug lifting your bare shoulders.

Eddie walks with you over to the party, introducing you around to all of the neighbors, he’s enjoying watching you socialize. He feels like he’s learning about you through watching you interact with others, and what he’s learning is he wants you.

You’re so sweet and funny it makes everybody swoon, you’re constantly surrounded by at least five people at a time. He stands close to you, listening to the stories you’re telling, the information you’re sharing about yourself. Your proximity to him intoxicates him. He feels like you’re his, like he brought his new toy to school and all his friends are jealous.

He’s only had two beers, and he feels drunk on the way you crack a joke, get the crowd laughing, then turn to him to see if he, too, is laughing. He’s got a permanent smile etched into his face at the way you throw your head back when you laugh, the way you reach to hold his arm as you giggle. He almost flatlines when he sees you with the kids.

One of the Harrington kids, little Charlotte, comes running to hide behind your legs. She’s clearly avoiding her older brother in a game of tag that has migrated a little too close to the adults. Eddie knows what’s happening, he’s seen it happen many times before. The boys play rough with each other, Charlotte asks to join just because she wants to be included, they chase her down until she’s ‘it,’ and then they spend the rest of the time easily dodging her until she ends up crying to Steve or her mom.

Before Eddie has a chance to reprimand Cameron for narrowly missing crashing his body into yours as he tags Charlotte behind your legs, you’re already leaning down to a pouting Charlotte with an open hand, palm up, a devious smile on your pretty face. You let her tag you so you’re ‘it,’ the minute her little palm slaps yours you turn to Cameron who’s watching incredulously because adults aren’t supposed to play.

You raise your brows at him, a shit-eating grin on your face, shaking your head, “You better run, kid.”

He takes off and you’re flying after him, Eddie can hear Charlotte’s giggle as Cameron screeches, “THAT’S NOT FAIR!”

He watches as you chase the boys around the yard, just absolutely terrorizing them, you successfully tag Cameron who groans dramatically. You shriek and laugh as you run away from him, perfectly juking him as you run around the playset. The other boys start yielding to you, calling you over to run away with them. They’re probably feeling the coolness emanate from your every pore, he thinks.

Eddie grins as he watches you play with the kids, he’s busy wondering if it’s possible to love someone only hours after meeting them when Robin, Steve, and Jess sidle up beside him. They’re all watching as you side shuffle, mirroring the movements of a frustrated Cameron as he tries to tag you, the playset safely dividing you two.

“I told you she’s hot,” Robin smugly punches Eddie’s shoulder making him glare at her, he can’t hold it for long though, eyes quickly going back to watch you with a smile on his face.

“I like her, she’s funny,” Steve nods approvingly.

“I agree, also, she helped avoid a meltdown. That’s wife material right there,” Jess adds, nodding at the way you pick up Charlotte to run with her in your arms away from Cameron, both of you giggling and shrieking.

Eddie has never once wanted kids, he always thought they were far too much work and not enough payout, fearing the inevitable screw up that would lead to years of therapy when they’re adults. He was fond of the Harrington clan, but he was glad to go home to a clean, quiet place. But seeing you play with the kids, the way you involved Charlotte, the way you easily navigated around a sure breakdown, it leaves him in awe.

He always thought kids would be hard, and he knows they are based on the grey hairs on Steve’s head, but he can’t help thinking you’d make it easy. Just like how you made talking easy, joking, flirting, moving heavy stuff, you made everything easy and fun. He stands there watching you, imagining how you’d treat your own kids, the kids he hopes to partake in.

He looks to the side at Jess rubbing her pregnant belly over the sundress she’s wearing, he turns back to you, picturing how you’d look pregnant. How beautiful you’d be in a sundress, how maybe he could convince you to wear nothing underneath, he imagines how distracting your growing breasts would be. The thought makes him gulp, he’s starting to think he’s in too deep already. Maybe just a little.

As the sun sets, the pool water chills causing the kids to get out, sleepy from the chlorine. The zombie-like children cause the parents to call it a night, thinning out the herd of the party. Jess has started the nighttime routine for the Harrrrington clan, baths, showers, teeth brushing, storytime, and eventually bedtime.

Steve is grilling a hotdog for you since you missed the food earlier when you were moving in. Robin and Vickie are starting a fire in the fire pit Steve built, Eddie can hear them bickering about whether log cabin style or teepee style would be most efficient.

Eddie’s with you by the ice chest, he opens it to get himself another drink, but he stops as he’s reaching for it. Instead, he turns to you, “Can I get you a beer?”

You shake your head, a polite smile on your face, “No, thank you. Just water for me, please.”

He nods, grabbing a beer for himself and a bottle of water for you, he straightens up to hand it to you before a scary thought comes to mind. As he’s about to place the chilled bottle into your outstretched hand, he freezes, pulling it back to him, “You are old enough to drink, right?”

He looks like he’s holding your water hostage until you answer his question, it makes you laugh, nodding, “Yes, I’m old enough to drink. I’m just not a beer girl.”

He lets out a relieved breath at the confirmation, “Oh thank god.

You take the water he grants you, narrowing your eyes playfully at him as you watch him pop the cap off the bottle using the edge of the ice chest, “How old are you?”

He chuckles at your question, eyes shining with mirth as they meet your playfully suspicious ones, “Older than that Metallica poster you have,” he quips, “I was at that tour.”

You smile at the mention of your Metallica poster, it’s one of your favorite vintage finds.

“Forty-three,” he concedes, “how old are you?” He tilts his chin down as he asks, eyes glued to you, the heat of his gaze makes you feel lightheaded. You decide to blame it on the summer sun, but your plan is dashed when you remember it’s nighttime now.

You try to regain some control, lighten the tension with a joke, “Well, a lady never tells, but I’ll give you a hint,” he raises his eyebrows expectantly, a pleasant smile on his face as he waits for the hint, “it rhymes with twenty-seven.”

He snorts at your set up and how plainly you answered it. He finds himself tilting his head, admiring you fondly. He’s addicted to everything about you, your humor, your flirting, the light touches you occasionally give his arms, the teasing glint to your eyes that never seems to go away.

No woman he met on the shitty dates Robin sent him on could ever compare to you, he’s never met someone who can go toe-to-toe with him when it comes to jokes or bits. He feels like he’s known you all his life, but at the same time he finds himself wishing he knew you sooner.

His thoughts are interrupted as Steve calls you over, he follows you as you grab a paper plate and accept the food from Steve.

“Thank you so much, Steve, I really appreciate you firing up the grill just for me.”

“It’s no problem, I’m glad you came to the party, you’re a really great addition to the group,” he smiles kindly at you.

His comment makes your heart soar, the feeling of being accepted so quickly warms your heart, “It’s a great group,” you compliment.

His smile broadens, feeling proud of the circle of friends he’s kept over the years. All of a sudden he hears Robin’s loud, “Damn it!”

“Excuse me, I’m gonna go help the cavewomen create fire,” he quips, leaving you to head to the folding table where the condiments sit, right next to Eddie.

Eddie was 100% eavesdropping on your interaction with Steve and he’s glad he was because he feels even more confident that he was meant to meet you, you were meant to be his.

You set your plate down on the table as you reach for the ketchup, you look at Eddie as he watches your hands work, “I like the whole retired rocker look you got going on, by the way,’ vaguely gesturing to his whole body.

Eddie snorts, “Rocker? Yes. Retired? No.”

“Oh, so you have active income then, huh?” You look at him, playfully interested like you’re sizing up a possible sugar daddy.

It makes him laugh, nodding his head, “Yeah, Head Mechanic at the garage off Piedmont. What about you?”

You smile, looking down as you close the cap to the ketchup, “Well, if you must know, my dowry is three goats and five sheep, is that enough for you?”

He feels like he smoked your teasing smirk and got high, he shakes his head fondly at your ability to make a joke out of anything. You’ve made him laugh more times today than he’s laughed in months.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m looking for actually,” his eyes twinkle with mirth.

You grin, “You know I used to have a poster of Kirk Hammett on my wall in high school,” you muse, the memory of the faded poster makes you smile, “I used to worship him, I thought he was the hottest guy I had ever seen…now I’m not so sure.”

Eddie feels warmth flood his veins, all blood rushing south at the thought of you worshipping him instead.

He shakes his head in awe, “I wish you were around when I was in high school, Hawkins women weren’t exactly down with this look,” he looks down at his ripped black jeans, studded belt, and black band shirt.

You lift the hot dog to your mouth, not biting into it just yet, “Oh, I’ll be all over you,” you say quietly, voice sultry as you maintain eye contact, finally opening your mouth and taking a big bite.

Your words, the tone you used, the eye contact, and the way you fit the phallic object into your mouth makes him huff out a sexually frustrated breath. You’ve been teasing him off and on all day and he’s pretty sure it’s making him clinically insane. He knows just what he’d prefer you have in your mouth right about now. He realizes his sanity walked out the door of his mind the second he laid his eyes on you.

You’re chewing your food with a close mouthed smile on your face, the chipmunk cheeks you’re exhibiting are not helping Eddie’s soundness of mind, it only makes him imagine how similar you’d look with his balls in your mouth.

He stutters out a breath, clinging to any shred of decency he can find, “D-Don’t you mean you ‘would have been?’”

You swallow before speaking, your mouth still closed, tongue running over your teeth, a salacious look in your eyes before you innocently smile. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?” You play confused, as if you’re not hunting him, using your best ammunition to take him down.

Eddie gulps, “I live around here,” he nods, eyes never breaking from yours like a trance. “Just three doors down that way,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder pointing in the opposite direction of your new house.

You know exactly what point he’s trying to make. Game, set, match. You win.

You smile, missing the sound of his voice when you push his buttons, “I also happen to live around here,” coyly adding, batting your lashes at him.

He sucks his teeth, eyes daring you to prolong this, “I have a bed.”

Nodding your head at his point, plain and true, “Touché.”

In a matter of moments he’s taking your plate from your hands, putting it down onto the table, grabbing your now free hands and pulling you out of the backyard. He quickly shouts his goodbyes as he passes Steve, Robin, Vickie, and an exhausted Jess rejoining the group.

“Bye guys, thanks for everything, it’s been fun, we gotta do this again, okay, see you later,” it comes out in one single breath, the group looks shocked.

You look back as Eddie pulls you away with such force you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides, “Thank you guys!” You wave at them, an apologetic look on your face.

“Use protection,” Steve shouts before laughing as Jess hits his shoulder. The last thing they see is Eddie’s middle finger as the two of you disappear around the corner of the other neighbor’s house.

“And he said I wasn’t a credible source on who’s hot,” Robin shakes her head feeling incredibly smug.

Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand even when he’s fishing into his pocket for his house key. He feels around for the right key on the split rings, pulling the set out once he finds it. Shoving the brass key in the door, he moves to the side to let you in first.

You’re giddy, you can feel how wet your panties are already. The caveman-esque way he pulled you all the way home really worked you up. You giggle at the silly bow he does, emphasizing the open door for you to walk through, “How very honorable of you,” you muse.

He shuffles in after you, flicking on the foyer lights, quickly shutting the door and locking it. He’s not planning on leaving the house for the rest of the night and he’s hoping you won’t either.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna last,” he pulls your arm, spinning you so your back is against the closed door, his hands holding both sides of your head before he pants out, “I’m planning to do some very dishonorable things to you.”

He smashes his lips to yours, a surprised moan escaping you at his desperation. Your open mouth gives him ample opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth eliciting a needy whimper from you. Your knees buckle when his hands slide down to the sides of your neck, he quickly slots his knee between your legs, his body pressing you into the door even more.

He breaks away, huffing out desperate breaths, your head feels hazy, your eyes are glazed over. You feel like you got high from just one kiss, and what a kiss it was.

“Do you want this as much as I do?” The question is breathy, he’s nuzzling his nose with yours, teasing you with an almost-kiss as he waits for your response.

The pull to his lips is so bewitching you can’t speak, only nodding as your head bobs closer to sealing the kiss. Something stops you from completing it, it’s like you’re waiting for him to do it, you’re waiting for his direction, his ‘okay.’

“Use your words,” he chastises you, you whimper, shrinking at his intensity, subconsciously lower your hips to let your clothed, aching pussy meet his thigh in an attempt to relieve the tension. When he feels what you’re doing he straightens up, pulling his leg away despite your desperate whimper trying to call the sensation back. “Tell me, do you want me as much as I want you?”

“Yes! God, yes! Please,” you whine, needing him to touch you all over, you need his thigh back.

“Yeah, you wanted me right from the start didn’t you, honey?” He tilts his head, hungry eyes roving over your pleading face. You practically preen at the delicate touch he dances across your cheek, reaching to affectionately smooth your pretty hair as he waits for you to muster up the power to respond.

“Mhm,” your eyes roll back as his rough hand travels from your hair to your jaw, holding you firm, he pulls your attention back to him.

“Flirted with me so openly, didn’t you, dirty girl?” A grin stretches across his face at the sudden embarrassment you show, mortified at being called out for your actions. You look so cute, squirming, trying to avoid his eyes despite his strong grip on your jaw leaving you very little room to look elsewhere.

“I just wanted you…,” you mutter, eyes not meeting his condescending look, he’s pouting at you, mocking your embarrassment.

“Well you got me, sweetheart. What did you wanna do with me?” He leans in to nose his face against yours, hypnotically drawing your lips in again, but never granting you a kiss. No, kisses are for good girls who answer questions.

You shrug, any confidence you had from your earlier flirting is nonexistent, the power he holds over you is too great. He’s all consuming, he’s everything you see, everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you hear, everything you taste.

“Can I tell you what I wanna do with you?”

Eagerly nodding, you’re thankful he let you off the hook with the question.

“I wanna marry you.” His face is all you can see, not a doubt in his eyes at what he just said, no freudian slip to be found.

Your stomach drops, that wakes you right up out of your love drunk haze. He should bottle those words and sell them to single women, they’d beat out the entire market of smelling salts. Your eyes are wide, your jaw dropped, you can’t believe what he just said. You just met him today and he’s apparently already sold on you. You have to admit, it is flattering to have a man want to marry you right after meeting you, you can’t say that’s ever happened to you before.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same, throughout the day you had suffered daydreams of yearly summer barbecues, a king sized bed for two, cooking meals together, group dates with Steve, Jess, Robin, and Vickie. Afflicted with thoughts of pretty rings and curly haired, brown eyed children. But you shoved them down deep into a locked box, chaining the lid shut just in case.

Now here Eddie is, pinning you against the front door of his house, kissing you breathless, picking the lock to the box filled with illicit daydreams.

He reads the shock on your face, not swayed by the reaction because he knows you’re meant to be his. He knows you won’t get married today, and maybe not tomorrow, but it will happen. There’s no way it won’t, he’s certain.

He doesn’t need your words, he doesn’t want to hear what you stumble to say in response to his profession, no amount of obfuscation from you will convince him you’re not his.

“But in terms of right this moment,” he elaborates, “I’m gonna fuck you.”

You feel like you have whiplash, his words go straight to your pussy, you feel yourself clenching around nothing. You have no words, your jaw has not picked back up since he said he wants to marry you.

“Are you gonna let me fuck you?” He tilts his chin down, eyes trapping you in an obscene staring contest.

You nod, letting out a breathy, “Please.” The need for him is starting to drive you insane.

“Good,” is all he says before he’s picking you up bridal style and carrying you up the stairs, grinning at you. You squeal in surprise at his actions, arms settling around his neck, holding on for dear life.

“I can walk, you know!” You’re terrified he’s going to drop you, but you did see him do a bunch of manual labor today and you can’t lie, he is strong.

“Ladies shouldn’t have to walk,” he admonishes, the same tone as when he scolded you for trying to move your own boxes earlier, you shake your head at his endearingly incessant need to do things for you. “And hopefully you won’t be able to when I’m done with you.”

His dirty comment makes you scoff, playfully hitting his shoulder, “You know for how much you talk about what ladies should and shouldn’t do, you certainly don’t talk to one properly.”

He grins as he sets you down onto his soft duvet, caging you in with his thick, tattooed forearms as he leans over you, eyes leering, “I can talk to you properly,” he admits, “or I can fuck you properly.”

Your breath stutters, eyes bouncing from his deadly gaze to his soft lips before ending back at his eyes.

He shrugs, lightheartedly saying, “Your choice.”

Nodding with a bite to your lip, “I’ll take option number two,” you breathily mutter.

With a grin he leans down to give you a chaste kiss, “Thought so.”

He goes to pull away from the kiss, but you pull him back, languid tongue dancing across his bottom lip before he allows you entrance. Your fingers inch into the curly locks of hair as you messily makeout with him, you feel him kneel onto the bed, settling between your legs. You blindly reach behind his head, untangling the hair tie from his hair, giving the roots a tug which earns you a pussy clenching groan from him.

He breaks away to pull your tank top over your head, a newfound fervor to see you naked, his own shirt follows suit. You sit up a little to help him peel the fabric off, opting to take your bra off while you’re up. He turns slightly to throw both tops to the corner of the room near the laundry basket, when he turns back his jaw drops at the sight of your bare breasts. You make him feel like a teeanger all over again, he feels like he could bust in his jeans just at the sight of your half-naked body.

“Fuckkkk,” he groans, hands groping your chest. “You have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, baby, been lookin’ at them all day.”

You moan at the rabid touch of his needy hands, the fire in your veins making you so sensitive to his every squeeze and grope. He pushes your breasts together, leaning down to attach his greedy mouth to one of your perked nipples. His lithe tongue circles the sensitive nub before giving it a light bite. That action earns him a pornographic moan birthed right from your parted lips. He mouths at the one nipple before moving onto the other one, his thumb toying with the one he just left.

When he nips at the second one you instinctively tug his hair eliciting a muffled groan from him, his mouth full of your tit. You can feel how hard he is, his hips grinding into your thigh for relief. The imprint of his hard cock is making you impatient, you just want to feel him inside you now, you want to feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock. You moan at the nonstop attention to your peaked nipples, the thought of how it’ll feel when the head of his cock pierces your entrance and the relief that will wash over you leads you to pull his head off of your tits.

When he gazes up at you, he’s got a fucked out look on his face like he was getting off just from sucking on your tits, you can even see a string of saliva connecting his wet lips to your chest. The sight of his slobber on your breasts, the blooming of accidental hickies on the sensitive skin makes you whine.

“Eddie, please, I need you.” He nods, immediately working down your body, kissing and licking any skin he can reach.

His hands are shaky with need as he unbuttons your shorts, working them down your legs. He moves to kiss your thighs, assessing exactly where he’s going to leave bite marks when you put your hands on his shoulders, effectively halting his movements. He looks up at you, concerned he did something wrong already.

Your brows are furrowed, you know what he wants, but you don’t think this is the right time. “Eddie, I’ve been in the hot sun all day…”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, he’s trying to read your face because he doesn’t understand why you’re bringing that up. So was he, he was with you, all day. Are you just saying true facts about your day? He doesn’t think now is the time to do that, but if that’s what you want to do he’ll oblige. Weird foreplay, but to each their own, he thinks.

“I cheated at cornhole,” he admits earnestly.

You frown at him, what the fuck is he talking about? He looks so genuine, it makes you laugh, “What?”

Okay, now he’s very confused, his arms are still resting on your doughy thighs, his elbows just outside both of your legs, leaning his real weight onto the bed. “What what?”

You shake your head at him, an amused look overtaking your face, “I just mean I got kinda sweaty playing tag with the kids…,” you look at him hoping he gets it, but when you see zero recognition in his eyes you continue. “I don’t think now is the time for you to-,” you can’t bring yourself to say it, embarrassment taking over.

Thankfully though, Eddie finally catches on. He’s relieved you’re not actually into the weird foreplay of revealing truths because he doesn’t want to tell you about the boner he got from watching you eat a hotdog.

“Oh! No,” he waves a dismissive hand, “honey, that's what I like to call seasoning,” he grins, leaning toward you as he says it.

His wandering fingers inch under the elastic at the top of your hips, preparing to pull your panties down, but you stop him again with your concerned words.

“But I’m not-,” a frustrated breath leaves your lips. You’re frustrated, not at his actions, no, but at the feeling of having to preface this in the case that he pulls your panties down and hates what he sees, or god forbid, tastes. “I’m not…trimmed…or anything.”

He looks at you like you just told him the most ridiculously stupid thing ever, he shakes his head, a frown clear and present in his eyes and on his face. “Baby, I was around in the 70s,” he implores, “I might not have been sexually active then, but I was still stealing my uncle’s nudie magazines. I’ve seen a few things, explored a few jungles in my time,” a smile creeps up his lips.

You roll your eyes at his crass terminology, feeling a pinch to your heart at the thought of him with other women.

“I earned my forestry badge, okay? So let me in there!” His eyes are shining with amusement, enjoying the cringe his words bring you. You’ll get used to how nasty he can be, it’s only down from here, he was on his best behavior today. He starts pulling your panties down when you speak up again.

“Eddie-”

“If you try to make up another excuse to keep me from this pretty little pussy I will gag you with your own panties,” his stern voice cuts you off, eyes dangerous as he reprimands you. You immediately close your mouth, your eyes wide, he’s got your full attention now. “I don’t know what boys you’ve been fucking, but only ra real man deserves such a perfect cunt, and I’m Him. You understand me?”

His confidence makes even more arousal flood your already damp panties, you’re about ready to let him do anything he wants to your body. You nod quickly, granting him access, breath quickening as he yanks your underwear off before stuffing them into his back pocket. He rubs his face against your thighs and you shiver at the scratchy stubble. Your pussy’s pumping out slick like it knows Eddie’s huge, sure to give you all the natural lube it can for when he fucks you.

He nuzzles into the wiry curls on your mound, your breath catches when you feel a suck of air, realizing he just took a deep whiff. You’re too turned on at this point to be embarrassed, your arousal is dripping from your needy hole, you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t touch you in the next five seconds. When he noses the hair guarding your slit, a lock of long, brown, curls fall in front of him.

He lets go of your thighs to reach for your hands, pulling them into his hair, making you hold the curls into a makeshift ponytail that will double as a rein. If you had known he’d be going down on you you wouldn’t have taken his bun out, but it’s too late now, you have no idea where the hair tie is.

When your hands are securely in his hair he takes one arm and wraps it around your thigh from underneath, guiding your leg over his shoulder and holding it hostage. He takes the other hand and rests his arm lightly on your pelvis to part your pussy lips from above, he leans in to give a long lick with a flat tongue, just getting a taste for you. He moans at the flavor, you have no idea just how much he doesn’t care that you were out in the sun sweating all day. He feels like he could cum just from the tangy taste dancing on his tongue.

You moan at the feel of the wet muscle, it feels like you can finally breathe when he explores your folds. You’ve wanted him all day, burned for him for hours on end, and just like a cool drink of water- he’s quenching your thirst.

He gives quick flutter licks to your hole, just teasing you to get a reaction. It doesn’t disappoint, you’re whining, hips gyrating with need. He alternates between light pressured licks to your clit and plunging his tongue as deep as he can into your tight hole. He’s got you breathing heavy in no time, his fingers squeeze the fat of your thighs as he grinds his pulsing cock into the bed. You let out a pathetic mewl when he speeds up his actions, licking you like you’re ice cream, your hips occasionally jump when his nose catches your clit.

You can feel your hole clenching around nothing, needing just a little more to get you there, the dull ache building in your stomach. “M-More, please, I need more,” you cry out.

He’s more than happy to oblige, the hand that had been spreading your lips moves under his body, you feel a thick finger breach your entrance and it makes your hips jump and stomach clench. The sound of your moans and his dexterous fingers plunging into your drenched cunt fill the room. It makes him groan, the vibrations from it causing you to whimper.

“Oh p-please, oh god, I’m so close, please Eddie,” you whine, bucking your hips against his face.

He thrusts his finger in and out before adding another to stretch your tightening hole, you moan at the fit. He nods his head up and down on your pussy, licking messily, then he’s vigorously shaking his head side to side in your folds, slurping your juices up.

The lewd sound pushes you right to the precipice of your orgasm, “Eddieee!” The squeal you let out has him chuckling, you can’t help but interpret it as condescending and that only makes you clench tightly around his fingers, inching you even closer to your peak.

At the feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers he moves his tongue to make quick, tight circles around your clit causing you to tumble over the edge practically screaming. Seeing stars and desperate for nonstop pressure to work you through your climax, you shove his face against your pussy. You’re pressing hard, in need of all encompassing pleasure, in need of his cock inside your pulsing hole.

You’re basically grinding your cunt on his face and it has his hips jerking into the bed, wishing he was inside you already. The feel of your velvety walls squeezing his fingers in pulsing intervals has him moaning at the thought of you doing that around his cock. He can’t wait anymore, he pulls his fingers out once you come down from your high, shoving them into his mouth and relishing in the taste of your cum.

You’re too busy catching your breath, never having experienced such an all-consuming orgasm like that before. You feel like you’re floating when you feel him hover over you again, his hungry eyes looking borderline felonious the way they rove over your face. You look down between your bodies, noticing he’s fully naked now, hard, leaking cock hanging just above where you need him most.

You nearly gulp at the sight of him, he felt big when you felt him against your leg earlier, but this is a lot. He’s the biggest you’ve ever taken and you’re not sure if you can take him. The way his length bobs when he shuffles forward feels like a threat, you must look concerned because he leans down to give you a chaste kiss.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll make it fit,” he smoothes the hair by your temple, the soft actions and his dirty words make you preen, a whimper leaving your mouth.

“Do you want me to put on a condom?” He didn’t do it on the off chance that you’d let him inside you raw, the thoughts of you pregnant whispering in his mind. He’s being driven insane by visions of his cum leaking out of your stretched out hole, the sight of you carrying his child, the way he’d take you from the back as your big bump rests on the bed beneath your arched body.

Your eyes are wide, suddenly feeling like a virgin at the prospect of fitting all of him inside you. You’re certainly not, but he makes you feel so small, so taken care of, you feel like you need him bare inside you. You need to know what it feels like, you’ll worry about the consequences later. Famous last words.

You shake your head, pouting lips parted as you huff, all desperate and needy, your chest moves up and down, coaxing a nip from him. You mewl at the quick attention to your breasts.

He looks up at your face from your chest, “No?”

He got it the first time when you shook your head, but he’s having so much fun treating you like you’re glass. It's like you're his sweet, innocent baby—his cute little neighbor needing him to talk her through it. You shake your head again, confirming your previous sentiment.

“You want me to cum inside you, honey?” He coos, he can’t help the way he talks down to you, you make it so easy with your wet, pleading eyes. His question seems to work on you because you whimper, enthusiastically nodding your head, hands needy as you try to pull his body toward your open legs. He lets you pull him closer, but that’s about as much as he lets you do.

“Wanna feel you- please,” you whine at his resistance to get any closer, your nails dig into his sides as you try to pull him exactly where you need him most.

He chuckles at your pleading, his amusement quickly halts, though, when you reach between your bodies, hand encircling his rock hard cock, guiding it to your hole. He’s quick to grab your hands and pin them above your head, a stern reprimand leaving his lips, “Be good.”

You whimper again, rolling your hips against nothing, searching for release.

“I choose when I fuck you, got it?”

You nod your head vigorously, eager to please him after getting in trouble.

“That goes for after this, too, you understand?” He looks into your eyes expectantly, expression firm, his lips remain in a thin line.

“Yes, sir! Please- I’ll be good!” You beg, signing on to be his whenever he needs a release. You’ll be a ready, open hole, with pleasure. The ‘sir’ just slipped out, but you’re glad it did because he seemed to like it.

“You gonna let me fuck you raw,” your quick nod answering his question, “You want me to breed your tight little pussy, baby?” You let out an uncontrollable moan, you’d be embarrassed at how whorish you sound if you had any shame left.

“Please breed me, I want your cum, sir- please!” You cry out, rolling your hips again, seeking out his waiting cock.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, you’re pleading is breaking him down. He reaches for his cock, leaving both your wrists to remain pinned by his one hand. He guides the ruddy tip to your soaked, pulsing hole, rubbing up and down your slit, gathering all your wetness onto his cock. The movement earns him another moan that would put pornstars to shame, you’re thankful for the small relief it brings the coiling need in your stomach, but you crave more.

“You gonna let me put a baby in you, honey?”

Forget the fact that you just met him today, you’d sign onto anything he suggested as long as you get to do this with him again, as long as you get to hold him at the end of the day. It doesn’t hurt that these sweet nothings, well- dirty nothings, are feeding every fantasy you had today. Especially the one you had at the sight of him holding the littlest Harrington, the way his tattooed arms held the baby girl. His thick forearm a seat for the little bundle of joy, his large hands softly patting her back as he bounced and rocked her on his chest.

“Yes, please put a baby in me, Eddie! I need you- I just- please, god, please!” You’re bordering on incoherent at this point, it makes him smile, taking mercy on your fried brain.

He pushes the fat head of his cock past your entrance, the stretch is so tight you can feel where your walls cling to him once the mushroom tip pops inside you. You cry out at the feeling, desperately refraining from rolling your hips onto him, you don’t want him to take away what little he’s given you.

“Alright, honey,” he breathes out, trying to pace himself and not blow his huge load inside of you at just the tip, “I’ll give you a baby, but only because you begged for it.”

The moment the last word leaves his mouth he thrusts all the way into you, knocking the air out of your chest, your loudest moan yet rings out around the room. He groans at the way your gummy walls nearly choke his thick cock, his head falls beside yours as he breathes through the all-consuming feeling. The hand that isn’t holding your wrists trails up the side of your body, groping your tit as he tries to calm down.

When he’s certain he won’t cum too soon, he starts a bruising pace, muttering out curses at the way your moans sync with the pulsing of your pussy. “Fuck, honey, this the tightest cunt I’ve ever felt.”

You moan at his words, taking it as a compliment, mind reeling at the feel of every ridge, every bump, every throbbing vein of his massive cock. You’re letting out uncontrollable, ‘unh unh unh unh’s at the deep, penetrating thrusts he gives you, lips permanently parted at his intrusion.

The constant panting and moaning in his ear is pushing him nearly over the edge, he ravenously attacks your neck, tongue gliding over it, biting and kissing the sensitive skin. He knows he’s too close to stop now so he continues his punishing pace, reaching down with his free hand to rub your clit.

He circles your clit only once before you’re thrown off the edge of your second orgasm, your mouth is uncontrollable, you’re spewing the nastiest shit he’s ever heard and it gets him there.

“Fuck,” your voice is a high pitched whine, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck meee!”

“Please, god, OH!”

“Cum inside me, breed me, please, sir, please- fuck your fucking cum inside me unhhh!”

He groans, hips faltering as he jerks forward repeatedly. His stomach is clenching as he spills rope after thick rope of his milky white, hot cum into you.

You’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath as he settles on top of you, shivering from the power of his orgasm. He’s never cum that hard before, he feels like his spirit has separated from his body, only vaguely aware of his throbbing cock still inside you. His hand loosens, letting your wrists go, your arms move to wrap him into a warm embrace. You pet his sweaty hair, your other hand lightly scratching his damp back.

When his spirit floats back down into his body he feels like he’s in heaven, the way you hold him like he’s so delicate, it’s such a contrast to the roles you both fell into earlier. His cock is softening and he can feel it slipping out of your used hole, it makes him gently pull away, allowing his cock to fall out of you fully. You watch him as he looks down at your messy pussy, he smiles at the way your hole clenches, the muscles still working through the power of your orgasm. The intermittent constriction of your walls pushes his cum out of you, he watches as it creeps down to your ass.

You gasp as you feel him collect his own spend, pushing it back into your quivering hole. When he removes his fingers, they’re covered in a mix between his cum and your juices, you grab his wrist and pull his fingers into your mouth. Moaning at the taste of the spunky combination, you stare him down with the heat of a thousand burning suns in your sultry eyes.

His mouth falls open as he watches you, his soft cock jumps at the view, in a flash he’s reaching under your ass, propping you up against his thighs. He’s got your hips angled up to the ceiling, you laugh at the sharp movement, loving how he manhandles you.

“What-”

“I wasn’t kidding before, I’m making this shit stick.” You realize he’s angled you so his cum won’t leave your pussy, it’ll just pool in your hole. He’s hoping to go one for one, but he has no problems trying again. You’re going to have his baby, he’s going to make sure of it. He meant it before, but after seeing you lick the mix of juices off his fingers he’s thinking about where the nearest ring shop is.

You laugh at the serious look in his eyes, biting your lip as you flirt, “Which one is it? What’s first, a baby or marriage?” You smile at his inability to figure out what he should do first, his words and thoughts contradicting himself throughout the night.

“Both,” he grins, leaning down to kiss you like it’s the last time. You know it isn’t

A/N: the way they didn’t use protection after Steve told them to, smh. Also, yes, she has his baby, yes, they get married, yes, he’s insatiable, yes, Steve and Robin make fun of him endlessly, yes, he gets called a cradlerobber and other things by them.

Like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed. Comments, especially, encourage me to get nastier wit it.

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fckeddiemunson · 6 months ago

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fckeddiemunson · 6 months ago

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nah cuz mean david loki is hella hot but then when he’s in you he completely melts and whines like a bitch

I’m gonna rip my hair out.

Bother

- Detective Loki

This gif makes me cum sorry

Summary: Seeing you talk back to him, David gets more bothered than he should, in ways he definitely shouldn’t.

Warnings: arguing, degradation, groping, semi public sex, mirror sex, change of dynamics, David is pathetic, piv sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1379

Notes: Hey, so this is ass. I still wanted to give this a try even though I’m not very good at writing mean characters. Hope you find it alright still xx :)

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If there was one thing David liked, it was being in control. Or at least feeling like he was. However, this didn’t mean that he never lost it.

Working for him entailed being bossed around a lot. There was never a moment to catch your breath, but continuous tasks, one after the other, for 8 hours straight. File this paper, call that department, email the forensics, go through the CCTV footage, copy this transcript. Through all of this, David remained stoic and stern, even though his wandering eyes told another story.

This way of work didn’t usually bother you; in fact, it was nice not being bored. But on bad days, God, you wanted to rip David’s head off. And if he got frustrated enough, his clothes too. On this particular day, you couldn’t make yourself do anything but stare at the wall and linger by the coffee machine. It got on David’s nerves; it was obvious by the way his forehead vein showed with the clenching of his jaw. With his work ethic, he couldn’t wrap his head around your slacking. He also couldn’t wrap his head around why this made him want to push you up against the wall instead of slamming your head into it. The latter bothered him the most.

“You didn’t send out that email,” he pointed out when you came back from the coffee machine, again, cup in hand. “Sorry, I’ll get to it. Just tired today,” you excused yourself; he didn’t seem to care. You weren’t weak, but getting told off felt horrible, so you complied. “We’re all tired today,” he mumbled back as if to say, ‘I don’t care if you’re tired. Do your job.’

You sat back down in the uncomfortable office chair, put your coffee on the desk, and opened your computer back up. Dear Pavlikovsky,. Regarding the skin cells collected from the steering wheel in the Finch case… You could finally think of words and actually put them into text. But life wasn’t going to be that easy, so to even it out, your elbow knocked your coffee cup over, spilling its contents across your desk before you were able to catch it. “Jesus Christ,” David sighed, “Can you do anything?” Like you needed to hear that, like you weren’t already pissed off at yourself and him. “I’m trying here!” you said back, accidentally raising your voice at him. He didn’t like that, not at all. “Yeah? Well, you should try harder,” he countered, matching your volume.

This was your final straw. You got up and left the room, making a straight line for the restrooms. Fuck this job, fuck David, and fuck Pavlikovsky. You pushed the door open and stepped into the tiled room. All the stalls were empty this time of day, thank God. You turned on the sink before splashing your face with water, drying it, and sighing. You closed your eyes for a few seconds, trying to collect yourself. 1, 2, 3, 4… But then the door opened, which was weird since you were the only woman left.

“Hey, no need to barge out like that.” Sigh. His voice was lower, but neither kinder nor calmer. “Why not?” You looked at him through the mirror, and for once he didn’t look like a dictator waiting to point fingers. “Because I like to be respected,” he explained while stepping forward, standing a foot behind you. He looked down on you in the reflection, with his arms crossed and eyes blinking compulsively from frustration. “Why should I respect you if you don’t even like me?” Maybe you should have kept quiet, but it was time to rip off the band-aid anyway. He snickered at this, at you. “I don’t dislike you.” David felt himself abandoning his morals as he took a step forward, pressing his crotch against you. “But I can’t stand you constantly disrupting me.”

Why he did this, he had no idea. Or he knew why he wanted to; he just didn’t understand how he could have. But as you had abandoned your tasks and disrespected his orders, his mind had gone elsewhere while his blood rushed to his groin. Control was slipping away.

It took a second for you to register what was happening, widening your eyes once you realized that your laziness wasn’t going to be punished but rewarded. You weren’t complaining about the change of events, not at all. In fact, this might get you back on track. Seeing this authoritative man fighting to keep his composure had arousal swirling in your stomach. His nostrils flared as his breathing deepened, seeing his crotch pressed up against you.

“I won’t stop you,” you admitted even though you still had some anger lingering. David looked relieved for a moment, a rare sighting. He placed one of his hands on your ass, making you lean your upper body against the sink and press back up against his erection. “Do you always slut yourself out like this?” he asked you, but didn’t back off. Instead, He pulled your pants down and squeezed the exposed skin.

Even though you had a hard time understanding his thought process, you didn’t question him. Especially when you saw him undo his pants in the reflection. You weren’t going to ruin this. You backed up against him once again. He hummed quietly through gritted teeth, still trying to maintain control.

“You did this,” he pointed out; it almost sounded like a threat, before pulling your panties down. The sight stirred him up, made him twitch in his boxers. He ran a finger through your folds, scoffing at your wetness, making you blush with embarrassment. He pulled his cock out, stroking it a few times before lining himself up. His breath grew shaky when your wetness warmed his tip; his eyelids even fluttered. He was slipping out of it.

He pushed in and whimpered like a bitch as your warmth hugged him. You couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You weren’t the slut here; he was. Getting riled up seeing you pissed off and then following you to the bathroom, hoping he would be granted some relief, that's pathetic.

He was moving inside of you slowly, too slowly. Realizing how weak he was made you take the wheel. So you pushed yourself onto his cock, without warning or concern. His nails dug into your hips as he whined at your sudden move. His mind kept telling him to keep his focus, to not lose himself. But he did. He was expecting to fuck you, not to be fucked. His plan had crumbled.

His hips made weak thrusts as you fucked yourself on him, mindlessly moving. The view in the mirror made your stamina feel infinite. His furrowed brows and slack jaw. And the cries spilling from his mouth were like a drug, making everything electric and your brain fuzzy. David thought he was going to melt into a puddle; he hadn’t had sex in so long he had forgotten how fucking good it could be.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he mewled and gripped your skin tighter, forgetting how strong he was even when he was being pathetic. His hands would come to leave purple bruises on your hips. “You’re a weird fucking guy, David.” You scoffed as you tried to keep your tone strict amidst your struggling breaths. To your surprise, David’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at your words. Regret built in him, which for some reason made his arousal do the same, making him feel even more ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled in his strained, high-pitched, whiny voice.

You upped your pace, making him fully moan. His noises bounced off the cold tile, echoing through the room. His hair was a mess; strands were falling down over his face. You almost felt proud, betting very few people ever got to see David like this.

He came with a loud whine; it almost sounded more like a sob. The fact that you had your superior cumming inside of you was a rush. You backed away from him, pulling off of his cock. “So this is why I bother you,” you turned around and huffed, “Just let me know next time you're horny so I don’t have to make a scene.”

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fckeddiemunson · 6 months ago

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𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓝𝓾𝓷, 𝓡𝓾𝓷!

Pairing: Dark!Vampire!Coriolanus x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Coriolanus, Vampire!Coriolanus, Evil!Coriolanus, Nun!Reader, Virgin!Reader, P in V, Oral (male receiving), Throat Fucking, Creampie, Slight Breath Play, Slight Bondage, Predator/Prey Kink, Fear Kink (?), Blood, Biting, Branding (he carves his initials into her skin), Burning (she burns him with a cross), Dirty Talk, Humiliation/Name Calling (ex: whore, slut, cocksleeve), Corruption Kink, Murder, Death/Dead bodies on screen, Talk about bodily injuries/gore (ex: throat ripped out, breaking bones, scratching hard enough to bleed, burning skin, carving initials into skin), A lot of praying, Author probs going to hell cause this is her second fic about a nun being fucked/noncon-ed

Word Count: 10.9K

A/N: Inspired by this ask because it asked me my thoughts on Vampire!Coryo and clearly i have many.

A/N 2: Coryo might be a little OOC cause I'm not used to writing him yet and this is a different setting than TBOSAS soooo you've been warned lol. I tried tho!

Summary: Something evil has taken over the halls of the convent. Your Sisters are dying, their screams ringing in your ears as they cry and plead, begging God for mercy that He can't provide. One by one they're killed by the devil with sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue. He's coming for you next and you have nowhere to hide when he comes for your soul.

At first you think you’re dreaming it - the screaming, the cries, the pleas for mercy.

They cut through the fog of sleep, a sharp knife piercing through the veil of dreams that were too mundane to be of importance for your brain to remember. Or maybe you weren’t dreaming at all, enjoying the stillness that comes with the night and the only other moment of true peace that can be found to just be one with God and His glory outside of active prayer.

Panic rips through you, your body tensing and jerking awake in the same way that you jerk awake from a dream where you fall from a great height. Tossing the blanket off, you scramble off the bed, the old wood creaking under the abrupt shift in weight as your bare feet find the floor. The screaming is relentless, the sound laced with unfounded terror and you stare at the door of your room in horror, looking at it but not really seeing it as much as trying to see through it as if you could see what was causing such a reaction from here.

The screams sound like they’re far, loud enough to carry through the convent but far enough that you can guess they’re coming from the other set of dormitories all the way across the building. You’re frozen in your spot, eyes wide as you hear the screams rip through the usual quiet of the convent. It's well into the night and the Grand Silence had begun to be observed since its marker of evening prayer. It’s a time for quiet - personal reflection, rest, and prayer until its conclusion at sunrise beginning with morning prayer. Sound hasn’t been uttered in these halls during this time in all the years you have been positioned here, and certainly not this kind of sound - the terrified screams, the desperate cries.

Something horrible is happening here. Your Sisters are in trouble.

A scream almost rips from your own throat when your door swings open, but the familiar sight of Sister Agnes keeps the sound at bay. Her face is ashen, fear striking her normally good-spirited features as she quickly closes the door shut behind her.

“Sister,” You speak, voice low and shaky. “What’s happening?”

“A devil is here,” She says, frantically. “A demon. Here to kill and torture and corrupt us all to Hell.”

“What?!”

“Sister, please!” She rushes to the chair housing your habit and yanks it off the backrest, pressing it into your chest. “Please, hurry! We must leave!”

You fumble with your habit, jerking it over your undertunic and doing your best to fit your veil on your head as you slip your bare feet into your shoes. A devil here in the house of the Lord? How is this possible? The land here is holy, consecrated under God’s divine power and kept active by His devote servants that serve here. No evil power should be able to enter. And yet, the screams you are hearing are proof that it is possible - that evil has indeed entered this sacred place and is tainting the very place you’ve felt God’s presence the most.

The only place you’ve ever felt truly safe.

Sister Agnes opens the door when you scramble to her side. It’s dark in the hallway, only the dim emergency lights along the walls allow you any sort of visibility in the otherwise black of the hall. Whatever it is must have cut the power before beginning its attack. Her hand reaches out to clasp yours and you allow it gratefully, squeezing her fingers with yours to keep her close as if she could be ripped away from you at any second.

“Where is it?” You whisper. It’s in the opposite wing, you know that. Sister Anges’s room is on the other side of the convent as yours. She would have had to run across the building to come warn you of the breach.

“Sister Agatha has fallen,” She whispers back and you suck in a deep breath of sorrow. “He came so quietly, made no sound. The front door is still locked shut, all the windows intact, I don’t know how–” She cuts herself off and continues to drag you down the hallway. Her voice is thick with tears. “He came for me next, lunged at me. Sister Theresa saved my life. She’s gone too, God bless her soul.”

You heard the screams and still, the news of your Sister’s gruesome deaths shocks you to your core. Sister Theresa was your mentor here during your first year at the convent, and Sister Agatha had only freshly said her vows. They’re gone - lives ripped away from them in a matter of minutes by a devil with no soul.

Sister Agnes leads you through the halls towards the main entryway. You peek into rooms as you pass them, eyes frantic and head on a swivel for any movement that’s not friendly. Sister Ruth and Sister Sophia’s doors are already open as you and Sister Agnes scramble down the hall. You hope that means that they’ve already gotten out and gotten to safety. There are periods of silence where the screams are cut to a halt, a result of their owner being mercilessly ripped from this world before their time. You feel hopeless as you run through the convent towards the exit. It feels like abandoning God and the beautiful place that He’s guided His followers to build. It feels wrong that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It feels like failure.

The entry area has a little more light, emergency lights flickering slightly but still on as you take in the scene in front of you. There’s blood on the floor, the stream of it flowing and making its way into the grout between the tiles, following the line of it as it copies the pattern. There’s blood, but no body - although the smearing line leading to the kitchen just off the entryway is story enough to know what happened. One of your Sisters was dragged away just feet from the door.

The door itself is still closed. Locked. You wonder if anyone has actually made it out yet.

Sister Agnes freezes at the sight of the blood like you do, her hand tightening even more around yours as she lets out a sobbing gasp.

“Lord, have mercy,” She whimpers.

“Come on,” You say, pulling her. “Hurry,”

You take a step, urging you both towards the door, and then you’re being shoved forward instead. Sister Agnes’s body flies forward, her hand still locked onto yours dragging your body with her as she’s tackled to the floor. You fall to your knees next to her, directly next to the Vampire straddling her hips, his hand spanning the entire length of her face as he pushes her head back against the bloody tile. Your scream matches Sister Agnes’s as he tears into her throat. Her screams of terror pierce your heart just as deeply as his teeth pierce her flesh. You can’t see his face as he digs it into the crook of her neck, but you can see hers - can see the panic in her eyes as they flick around but never actually catching on anything, can see how her mouth opens and closes with a mixture of terrible screams until those screams turn raspy and then silent altogether as he drains her.

Her hand is still on yours like a vice grip and you’re sorry, so so sorry, but it's too late for her. Sister Agnes is still here, still in the world of the living, still moving and silently screaming but you know she’s as good as dead. You’re going to die too if you don’t do something. Tears race down your cheeks as you try to pull your hand from hers, your vision blurring the more you panic when you can’t free yourself.

The monster reaches out, not bothering to stop drinking as his hand wraps around Sister Agnes’s wrist. Bile rises in your throat when you hear the sickening crunch of her bones splintering under the increasing pressure of his hold. They shatter like glass, the cracking sounds embedding themselves in your memory, but her shattered wrist forces her hand to loosen around your own and with another desperate tug you’re able to free yourself from her dying grasp.

You scramble up onto your feet and watch as the last remains of consciousness drain from Sister Agnes’s eyes. She was your best friend.

The Vampire is directly between you and the door. You can’t do it. If you try to make a break for the exit, he would catch you for sure before you even made it past the door frame. And even if you were to make it outside, it’s still dark out, the sun still hours from being overhead in any way that could possibly keep you safe from an undead demon of darkness. You make a split decision and turn to run the opposite way instead, deeper into the convent.

This time you do scream when you run into another body. Sister Sophia, pale face made even more pale by the lack of blood in her body, lays discarded on the ground at the beginning of the hallway. Her veil is pulled halfway off her head and her blonde hair is stained with blood. She hasn’t just been drained - her entire throat has been ripped out.

“Sister y/n!” A voice hisses and your attention is called to just further down the hall where Sister Ruth crouches beside another body, her hand resting gently on their forehead. You run towards her, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the Vampire isn’t stalking his way down the hall yet and you see that the second body is Sister Runa. Perhaps he was more gentle with her, she looks like she’s just sleeping except for the red stained white collar at her throat.

“We have to go,” She says, pulling her hand from Sister Runa’s forehead. She grabs your arm, pulling you down the hallway. She doesn’t need to pull you, you’re already running as fast as your legs can carry you, and yet somehow she’s still pulling you - urging you to run faster, hustle harder. Your life is at stake, y/n. Run! “We can lock ourselves in the Chapel! Pray to God and beg Him for–”

Sister Ruth doesn’t catch the flash of movement on her right, the dark silhouette of the man crouched on the shoulders of the statue of the Virgin Mary. He leans out into the fluorescent lights of the hall, blond curly hair and equally as curled grin already matted in red to show the evil he’s already done. You don’t have time to think about how he got there, how impossible it is that he’s in front of you right now when he should be coming from behind you. He’s quick as lightning as he jumps from his perch on the statue and grabs Sister Ruth, pulling her towards him so her back is pressed against his front and he’s trapped her arms against her own chest. The flash of fangs is all you see before he buries them in her neck. She screams when he bites her. Her eyes squeeze shut as she wails, but your eyes never leave her. You can’t look away, can’t think, can’t move.

He’s drinking from her but he’s looking at you, inhuman blue eyes swirling into black like ink as they bore into you like a predator watching his next prey. He growls against her neck, a possessive and cruel sound that almost sounds more like a laugh than anything else, and the sound of it makes a fresh sob bubble in your throat.

“Sister y/n,” Sister Ruth rasps, and your eyes snap away from his and back to hers. Her eyes are hooded now, body quickly losing color from blood loss and her voice, once beautiful and rich, by far the best singer at the convent, sounds like sandpaper. “Run,”

You don’t hesitate. For her sake, and for yours, you do.

Your Sisters are all dead.

Sister Theresa.

Sister Agnes.

Your shoes smack against the white and gold tile of the floor, the colors interwoven together beautifully to look like marble. Most days you like to admire it on your walk to the Chapel for morning prayer, a beautiful detail created with the utmost love in honor of God and the place He can call His house.

It’s not morning yet, and the beautiful marble of the tile is splattered in bright red.

Sister Agatha.

Sister Runa.

The smack of your shoes against the tile is louder still as you run faster, the echo of your sob drowning out the thick clacks of your heel as the sound bounces off the arched walls of the hallway.

Sister Sophia.

Sister Ruth.

You want to help her, find some way to save her.

You can’t even save yourself.

A devil has taken over a House of the Lord, an evil spirit in his undead body roaming the world in the cover night with sharp teeth and wicked eyes that gleam in the darkness right before he pounces and sinks his teeth into his prey. You’ve heard of Vampires before - Mother Superior had drilled their existence into your head no matter how impossible it seemed that they could be real.

“If God is real, child, what makes you think demons are not as well,”

Children of God reduced to prey by ones who were also once held in His holy cradle, now desecrating His love by trading their souls to the Devil in exchange for immortality. Forced to take another’s life just to sustain their own and relishing in that need anyway, finding joy and satisfaction in the hunt and the torment they cause once they’ve caught you.

You need to move, need to get to the Chapel. It’s the only place you have a chance at being safe.

You keep running, sprinting for the Chapel. Seeing the tall ornate door frame to the Chapel feels like the first moment you saw it all over again. Four years ago when you first took your vows, seeing the intricate carvings in the wood of the frame felt like a blessing being bestowed on you. It was the entrance to a place that was holy, filled and overwhelmed with God’s presence, a sanctuary and place of eternal safety for you for the rest of your days.

Now it's the only hope of sanctuary you have. You try not to think of the irony that the rest of your days have come this soon.

An agonized sob wretches from your chest when you see her. Mother Superior - your mentor, your confidant, the woman who took you under her wing when you were lost in this world and had nothing, the woman who taught you how to be someone worthy of the title Sister. You love your Sisters, the people who you consider family in both the spiritual and the physical. Sister Agnes - your best friend. But seeing Mother Superior’s mangled body feels like the stab of a knife directly to your heart.

She’s slumped against the thick wood of the doorway, white coif ripped and stained a brutal red. Her head is tilted to the side, exposed neck muddled with the matching red on her coif and adorned with twin puncture wounds. The punctures are still bleeding, but Mother Superior is no longer alive to notice.

“I’m so sorry,” You cry. You kneel down beside her and bless yourself with the sign of the cross on her behalf. “May God be with you and keep you safe in your journey to Him,”

You can’t delay anymore. Sister Ruth has told you what to do and Mother Superior would have told you the same. You cross the threshold into the Chapel and close the doors behind you. They’re large and heavy and hard to push shut, but the adrenaline coursing through your body is very helpful in making a usually two person task doable for just one.

“So do not fear, for I am with you,” You recite as you push the doors. “Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you,” You grunt as you pull the thick board down from the side, it thuds into place, hefty and sturdy as it locks the two doors together. You wonder if it was built to protect in a time like this. “And help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

Deep breath. Just breathe.

Breathe and pray and hope for mercy.

You turn around intent on going to kneel in front of the altar but a flash of green tossed along the edge of a pew catches your attention. Horror floods your body once again as you recognize it for what it is - Father Gregory’s stole. And you can see it from here, the smattering of blood along the edge and you know that Father Gregory, the poor devout priest who was only meant to be here for one single day, acting as the active voice of God to hear the burdens of you and your fellow Sisters and free you from your sins, has also succumbed to the devil stalking these hallowed halls.

You rush down the aisle and throw yourself in front of the altar, knees pressing into the hard tile as you clasp your hands together.

Prayer is all that can help you now.

Your words of praise are muddled with desperate pleas for mercy. The stained glass along the walls of the Chapel are usually beaming bright and beautiful with light, but the dark of night doesn’t reflect the color and only the dim emergency lights of the dying Chapel overheads is all you have to keep you from seeing demon shadows of movement where there is none.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,

On earth as it is in Heaven,”

You jump, a sobbing gasp mingling with the rushed words of your praying as a loud bang of a body being thrown into the thick doors echoes loudly through the Chapel.

“Little nun, little nun, let me in,”

“Give us this day our daily bread,” Another bang tears through the Chapel and your body jumps again with the sound, but your praying doesn’t stop.

“Forgive us our tresspasses,” BANG.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” BANG.

“And lead us not,” BANG. “Into temptation,” BANG.

You can hear the wood splintering as he throws his body against the doors, and you can’t keep from shaking, tears pricking at your eyes and racing down your cheeks as they slide over the curve of your jaw.

“But deliver us from evil,”

BANG.

“Deliver us from evil,”

“I smell you, little nun!”

BANG.

“Lord, please deliver me from this evil!” You sob.

And it’s at that moment that the doors break open.

The sound of the doors giving way under his force feels like a gunshot straight to your heart. He’s inside - demonic monster, killer - breaking down the final form of defense you have as if it was nothing under the inhuman power of his undead body. You can’t turn around, forcing yourself to stay facing forward as you sob out line after line of prayer, your panicked praise and pleas for mercy echoing through the high arches of the Chapel.

A loud whistle rips through the Chapel as if someone is pretending to be impressed and even though you can’t hear his footsteps, his shoes making no sound on the floor as he walks with the ease and stealth of a predator, you know he’s getting closer - can feel the way the air shifts around you as he nears. Your brain is screaming at you to turn around, to try to run and protect yourself at any cost, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and watch as your ruin approaches you.

“Well, well, look at what we have here,” He coos. “The lone survivor.”

He sounds like he’s all the way across the Chapel and somehow speaking directly in your ear all at once, his voice carrying through the holy place like his is the only voice it should ever amplify instead of the Lord’s words, and for a horrifying moment you wonder if that means this place is no longer holy.

“Our final tribute,” Closer and closer, steps silent as he stalks nearer but you can hear how his nails, sharp pointed and lethal, designed for cruelty, tear against the wood of the sides of the pews as he passes by, dealing destruction in his wake. You jump when he’s suddenly upon you, crouching behind you and his hand slaps against your forehead, forcing your head back as he growls in your ear. “God’s last whore.”

“Our Father,” You whimper, tears blurring your vision as you crane your neck back against his hand, and all you can do from this position is look at the large statue of Jesus pinned on the cross displayed high on the wall across from you. “Who art in Heaven.”

“Do you really think there’s a Heaven?” His voice is low in your ear, soft and smooth, deceptively charming despite the chilling undercurrent and the way it sends shivers down your spine. “Is that where you think all your fellow nuns went? Do you think they’re happy up there? With your God, safe and sound and free of fear, pain? Do you think they’re waiting for you now? With open arms and waiting for you to join them in - what is it? Everlasting peace? A paradise, right?”

He nuzzles his face against the side of your head and you can feel the sharp grin against your temple. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the erratic thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump so intense that you can feel it in your throat, and you accidentally skip a few lines in your prayer. You stutter to correct, your words twisting over themselves as you struggle to find your place, and although his laugh is just a quiet chuckle pressed against the panicked sweat of your temple, it rings through your ears like the cruel, evil sound it is.

“Guess what,” He whispers, cold lips brushing against your cheek. “They’re not. They’re in Hell getting fucked by demons for the rest of eternity. And they love it.”

A sob rips from your throat, terrible terrible images of your Sisters being forced on their backs or on their knees by soulless demons invading your mind, their screams of terror from earlier tonight echoing in your brain like a relentless loop. That can’t be true - it can’t be. God protects the souls of His children. He wouldn’t allow His faithful daughters to be subjected to such a fate. Sister Agnes, Sister Ruth - they have to be okay. They’re safe with Him. They have to be.

But still, you pray anyway, finding the will despite your distress to change your prayer just for a moment to one specifically asking for His guidance for the recently departed. It’s short, just a few lines - eternal rest for the wandering souls, perpetual light shining upon them so that they don’t get lost or fall in darkness. Mercy and peace, a relief from pain and fear.

Amen.

He lets go of your forehead, shoving the back of your head roughly so you jerk forward. You catch yourself with one hand, breathing heavily as your ears strain to listen for him shifting behind you. You know he’s still there, can feel his looming presence even though he’s not touching you anymore, but he’s as silent as a ghost. You kneel up again, back straight as you look forward towards the cross on the altar. For a moment, nothing happens - the stillness is almost more nerve wracking than the actual monster somewhere around you.

You gasp when your veil is flicked over your shoulder and the back of your habit and undertunic is ripped open from the nape of your neck all the way to the small of your back. The sound of tearing cloth echoes through the Chapel, reverberating off the walls and amplifying in your ears the same way the singing voices of your Sisters once did. Your back and the curve of your left shoulder are left vulnerably exposed as he pulls the material a little to the side. His sharp nails drag down the length of your back, goosebumps raising on your skin. They’re as light as they can be as they scratch down, the sharp pointed tips like daggers grazing over your flesh as you whimper out the beginnings of another Our Father. Your hands lace together in front of you, the long chain of the cross necklace looped around your neck twisting through your fingers as you cling to the cross in your hands. Then they’re back at your shoulder, digging in harder now as the tips of his nails cut into your skin. You scream as he rakes his nails down your back, pain stinging from the open wounds in the shape of claw marks and you pitch forward, only just barely staying upright on your knees as you squeeze your hands together tighter in front of you.

You know you’re bleeding, can feel the tickling as the blood trails from the burning scratch lines on your back and you squeeze your eyes shut when you feel his tongue against your shoulder blade, licking up the dripping red.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” You recite through gritted teeth. “On earth as it is in Heaven,”

He hums, sharp teeth nipping your skin as he licks over the stinging cuts.

“You know,” He says, voice gravelly. “Out of everyone I’ve drank from tonight, your blood is the sweetest.” His hands curl around the tops of your arms, pressing in and holding you still as he nudges his face into the exposed crook of your neck.

You try to keep praying, the familiar words should be burned in your memory, able to be recited without a single thought, but you’re not even sure if you’re saying actual words now. Everything just sounds like gibberish, words garbled and twisted with panic and you know that your time here on earth has come to an end. The tips of his canines scrape against the delicate skin of your neck, teasing your death as you hold your breath waiting for him to bite down and end your night of torment.

“Let’s see if it’s better straight from the source,”

His teeth slice into you, piercing where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scream cuts off your maybe prayer, your eyes widening but unseeing as your hands abandon their humble position to claw at his own as he pins you still by your arms. It’s painful, so painful you feel like you're burning up from the inside, your blood turning into fire in your own veins as he drinks it from your body like his own personal wine. And then something changes, a blanket of coldness wrapping around your body as you wheeze out a worthless plea that you know he hears but chooses to ignore. The fire in your veins calms into a warming hearth, contrasting with the cold of the rest of your body in a way that feels almost trance-like. There’s a pressure building in your belly, a heat that has nothing to do with the blood being drained from your veins and everything to do with something you hadn’t felt even years before you took your vows.

No, no, no, you silently plead, but you can’t ignore the realization of what he’s forcing you to feel when the dull throbbing starts up between your thighs.

His hands leave your arms, wrapping around your body as he pulls you closer to him. One of them gropes the curve of your breast, squeezing it in his palm, and he growls against your throat when your hands automatically shoot up to try to yank his away. His fingers curl around the neckline of your habit and he yanks it down roughly until the ripped top of your uniform sits around your waist. The Chapel had always felt warm before, filled with God’s presence and the certainty of safety, but now its cold, chilling air warring with the already contrasting temperatures of your body as it brushes over your bare chest. Your nipples harden, chest heaving as your vision blurs, dark spots stealing any clearness of sight as the devil behind you continues to drink from your reluctant body. The cross of your necklace hangs low against your sternum, the silver chain traveling between your breasts. The sleeves of your habit are still halfway up your arms, the neckline wrapping around your elbows and partially pinning your arms to your sides.

He doesn’t even have to hold you still anymore. You can’t muster up enough strength to try to push him away.

The throbbing between your legs only intensifies the longer he drinks and you can feel the wetness pooling in your underwear, damning and horrible even though it's making your body feel so so good. Your head spins, dizzy and euphoric, and you’re trying to pray - trying so hard to remember the words you’re supposed to say - but all that leaves your mouth is a weak moan when he finally decides to pull his teeth from your neck.

You collapse on your hands, your arms barely strong enough to hold you up as you gasp for air. The bite mark on your neck is sore, the throbbing focal point of what he’s done to you matching the pulsing between your legs. His feet do make sound this time as he walks around your crumpled body, the heel of his dark leather dress shoes purposefully clanking against the floor as he steps in front of you. You peek up, eyes still a little blurred and unfocused as they travel up his nicely pressed pant legs, somehow only slightly wrinkled despite all the chaos he’s caused tonight. You freeze when you get to the bulge, bumping the material out as it starts to swell under the fabric. The sight of it makes the panic once again come to the forefront of your mind and you frantically try to scramble back, away from the man, devil, creature in front of you but he grips your jaw in a tight grasp, keeping you still and on your knees at his feet.

His hold on your face is painful, strong fingers digging into the hinges of your jaw and forcing your lips to pucker slightly under the pressure. His sharp nails cut into your cheeks as he pries your face upwards, and then finally - you see him.

You had seen him briefly before he attacked Sister Ruth, but how he actually looked hadn’t registered into your terrified brain. He’s a monster, a killer - spawn of the Devil - you expect him to be grotesque, as horrible on the outside as his soul is on the inside. The things he’s done, the lives he’s stolen, how he tortured and murdered your Sisters in their own safe haven - a House of the Lord no less - he should be as demonic looking as his actions. You expect a mouthful of sinister teeth, pointed with multiple rows meant to pierce and rip and drain their victims. You expect red eyes the exact same color as the blood he’s stolen from unwilling veins. He should look evil, skin grey and dead to match the lack of life in his own body, but the man in front of you is none of those things.

He’s beautiful, devastatingly handsome like you believe Lucifer was when he was cast from Heaven. His blond hair is unruly, part of it still slicked back in what looked like a professional and put together style meant to tame the wild curls that are pushing through the gelled barrier. Some of those curls spring up on his head, falling along his forehead and reaching towards his eyes - eyes that are inhumanly blue, the iris swirling like living color as the black of his pupils bleed into the cerulean ring. His mouth is red, painted fresh with your blood, and his chin down to his neck is stained with that of your Sister’s, some of the remnants of splattered carnage soaked into the collar of his button down shirt.

Your voice fails you, trapped in your throat as he grins. His prominent fangs bite into his lower lip mimicking the way his nails dig into your cheeks. Your lips form the words despite the lack of sound, starting the prayer again in the only way you can. He watches as your mouth struggles to form the shapes despite the pressure on your jaw, the thick lashes framing his inhuman eyes lowering as his features shift into a look of feigned pity.

“I don’t think He’s listening to you. Your God,” He pouts. “Seems He’s abandoned you.”

It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. The words echo like a mantra in your mind. God wouldn’t abandon you. He’s here, His presence is all around you. He’s protecting you, protecting your soul in a way He can’t protect your physical body. He’s with you now, ready to help shoulder the burden and trauma that the Devil is forcing in your path. The words of your prayer push forth, desperation giving a voice to your paralyzed vocal cords, and you know He’s here - He is, He is, He is…

…but you can’t feel Him. All you can feel around you is the unsettling, overwhelming, panic stricken presence of him.

“But I’m here,” He purrs. His fingers slide across your cheeks as he moves to grip your chin instead, his thumb caressing your moving lips. “You should pray to me instead. Go on, little nun. Pray to the great Coriolanus Snow. Beg me to show you mercy.”

Fresh tears race down your cheeks when he shoves his thumb inside your mouth, the pad of it pressing down on your tongue and muffling your prayer. You fight back a sob and keep it going anyway despite the intrusion in your mouth. But when you look back into his eyes, your own eyes wet and glossy and red rimmed with eyelashes clumping together, all you see in those orbs of swirling blue and black is evil unbridled lust.

Your heart stops when his free hand goes to the waistband of his pants. He undoes the button, shimmying his hips as he pushes them down his thighs just enough to free the thick bulge inside them. Your eyes drop down, locking onto the sight in front of you as he pulls himself free. He’s hard in his palm, thick girth filling his hand as it juts out at you, the pink tip of it already starting to glisten with wetness at the top in the dim lighting of the Chapel. He has no blood in his undead body, none other than what he’s stolen from you and your Sisters tonight. You wonder if that’s what’s helping to fill his cock right now.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and his hand leaves your face for one brief moment of relief before it latches itself to the top of your head. With a sharp tug, he yanks your veil from your head, a few strands of hair falling victim to the pull as they tear from your scalp. You screech, veil fluttering uselessly to the Chapel floor, but the screech and any hope you have at determinately continuing your prayer is cut off when he fists your unbound hair around his fingers and shoves his stolen blood filled cock in your mouth.

Your hands automatically fly up to push against his thighs, desperately trying to push him away, but his hold is unrelenting as he pushes his hips further against your face. Frantic cries burst from your vocal cords, the hefty weight of his cock on your tongue is hot and overwhelming as it presses against the back of your throat, the threat of what he could do if he just pushed a little further is clear without him even having to say a word.

“Don’t bite,” He teases, cruel laugh bouncing off the Chapel walls. “That’s my job.”

He drags your mouth along his length, pulling you almost all the way off until just the tip remains nestled against the flat of your tongue before sliding you back down, inch by inch invading your mouth and filling it up until you feel like you can’t breathe. Your nails dig into his legs, your own thighs spreading apart subconsciously in an effort to steady yourself as he drags you back and forth along this cock. The pulsing in your most intimate areas doesn’t stop as he degrades your mouth, embarrassment and shame flooding your body as he uses you to further desecrate this holy place in even worse ways than he already has.

The taste of him clouds your brain, the wetness of your own saliva mixing with the salty taste spilling from his swollen tip and your body tenses as you gag around him, core spasming as more shame soaks into your already drenched underwear. Your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears so much it starts to sound like you’re underwater, and you know he can hear the adrenaline rushed track of your heart the same way you can hear its song in your ears. You wonder what he’s more focused on right now as he takes your mouth, eyes closed and head tipping back towards the ceiling: how your mouth feels wrapped around him, or how the blood he has yet to steal from you sounds still rushing through your veins.

The cool metal of your necklace draws your attention to the cross resting against your sternum. It suddenly feels heavy and cold against your flushed chest and you know that this is it - this is God reminding you of His presence with you. This is Him showing you that He has not left you all alone with a monster. Blindly, you reach for the pendant, feeling the reassuring press of the protruding arms of the cross bite into your palm as you squeeze your fist around it. Without another thought, you press it to his thigh.

The reaction is immediate - heat swells under your hand, the metal of the cross burning like an iron as it fries through the neatly pressed material of his pants. It doesn’t burn you, the heat radiating against your palm is nothing more than a pleasant warmth against your hand. But it burns into Coriolanus’s skin, the holy figurine scorching his thigh and branding his pale skin with the bright red righteous mark of your Lord. He grunts out in pain, teeth grinding together as his head falls forward again, those inhuman eyes locked on you as you still choke around him.

You expect him to be angry, to push you away and end your torment, even if it comes at the cost of your life. But your heart sinks when you see the twisted grin pull at his red mouth.

“Trying to leave your mark on me, Sister?” He asks. To your absolute horror, he makes no move to smack the cross away, letting it scorch and smoke against his burning skin. “You can mark me up however you want. I’ll mark you right back. Try harder.”

You whimper as he fists both his hands in your hair, one on either side to keep you completely still. He rocks into your mouth, using you as his own personal toy instead of forcing you to move on him, and any regard he might have had for you before is gone - burnt away and up in smoke like the skin on his upper thigh. He shows no mercy as he pounds his hips against your face, making you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth until you’re gagging in earnest, choking and sputtering wet horrible sounds as thick strands of saliva drip from your mouth and his cock as he urges himself past the point that he had previously decided was good enough until he’s sheathed in your throat as far as he can get himself.

“Look at you,” He laughs. “This isn’t your first time taking a cock down your throat, is it? You’ve done this before, I can tell. What a little professional you are.”

You want to shout no! No it's not true! Humiliation tearing your heart apart as he laughs in your face. It’s not true, it's not true. You’ve never taken a man in your mouth before. You’ve never had anyone before in any capacity. You’ve stayed pure your entire life, untouched by man and the temptations of the Devil. But the devil in front of you mocks you, violating you in the most intimate way he can, turning your own body against you as the part between your legs begs for attention that it's never truly wanted before he forced you to feel it, even as your brain screams at you to fight back all you can.

The cross falls back in its place between your breasts as your hands fly up to claw at his own, your fingers trying to pry his grip from your hair as he thrusts faster, harder, deeper into your mouth and throat. He laughs as you struggle, crying and whimpering and gagging around his cock as he calls you every name that you know you’re not, but can’t defend yourself against.

Whore. Slut. God’s prostitute. Jezebel.

The air hurts as it reaches your lungs when he finally lets go of you. You cough and sputter, greedily gulping in heaving breaths of oxygen as tears and drool slide down your heated face. Your hands press against the floor as you gasp, desperately grasping at the tile as you fight to breathe. Coriolanus lets you, leisurely walking around you as though he has all the time in the world. It feels as though hours have passed since you’ve been trapped in this living nightmare, but outside beyond the beautiful stained glass windows, there’s still only darkness.

Brutal fingers grip the back of your neck, the tips digging into the sore puncture marks on the side of your throat. The ruthless press of his fingers at your bite mark sends a horrible pang of unwanted pleasure straight into the pit of your stomach, and you know it should hurt, should burn and make you scream from the pain of it all - and it does hurt, but it shouldn’t hurt like this.

His mouth is at your ear again as he growls, “You want to pray to your God? Go on then. Bend down and pray,”

He shoves you down, his grip on the back of your neck keeping your upper body pinned as your cheek digs into the cold flooring. Any air that you were able to take in suddenly feels like it's stuck in your lungs when his free hand slides up the curve of your backside. He drags the bottom of your tunic with it, trailing it up and up and up until it sits bunched around your waist alongside the ripped neckline of your habit. You feel as vulnerable as you’ve ever felt - exposed and on display for eyes that should never be able to see these parts of you. Your hands grip against the tile on either side of your head, but even as he removes his hand from the back of your neck, you don’t dare try to push yourself up again.

“Pray for forgiveness, Sister,” He says. His fingers find the modest coverage of your underwear and rips them clean in half with a quick flick of his wrist, tearing a hole for himself directly in the center of them and leaving the shredded remains of your modesty to hang uselessly on either side of your exposed center. “Pray for forgiveness because you’re sinning right now. It’s here, evidence of your fall from grace coating the pretty petals of your dirty, dirty cunt. You’re sinning, little nun. Sinning,”

A gasp rips from your throat as his hand lands on your backside, the sharp sting emphasizing his words that act like a dagger to your heart.

You’re sinning. You’re a sinner.

“Sinning,” He says again, landing another smack to your unprotected buttcheek. Fat tears flow from your blurry eyes.

Instead of being close to God, you’re drifting from Him. Being dragged, kicking and screaming further and further from your place at His side and instead of hating every second of it, recoiling in horror and finding nothing but pain and disgust from the touch of the monster behind you, your stomach clenches in twisted anticipation.

“Sinner,” He grunts and this time you scream, loud and tearful as his hand lands cruelly on your bare pussy.

You instinctively clench around nothing, traitorous clit pulsing against the rough treatment. Your head lifts from the ground just enough for you to shake it in denial, voice raspy and thick with tears as you struggle to begin your prayer anew. From behind you, Coriolanus laughs as he listens to your stuttered prayer, landing another sharp smack against your pussy just to make you cry out and lose your place. You can’t focus, nerves fried and body wound up so tight you feel like you’re about to explode out of your skin. The beginning of the prayer is the only thing you can remember, repeating the first phrase over and over and over again and hoping against hope that it's enough for God to hear you because you can’t for the life of you remember what the rest is.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

Your body stays frozen as Coriolanus lifts your hips higher into the air, and you don’t fight back when he kicks your legs farther apart so he can fit himself between them. Your praying gets louder, the only lines that you can remember coming out as a hurried sob when you feel the head of his cock slide against your slit.

“What’s wrong, Sister? Have you forgotten the words?” He asks and a part of you wonders if instead of him being a devil, if maybe he’s actually the Devil. He drags the tip of his cock through your slick folds, sliding it from your hole all the way to your clit, rubbing it roughly against the swollen nub and back again. Your entire body trembles when he lines himself up, blunt tip teasing your entrance and you’re shaking so much you worry you might fly apart. “I said pray.”

Your mouth falls open when he pushes forward, no sound making its way from your vocal cords even though every other part of you is screaming. The head of his cock splits you open, your wet pussy taking him in and stretching around his thick length and it hurts, it hurts so much, but it's what’s under the pain that hurts more. The striking fullness of him as he fills you up, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you as he presses bruises in the shapes of his fingers into your hips. The way his cock completely fills you, leaving no space inside you for anything else and bullying its way even further still, making room for itself where you can’t imagine there could possibly be anymore. It’s horrible, the way your body yields to what he’s doing, taking him in and craving more even as the pleasure blossomed pain burns in your core. It must be something demonic, some sort of paranormal and evil power that’s blanketing you in this unwanted feeling. The monster behind you is forcing himself on you, dragging you into darkness with him with each drag of his cock against your slick walls, and is making you like it.

You feel him in your stomach as he starts to thrust into you, deep and slow presses in and out as his hands squeeze your hips.

“So tight around me,” He grunts, cock throbbing inside you as your hands try to find purchase against the ground. “Who knew that God’s precious angel would make the perfect little cocksleeve.”

You cry out when he arches over you, pushing your cheek back into the floor as he holds your head down with a splayed palm against the side of your face. His other hand grips possessively at your waist as he growls and grunts on top of you, moans of sordid pleasure filling the Chapel as you gasp and whimper underneath him. You’re not praying anymore, can’t get anything out more than a punched out, breathless, ‘Lord, have mercy, please have mercy, please have mercy’ with every rough thrust of his hips.

“You think someone like you deserves mercy?” Coriolanus sneers. “You’re no one. Left behind. Forgotten. And where is He now that you’re calling for Him? The one you devoted your entire life to.” His cruel words are punctuated with each snap of his hips and you whine in agony, eyes squeezing shut as the knot in your belly tightens. “Go ahead. Call to Him. Beg for Him to show you mercy.”

“Please!” You cry.

You can feel your orgasm barreling towards you and you try to hold back, wanting to tell your body that no, you can’t. You can’t! You can't! You can’t let yourself feel like this no matter what this monster does to you. But your body doesn’t listen, Coriolanus doesn’t give it a chance. Your clit is needy between your thighs, begging to be touched as your pussy weeps around him, fluttering around his thick shaft as he drives into you without mercy. Shame floods your cheeks as wet squelching sounds become prominent in the dark symphony of sinful noises bouncing around the Chapel walls.

“He’s not here. He left you,”

“No,” You beg. Not true, not true, not true.

“But don’t worry, I’ll take you. Maybe He left you for me as a present, hm? You’re the fucking whore that your God left for me to ruin,”

You can’t say anything when he drags you up by your hair, pulling you back against his chest. His thrusting doesn’t stop even as the hand in your hair moves to wrap tightly around your neck, fingers pressing firmly into the sides of your throat just enough to make you fight to breathe under the pressure. His other hand wraps around your chest to palm at your breast, your nipple trapped between the cage of his fingers as he squeezes at your chest.

“No no no no no no,” Your voice is desperate, breathless against the restrictive hold around your throat, and your eyes roll back into your head as the coil in your stomach tightens beyond control, your orgasm washing over you in waves of relentless, dark, and unfairly wonderful bliss.

Coriolanus laughs as you shake in his arms, his sharp teeth poking into the lobe of your ear as he presses his grin into the side of your head.

“Wow, look at you, cumming all over my cock without me even having to touch your pretty little doorbell. You really must be God’s favorite whore,”

He’s still hard when he pulls out of you, leaving you to crumple on the Chapel floor to deal with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Through your exhausted and used state, you still find the will to send a quick prayer of thanks up to God for allowing this devil to be done with you before he could release inside you. You know he’s going to kill you now that he’s gotten his fill, will grab you and drain you dry until there’s no life left inside you. But at least you hope that you’ll get to go to Heaven, be with God and the rest of your Sisters because he had to be lying about them being dragged to Hell. God wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t.

If this is truly the end of your time here on Earth, then at least you were spared the humiliation of Coriolanus finishing inside you.

He doesn’t immediately grab at you again though, doesn’t drag your head to the side so he can sink his teeth into your vulnerable neck and finish what he started earlier tonight. Instead he leaves your side, walking down the center aisle towards the door. Your eyes follow him, your vision only partially blocked from the way your hands cover your face in an attempt to try to hold yourself together. He stops halfway down the aisle, plucking something off from one of the pews, and the flash of green fabric reminds you that its Father Gregory’s stole discarded over the edge of the seat. You watch as he tucks the stole into his pants pocket before he turns back towards you, and you hide your face completely when you realize he hasn’t even bothered to tuck himself back into his pants yet.

The hands covering your eyes allow him to sneak up on you and you don’t hear him as he takes a place in front of you again. His hand flicks out, quick as lightning, and grabs onto your necklace. Immediately, the pendant burns his skin, the smoke and smell of scorching flesh emanating from his hand, but he doesn’t care - just clutches it in his fist as he uses it to pull you forward.

“Crawl,” He demands. “Crawl or I’ll rip it off.”

You don’t hesitate, feeling the pull of the delicate chain around your neck threatening to snap against his tug. This is the last thing you have, the last form of protection God can offer you as your last moments on Earth come to an end. You can’t lose it. Your limbs are still wobbly as you scramble up the few steps towards the altar, your knee slipping on the fabric of your habit and almost making you fall enough to break the chain all on your own as you frantically try to follow his pulling.

Standing in front of the altar of the Lord is the last place a monster like Coriolanus Snow deserves to be, but he towers over you like he belongs there, angelic blond curls falling into eyes of swirling blue and black as they glare down at you.

You sob when he rips the cross from your neck anyway, the sharp break of the chain snapping against the back of your neck as he tosses the holy pendant far away from you.

“Now look at what you’ve done to me,” He says, showing you his burnt hand. His thigh is still damaged too, the matching marks of the cross torched into his skin. “You hurt me. Maimed me. Even after I was so merciful to you.”

He buries his uninjured hand in your hair, dragging your head close to his injured one so your mouth is a breath away from the red, scarred skin.

“Kiss it better,”

Your breathing is shaky, evidence of your orgasm coating your inner thighs as you kneel in front of him. He allows you to hesitate for just a moment, but doesn’t release your hair from his grasp until your lips touch the marred skin of his palm. When he releases your hair, you feel untethered - accidentally swaying away from his hand without his firm hold to keep you there. Without thinking, you grab his wrist with both of your hands to help hold you steady, replacing your lips at his palm without him having to tell you to.

“Good girl,” He coos. He tugs your right hand away from where it's clutching his arm and pulls it through the remains of your sleeve from where it's still partially pinned at your side so that he can raise it up high in the air, the paper thin skin of your wrist held near his own mouth. “Use that holy power of yours to make me all better.”

You whine when his teeth slide into your wrist, eyes sliding shut as the cloud of euphoric dizziness once again invades your brain. You feel outside your body as he drinks from you, kneeling before him and pressing soft kisses against the damaged skin of his hand, face just inches away from the still erect cock that's glistening with the evidence of your downfall. He suckles at your wrist and it takes you much longer than it should to realize that the skin under your lips doesn’t feel as disfigured as it did just moments before.

And then, through hazy eyes, you see that it's no longer burned. Under your lips is just smooth pale skin of an uninjured palm, perfectly unharmed as if nothing had ever happened. Your eyes dart to his thigh and watch, shocked, as the damaged flesh repairs itself, torn and scorched remains webbing together and forming new skin until there's no trace of red left behind.

As soon as he’s healed, he pulls his mouth from your wrist and drags his tongue across his lips to catch any stray drops of blood. “Thanks for healing me up, little nun,”

He hauls you up by your arm and grabs your jaw, ignoring your gasp as he presses his bloody mouth against yours, pushing his tongue between your lips just to make you taste yourself. A pleasurable heat swirls in your belly at the kiss even as cold goosebumps explode out on your skin, the horrible contrast between disgust and want twisting your thoughts into a jumbled mess. You don’t kiss him back, brain screaming at you to be strong and remember who you are even though the taste of his tongue mixed with the metallic sweet of your blood on his lips make some part of you yearn to return his touch.

You let out a disgruntled cry when he pulls his mouth from yours and flips you around, his arm sweeping out to send the half used candles and stands clattering off the surface of the altar and shoving your body over the edge so you’re bent over it and no no no no no, he can’t! You’re not supposed to be on it like this, desecrating a place so holy and sacred. Darkening a place of such light like the Chapel is horrible enough, but defiling God’s altar - the place where bread and wine are consecrated into the living body and blood of Christ Himself - it’s unthinkable.

You immediately try to push yourself back up, but Coriolanus crowds you against the altar, grabbing both of your wrists and quickly tying them together with Father Gregory’s stolen stole so they’re bound in front of you. He drags them up close to your chest and loops the middle of the stole around your neck, keeping the free end in his hand as he hums.

“Why did you stop praying, Sister?” He asks as he lifts the back of your habit. He keeps a tight hold on the stole, pulling it taut so it constricts around your throat enough to keep you still as his other hand runs long, cruel fingers through the wetness between your folds. “You wanted to pray so much earlier.”

You’re face to face with the cross statue that he’s allowed to be left standing and even though this one has no likeness of Jesus pinned on it like the one overseeing the Chapel, it still feels like it's passing its judgement on you… and it’s finding you lacking. The combined sensation of the stole around your throat and the way Coriolanus replaces his fingers with his hard cock, sliding it through your wet folds and nudging it back at your entrance, makes your eyes roll up to the ceiling.

Taking him a second time isn’t any easier and even though you're so wet, slicker more than ever now that you’ve had an orgasm, you still feel like you’re being stretched to your limits as he pushes back inside you. Your pussy clenches around him as he grips your waist and your hands twitch in their bindings, wanting desperately to be able to reach out and clutch the altar, reach behind you and hold onto him, or push him away - whatever you need to do to give yourself some relief as he drills you into the side of God’s holy table. But you can’t free them, can’t do anything more than take it as he uses your body and keeps you down with your hands tied and the stole wrapped around your neck like a leash.

“Tell Him how you feel, little nun,” He growls. “Tell Him how my cock feels stretching your tight warm pussy. How it fills you up so much you can feel it in your stomach. Tell Him how I hit those spots inside you that make you go blind with so much pleasure.”

“Ah ah ah,” You moan as he pounds into you, the sound of slapping skin ringing in your ears mixed in with his sinful grunts.

“Pray to Him,” He demands. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pulls the stole tighter around your throat. “Pray to Him and tell Him that this is the closest you’ve ever felt to Him, the closest you’ve ever felt to Heaven, but really it’s me who’s doing this to you. It’s me who’s making you feel so good. Fucking you. Corrupting you, Ruining you. Come on, Sister. Tell Him how good I’m making you feel.”

“Please,” You try to beg and your plea comes out raspy against the pressure on your throat.

The knot in your belly is tightening again, clit pulsing and still untouched as you feel Coriolanus throb inside you. The new dizziness in your head comes not from the Vampire’s bite but from the lack of oxygen to your brain. Dark spots poke at the sides of your vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t see anyway, your eyes unfocused and dazed under the pleasure swirling in your core.

You don’t even register when he yanks the stole from around your throat, freeing the unprotected column to his deadly teeth as he drags your head to the side and pierces them into the side of your neck. His hand leaves your waist, dragging tingling fire in its wake as he slides his hand across your stomach and down further until it creeps into the ripped remaining shreds of your underwear. You scream when his fingers touch your clit, sliding through the wetness and using your own shame to glide mind breaking circles around the swollen neglected nub.

“M-mercy,” You whimper. “P-please, mercy!”

He doesn’t speak, mouth too preoccupied with taking all that he can steal from you as he continues to feast on your neck, but you hear a voice anyway - one that seems to boom throughout the Chapel as much as it does in your head.

You don’t deserve mercy.

Your orgasm hits you ruthlessly, brutal waves of ecstasy racing through your body as you shake and cum around your Vampire’s cock, squeezing and clenching around his thrusting length, eyes rolling back into your head as you scream. His fingers don’t stop their movement on your clit, his mouth never stops drinking from you, and in the back of your mind you register that he’s cumming inside you - thick and hot pulses of release coating your insides and damning your soul to Hell.

Sparkling black and white flecks coat your vision, the darkness overpowering the bright all too quickly, and before you’re even finished cumming the entire room fades into darkness.

When you wake up, there’s light shining in through the multicolored stained glass windows and the beauty that is the Chapel looks like it's almost as it should be again.

For a moment, you think you can convince yourself that it was all a dream. A horrible nightmare brewed from some unknown fear that you’ve pushed into the back of your mind that you need to come to terms with and unpack with hours of uninterrupted prayer. But the moment is gone all too soon and the state of your half naked body and ripped habit is too much evidence to naively ignore.

A devil was inside God’s house last night. He killed the rest of your cloister, tormented you and did unspeakable things to your body, made you feel things, and yet… he left you alive?

Why?

You try to sit up, your entire body aching with overuse and exhaustion, the space between your thighs is still damningly wet, but the sharp pain in your abdomen makes you pause.

Your lower belly hurts the most, a sharp sting raising through the area as you move, and you pull up the bottom of your tunic to try to get a better look at it. You freeze when you see it, horror like you’ve never felt sinking into your bones as your brain tries to catch up with what your eyes are seeing.

There, on your lower belly, directly above the snapped elastic waistband of your underwear, are the carved and bloody initials C.S.

Taglist: @hidden-poet (please let me know if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist for all works)

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