#i'm not sure about this one gents /gn

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hey so it's exactly 10 days after what i added to @cherrychapsticksteve's post, and it hasn't left my brain SO! Murphy, this is for you. i hope enjoy this full version!!!

pairing: steddie | word count: 7,536 | rated: T

-🎸-

Eddie's chest heaves as he sprints farther into the woods.

It’s not the first (and certainly won’t be the last) time he runs from Hawkins’ finest. This time, Hopper and Callahan had busted him after he ran a stop sign (it wasn’t his fault, okay? He had to change the tape and didn’t see the sign or the patrol car stopped at the damn cross street).

The ‘failure to obey traffic signs’ was the least of his problems though, not after his damn lunchbox dropped out of the van when they asked demanded he “Take a step out here, Munson.”, and the last crumbs of the stock he’d gotten from Rick the week before last spilling out at Hopper’s feet.

They get him in cuffs, of course, but the second they turn their backs on him, he fucking books it.

Hands cuffed behind him, wallet chain jangling around his hip in time with the zipper of his jacket hitting the lowest button of his vest, both officers are wheezing way too soon after he starts playing getaway. He twists and spins out of the way of their grasps, but Callahan gets a second wind and nearly catches him, so he bolts; Tears off past his van and into the woods.

He's got some sense of where he's going, they busted him on Cornwallis and it should be a clear cut through the forest past Loch Nora and to the park, but it's even darker as he gets under the treeline. The fading twilight blocked out by the canopy above him.

Still, he took off into the woods on the west side of the street so as long as he keeps going straight, he'll be fine. 

Joke's on him though, nothing about him has been straight since before he came to live with Wayne (since he was born if what his science teacher Mr. Clarke once told him is to be believed), so it's no fuckin' wonder that he's gotten off course.

He dismisses it at first, the gradual incline he's following at more of a jog than a sprint now, but when he hears sirens go off way too close and he finds himself crashing into a meticulously trimmed backyard, it makes sense.

What doesn't make sense is why of all the gallivanting through the woods he'd just done, over and under fallen logs, rocks, through bushes and thickets, that his feet betray him on the half inch concrete lip of patio he hadn't yet slowed himself enough to avoid altogether.

The toe of his sneaker clips the very corner, his feet try to right themselves, but he's already hurtling toward this person's inground pool. 

In the split second he's falling, Eddie's brain does three things almost simultaneously: 1) realizes that whoever's house this is, there's only one light on. an upstairs window that must be a bedroom. Good. Maybe then he can pick himself up after this what-would-have-been super embarrassing fall and get the fuck back out of their yard without them noticing.

2) It has enough sense to turn his body to the left to take the fall onto the concrete on his shoulder instead of his face, though it means he'll definitely be rolling into the pool now. Damn. 

And 3) a simple thought of 'Aw, fuck.'

What his brain didn't account for was the edge of the pool. And that it should have considered its boney housing's downward momentum in the fall.

His temple collides with the edge where plastic meets stone, and Eddie Munson, freshly concussed and all but dead to the world, falls into the water.

-🍦-

The night Steve Harrington officially meets Eddie Munson is like every other.

At home, alone, waiting for it to be a reasonable time to go to bed. 

He’s leaning his desk chair back on two legs, his feet propped up on his mattress, flipping through the new June '85 edition of Vogue that came in the mail that day addressed to Linda Harrington.

Halfway through reading about Eric Stoltz in that new movie Mask (and seriously debating somehow guilting his parents into sending him one of these watches for a late graduation gift because shit that's a nice watch), he hears a splash from outside his window.

The sound makes him jump from how unexpected it is, and he would've for sure tumbled ass backwards off his chair if the wall hadn't been behind him.

He jumps up and yanks open his blinds to look out at the pool below.

There are fresh ripples weaving across the normally still top, and a shadow of something bubbling up from the bottom.

His guts twist up immediately; of course, it could be just some stupid deer, but it could also be any number of insane hell creatures, one of which had once used his pool as it's front door before.

"Shitshitshitshit," Steve snatches up his bat from under the bed and launches himself out his room and down the stairs in record time.

By the time he gets to the edge of the pool, the ripples have dispersed significantly, and the..whatever it is.. at the bottom is releasing bubbles slower than ever.

It takes about a second more for him to parse out the very obviously human shape crumpled under the water and--is that blood?

Steve dives into the water directly across from the bright red smear on the plastic lining.

His eyes burn with the chemicals, all he makes out of the person is a pale face and dark hair.

He hooks an arm under theirs and across their chest, and pushes up from the bottom.

Steve finds a foothold in the shallows and powers over to the stairs as fast as he can, pulling the limp man up onto the concrete.

He gets to work on them immediately, checking for a pulse, checking for breath..nothing.

"Fuck Fuck Fuck!" Steve starts compressions on his chest, counting in his head before sucking in a deep breath, pinching the guy’s nose shut, and sealing his mouth onto the blue lips below him.

Nothing.

"C'mon Munson," Steve starts counting compressions again. "Don't do this to me, man." It surprises him that this is when his brain pairs the pale features and dark denim to Hawkins' Super-Senior, but it's him alright. The vest is a giveaway, though he definitely looks like a completely different person without his bangs hanging over his forehead, or that dumbass grin he has when he's going on some tirade at lunch.

Steve closes his lips over Eddie's once again and this time, it works.

Eddie pitches forward, spewing chunky water all over the ground in front of him.

Steve supports his back as he does, "Shit, man, let it out, let it out." He looks down then, finally realizing Eddie's arms have been completely incapacitated by a pair of cuffs this whole time. 

His breaths are ragged, gagging while he takes in shaky breaths.

He continues to pat Eddie's back, smacking his palm over some demon-looking thing on the back panel of his vest.

"Breathe, Eddie, you got it." The older boy's dazed gaze turns to him then, "You back with me?"

"Harrington?" it comes out a wheeze.

“Hey Munson, you okay?”

Eddie looks around at Steve’s yard, to the pool, “Yeah I—Yeah..” he looks back at Steve, “What happened?”

“You fell into my pool, dude.” he chuckles, “I pulled you out and you weren’t breathing.”

“…huh.”

That pulls another snort out of him. “Yeah, ‘Huh.’.”

Eddie looks off into the woods, then back to his face. “And what happened before that?”

Steve pulls lightly on the cuffs. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“I don’t–I don’t know what..” he glances around, panicked, “I don’t know why I’m in cuffs, I–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay man. You’re okay.” Steve rubs gently over the same spot he’d been patting, “Let’s get you inside, alright? Get some food maybe?”

Eddie takes a couple more breaths then nods, “Yeah…yeah okay, Harrington.”

He leads Eddie inside after he’s calmed down a bit more, sitting him down on one of the chairs at the breakfast nook and dashing quickly to the laundry room off the kitchen for a towel.

"Eddie, hey, y'gotta stay awake." he says, wrapping him up and giving him a light shake, "I'm gonna make you something to eat soon, but I wanna get you outta your cuffs first. Can you tell me how to get them off?"

"Yea-yeah," Eddie smacks his lips dryly, thinking hard, "Do you have a bobby pin?"

Steve studies him while he quickly searches his brain for where the last time he might've seen one. He's still dazed, still out of it (which is fair, honestly, he almost died after all), and is starting to shiver despite the towel.

He goes to the sink and pours a glass of water. "I think my mom has some. Let me help you drink some of this, and we’ll get you upstairs, okay?" he says, turning back to Eddie and keeping his voice soft, as if he'd scare him off if he spoke any louder.

Eddie's face scrunches in confusion, so he continues, "I’ll get you out of those cuffs and into the shower so you can warm up."

He watches Eddie’s expression morph as he registers what was said to him. His eyes go hooded, his cheeks tinge pink, and a smirk tugs at his lips. "Y'wanna get me naked, big boy?"

Steve rolls his eyes, his own cheeks prickling with heat. Eddie's hot okay? Objectively. He doesn't have to be into guys to know that. And flirting is flirting.  Sue him. "Shut up man," he laughs.

He holds the glass to Eddie’s lips and lets him drink as much as he wants, then sets the glass down on the table. He pulls gently on Eddie’s bicep, hooking an arm around the other man's waist, under an arm, and when he finally feels like he's got a good enough hold on him, they head to the steps.

They make their way up the stairs slowly, Eddie mumbling to himself the whole way. Steve hears a grumbled "Naked..", something that sounds like "..Gotta be dreamin',", and his own name, drawn out as if in disbelief "Steeeve Harrington...".

Finally, they make it to the master bedroom and Steve deposits Eddie on the edge of the bed. He immediately falls over onto his right side.

"Ow! Shit.. that fuckin' sucks."

"Your shoulder?" Steve asks, grabbing up a pin from his mother's vanity and turning back to the still damp man on the bed.

"Yeah, I–I must've fallen onto it before I went in." Eddie reasons, "Also, my head hurts."

"I bet," Steve nods, climbing up behind Eddie, "Now, you gotta tell me what to do here, man." he turns the cuffs slightly where he can see the little keyhole. "I've never picked the lock on a pair of cuffs."

"Ya don't say..'' he drawls sarcastically, "Just put the pin in my hand and I'll do it.”

Steve watches Eddie's fingers fiddle with the bobby pin; twisting it every which way while he feels out which side is which, which end of it he wants, prying it open with only a couple fingers, twisting into his hair, the pads of them ghosting along his lips, how they might feel opening him u--

Steve jumps up off the bed, causing Eddie to complain about the movement fucking up his concentration or something.

He ignores him, heading into the ensuite to start the shower.

Holy shit.

What in the actual fuck was that? He shakes his head, hard, willing his brain not to think those thoughts again. He is not gay or anything, everyone has thoughts like that sometimes. Tommy said so.

After starting the water and grabbing a new towel from under the counter, Steve takes a breath and steps back out into the bedroom.

He lets the breath out in relief when he sees Eddie's hands separate from the other, one palm pressed to the left side of his face and his other hanging loosely in front of him off the edge of the bed.

His soggy white Reeboks have also joined him on the bed, feet dangerously close to the pillow.

"Up n’ at 'em, Munson, gotta get you cleaned up." Steve calls, relishing briefly in making Eddie jump in surprise. "Can you get up on your own?"

Eddie groans, but slowly lets his feet drop back down to the floor.

Steve is back on Eddie's side of the bed before he's upright, offering a hand.

His open palm is puzzled at for a few long seconds, then Eddie places his hand in Steve's.

"Okay, up we go," he pulls Eddie to his feet, singing his arm around the other man's waist again and pulling Eddie's arm over his shoulders.

"Dizzy." Eddie complains.

"I know, I know," he soothes in return, "It's this way."

They shuffle into the bathroom and Steve lowers Eddie onto the closed lid of the toilet.

"We gotta get you out of your wet clothes, okay Eds?" The nickname slips through his teeth, but Eddie doesn't seem to mind it, nodding slowly.

Steve kneels in front of him, "Shoes first. Can you get your jacket and vest off for me?"

“Pushy, pushy,” Eddie teases, starting to pull his jacket off, “You really wanna get me naked, don’t you.” 

“Oh yeah. I am just itching for ‘pale, scrawny asshole’.” Steve deadpans in return, unlacing Eddie’s sopping sneakers and placing them in front of the counter.

“Oh now you wanna see my asshole? Buy a guy dinner first, Stevie.”

Steve tries to ignore the soupy feeling in his stomach at the nickname. It’s not even a new one, Tommy’s called him that before too and it never made his guts all squirmy like this.

It’s gotta just be because he and Eddie aren’t friends like he and Tommy had been.

That’s all.

But that’s not all, is it? His brain betrays him again, taking only half a second to imagine going on a date with Eddie, taking him to dinner, a movie, whatever. Taking him home, giving him a kiss goodnight.

The scenario is imagined, but the swirling feeling in his stomach is all too real.

He’s felt this before, the nerves and excitement of taking out a girl he really likes, getting to talk to her, get to know her, the possibility of getting to kiss her (and maybe more) at the end of the night.

But now it’s Eddie Fucking Munson that his gut’s all soupy for. Does he like Eddie? Does he want to Date him?

Steve feels his face heat up, his knees feel wobbly despite being on stable ground, his stomach erupts in butterflies—aw fuck. He likes Eddie. 

“Be careful with this, Harrington, It’s worth more than you’ll ever know.” Miraculously, Eddie managed to get his jacket off with the vest still wrapped around it. He passes the bundle gingerly over to Steve, like it's breakable.

He looks down at the crumpled clothing in his hands; he can see a couple patches that are hand-sewn into the denim, a broken zipper on one of the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket that has been pinned shut, a single button worn shinier than the rest. He believes him.

“I’ll take care of it, promise.” Steve says, placing the bundle up next to the sink gently. “Now, do you need help with the rest?”

Eddie immediately looks like he’s going to say no, but he seems to think better of it. “Uhm, can you help with these?”, he pats his legs, “I’d do it myself, but they’re gonna be a bitch to get off since they’re all wet and I’m still dizzy and don’t really want to bend over to pull off the bottoms but–y’know what just forget it, I’ll—”

Steve interrupts his rambling, “Eddie, it’s fine! I offered, didn't I? Help me out?” he gestures to Eddie’s zipper with his chin and starts to pull at the legs of Eddie’s skinny jeans. “I don’t get it man, why squeeze into these–”

The jingle of Eddie’s belt buckle pulls his focus, his eyes darting up to catch a flash of the buckle being undone. He averts his eyes, but a split second later, his brain registers what he’d seen and his gaze snaps back to it.

“Handcuff buckle? Really?”

“Don’t diss the buckle, Stevie,” Eddie chides, working the buckle loose. It continues to jingle as he works at it.

“How good of a buckle can it be if you can’t even get it undone?” Steve says, getting the second leg of Eddie’s jeans pulled down under his heel.

“It keeps me virtuous.” Eddie grits out, then huffs out a “Finally..” as the mini handcuffs fall open.

It was a bad moment to be done with what he was doing. Because Steve looks up just as Eddie unbuttons his fly and pulls the zipper down.

Steve shoots up off the floor, “Need some help standing up?” He asks, trying to cover for his minor freak-out. Eddie didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, thanks,” Eddie takes his hand and pulls himself up, “Don’t let me fall okay? I’m still feelin’ kinda…loopy.”

“Sure, man.”

So Steve stands there, gaze averted politely, as Eddie shimmies his jeans off and pulls his shirt off over his head.

He leaves him to it after that, pointing out the shampoo and soap, where he’d hung the new towel for him, and escapes to go find Eddie some new clothes.

He fishes a pair of black sweats out from one of his drawers, a pair that had been too small for him since sophomore year, and a plain black undershirt. He grabs up his personal favorite hoodie too, a Hawkins High Swim one, and a pair of thick fuzzy Christmas socks Mrs. Henderson had given him this past year.

After agonizing over whether or not to grab a pair of boxers too (he does, a new pair from the back of his top drawer), Steve wanders back into the master bathroom and deposits the pile on Eddie’s vacated seat.

The frosted glass door and added steam cloud Eddie’s form, but Steve can see the vague outline of him, standing just at the edge of where the water must be falling.

“I’m gonna start a quick load of laundry with your things, okay? I left you some stuff on the toilet.”

“‘Kay.” Eddie says softly.

It’s after he’s gathered up Eddie’s chlorine scented clothes that he notices, thinking belatedly to grab the discarded towel off the bed on his way back downstairs, but when he turns to grab it, he’s stopped short by a darkening stain puddled up on one end.

Right where Eddie’s head had been.

It all clicks. The smear of blood on the edge of the pool, Eddie’s complaints of his head hurting, of feeling dizzy and lightheaded.. And now Steve’s left him standing on his own in a hot-ass shower?!

He’s not sure how he heard it, but there’s a soft “Steve?” called out from the bathroom before a loud thump echoes out into the bedroom. 

-🎸-

At first, the shower felt fan-fucking-tastic, but not long after stepping under the hot, wonderfully pressured stream, he’d started feeling (even) more light headed.

He takes a deep breath, and leans on one hand at the back of the shower out of the spray while his head clears enough.

Operating in much the same way through the rest of the shower, he scrubs himself down, washing the chlorine from his skin and hair, wincing slightly when he stretches his shoulder the wrong way and when he scrubs over his right temple. There’s a knot there. Great.

He continues through the motions, taking as deep of breaths as he can, but rinsing the shampoo out of his hair is what does it. His arm stretched up, the more concentrated steam, the tilting back of his head…he bobbles forward out of the stream, hand on the wall again.

Where the hell is Steve? He’s gotta get out of here, gotta turn off the shower..somehow? Eddie’s vision blurs. Fuck.

“I’m gonna start a quick load of laundry with your things, okay? I left you some stuff on the toilet.” Steve says, back in the room as if summoned by Eddie’s desperate thoughts.

‘C’mon coward, ask him for help! He’s right outside the door!’

“‘Kay.”

‘No! Damnit!’ He’ll be fine, he just needs to breathe again, needs to sit down..

“Steve?”

Then he’s out (again).

-

When he comes to (again), he’s back on the bed, under the covers, and still kinda damp. And dressed.

“What the fuck?”

The bedroom door opens then, and he tries to sit up. Shit, why is he so sore?

He blinks away the fuzziness in his eyes only to see Steve goddamn Harrington hovering over him.

Steve pushes him back down onto the pillows. “Oh no nono you don’t. You stay right there.” he chastises.

“What the fuck, what happe—” The memories of the last couple hours roll over him all at once, along with heavy mortification that presses him further into the pillows. He covers his face with his hands, “Jesus H. Christ..did I pass out in the shower?”

“I’m sorry Eddie,” 

“Sorry for what? That I’m a klutz?” he mumbles out from under his palms. “Don’t think that’s your fault, Harrington.”

“You’re not a klutz, dumbass, but you do probably have a concussion…” Steve snarks back, and Eddie feels the mattress sink beside him, “Though I don’t know, maybe you always pass out in the shower?” 

Eddie can’t help but laugh. He scrubs his face a couple more times, then drops his hands “Only in the showers of my own personal saviors.”

He swears Steve’s face tinges pink at that, “Well aren’t I a lucky guy.”

“Well, seeing as how I’m dressed, and last time I remember, I wasn’t..” Steve’s face is blazing red now. “I think you must be, if you got a look at the goods.”

He waggles his eyebrows teasingly when Steve glances up at him, “Shut up man, I didn’t look at your junk any more than I had to.”

Eddie sputters at that, “How much looking is in your definition of ‘had to’?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “You passed out in my shower man, I had to get you out didn’t I? And I’m not about to leave you cold and wet so..I wrapped you up in a towel and got you up here.” he gestures to the bed, “Got you dressed and under the covers so you could sleep somewhat comfy while I made you something to eat.”

Eddie continues to eye him suspiciously, “So you got into my pants and then got them on me? That seems backwards…and sounds kinda fishy, Steven.”

“Oh my god..” Steve throws his head back in exasperation and scrubs his own face with his hands. “I got your pants on while you were still wrapped up in the towel, asshole, now do you want something to eat or not?”

“Wow…the kiss of life, a personal scrubdown (“I didn’t scrub you down!”), and now I get breakfast in bed? If I’m dreamin’, don’t wake me up.”

“Your dreams include getting concussed and passing out?”

Eddie shrugs, “To be fair, there’s usually less clothes and more making out, but I’m holding out hope.” He waggles his eyebrows again and Steve’s face flushes red, scoffing lightly 

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He feigns being shot in the chest, hamming it up and falling limp further into the pillows, “You wound me Steven, am I to be laid up for the rest of my days? Does his royal highness not believe in true love’s kiss?”

“I’ve already kissed you once, dumbass, Is that not enough for you?”

“It musn’t be, for my head and heart still ache!” he continues to bemoan, flailing a hand to his forehead. He’s honestly not quite sure why he’s still keeping up with the bit, painfully straight jocks like Steve don’t normally take well to his dramatics, and he’s not keen on getting punched right now.

But Steve doesn’t punch him. He laughs. 

He laughs and says “How ‘bout you eat something first, and if your head and heart still ache after that, I’ll give you a smooch.” Steve says, standing from the edge of the bed.

Eddie gawks at him, but allows himself to be helped up after his stomach growls loudly not a second later.

Steve walks down the stairs in front of him half-sideways in case he decides to pass out again, then helps him up onto a stool at the Harrington’s long kitchen island.

“I made eggs and toast, but I can get you something else if you like?”

Eddie’s stomach rolls at the thought of eggs, “Just toast, thanks.”

Steve nods, and passes over a plate with plain buttered toast stacked at least a half a loaf tall and a new glass of water. He takes a slice gratefully and munches on it slowly.

Suddenly, something clicks. “Wait, rewind, concussed? You think I might have a concussion?”

“You hit your head didn’t you?” he asks, rounding the counter with a plate of his own and perching on the stool next to him.

“Well yeah, but concussion?”

Steve shrugs, “I mean, I’m not 100 percent sure, but you definitely hit it pretty hard,” he gently pushes the hairs of Eddie’s right temple up and back, touching the fingers of his other hand to the knot he’d felt in the shower earlier.

“Sorry,” he says when Eddie winces, “There was a cut there too, but it wasn’t that deep so I cleaned it up and used a couple butterfly strips on it. Definitely looked worse than it was, but you said you didn’t remember what happened, that your head hurts, you’re dizzy, and I’m guessing the thought of eggs made you nauseous didn’t they?”

Eddie blinks at him once, twice, “I think I have a concussion.”

Steve barks out a laugh, tossing his head back with it. He looks back down at Eddie, still grinning, and time seems to freeze for a long moment.

Steve Harrington’s always been attractive, okay? And Eddie is only a man. The soft swoop of Steve’s hair, messy and flatter than he’s ever seen it in any normal circumstance, but it still looks good, the moles he can see scattered across his neck and arms and legs that Eddie’s always seen a big ol’ ‘KISS HERE’ over each, the relatively new softer smile he’d seen after Hargrove showed up and King Steve was tossed from his throne..

Eddie’s been so gone on Steve for so long already, and now he’s literally saved his life.

He never thought he’d ever want to be the damsel in distress, but now is, and he’s here, and Steve Harrington is his knight in shining armor.

It’s not just the possible concussion making his head swirl.

“Thanks, Steve.” he says, coming back to the present again–was he always this close? Do not look at his lips, Munson, stay focused. “Never thought this’d be how I’d ever be in your house though.”

Steve’s eyes flash to somewhere below his nose (‘Wait.. did he just–’), then he takes his hand away, dropping it back to his lap from where it was all but wrapped around the back of his skull. He didn’t even register that Steve was still holding him (‘Fuck!’).

“How d’ya think you’d ever be here then?” he asks, taking a large bite of runny egg.

“Oh y’know me, peddler of wares for any manner of frivolities my liege may hold.” He attempts to give Steve a bow, but gets dizzy almost as soon as his head tips forward.

Steve’s hands reach out to steady him, but drop when Eddie sits back up. “Yeah I didn’t get any of that.”

“Party favors, Steve-o, pills, ganja..all that fun stuff.” Eddie continues on at Steve’s understanding expression, “That’s what got me cuffed earlier.”

“Ah, so you do remember.”

“For the most part. They wouldn’t’ve even pulled me over if my tape hadn’t ended. I was trying to swap it out and ran a stop sign.”

Steve snorts, “What, did you try to bribe them with drugs?”

“I wish; that'd’ve been a much better story,” Eddie laughs, taking another bite of toast, “My stash fell out at Hopper’s feet when I got outta the van.”

Steve winces, “Bad break, dude. So what, you just decided to run? Why not before they cuffed you?”

“I dunno, man, I just bolted into the trees. Those old men couldn’t’ve caught me if they tried.”

“So you got pulled over, got cuffed for having drugs in your car, evaded capture by running through the woods in the dark, fell into my pool shoulder first,”

“Well I rolled into it, actually. I tripped on your patio, couldn’t catch myself on my hands, obviously, so I fell onto my shoulder first and kinda skidded slash rolled into the pool. Must’ve hit my head then too.”

Steve winces again, “That’s why the “Sorry” earlier.. I saw that blood on the lining and I didn’t even check where you could be bleeding.” He shakes his head in disappointment, “I shouldn’t’ve put you into the shower like that, it’s not good for you. And I know my way around a head injury.” Steve mutters.

“Sportsball will do that to you.” Eddie nods, grabbing a second slice of toast.

“It wasn’t basket–” he sighs, “Nevermind, is there someone you need to call or anything?”

Eddie’s stomach sinks. “Trying to be rid of me already, Harrington?”

Steve waves him off, “Nah. Your clothes are still in the dryer.” he says, standing up and passing around the island to the far counter where a phone book lays open. He picks it up and brings it back to Eddie, “I looked up Munson in case someone would be wondering where you are, but the only Munson here didn’t answer. A Wayne Munson?”

“My uncle,” Eddie explains, “He wouldn’t, not at this time of day. He’s already at the plant for the night.”

“Ah.”

“You can just give me a ride home, we stashed a key on the porch.” he tries to stand, pushing through the dizziness.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re staying right here, Munson. That’s an order.”

Eddie sinks back into his seat.

“Concussions are tricky, you know; You have to check on the person periodically while they sleep to make sure they’re not getting worse. If there’s not going to be anyone at home with you, you’d better stay here.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” Eddie gives him a two fingered salute, and relishes in the feeling of making Steve smile again. 

-🍦-

It was easier than he thought it'd be to convince Eddie to get back to bed, this time in the guest room across from Steve’s own bedroom.

He’d thought the surprisingly charming weirdo (he was apparently already smitten with) would fight him on it, but he’d followed him back upstairs without complaint after a third slice of toast, though he had gotten a bit woozy about 2/3rds of the way back up.

“What, no smooch? I have to settle for common drugs?” Eddie grumbles as Steve shakes a couple Tylenol into his palm. Steve just rolls his eyes, ignoring him (and the giant swoop of his stomach), “I’ll be up for a little while longer, I have to get your shit outta the dryer and get ready for work tomorrow, so I’ll wake you up before I go to bed and wake you up again in the middle of the night.”

Eddie takes the offered glass of water from him, gulping down the pain meds, “I’m gonna be super grouchy at you, you know.”

Steve smirks at him, “I know, but it’s gotta be done.” He takes back the glass and sets it on the nightstand. 

Eddie’d nodded through a long cracking yawn, smiled, then murmured a light “G’night Stevie.” that made Steve’s heart squeeze.

“‘Night Eds, I’ll see ya in a bit.”

Steve, however, did not get to sleep as easily, lying awake in his room after waking Eddie the first time. 

He set his watch to wake him in three hours to check on Eddie again, and he’d already wasted a good half of it staring at his ceiling and thinking in circles about everything that had happened, everything he’d felt and thought about the town freak sleeping across the hall.

He’d started with gathering all of it up and trying to cram it away to some corner of his head and leave it there, lock it away from even himself, but to no avail. The…he supposed you could call them feelings...for Eddie had grown much too big already for any one of the lock boxes in the back of his brain.

Then he’d tried to rationalize them again like he had at first. Tommy had told him, very confidently, that everyone has gay thoughts sometimes, it’s normal to realize when a guy is just objectively attractive. To realize you’d totally hit that if you had the chance. 

Harrison Ford was the first person Steve’d brought up during that conversation, and Tommy agreed. So that was it, Eddie Munson was just the same as Harrison Ford. He’d definitely sleep with Eddie if there was ever a chance.

And was there? There’d always been rumors about Munson, at least since Steve’d started at Hawkins High, maybe even before, but were they true? How would he even ask that? “Hey Eddie, heard you might be..y’know..into guys and I think I might be too. Do you maybe wanna do something about that? Together?”

Yeah. Not likely.

And Eddie hasn’t looked at him any different than he ever had before, at least not in the handful of times he’s caught the older teen looking at him across the cafeteria or from down the hall.

Should he just..start flirting and hope for the best? What if he doesn’t like it and decks him for it?

Steve scrubs his face again, this is so much easier with girls.

…And that’s another thing, what about girls? He still likes girls. A lot, actually. So is he even allowed to like Eddie? He reasons it’s at least possible to because he does like Eddie. Wants to date him too, but that’s definitely not allowed.

He’s no closer to figuring out what he’s supposed to do when his watch beeps to life again.

Sighing, he throws his covers off, stands up, and sneaks across the hall to Eddie’s room.

“Eddie..hey! Eddie!” Steve whispers, gently shaking him awake. Eddie’s bangs are sticking straight out from his forehead, the rest of his hair fanned out in a mess below his head, his morning breath already starting to form…how can this be so damn attractive?

“Mmm…Hm?” Eddie’s eyes squint against the low light filtering in from the hallway, “Steve?”

“Hey, how are you feeling? Is your head feeling better?”

Eddie sinks back onto his pillow and lets his eyes fall shut again. “Uhm, it hurts, but less than it did earlier.”

“Good, that’s good.” A split moment of bravery comes over him then. “How about your heart?”

“Still aches,” He slurs sleepily in response.

Steve’s bravery and Eddie’s wakefulness fade with each second, so before they’re both gone, Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “See you in the morning, Eds.”

-🎸-

When Eddie wakes up the final time the next morning, it’s on his own and from an amazing dream involving an epic battle, injuries, and a healing kiss pressed to his forehead by a soft-haired paladin.

He sits up, already significantly less dizzy than he’d been last night, and chugs down the glass of water Steve must’ve left last time he was up here. 

He gets dressed slowly, grabbing his freshly de-chlorinated Iron Maiden tee and trusty black jeans from the neatly folded pile on the nightstand. 

He’s wondering where his jacket and vest are when the sweet smell of breakfast hits him, “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says aloud to himself like a loser.

Eddie pulls on his socks, mismatched but bundled together anyhow, and steps out into the hall.

Steve’s voice filters up the stairs with a mouthwatering buttermilk smell, “Good morning Mr. Munson, I’m sorry if I woke you.”

What time is it anyway? Eddie winces internally on Steve’s behalf if it’s anytime past 8. 

“My name is Steve Harrington, sir, and I—” Steve sighs, “Yes sir, that Harrington.”

Eddie actually winces this time, halfway down the stairs now.

“No, no no, of course not, no trouble at all Mr. Munson, I’m calling because of Eddie.”

Oof, nope, that’s not gonna help ya, Stevie.

“I didn’t—no, not complaining about—no, he got hurt an–”

Eddie can hear Wayne’s voice through the phone now, even from where he’s stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“I think he might have a concussion and—no, no! I wanted to let you know so you can—”

He decides to save Steve from the Wrath of Wayne and walks around the corner into the kitchen. He holds his hand out for the receiver, and Steve gratefully passes it over, turning back to his waffle maker (a whole-ass waffle maker! Lucky sonofabitch…).

“--And if you don’ tell me righ’ this minute how he got hurt–”

“Calm down, old man, I’m fine. Though I think Steve would’ve denied me waffles if you went on any longer.”

“Theodore Munson, you tell me what’s goin’ on right this second.”

“Whoa! Full name privileges are revoked for you,” He jokes, unable to resist riling up his uncle more. He pulls the cord around the corner and back into the hall, “Wayne, seriously, I’m fine. I just fell into Harrington’s pool a little. No big deal.”

“No big deal huh? Why’n the hell were you concussed in Loch Nora?”

“It’s a long story, but short version is I fell into Harrington’s pool and smacked my head. Steve made sure I was okay, and,” he cringes, “and Hopper might show up on our doorstep in the next couple hours.”

Wayne heaves a long sigh, “Goddammit, boy.”

“It’s all good, I’ll be home soon. I’m gonna pilfer some breakfast and get Steve to drive me home.”

“Wait, wha’happened t’yer van?”

“Okay, bye Wayne! See you soon!”

“Theodore Wayn—”

He breathes a sigh of relief when the phone is back on its cradle.

“Your uncle is scary, man.”

Eddie turns back to Steve’s voice, sitting on the same stool he did last night. Steve passes him a plate with two large golden brown waffles.

“Nah, he’s a big softy. He just worries ‘bout me.” he picks up his fork, digging into the fluffy waffles. They are unfairly good. “Thanks for breakfast, Steve, this is great!”

“You’re welcome man, y’want strawberries?”

They eat quickly, it was later than Eddie thought and Steve has the opening shift at his new-ish job at Starcourt’s ice cream parlor.

“Oh, um.. Ice cream’s good, right?”

Steve grimaces, “I feel like it’ll be very not good after this summer. Plus I have a dumb uniform I have to wear.” he gestures to the backpack he’d grabbed on their way out and tossed in the backseat.

They’re in Steve’s BMW now; his shoes and vest are still kinda damp and he’s gonna have to re-condition his leather jacket after the damn chlorine got to it, but that’s a problem for Future Eddie. “No college for you then? I honestly figured you’d be outta here as soon as you walked across that stage.” 

“I uh, didn’t get in.” Steve says, “Dad decided I should get a job at Scoops to teach me a lesson or something. As if I didn’t feel bad about not living up to his expectations enough already.”

Eddie doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but his silence seems to make Steve nervous. “It’s whatever though, I shouldn’t be dumping this all on you, sorry.”

“Hey man, it’s cool, sounds like King Harrington of Hawkins expected a lot of the Prince.” They’re turning into the Forest Hills trailer park now; Eddie has a fleeting thought about how he’s finally made it to where he’d been heading last night, and something about how a twist of fate (of feet?) diverted him to a whole new course he hadn’t expected, but was glad had happened.

Steve snorts, “Yeah, don’t think he appreciated the Prince parading around pretending to be King prematurely, huh?”

Eddie grins at him as the wheels crunch on the gravel pad outside his home. “A savior and a Prince is better than a King any day.”

He gets a grin in return, then it falls slightly as he glances up at the trailer. “Well, here you are, Munson. It was, uh, weird? But nice to meet you…Officially, anyway” he tacks onto the end, “Just don’t accidentally fall into my pool again.”

“Hmm, I dunno Stevie, it was nice to be pampered.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle up again when he laughs, “How would you rate your visit to Casa Harrington, sir? On a scale of four to five stars?”

“Hmmm.. probably a 4.7 out of five.”

“4.7?! Ouch Eds, that hurts.” Steve clutches a hand to his chest, “After all the waffles and wakeup calls,”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for those wakeup calls.”

“4.7…” he mutters again, shaking his head, “What would’ve given me a full five then?”

“Well you gotta lay off the wakeup calls for starters,” Eddie says, starting to count on his fingers, “More options for toppings at your waffle breakfast bar,”

“You had strawberries and chocolate syrup! What more do you need?!”

Eddie continues on as if he hadn’t heard him. “There was no lifeguard on duty, my towels weren’t warmed up for me, I believe I was promised a True Love’s kiss at some point and never got it, the concierge antagonized my uncle—”

He’s interrupted from his rant by a quick press of something to the corner of his mouth.

He whips his head around and Steve’s face is mere inches from his. There’s a blush high on his cheeks, his eyes are wide (and they’re hazel, how’d he not know that?!), “Did you just—”

“Eddie! Get your ass up here, now.” Wayne calls from the porch, causing them both to jump.

“Better get goin’ Eds.” Steve whispers, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, I–” he glances down at Steve’s lips, he has a few seconds, right? Enough time to—

“Eddie!” Nope.

His eyes stay trained on Steve’s nervous expression while his hand scrambles for the handle. He finally finds it, all but spills out of the car, and closes the door behind him once he’s out fully.

Without any more preamble, Steve backs out of their driveway, and leaves the park.

-🍦-

Steve doesn’t see Eddie for a couple weeks, wasn’t even sure Eddie would want to see him again after that stupid move he pulled, but when he finally does, it’s just before closing on a random Wednesday at Scoops.

“You missed, Harrington!” Eddie calls from the entrance to Scoops. He sounds like he’s out of breath.

“Eddie?”

“You missed!” he walks forward at a normal speed, despite seeming like he’d rushed to get here. He’s also shaking his finger at him, chiding.

“Where’ve you been, man?”

“Had to take care of the whole ‘evading arrest’ thing, but that’s not important. You missed Stevie.”

“Stevie?” he hears Robin mutter in disbelief.

“Missed what? I mean, yeah, I missed you too man, but what—?”

He’s cut off when Eddie finally reaches the counter, grabs his face in both hands, and kisses him square on the mouth.

Robin yelps in surprise, but that is the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. 

Eddie’s lips are chapped, but they slot along Steve’s so easy it makes his head spin.

After forever and no time at all, Eddie pulls back, dropping back to his side of the counter. “There. A real lips to lips kiss. None of that sly cheek shit, Harrington.”

Steve’s still a bit dazed, “Much better than the first one.” He leans closer to Eddie again, lips searching, but he’s held still.

“Whattya mean, ‘the first one’?”

It clears his head a bit, “Uh, the one where I saved your life? Obviously.”

“That doesn’t count!” Eddie’s hands leave his face, and he misses them already.

“It was lips to lips! Isn’t that what you just said?”

“It was CPR, Steven!”

“I can count it as our first kiss if I want to, Edward.” Steve crosses his arms across his chest.

“My name’s not Edwa—”

The long squeal of marker-on-whiteboard cuts him off, and he immediately flushes red.

Oh yeah, Robin…aw fuck.

He turns slowly to the window behind the counter; a single tally mark has been drawn into the left side of Robin’s YOU RULE / YOU SUCK board.

She caps the marker, sets it down, smirks, and says “Congratulations, Dingus.”

this is also on AO3!

tagging a few of the people in the tags of the original who seemed interested in more! hope that's okay!!!

@inthewychelm @tboyeddie @brbsoulnomming @henderdads @ajs624 @sleepy-steve @eddiesdoeeyes @steddie-island @themeanderingty @hammity-hammer @spicysix @steddieasitgoes @willowworkswithwords @farahsamboolents @shares-a-vest @klausinamarink @fortheloveofgodletmein @sharpbutsoft @perseus-notjackson @zombiethingy @tchackdaw @eddiethehunted @smoothiecas @donttellunclesam @allyricas @living-force @xandriumbat @himbosandhardwear @everything-is-the-answer @sidebarre @m-owo-n @warmsole @occasionaloverboy @whoopssteddiefeels @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @extra-transitional @cecil5683 @makeadealwithdean @huymadovan

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Agent Peña

Summary: You and Javi are unpacking as you move into your new house, when you come across something unusual in one of the boxes. Surprise, it's Javi's old tac vest, and boy, do you need to show him how good he still looks in it.

Word Count: 5.3K (I'm surprised it's not longer, I could write a thesis about this vest)

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no used of y/n, reader's nickname is Osita)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) BOY OH BOY- unprotected p in v sex (be better pls), oral (m receiving), face fucking, mastrubation (f), big ole praise kink, creampie, cum play (ig??), soft dom!Javi (still being our consent king as always), Javi lifts reader up on the dresser and holds her hair, Javi's got a FILTHY mouth, THE VEST STAYS ON LADIES AND GENTS (gn)

A/N: ....Well.... Here we are. This idea has been rotting in the back of my brain for SO long, and I am finally ready to serve my time in horny jail 🫡 As y'all know, Javi's tac vest is deeply important to me, and it only feels right to support my namesake as such by sharing my deeply dirty thoughts of getting absolutely obliterated by this man in that stupid fucking vest. If you know me, no you DON'T, please do not make eye contact with me for the next 7-10 business days. 🤪

This can be read as a stand alone, or as a part of the It's Never Too Late Series!!

“Are you sure this is the last box?” 

“Yes, Hermosa, I’m positive.”

“Well, that was your answer 3 boxes ago, Jav.” 

You laughed to yourself, hauling what was supposedly the last cardboard box out of the back of Javi’s truck as you followed behind him into your new house. Your official move in day had finally come, and while you and Javi had been periodically transporting things from your apartment to the new house since it had been finished with construction, today was the last day on your lease, and the first day of your forever in your new home together. While you couldn't have been more excited to finally be in a real home of your own with Javi, you were much less excited about the 47 trips you had made in and out of the house, hauling boxes to and from Javi’s truck, and unpacking your entire existence into your new living space. 

You let out a little grunt as you set down the box into the mountain-like pile that had accumulated in your living room, Javi sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your shoulder. 

“You promise this was the last one?” You giggled, your voice oozing with sarcasm as you gave Javi a playful nudge while he held you in his grasp. 

“Promise.” He laughed, giving you a squeeze, only making you squeal and squirm even more. “Hopefully unpacking shouldn’t take too long, I’ll start moving the heavier shit upstairs and in the garage, and I’ll come help you down here when I’m done.” 

“What, are you saying I'm not strong enough to carry the heavy boxes? Rude.” You teased, spinning around to face him, crossing your arms over your chest, one eyebrow raised. 

“You know that’s not what I’m trying to say, you dork.” Javi sighed, rolling his eyes at your utter lack of seriousness in response to his comment. 

“I don’t know… Sure seems like it to me… I just don’t think that- HEY! PUT ME DOWN! STOP, STOP, YOU MEANIE!” You screeched, flapping your arms in hysterical laughter as Javi slung you over his shoulder, trapping you in the only way he’d figured out how to get you to stop with your never ending sass- tickling you until you were close to tears. “Fine, I- Javi! Stop! You win! You win! Let me go, you butt!” 

“Did you just call me a butt?” He snorted, setting you back down on the ground, smirking at the goofy grin on your face as you tried to recompose yourself, post tickle torture. 

“I would have come up with a better insult if I wasn’t close to almost peeing my pants.” You grumbled, sticking your tongue out at Javi, the two of you trying your best to keep from bursting into laughter again. 

“Will you just go start unpacking, weirdo? The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can go break in the new bed.” He smirked, biting down on his lip, his eyes looking you up and down with a mischievous sparkle. 

“Oooorrrrrr… We could just go break it in now and unpack later?” You shrugged, placing your hands on Javi’s chest, grabbing a fist full of the soft cotton of his worn t-shirt as you pressed up on your tiptoes and placed a kiss on his pouty lip. 

“As much as I want to,” He paused, pressing his lips back into yours, feeling the smile of his smug grin, “If we go now, there’s no way all of this is ever getting unpacked.” 

“Ugh, fine. You win again, Mr. Reasonable.” You frowned, giving him one last quick kiss before pulling away to search through the endless sea of cardboard to sort where each box needed to go. You reached down, hoisting up one labeled “bedroom” and resting it on your hip, pointing to the scratchy scribbles of Javi’s handwriting. “Look! I’m already going to the bedroom, soooooo…” 

“Osita…”   

“Fine, fine. You better move those boxes fast. Rude to keep your wife waiting like this, ya know.” 

“Will you please just go unpack, Hermosa?” He sighed, laughing and shaking his head, hiking up two boxes, heavy enough to make his biceps flex and the veins in his forearms incredibly noticeable. You could almost hear yourself audibly gulp as you watched him walk up the stairs, the muscles of his back flexing and straining deliciously against the gray cotton of his t-shirt. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” You muttered to yourself, in awe of your husband’s sheer broadness. So in awe, in fact, that you hadn’t even realized you had let your box slip from its place resting against your hip onto the living room floor, making you jump and startle yourself, scrambling to try and pick it back up in hopes that Javi hadn’t noticed. 

“You okay, baby?” Javi shouted from halfway up the stairs, peeking his head over the railing to see what had happened. 

“Yup, yup, totallyyyyy fine, all good, just going to unpack, nothing to see here.” You mumbled, darting down the hallway, eyes peeled in whatever direction was the exact opposite of Javi. 

Oof. You better find a way to become the world’s fastest unpacker. 

Thankfully, you and Javi seemed to make an unspoken pact to unpack in separate parts of the house to avoid distracting each other, Javi now working on organizing things in the garage while you worked on sorting all of the things that belonged in your master bedroom. Clothes and sheets had been easy to put away compared to all of the pots and pans you had unboxed in the kitchen before this, working your best to put things away as fast as you could with keeping the metal clashing and clanging to a minimum.

 As you dragged the last box labeled “Master Bedroom” into your room from the hallway, you were curious what kind of contents could be inside, considering you’d put away all of yours and Javi’s clothes, and whatever bedding belonged in your room. You spun the box around to each side, looking for any more clues, until your last turn, where you found “Javi DEA” printed on the upper corner. 

You paused for a moment, letting your fingers drum across the tattered cardboard, questioning whether or not you should leave it for Javi to deal with, or open it up for yourself. You gently chewed on your bottom lip as you internally debated, trying to rationalize with yourself before quite literally opening up a box into Javi’s past.

You had heard about the good, bad and ugly that had been Javi’s life in Colombia before returning home to Laredo, so you would be shocked to find something in this box that Javi really didn’t want you to see. 

It’s not like there was anything he’d be trying to hide from you in there, right? Probably just a bunch of badges and paperwork, anyways. 

With a little sigh and a shrug, you carefully ripped down the seam of the tape holding the box together, slowly lifting the cardboard flaps to reveal the contents inside. As you peeked into the box, you let out a little huff of relief to find out that your suspicions were correct- nothing but file folders, old badges and ancient coffee mugs with DEA symbols slapped across the front. 

You began making your way through the box, sorting its contents into piles for Javi to go through once he was finished in the garage. Even though majority of the items inside the DEA box were less than thrilling (unless you had a thing for reading 50 page long contracts full of legal jargon), you did get a kick out of Javi’s old badges, giggling at his grumpy frown that seemed to be plastered across his face in every picture he took from the time he started, until he retired. What cracked you up even more was finding the badges from the first few years Javi must have started working for the DEA, still sporting his signature pout, but with a clean shaven baby face you had only had the pleasure of seeing from the photo albums of Javi's youth that his father, Chucho, had so lovingly offered to share with you.

You gave the picture a sweet smile before setting it down with the rest of the badges in the growing pile, mindlessly reaching back into the box to pull out what you assumed would be more file folders full of paperwork. Except this time, you felt your fingertips graze against what felt like tough and worn fabric, dragging your hand further along the cloth until hitting a patch of scratchy velcro, making you cock your head in confusion. You scooted yourself over closer to the box, peering under the few manilla folders left inside to spot an army green strap popping out from in between them. 

Now very much intrigued, you dug your hand between the sea of papers, yanking on the mystery item to reveal a deep olive green vest, followed by a few crinkled pictures that must have been stuck inside it, gently fluttering to the floor in front of you. You set down the much heavier than expected vest to pick up one of the photos face down on the carpet, only to turn it over and feel your jaw practically drop to the floor and eyes bulge out of your skull. Because in that picture, was not just any photo of Javi from his time in Colombia, this was a photo of Javi, in the very vest that you had dug out from the bottom of his box. 

And holy fuck did he look hot. 

Frantically, you picked up another photo that had fallen to the floor, feeling your heart legitimately skip a beat to find it was another shot of him in the vest, his dark curls sticking to his forehead from the sweat soaking his skin and the light blue button down underneath it, hands resting on the hips of his dark gray khaki pants that left very little to the imagination. You flipped over one last picture, only to find the same, breathtaking visual of him in that damn vest, his biceps straining against the sweat-stained cotton of his army green shirt, the veins in his forearms prominently on display as he held the gun he was carrying pointed at the ground. 

While you had never seen these photos, or even known about this mystery vest until today, there was a part of you that was glad you hadn’t- the way Javi looked suited up in that vest had your head reeling in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever recover from, because Jesus Fucking Christ, it was the hottest goddamn thing you’d ever seen. 

Your eyes darted back and forth between the three photos, each picture somehow looking better than the last every time you found a new detail to drink in that made Javi look even more delicious.

Holy fuck.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander even further than it already was, picturing what Javi would look like with it on now, the broadness of his shoulders filling out the vest even more than he would have the last time he wore it. 

You were so entranced, so lost in ogling at how attractive Javi looked in the vest, that you hadn’t noticed the sound his familiar footsteps trudging down the hallway, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom and watching you as you sat cross legged on the floor, hunched over the now nearly empty box. 

“Hey, Hermosa, I’m almost all done in the garage if you wanna-” Javi’s voice quietly trailed off as his eyes wandered, looking at the items from inside the box spread across the floor, stopping at the long forgotten sight of his old tac vest propped up against the cardboard.

He couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself, simply out of shock that you had even found the vest in the first place, considering he hadn’t even remembered it had been living inside a box that hadn’t been touched since it was shipped back to Laredo with the rest of his things post DEA.

“Where the hell’d you find this? I haven’t seen this thing in fucking years.” He chuckled, reaching down to pick up the well worn armor, letting his thumb run along the seams of the rough fabric as he held it up in front of him, blocking your blushing and bright red face from his view. 

“It was uh- it was at the bottom of the box.” You gulped, trying not to stumble over your words, biting down on your tongue to try and keep your embarrassingly sheepish smirk at bay, Javi’s eyes now meeting yours as he lowered the vest from his view. He tilted his head in confusion at your clearly flustered state, reaching out his free hand to gently grab your arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth across your skin, his touch only making you more riled up. 

“Hermosa, are you okay?” 

“Yeah I’m- yes, I’m- I’m fine, it’s stupid.” You muttered, making no attempts to cover up your clearly blatant lie, darting your eyes away from Javi and shifting your gaze to the floor to try and hide your hot, flushed face, embarrassed that you were this worked up from 3 old photos and a piece of police gear.

But unfortunately for you, Javi knew you like the back of his hand, and knew all too well when you weren’t telling him something that was on your mind. 

Letting his hand slide up your arm and across your collarbone, he stopped at your chin, forcing your gaze back on him, giving you a smug shrug and raise of his eyebrows, silently waiting for your real response, the one he knew you were hiding behind your bashful facade. 

“What’s going on, baby?” 

With your eyes locked on his, thumb resting under your jaw, you had no choice but to swallow your own pride, the sweet dark brown of his glare coaxing your sheepish secret right out of you. 

“There were- there were pictures of you in the vest in the box. You look- Jesus, Javi, you look really fucking hot.” 

“That’s it?” He laughed, softly swiping his thumb across your cheek, still feeling like he hadn’t quite gotten everything out of you. 

“Well I was thinking... that uh- if- what-” 

“What, baby? Talk to me, it’s okay.” 

Oh, fuck me. 

“Would you, um, would- would you put it on?” 

“Put it on?” He chuckled, lifting up the vest, gesturing towards it. 

“Mhhmmmm.” You nodded, letting your tongue run against your teeth before biting down on your bottom lip, feeling a rush of heat rapidly creeping through your body. 

“Like, right now?” 

“Like, right now.” 

Realizing that you were completely serious about your request, Javi let out a playful scoff, running his hand over the back of his neck, almost as flustered by your ask as you were at the thought alone of seeing him in his vest. 

“Really? I mean, uh- yeah, okay.” Working in a quick and determined silence, Javi began slipping the vest over his head, pulling it over his broad shoulders and unfastening the velcro sides before readjusting them, tugging the flaps tighter against his stomach to hold them in place, quietly grumbling to himself. “Used to be able to pull these a lot tighter…” He groaned, flattening the last strap against the velcro.

As his focused shifted from his vest to you, he couldn’t help but smirk at the dumbfounded look on your face- the image in front of you leaving you so completely stunned, you felt like you needed to wipe the corner of your mouth to make sure that there wasn’t any drool coming out of it. Your brain was so short circuited, at a loss to form any sort of coherent sentence, the best you could muster out was a low, shaky, “Holy fucking shit.” 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for tactical vests.” Javi grinned with a devilish look slowing spreading across his face, seeing the complete and utter mess you were becoming as he slowly stepped towards you, the looming image of his broad body in that fucking vest making your heart race and your palms sweat. 

“Well, I- I didn’t, um, I didn’t-” You stammered, your breath trembling as you tried to respond, your brain going blank as you watched Javi approach you. Before you had a chance to even try to and concoct some sort of answer, Javi’s hand was back under your chin, fingers wrapped around your jaw with a much tighter and demanding presence than just a few moments ago, sensing the undeniable shift of palpable tension in the room. 

“Didn’t what? Use your words, sweet girl.” He rasped, teasing you with his knowingly smug smirk, his words shooting straight to your core, making your stomach flip in anxious arousal. 

You could feel your words bobbing in your throat as you swallowed, your tongue darting out of your parted mouth, desperate to taste Javi’s lips now barely ghosting yours, patiently waiting for your response, relishing in the needy mess he could sense you were quickly becoming. 

“Didn’t realize it until I saw you in it. You look- fuck- you look so hot.” You whispered, feeling his warm breath against your skin as he sucked at your pulse point, his teeth nipping at your neck as a ragged moan escaped your mouth. “Javi…” 

“Not gonna give you what you want 'till you tell me. I wanna hear you say it. Tell me what you want.” You could practically feel his satisfied smirk as his kisses worked their way down your neck towards your chest, each press of his lips taunting you, only making it harder and harder for any part of your brain to function. 

“I wanna- fuck- I wanna suck your dick. Fuck, I need to taste you.” You whimpered, reaching out to run your hand across his vest, letting it trail from his chest, down to his stomach, your fingertips grazing his belt buckle before a firm grasp wrapped around your wrist, holding your hand in place and stopping it from traveling any further. 

“Nuh-uh.” Javi tutted, rasping in your ear. “Be a good girl and ask first. Tell me how badly you need it.”  

“Please, Javi. Fuck, please let me suck your dick, baby. Please.” You moaned, sounding more desperate than you had intended, but fuck, there was nothing you wanted to do more than drop to your knees and worship him in the most sinful way you could.  

“Jesus, you’re so fucking pretty when you beg for it. You need me that bad, Hermosa?” Javi grinned, feeling you nod your head frantically, the hand he was holding in his grasp reaching for below his belt. “Okay, baby, show me how bad you need me, huh?” 

In an instant, you were dragging your hands down his vest, sinking to the ground as you frantically worked to undo his belt buckle, the quiet clang of the metal singing a song of sweet relief as you shuffled his pants down his legs before hooking your fingers around the elastic waistband of his boxers, tugging them down to meet his pants. pooling around his ankles. His cock sprung free as it was released, already painfully hard and weeping with precum as it slapped against his stomach, the sight alone making you lick your lips. You kissed the inside of his thighs, trailing your way up to his shaft in long, languid movements, dragging your tongue back and forth along the underside of his cock before sinking just his tip between your lips, swirling it in your mouth. 

You had barely touched him, but you were already so worked up that what had started as just a wet patch in your underwear had now turned into the fabric becoming completely soaked in your slick, leaving your cunt aching and throbbing. With your mouth still sucking and flicking at his tip, you couldn’t help but let your hand snake down your front, sneaking between your skin and the waistband of your pants as it dipped into your underwear. You let your fingers slide through your folds, before sinking them into your heat, your hips instinctively grinding down on your hand to find any sort of temporary relief as you fucked yourself with your fingers. 

Looking up at him with batted lashes, you sunk your mouth deeper down on his length, hollowing your cheeks as you took him inch by inch, watching his eyes go wide as you took the hand that had just been inside your pants back out to reveal the shiny slick covering your fingers, then wrapping them around his base, covering his shaft in your arousal. 

It was taking everything in him just to say fuck it right then and there, to toss you onto the bed and fuck you until you were begging him to stop, but watching the way you worked around his cock so needily had him so stunned, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but let you work your magic. 

“Jesus, fuck…” Javi muttered to himself, already feeling his balls beginning to tighten as your head bobbed along his dick, sinking down just enough to let the deep, musky scent of the curls at the base of his shaft tickle your nostrils. 

It wasn’t long before his hand was buried deep in your hair, his fingers cradling the back of your head as his hips began to buck towards your face, trying to hold himself back from full-on fucking your throat, until your fingers wrapped around the back of his thighs, bracing yourself as you gave Javi your silent nod of approval to keep going. Letting a low groan rumble in his chest, his second hand met the one already palming the back of your head, guiding you up and down his cock as he thrust deeper into your throat, tears welling in your eyes and saliva spilling out the corners of your mouth. His tip brushed against your gag reflex, making you dig your fingertips further and further into his skin. 

“Oh fuck- this what you wanted, Quierda? To get on your knees and let me- shit, shit, shit- fuck that pretty little mouth of yours like the good girl you are?” Javi hissed through gritted teeth, trying to keep himself together as he watched his length slide in and out of your mouth, tempted to let himself go and spill deep down your throat, watching his spend drip down your lips. But he knew he’d be kicking himself if he wasn’t finishing buried in the depths of your cunt, your warm, wet walls milking him of every last drop, clenching around him as you came. 

That was enough to pull him back to his senses, guiding his dick out of your mouth, the two of you catching your breath as you wiped your hand with the back of your mouth in confusion, wondering what had made him back off so quickly. 

“Javi, are you okay? Did I do something wr-oh!” You gasped, stumbling as Javi forcefully pulled you to your feet, manhandling you towards your dresser, your mouths becoming a mess of tangled tongues and teeth as your back bumped against the wooden edge. Javi’s hands were under your legs, grabbing you and hosting you up to sit on top of it, ripping your pants and underwear down off your hips and tossing them to the floor. 

“I need to be inside you. Fuck, I need to feel you when I fuck you full of me.” He mewled, reaching down to stroke himself as he lined his dick up with your entrance, running his tip through your folds, coating it even more in your slick before sinking himself deep into your pussy, flushing his hips against you as his cock bumped against your cervix. Even though you were already soaking wet, you couldn’t help but whimper at the sweet sting of how full Javi’s stretch made you feel, gripping around the shoulder straps of his tac vest for dear life as he began to thrust in and out of you, already setting a punishing, desperate pace. 

You wrapped your legs around the small of his back just under his vest, whimpering and moaning into his shoulder as your buried your face in the crook of his neck the lewd noises of muted moans and slapping skin filling the room as Javi punched into you, his cock splitting you open in the best way possible. 

“Javi, oh fuck baby, fuck, you feel so good, oh shit-”  You whined, your brain going blank, babbling between moans, already feeling a tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine while Javi’s hands gripped around your hips, holding you in place as he fucked into you hard and deep. Your cunt was starting to clench around his cock, pounding into that sweet spot inside you that had you seeing stars and screaming his name as you could feel yourself coming undone around him. 

Rutting your hips against him, the hairs at his base rubbed your clit, the friction giving you just enough stimulation to send you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a ferocious intensity, flooding every inch of your body with pleasure. 

“That’s it. Give it to me, Hermosa. Fuck- cum all over me baby girl.” Javi hissed through gritted teeth, his words humming deep in his throat as he fucked you through your high, his hands holding you in place as you melted into him, your body going limp as you came. “You gonna give me another one, Querida? Be a good girl and give me one more before I fuck you so full of me, I’ll be dripping out of you for days.” 

You were so lost in your pleasure, you couldn’t find any words, simply nodding your head as you moaned into his neck, only starting to come to when you suddenly felt an emptiness in your cunt, Javi pulling out to scoot you off the dresser, guiding your feet to the floor as he turned you over, splaying your chest across the wooden surface and pinning your arms behind your back. Gently nudging your feet wider, you could feel his broad body looming over yours, his hot breath dancing across your neck as he nibbled at your ear. 

“You still okay, Osita?” 

“Mhmmmm” You whimpered, your body trembling as Javi’s hands ran across your hips, feeling his hard length pressed against your ass, wiggling your bottom half against him, desperate for him to ease the emptiness between your legs again. 

“Lemme hear you say it, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.” Javi grunted, now dragging his cock through your folds, teasing your dripping entrance, waiting painfully patiently for your response. 

“I need it so bad, Javi, please, please baby.” You moaned, rolling your hips and pushing your ass back on him, doing anything to try and feel him inside you again. 

“My needy girl. Shhhhh, it’s okay baby, I’ve got you.” Javi smirked, flushing his hips against your ass as he bottomed out inside you, the fullness making you cry out in pleasure.

He slowly began thrusting in and out of you, dragging his cock along your heat, each stroke punching against your g-spot, so wet that you could hear each rut of his hips as he buried himself deeper and deeper into your hilt. 

You were so blissed out, barely hanging by a thread as you felt heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, that you were resting your head against the dresser, closing your eyes as you felt yourself coming undone. That was until Javi’s firm grasp shifted from pinning your hands behind your back to sliding up your neck, resting his hand under your jaw and forcing your gaze into the mirror on top of your dresser. 

Your eyes locked with Javi’s, the reflection of him in his vest towering behind you as he thrusted into you over and over, watching the brown pools of his eyes darken with lust as he watched you slowly begin to come undone under him. 

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see that pretty face when you cum all over me.” 

The image of him was all consuming- His wide shoulders spilling from the sides of the vest, his dark, damp curls sticking to his forehead from the sheen of his sweat that had begun to pool in his brow, the wrecked look painted across his face making you weaker and weaker as you could feel the heat creeping up your legs and through your core. 

Reaching back, you grabbed on to the side of his vest, burying your fingers into the thick fabric for dear life as his pace began to quicken, his thrusts becoming faster and sloppier with each snaps of his hips as he felt your pussy fluttering around his length, watching you turn into a puddle below him. 

“I know you’re close, baby. C’mon Hermosa, oh shit- give it to me.” Javi grunted, letting his hand drop from your jaw to snake down your body, the pads of his fingers circling your clit with just enough force to have you screaming his name, clenching your cunt around his cock as you came. 

“Javi, Javi, oh fuck, fuck, fuck-” You babbled, your eyes practically rolling in the back of your head as Javi began to follow suit, rambling incoherently, chasing his own high. 

“I know, baby, I know. Such a good fucking girl, taking me so well. Fuck, oh shit- I’m close, too. Oh, fuck me- Jesus Christ, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh-” With only a few more thrusts, Javi was spilling inside you, his spend pulsing against your walls as he milked himself of every drop he had, his body slumping over yours as your chests rose and fell in sync, trying to catch your breath. 

Your legs trembled as the warm mix of your spend trailed down your thighs, only to be caught by his fingers, slowly dragging your combined arousal back up your skin before taking it and pushing it back into your entrance, languidly pulsing his digits in and out of your dripping hole, making a ragged moan fall from your lips as he nipped at your neck, softly sucking at your pulse point. 

“Gonna keep you full of me all night, sweet girl, all fucking night.” 

“Holy fuck…” You whined, finally catching your breath enough to speak before pushing yourself back up to stand, turning around to grab Javi’s face, pulling him in for an electric, passionate kiss before letting your hands rest on the worn army green of his vest, quietly laughing to yourself in disbelief. “Jesus fucking Christ, Javi.” 

“You okay, Osita? Sorry if I got carried away, I just- fuck, seeing how worked up you were, I-” 

“Javier Jesús Peña, you better not be apologizing to me for being the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in that goddamn vest. I swear to God, I’m never letting you take that thing off. Well… On second thought, if you don’t take it off I don’t think I will ever be productive ever again because holy shit.” 

The two of you couldn’t help but laugh to yourselves as Javi wrapped his arms around your waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles against the bare skin of your hips, looking out at the scattered sea of pants and underwear on the floor that had been quickly left behind during your horny antics. 

“Well, if you let me take it off,” Javi grinned, pressing a chast kiss on your cheek and then peppering them towards your lips, “then we can go take a shower to clean up,” he paused again, feeling his smile against your mouth, “we can go break in the bed, and I can return your little favor from earlier since someone was too eager to get dicked down to let me.” 

“Oh, shut up, can you blame me? Don’t have to ask me twice.” You giggled, raising a playful eyebrow at Javi. “Just promise me one thing, okay?” 

“Of course, Hermosa. Anything.” 

“Don’t you ever get rid of that fucking vest, Agent Peña.” 

Taglist:

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[modelbus]

Kaz Brekker ladies and gents!! I just HAD to write more of him, sorry to my mcyt fans… and this is a hefty one at 4K words

There is violence, alcohol, death (murder…), and suggestiveness in this! Be warned!

Part one

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Gn!Reader

It’s All An Act

You don't talk about it. Neither of you acknowledge that anything is different. Kaz sends you out on jobs, and you come back with blood-stained hands. It's nothing out of the normal, but something about it just feels different.

It doesn't help that you’re resolutely avoiding him the best you can. If you don’t have a buffer there—Jesper, Wylan, or Inej—then you simply won't be talking to him. Not while the memory of his hand on your hip is still present.

"Now that was a good job!" Jesper cheers, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You laugh, leaning into him easily. 

"I only had to save your ass once." You joke, grinning.

"What's a job without some ass-saving?" His gaze flits around the Crow Club, undoubtably looking for Kaz and Wylan. The two were arriving last, having to do whatever they were doing. You were in no position to question Kaz's secret plans.

"True." You relent.

"You should drink! Come on, celebrate with me." Jesper knocks on the bar, and a cup of liquid is sent your guys’ way within seconds. Amber-colored, pretty in theory, but you know it's a bad idea. You know what happened the last time you thought it'd be a good idea to drink.

"Jes—"

"A little celebration. Nothing crazy." He winks, offering her the glass.

Your shoulders slump, and you’re about to take it just to indulge him, but a hand snatches it before you can. Gloved in black leather, Kaz raises it with raised eyebrows. 

"Boss!" Jesper exclaims. "Join us, we were just celebrating our victory!"

"You don't drink." Kaz says lowly to you, eyes raking over you. You frown, knowing exactly what you’re both thinking of.

His hand on your hip, leaning in too close to you. Quiet words, things you still puzzled over in your head to this day.

"First time for everything." You answer, stubborn. "Or, second time."

"That's the spirit!" Jesper cheers. "Knock it back."

"No." Kaz tells you, firmly. Then, without a second thought, tosses his head back and drains the drink. He drops it back on the counter and strides off, up towards his office.

"Buzzkill." Jesper sighs.

"Who is? Kaz?" Wylan asks, appearing out of nowhere. There's gunpowder smudges on his face, too-wide eyes peering at them.

"When isn't he?" You respond with a question, rolling your eyes.

"Everything go fine on the job?" Jesper questions. "He doesn't normally drink like that."

"Yeah." Wylan nods. "Explosions went perfect. I mean, one was a bit bigger than expected, but he said that was good!"

"He means it." Jesper quickly says, consoling. "Right?" He asks with a sideways glance to you.

"Right." You nod.

"Wy, you've got gunpowder on your face." Jesper laughs, reaching out to rub it off his cheek. It smears, becoming worse. Wylan bats his hand away, flushing red.

"You're making it worse!"

"I'm trying to get rid of it!"

You laugh quietly. "I'll go grab a towel."

You stand up, letting Wylan take your seat, and head towards the stairs. There's a closet up there, near Kaz's office, where you can surely find something to wipe the gunpowder off. Hazard of being an explosions expert, you suppose.

Opening the closest, you scan it for towels or wash cloths or anything. There's a dark grey one, so you grab it and shuts the closest. The hairs on the back of your neck rise, and you spins toward Kaz's now-open office door. He leans casually against his doorframe, both hands enclosed over the cane in front of him.

"Going to ask before you ravage my supplies?" He asks you.

"You pay me, Brekker." You deadpan, crossing your arms. Just barely, you inch backwards.

These brief moments of being alone with him have been filled with more fighting than usual. It's no doubt a result of how standoffish you’ve been to each other recently, and you hate it. You miss cracking jokes with Jesper, watching Kaz as you do to see if he'll give in and smile or not. He never does, but it's nice to pretend sometimes.

"You're not hurt." Not really a question from him, but he never really deals in questions.

"No, it's for Wylan. He has gunpowder all over his face. A bit suspicious should the stadwatch come in here."

Kaz nods, which is as much permission as you’ll get for taking the hand towel. "Return it after, Assassin."

"I'll send Wylan."

"I'm not asking for Wylan."

One day, he'll kill you. Because what does that mean? Are you meant to take that as something positive or something bad? His facial expression gives nothing away, schooled in the same neutral one as always.

"I'll still send him."

His gaze hardens at your clear refusal, but he doesn't push it. Just stays silent as you turn away, headed back down to the crow club. 

"Assassin." He calls after you just when you’re an awkward distance away. Screw him. "Get your tolerance up."

"My tolerance?" You ask, momentarily confused.

"Alcohol." He clarifies. “It’s a weakness.”

You scowl at him, openly glaring. If that didn't sting you didn't know what would. This one, though, you don’t want to fight against. It was too close to the line you were trying to avoid.

"Fine."

-

Not many things are easy in life. That's just a fact of it, as clear as the grass is green and the sky is blue. Although the sky is more grey than blue in Ketterdam.

What is easy, though, is the slicing of your knife across someone's throat. Less resistance than most people expect from the flesh and blood under the metal, giving way with just a bit of pressure.

Kaz glances over his shoulder at you and the dead body at her feet, startling. It's not very noticeable, per se, but you can still tell. From the slightest widening of his eyes to the downward twitch of his lips, you know.

He had no idea someone was behind him. And that was exactly why you were put on the duty of following him tonight. 

For a second he looks at you, then just keeps walking. You huff out a laugh.

"No thanks?" You ask him, crouching to rifle through the now-dead man's pockets.

"You're doing your job." He snaps. 

"I'd still appreciate a simple 'thank you.'" You pull out his wallet, flipping it open. "Dime Lions." 

"Great." Sarcasm. It makes you smile.

"He's dead now, so no worries." 

You snap his wallet shut and tuck it back into his pocket before jogging to catch up with Kaz. There wasn't much of value in it, but you take the Kruge that's in there. Enough to paint it as a petty robbery, although Pekka Rollins will know better. The stadwatch, on the other hand, won't. Which is exactly the point.

"Why are you walking with me?" Kaz asks, stiff and pointed.

"You didn't know he was behind you." Concern, hidden well, is tucked behind your words. Kaz isn't a dumbass. He knows to watch behind him, to pay attention. 

So why wasn't he?

"I had it under control."

"Brekker, if I wasn't here—"

"I pay you to be here. I had it under control."

Warning. You’re pissing him off, but you aren’t going to stop. Your lack of self preservation is just like that sometimes.

"You could've died due to your brooding." 

His eyebrow quirks up. "Brooding?"

"Thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about." You amend. "Revenge, or murdering babies, or whatever Kaz Brekker thinks about."

He turns his head towards you, most likely to scan your expression. You scan his first. There's the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes, making the fight drain out of you. You wonder what he finds in your expression.

"I prefer not to murder babies." Kaz finally answers, never breaking his stride. You light up, because that's a joke. 

"So revenge it is." You joke back, practically glowing.

"No."

"Then what, Brekker?" 

He stops, turning towards you. "Why are you still walking with me, Assassin? Your job is on the roofs at a distance."

You draw back, deflating slightly. You don’t let it show though, knowing better than to show weakness.

"Right." You turn away, vanishing down an alley to use the fire escape to get back up to the roofs.

Kaz keeps walking.

-

"Chin up. Watch my entire body, not just my feet." You instruct, darting in to lightly tap your opponent on the shoulder. Wylan sighs, jumping backwards far too late.

"This is hopeless." He claims dejectedly.

"Not hopeless. Just... difficult." 

You step back too, giving him a second to catch his breath. When Kaz told you to teach Wylan how to fight, you hadn't thought it'd go this bad. But here you are, in the basement of the Crow's headquarters. You’re desperately trying to get him to spar with you at least a little. Honestly, you’d be happy if he hit you even once.

"Come on, you've got this. Into the square then out. Anticipate my moves." 

Wylan lunges, stuttering forward, and you side-step with minimal effort. You’re slower than usual, more obvious. But at least he's trying, even if he's failing at it.

"How?" He moans miserably, looking down at his wrapped hands. Your hands are similarly wrapped, white gauze protecting her knuckles. Not that you’re hitting Wylan at all; you’ve been tapping him whenever she gets into range. 

"Everyone has tells. Even you." You dip your head towards him. "Think of Kaz. He slides his hand down further on his cane for a better grip before he swings it. That's a tell. Or Jesper, who angles his feet into shooting position before pulling his gun."

"How do you even notice this stuff?" 

"Perks of being a fighter." You shrug, lightly circling around him.

"I'm not a fighter." He points out.

"And we're trying to make you one."

Faintly, you can hear the noise of Kaz's cane approaching from somewhere. Doing rounds, maybe. You tun him out, focusing more on Wylan instead.

"So what's your tell?" Wylan asks you, making your laugh.

"If I knew, I wouldn't have one. You'll have to figure it out yourself."

He groans again, stepping back from you. You grin, shaking your head. "Come on, you've got this."

"I'm not made for fighting. I don't know how to look for a tell!”

You laugh. "I have immeasurable faith in you, Wy."

"Well I don't!" He throws his hands in the air, and you take the chance to knock him off balance. Before he can fall, though, you catch his wrist to keep him upright.

"Careful." You teas, ignoring his mumbles of curses.

"I'm starting to wonder why Inej couldn't have taught me." He grumbles. "Who cares if she's busy? What even is a tell?!"

"Angling shoulders before making a move." Kaz says, making both Wylan and you turn. "Because of a slighter frame, seeking the added power."

Not an insult, not from him. It's just a fact, a true statement. You choose stealth, speed, and agility over muscles and strength. To you, it's better. Because he's right; in a brute force battle, you’ll lose every single time.

You could write this off as him needing to know your weakness. That's just how Kaz was: he documented every weakness of every person, just in case. But something tells you this isn't that. It's something more, something you’re too scared to dig into.

And of course your tell is one she can't even fix, because he's right. You need that power more than you need to disguise your tell. 

"Thanks, Kaz." Wylan says brightly. "Maybe you'd be a better teacher."

You roll your eyes, grinning. "I don't see Brekker on the mat." 

"Lucky him." Wylan huffs under his breath, making you laugh. 

"I’m the one who ordered these lessons." Kaz informs Wylan, although they all already knew this. "So learn."

He shifts backwards, leaning against the wall. Watching.

Great. Now you feel like you’re being judged at how bad of a teacher you are. In your defense, you were taught to fight. Not how to teach others how to fight. There's no way to explain the dance, the intuition that'll take over when your life is in danger.

"Who taught you?" Wylan asks, and you freeze.

Not because you don’t have an answer, but because it's one you can't give. At least, not with Kaz in the room. He told you to keep your secrets, that he didn't want them. Well, this was one secret you sure as hell were keeping.

"Not a particularly kind teacher." You say, hoping that's good enough.

Late at night, freshly woken from a haunting memory, you can remember your training. Getting beaten within an inch of your life every single day. Learning how to fight become a necessity to survive, to avoid injury.

You won't be teaching Wylan that way. You couldn't stand the idea of hurting him like that. Of hurting anyone like that. Bringing pain to the helpless wasn't your style; and Kaz knew that. Which was exactly why they didn't have you do torturing in the Crows.

Wylan, wisely, keeps his mouth shut and raises his fists. You nudge his feet apart into a more proper stance, biting back a laugh when he nearly topples over.

"Saints, I can't wait until Jesper gets here."

-

The first thing Kaz says to you when you haul yourself up the Crow Club stairs and into his office isn't particularly nice. His back to you, standing over his desk. From the angle you have, leaning heavily against the doorway, you can see various papers spread out on it.

"You're late, Assassin." He says blandly over his shoulder. "By an hour."

"I know." You snap, because saints if there's one thing you don’t want it's to be chewed out by Kaz right now.

"Then why—" he turns, halting his own words as he takes you in.

You must be a sight for sore eyes to make him stop like that. Shoulder braced to against the doorway so she can lean on it, you stare back at him. Your arm, bleeding from a knife wound, is wrapped protectively around your ribs. Bruised, at least, but maybe fractured or broken. 

You take Kaz in the same way he's currently taking you in. His hair is disheveled, out of his usual, which has your interest immediately. Between that and his eyes—darker than usual—you can tell he's in a bad mood. Worrying. Bad news for you, most likely.

"You're hurt." He states the obvious, eyes trailing down to where you’re dripping blood onto his floor.

"No shit, Kaz." Your voice is laced with pain; no use trying to hide what he already knows. 

"Fight?"

"I won."

"Who?"

You set her jaw and resolutely refuses to answer. To admit that an ex-employer of yours (the one ex-employer before Kaz, actually) had sent someone to kill you? It painted you as having baggage. And in the barrel, that wasn't a good thing.

You did win, though. That much is the truth. Even though her opponent was about ten times the size of you and surprised you in you own home. That was a fear tactic, and damn if it wasn't working. Maybe you’d ask if you could stay with Wylan and Jesper until you found somewhere new to live.

"You wouldn't happen to have bandages, would you?" You ask instead of answering. You know he does.

He sighs. "In the bathroom." 

Neither of them move. In theory, getting them sounded great to you. But in practice, you know it'd kill your ribs.

"Where?" Kaz asks finally, and you know he's not asking where it happened.

"Arm. Ribs."

He frowns even more than he already is, and you look away. You were hired because you’re meant to be good. Meant to be above this injury stuff.

You look back at him when you hear him moving closer. He offers his cane to you. Anywhere else, it'd be courtesy. Simple politeness. Anyone else, it'd be no big deal. But you’re here, and it's him.

"Just take it." He says lowly, before you can make any comment.

So you do, hand wrapping around the metal crow head you’ve seen him grip a thousand times. It's warmer than you would've expected, warmed from body heat despite the gloves he's always wearing.

Kaz turns, heading to his bathroom without another word. His limp is pronounced, but he doesn't falter. You tighten your grip on his cane and follow him, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through your ribs.

Bruised, fractured, or broken. Saints, you hope it’s the first one.

He goes to the bathroom closest, hand on the door to take the weight off his bad leg, reaching out to grabs a roll of bandages. You offer his cane back when he turns around, having the counter to lean on instead.

Kaz takes it silently, inclining his head towards the counter without any words. Your gaze flickers between him and the counter, biting your cheek.

Sitting on the counter would take the pressure off your ribs, yes. But at the same time, getting onto the counter was a problem in itself. If your ribs were broken badly, you could jar one irreversibly.

"It's like you can't do anything." Kaz snaps, anger and violence written into his tone.

You have your own quick remark fast on your tongue, easy to spit out at him. You never get the chance.

Kaz grabs your waist—gloves, he has his gloves on, and the three goddamn layers—and lifts you onto the counter. Your breath is gone for two reasons within the second. One: it fucking hurt. Two: when did he get the ability to do that? You aren’t heavy, and Kaz isn't weak, but fuck.

He drops the bandages on the counter next to you and walks out of the bathroom.

For a second, you’re too stunned to do anything. Then survival instincts kick in, and you grab the bandages with your good arm to stop the bleeding on your left one. The cut wasn't deep, a superficial wound really, but it was a lucky knife slash. Serrated blades were truly the worst thing to go around Ketterdam. Every damn fool was using them these days. Zero skill and all luck.

Ears carefully attuned to Kaz's cane and uneven footsteps, you’re just tucking the end of the bandage in when he walks back in. You don’t look up at him, although you’re about equal height right now due to your position.

It's a familiar position. Sitting on the countertop, Kaz in front of you. You close your eyes for a second, trying to clear out that mental image. 

When you open your eyes again, he's stepped between your legs.

Saints. Just like the stupid party.

"Hold your shirt up."

Your mind goes blank. "What?"

"You need someone to check if your ribs are fractured or not." His expression shifts, just slightly. Annoyed, maybe? "Hold your shirt up."

Swallowing your pride, or dignity, or self-restraint, you tug your shirt up. Just enough to make him able to see your ribs, no higher. You assume he'll look at them, seeing as observing is what he does best. You assume wrong.

Carefully, he lays his gloved hands over your rib cage and feels over your ribs. One layer. One fucking layer.

Your head tilts back, hitting the wall, mouth parting. Because this hurts, a double edged knife in the heart. Between your ribs and arm, you’ve been through enough. But now he's touching you, one layer stopping it from being skin-to-skin contact.

The coolness of his leather gloves slides over your ribs as he gently presses in, trying to feel if anything is amiss. You have to bite your tongue to stop from crying out in pain, but it's not enough to disguise your gasp.

"Breathe in." He orders. "Deeply."

You do so, slow and steady, closing your eyes against the pain. Without prompting you breathe out, which is considerably easier than breathing in. His thumb presses down, and yoj reflexively grab his wrist when it sends white-hot agony through you.

Kaz raises his eyebrows.

"Sorry." You breathe out.

One layer.

You drop your hand from his wrist.

"Talk." A command from your boss, or whatever he is to you right now.

You wracks her brain, only coming up with one thing. "Seven. I was seven—"

"Not a secret." He grinds out. "Something mundane."

It was a secret, but one you were offering willingly. Swallowing back pointless hurt (hadn't you gotten hurt at the same thing at that party?) you switch topics.

"I like dogs. The- ow- the smaller ones. Or the soft ones. They're cute, even as strays." 

Kaz presses down, harder than before, just on a certain spot on your ribs. The 8th one on the right side. You gasp, hand closing around his wrist again.

"Fractured." He says cooly, not pulling away.

Not pulling away.

"Hairline?" You ask hopefully.

Kaz, thank the saints, nods. He drops his hand but doesn't step back. In response, you drop your shirt back down.

You've been in this position before. Granted, you were drunk and not injured the last time, but your mind is drawing parallels.

"Who was it?" Kaz asks again, and you’re finally able to place the look in his eyes.

Murderous. 

If you hadn't killed the man herself, you’d be afraid for his safety. Maybe him dying to you was a blessing compared to whatever death he would've suffered at Kaz's hands.

"Who was it?" He repeats.

"Don't worry about it. I took care of it. I can handle myself just fine, Brekker."

He doesn't rise to the bait. "I know you can. And I still need a name." Pause. "Names?"

"I can handle my own fucking problems."

Kaz's gaze pointedly doesn't waiver. "What problems? I'm not above getting you drunk again. You seemed plenty happy to spill your secrets then."

Low blow. "Technically you didn't get me drunk. I got myself drunk."

"Technicalities. You're staying here tonight."

"Kaz!"

"Someone's after you, and you won't tell me who. You're an asset the Crow Club needs, and I protect my assets. Clear?"

He's Kerch. Ketterdam for most of his life, at the very least. You aren’t quite the same, having grown up in Ravka first then moved here. But you’re smart enough to know that Kerch use terms of endearment interchangeably with material goods.

And you know Kaz well enough to know that him calling you an asset isn't something small.

"Fine." You breathe, hoping he'll know that you accepting isn't something small either.

It's how the barrel works; in trades. It's how you two work.

"I'll find out who eventually." Kaz threatens—no, promises. "Wylan has the merch council after him. Inej the menagerie. Jesper the entirety of Ketterdam's gambling rings. I don't care who's after you."

"You will." 

Kaz reaches up, wrapping his fingers delicately around your chin. You’ve seen these same hands strangle a man before, yet they're nothing but soft here.

And he pulls your face to his, kissing you.

"Do not tell me what I will and won't care about."

Just as quickly as the kiss happens, it's over. Kaz takes a few steps back, until his back hits the wall. If you hadn't known him, you would've assumed it took no effort for him to do that. But you can see his hands flexing on his cane, and knows about his touch aversion.

No layers.

It takes you too many silent moments to place the look in his eyes. One that's unfamiliar to you, and unfamiliar to him. Vulnerability.

Not synonymous with weakness, because Kaz Brekker isn't weak. Even on his knees, he could be never be weak to you.

"Pekka Rollins." You breathe, offering your own vulnerability.

You know you won't get another kiss out of it, no matter how badly you want it. But you offer it anyways.

His eyes sharpen.

Your shared enemy.

"Better the enemy you know." He murmurs. "He sent someone after you."

"Repeatedly."

Kaz nods. "Then," he says slowly, meticulously, "we take him down."

He reaches a hand out, palm up, offering to help you off the counter. You take it, skin sliding against the leather, wincing as you slide off. 

"Take it easy. You're no use if your ribs become broken."

Well. If you squint, it's kind of sweet.

You stay up together, maps of Ketterdam spread out among various other papers in front of him. You in a chair next to his desk, him standing ominously over it. 

And when you start to fall asleep, ignoring the pain in your ribs, he does you the favor of not waking you up. Instead, he switches to his own seat, silently working on saints-knows-what.

The next time your eyes open, there's a blanket over you and a missing Kaz.

-

Affection from Kaz comes in the form of subtly, the things that have been there all along. The minor details you ignored, too doubtful you’d read it wrong.

Him leaning over you while reviewing a plan, for instance. Rather than wedge himself between you and Jesper—you’d both move for him, of course—he leans over you to tap a certain number. The barest of brushes, his arm against your shoulder, then nothing.

Or, more obvious, him offering out his cane to you to help you stand. It's just slightly alleviating on your ribs, which you do have wrapped carefully to prevent them from becoming worse. They're nearly healed, actually, the last of the bruises vanishing. 

But he still offers out his cane, and you still take it. Every time.

[parvulous-writings]

Could I request headcanons for Wyll, Dammon, and Zevlor react to shy gn crush confessing to him before running away because they're scared of being rejected?

Summary: I may have been a bit descriptive, I hope that's okay! They may also be slightly uneven... Oops Focuses more on the reaction of the gents, to try and allow for more projection!

Warnings: lil bit of fluff, but no major warnings!

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Zevlor

Zevlor has always been a strong leader, in your eyes. For all the disputes between the tieflings and those near them, he usually kept a level head to keep things under control - to the best extent that he could.

He also always returns any due diligence - be kind to him, and he'll show you the same in turn. You found this out very quickly - having found something that he had left behind at a lunch time gathering and given it back to him. Come supper, Zevlor was waving you over, offering to eat with you so neither of you alone, thanking you for returning his belongings.

You sit together in silence for a while, and whilst Zevlor eats, you more... push your food around, picking at it, and playing with it in a vague and unsuccessful attempt to calm your nerves.

"Something on your mind?" his voice startles you, and you're left stumbling over your words, a flurry of "I'm fine, yeah, I'm okay-" Repeated in various combinations. Zevlor just chuckles lightly at your flustered nature, but doesn't pry. Your thoughts are your own, and if you don't want to share them, he'll respect it.

There's a few more minutes of silence, before you blurt out a hurried confession, your words a blur to Zevlor's ears. After the sudden profession, you scramble to your feet and scarper off, your chest pounding against your ribs as you try to get out of Zevlor's sight as fast as your feet can carry you.

Zevlor doesn't move - part of his mind is trying to figure out what that flurry of words you uttered was, and the rest of it was just... Stunned. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of what just happened - though half of that was just due to the fact he hadn't understood a word you had said to him.

He does bring it up next time he sees you though - and you feel your face heat up as soon as he brings the subject up. "... It was nothing..." Your voice is little more than a mumble, and you can't bring yourself to look him in the eye. "It didn't sound like nothing... If there really is something you want to tell me, you needn't be afraid to say it..." His voice is kind, and you don't feel any innate pressure behind his words, but you speak anyway. You've done it once, surely the second time won't be as bad?

Wrong. You can hardly choke the words out, but when you do, Zevlor's looking at you with a kind smile. That wasn't a reaction you had expected - you had half been thinking that you'd be met with a lecture, but... He was just smiling.

"Is that why you ran off?" He asked you, humming thoughtfully.

Wyll

One of the first things that Wyll had noticed about you was your timid nature. He never really commented on it, but he always stood up for you at times when you couldn't find your voice (the Blade of Frontiers reactions coming in full force at these times)

He honestly had a bit of an inkling that you like him - you stick around him a lot, or constantly stealing looks in his direction. So, upon your confession, Wyll wasn't exactly caught off guard. What did stun him, though, was the way you ran off.

He had initially started to go after you, calling your name as you darted off and out of view. Then, after a moment's consideration, he decides to give you a moment. He's of the opinion that maybe you need that moment to yourself, to recollect and think.

It's nightfall when he comes to you, two goblets in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. "Care for a drink?" He offers you a goblet, and that charming smile you've come to know so well. Your heart flutters as he hands you a half-full goblet, and you spend the evening with one another drinking well into the night.

Wyll confides in you, that he has always been fond of your presence, and though he had never really wanted to push you, wanted to spend more time with you. You could hardly believe what you were hearing, and you could feel your jaw become more and more slack as he talks more and more.

"In fact..." Wyll speaks, pausing to take a sip of his wine. "And, forgive me if this is too forward for your tastes... I've always quite... Enjoyed the quiet, with you... You never pressed for answers from me, or... Constantly asked me for tales from my time on the front - all of which I would happily regale you with... But, I am most grateful, that you just let me be as I am..."

Despite your more open feelings for one another, you're still incredibly shy, and very liable to becoming flustered if anyone brings up your relationship with Wyll, or ask for any details.

Dammon

Dammon was in the forge when you came to him. He kept glancing over his shoulder, asking if you were okay, or if you needed anything, as you tried to work up the courage to speak.

In a similar way to Wyll, Dammon liked your shyness - he thought it was adorable, and made you unique. He was always there for you- and absolutely loves making little trinkets and things for you, tokens of his affection.

He hardly hears your words when you first utter them, your mumbles lost under the rhythmic clanging of his hammer on metal. "What? Can't quite hear you," He says, pausing to turn and look at you. You feel your face go red hot, and you blurt out what was meant to be your admittance - your feelings for him, your admiration of his work, all of it.

With the words hardly out of your mouth, you scarper, wanting to get away from the situation you'd thrown yourself into. Though - not that you'd noticed - Dammon was sprinting in an attempt to catch up with you. It had only taken a moment for him to drop his tools and shirk off his apron, metalwork entirely forgotten as his feet move as fast as they physically can to get to you.

He's not just going to let you go without actually knowing what you said - he has an inkling, naturally, it came with the way you showed affection to one another - the quality time, the gifts, all of it. But he wants to know with certainty.

When you get all shy and flustered again, his face lights up - you've unintentionally confirmed what he wanted to know, and he's quite possibly the happiest being for miles around.

He reassures you in an instant - he wants to follow these feelings with you, he doesn't want to shy away from them, and he's more than comfortable to think of you as a lover to him.

[randomeanonjustwatching]

Fine Cuphead x reader here we Go-

Maybe like a type of “forbidden love” due to elder kettle telling them not to go to the casino cup meets y/n who works there?

Quiet answers

(A gn!reader x Cuphead story, both characters are seen as 16 year olds.)

Cuphead isn't one for romance. Mugman is much more of the "oh look how pretty she is" type.

Atleast, that's what he thought till he met you.

Sneaking out. Again. He thought Kettle not letting him go to the casino was stupid and that he should be allowed to go. So every once in a while, when everyone in the cottage was asleep, he'd slowly open the bedroom window and sneak off.

Normally he would just goof off, talk to Chalice or the magic pool he forgot the name of. But tonight, he had 20 bucks, and hopefully a lot of luck.

He practically ran down the path Elder Kettle told him not to tread on, and there it was.

Glowing lights and bouncy dance music. The Devil's Casino, the townsfolk called it.

"Why hello there, you seem new. How...old are you? We accept 18 and older kid." A man with a dice for a head said.

"Oh! Uhm, Can I go in even though I'm 17?" Cuphead lied, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

"Hmm...well I suppose. Just don't cause to much of a fit if you lose all your cash. By the way, whats your name kid?" The dice chuckled.

"Ah, I'm Cuphead. And you?" Cuphead said, slightly excited.

"Name's Dice, now card tables on your right, pool tables on your left, and slot machines where the bar is." Dice explained and walked off.

"Right, thanks Dice!" Cuphead said, before running off to the card tables.

Maybe if he won enough he could buy himself a motorcycle for him and Mugs.

After all, Mugman loves those dang bikes.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Cuphead was on a winning streak.

He had won about 3 games already, and had about 400$ in cash from winning.

"I'm swapping out with a different dealer, they're new so be nice ladies and gents." The dealer said calmly, standing up and whispering something to the other dealer coming over.

The other dealer sat down, and Cuphead blushed.

They looked charming, beautiful (e/c) eyes, and a calm smile on their face.

"Uh, h-hello there." Cuphead stammered, and others at the table chuckled at how he was acting.

"Hi, ready to start everyone?" The new dealer said, and most of the group nodded as Cuphead let out a small "mhm" in response to the wonderful voice.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Cuphead walked out with a winning streak, a lot of luck, and 673$ in cash. Not enough to buy a motorcycle, but maybe if he came back again he might get enough.

He saw the dealer that was at their table.

"Hey! Wait!" Cuphead said quickly as the walked out of the casino.

The dealer turned around. "Uh, hi again, was there something you need?"

"I was wondering....uhm...if I can get your number? And your name too?" Cuphead stammered, trying to stay calm as the dealer chuckled.

"I'm y/n, and you are?"

"C-Cuphead.."

"That’s a nice name. Sure, you can have my number." Y/n smiled softly, before saying, "If you can beat me in a game of pool mext saturday, deal?"

Cuphead grinned, face still slightly red. "Deal."

"See you then." Y/n got into their car, driving down the main road.

Cuphead started walking back home, pockets stuffed, and for once, a lovey-dovey grin on his face as he climbed back in through the window, hid the cash in a box under the bunk bed, and went to sleep.

He couldn't wait for next Saturday night.

(Wow, look at me writing a full story lol)

[eboshishusbandwinkwink]

Jonathan x gn!reader x Argyle

Warning: smoking (weed), unprotected sex, threesome, random ass confessions, bj, deep throat, overstim

(Lmk if I forgot sth bc I'm lowkey not sure)

!!MINORS DNI, 18+!!

Summary: Reader is friends with Argyle and Jonathan, which means once in a while they'd join the two for a joint. But at some point, they just had a problem because smoking made them so terribly horny that they simply HAD to do something about it.

Feel free to request:

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So I gave him exactly what he asked for, and he still found something to complain about.", Argyle complained as his head sunk down against your chest while he pouted.

"Okay, wow. That sucks.", you mumbled as you caressed his head gently, taking a strand of hair now and then to play with it.

Jonathan stumbled into the room slowly and put down a few bottles of water for the three of you before he got onto the bed and cuddled up beside you.

If there was one thing the three of you had in common, then it was the fact that all three of you got horribly clingy when you were high.

Not that it was anything new to you since Argyle was usually pretty clingy in general, but for you and Jonathan it mostly only counted when you were high.

You loved hugs, without a doubt, and do did Jonathan. But the two of you just had been through some shit and that makes it a little harder for you two when you're sober.

"What're we talking about?", Jonathan asked you, his eyes slightly glossy which you found utterly adorable.

"Some dick who can't be satisfied with Argyles' amazing work.", you explained, which made the male on your chest squirm lightly. Praise always did that. For both of them, actually. But you also loved praise. It simply made you feel so proud. You just assumed it was the same for the other two.

Jonathan hummed softly and closed his eyes after leaning on you. "What an asshole." You nodded to his statement slowly. "My thoughts exactly."

Your head began to wander once all three of you were silent. Moments like these were nice to you.

Jonathan clinging to your arm and softly breathing against it while his legs are pulled up, Argyle on your chest, one hand wrapped around your thigh while the other rested somewhere on Jonathans body. And you, right in between them, feeling them on you and making every bit of your skin tingle.

It made you so happy, but happiness wasn't the only thing you felt. Because sometimes Jonathan kissed your shoulder lightly. And sometimes Argyles hand would either wander further down your thigh or up.

It made something in your belly twinge in the best way possible. But it also made your most private spots ache for someone to touch them. Gentle caresses, kisses, sucks, licks, and bites. You'd do anything for just one of those. And seemingly, you weren't very good at hiding that.

"(Y/n)?", Argyle said softly as he looked up at you, which made you look down at him. "What's up, man?", you replied just as softly.

"Are you okay?", he asked nervously. "You're breathing so heavily it makes me think I'm choking you with my weight. Like, your chest is heaving."

You shook your head. "Nonono. It's not that at all, don't worry. You're not too heavy, really. I'm just a little... I don't know." You sighed softly trying to find the word.

You were surprised with how fitting the word Jonathan used to describe it was. "Aroused?" That was the word he said. And it wasn't wrong.

You were around. The breaths on your shoulder, the occasional squeezing of your thigh, the gentle kisses. All this gave you a feeling of immeasurable arousal.

"Yeah. I think that works." You mumbled softly.

And that's when it hit you. Just now, you've indirectly told both of your only friends that they made you horny.

"Sorry, forget I said th- ah~", your own moan intorupped you as you felt a squeeze on your thigh like someone's life depended on it.

Argyle sat up and moved himself up a little so he could properly look at you. "Well, if you're really that horny from it, you'll need help. We can't just let you suffer like this, can we?"

Your face flushed red as your belly tighnled once again. "W-Wha- A-Are you gonna like... touch me?"

The male above you smirked lightly, not in a threatening way. It was more like he was trying to say 'you know it'. And you knew.

"Holy shit.", you mumbled softly as you looked to the side, away from the two.

Your whole body shivered when you felt a pair of soft lips on your neck. They were too thin to be Argyles, so you assumed it was Jonathan taking the initiative and giving you some love to.

"Seems like someone likes the idea I had.", Argyle said with a grin and leaned down to also give you some kisses.

So now, both of them were busy with kissing and sucking on your neck, occasionally even biting into it, which left behind several purple marks on you.

Eventually, Jonathan placed a kiss behind your ear as his hand slid under your shirt to gently squeeze your chest and nipples. Then, he slowly pulled it off together with Argyles help, just to kiss and bite your chest lightly.

You squirmed at the feeling, your whole body tensing up. The two of them were clearly lazy about it, and yet they managed to please every cell of your body with what they were doing.

Eventually, you slowly moved to sit up a bit and reached for Jonathan to place a soft, lazy kiss on his lips. Just a few seconds later, your tongue pressed against his and soft moans escaped you both from it.

In the meantime, Argyle got behind you and placed soft kisses on your back as his erection lazily pressed against your back and ass. It made you a little nervous considering how big he felt, but you didn't plan on complaining.

You then started undressing Jonathan too, removing his shirt, and as you were removing his pants, Argyle was doing the exact same with yours.

Seconds later, you and Jonathan were naked, which you both seemed to find a little unfair, so you both decided to team up in him and undress him.

So now, you and Jonathan were both touching and kissing him all over, lazily moving to go down on him.

Jonathan was busy with Argyles mouth, kissing him and simply enjoying the feeling of their tongues meeting again and again, while you were kissing his thighs before moving to carefully lick over the shaft of his cock.

You heard him moan, which made your whole body tingle with excitement. It sounded so beautiful. His voice low and raspy.

Argyles hand soon reached for your head, your lips still on his shaft. He pushed you forward a little so you were closer against it.

You opened your mouth instinctively and let the tip of it slip in before going down as far as you could, making slight gag noises when it was in.

For a moment, you held your position on the males cock for as long as you could until you were choking and half to pull back to breathe. This didn't really hold for long, though, since Argyle grabbed you gently to pull you up and kiss you lazily.

At the same time, Jonathan moved down to give you the same pleasure that you'd just given Argyle.

It really didn't take long for Jonathan to be preparing your hole for someone entering and barely a minute later, Argyles cock was buried deep inside.

Not only that, but Jonathan got into a position that allowed you to watch him as he first pushed one finger and then a second into his rear to spread himself so he could be fucked after you.

You moaned as you leaned forward, grabbing Jonathans hips and kissing his balls before suckling on them gently.

Jonathan moaned and squirmed as you took care of him, hands hands squeezing his thighs and ass tightly as your tongue dragged over his balls again and again to make him even more whiny.

Your body trembled lightly at the feeling of being pounded into while also being able to please Jonathan this way.

Once all of you had cum at least once, you switched positions again and again.

First, you were on top with the other two, pleasing you to the fullest.

The second to be on top was Jonathan, though he was only on top because he was riding Argyle and you were playing with his cock.

And lastly, Argyle was the one to be on top, and this was where things got tricky. You were on the bed, head pushed down into the mattress with full force, while Jonathan had his arms wrapped around you, kissing your back while moaning into it and on the very end was Argyle, above the two of you, pounding into Jonathan, which made Jonathand cock dig deep into you in a way you couldn't entirely explain.

It all ended with one very skillfully thrust from Argyle which made the three of you cum together, dirtying the sheets beneath you in more ways that just one.

But right now you couldn't care less. You were way too fucked out to even care.

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Masterlist: