#the last tag was a typo so i tried to roll with it

[vamp1r3luv3r]

happy october im cumming in your pumpkin spice latte. as a treat

[moonlight1110]

Crawling back to you

ex-boyfriend!Ghost x Reader ; (Late) Valentines Special ;)

Your ex-boyfriend who comes banging at your door in the middle of the night. He desperately wants you back, and when he invites himself in, is there really nothing else you can do?

Tags: afab!reader, p in v, smut, nsfw, vaginal sex, rough sex (kinda idk), mating press, pathetic!Simon, far from canon simon, i write with badjhur's voice in my ear, not propfread, proofread anyway BC I hate typos

Notes: planned on writing something for valentines but uni fucked me sideways so im posting today <3

"What the hell..." You jump as three hard knocks come from your door, almost as if the person on the other side was just a second away from breaking it down.

You didn't need to go through your mental library to know who it was, you knew exactly who was at your door at this ungodly hour because who else in their right mind would show up uninvited except him.

With a grunt, you roll off of bed and trudge to your front door. A heavy feeling pressing down on your chest as you got closer and closer to the door, you contemplated if opening it was even a good option, but knowing who was on the other side, choosing to ignore him was going to be a poor decision on your part.

With an tired sigh, you grabbed the door knob, squeezing it as doubts ran through your mind, but you are snapped out of it when he knocks, even harder than before.

"What are you doing?!" You ask, trying not to scream at him to avoid receiving another noise complaint from your overbearing neighbors when you opened the door slightly to peek out the small crack of it. Standing on the other side was someone you knew all too well.

"Let me in" his voice was low as he looked down at you, dark eyes staring at you from the opening of his balaclava. "Please..." He took a step forward, placing a hand on your door, but you stayed firm. "Simon, you can't just come here in the middle of the night and expect me to let you in" you argued, hardening the hand that was holding your door.

"I miss you, baby, come on..." He pushed the door slightly, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance even if you tried your hardest to shut the door. With how strong and large Simon was, trying to fight back against him was next to impossible.

"Simon, please..." You looked at him, brows furrowing. However, even at your attempts to stand by your decision, there was a part of you that wanted him to just push your door open... An unexplainable feeling, you thought.

"Take me back... I'll do anything" He sounded desperate, his voice sounded unlike the person you thought you knew, he sounded hurt, vulnerable, not like the usual stone cold and stoic Ghost you knew.

"You broke up with me remember... You can't just go back on that when you want to" your expression hardened in contrast to his which softened as he looked into your eyes. He regretted it, deeply.

"I did, I know that but I didn't know I would be making the biggest mistake of my life, love..." He steps closer, pushing your door open just a bit again. "Don't call me that... Just don't" you shake your head in disapproval but that small part of you just misses the way he called you that, how it rolled off his tongue like honey, you missed it.

"Just let me in, let's talk... I miss you" the last part comes out as a mumbled plea as he pushes your door open finally, stepping inside like he never left. Those three words just made you want to jump over the boundaries you so desperately tried to build up, but all you could do was step aside and let him in, there was no point in fighting him.

"What's there left to talk about, Simon?" You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as Simon removed his shoes, it looked so familiar next to yours...

"I want you back, I can't fuckin' live without you..." His brows knit together as he looks down at you, reaching out but you step back with a disapproving look. "Then why did you end it in the first place if you were just gonna come back to me anyway..." Your hands fall to your sides with a defeated sigh leaving your lips.

"I told you, it was the distance, my work... I thought breaking up with you would be the best choice for the both f'us..." Ignoring your attempts at creating space between you, he steps closer, caging you between his arms as he leaned against the wall, effectively trapping you under him.

"I was wrong, baby... So fuckin' wrong..." he whispered, his eyes silently pleading for your to just listen. He leaned forward so close you could feel his hot breath even through the fabric of his balaclava.

"I didn't even want to leave you..." You started, your face scrunching as you remembered the events that happened the day he cut things off between the two of you. "You made up so many reasons, so many excuses... You put words in my mouth..." You looked away, feeling your chest tighten again at the recollection of your memories together. It hurt to bring up and remember but with seeing Simon standing in front of you again, it was impossible to push those thoughts away.

"I know, I know..." He took your chin inbetween his index and thumb, willing you to look back at him. His expression was one of guilt and desperation, that much was clear with the way he was looking at you.

"But I can't stand another day without you, been regretting that decision every fuckin' day, love..." He leans in, snaking a hand around your waist. You want to pull away, to push him off and tell him to fuck off from you forever but you don't, you just cant find it in you to push him away when all you wanted was to be with him.

"Those months away from you felt like an eternity, don't wanna feel that anymore..." He pulls you closer, holding you tightly against his chest with his nose now inhaling the scent of your hair from the crook of your neck.

"We can't... This is the type of shit that complicates things, Simon..." you place your hands on his chest as if you even wanna push him off you. "I don't care..." He groans and pulls his balaclava off, breathing against your neck. It makes you squirm the way his hands are travelling down now, you missed it more than you were willingly to openly admit to him anyway, but that's no issue for how your body is responding.

"Fuck if it means we'll get complicated, I need you back..." He kisses at your neck, still familiar with all the spots that just made you melt. "Can't be away from you for another fuckin' day, baby..." He groans, pinning you against the wall by your hips, grinding a knee to your clothed cunt.

"Just say the word and I'll leave..." He groans, giving your throat a good lick all the way to your collarbone as his hands found your ass, kneading like he owned it. "I'll leave and I'll never come back, I won't bother you... But y'need to tell me..." His lips drag along your shoulder as he pulls you closer on his thigh, "Tell me... Tell me y'never wanna see me again, push me away..." He mumbles against the side of your neck.

Your breath hitches in your throat with the way he was talking to you, you knew Simon was a man who was true to his word and once you'd tell him to leave, he would.

"C'mon..." he retracts from your neck and pulls back to look you in the eyes, his brows are furrowed and his eyes are blown out as his eyes flicker over your features like he's trying to memorize every single detail before you told him to leave.

"I..." you scramble to find the words, you wanna tell him to leave but you also want him to stay, you two didn't even end on that much of a bad note, it was a misunderstanding, a poor decision which was made in the heat of the moment...

"Don't leave..." You give in to your emotions, just seeing Simon again after your breakup hurt like hell, but god would you curse yourself if you allowed him to leave again... You couldn't take that, seeing him walk out again, leaving you for the second time.

"Fuck..." He groans as he connects your lips, his hands are pulling at you and pinning you against the wall. It's a passionate and desperate kiss from him, which you return with your own, full of want and the same desperation you craved would be quenched for such a long time. No one did it like him, no one ever loved you like Simon Riley ever did.

Your arms find his neck as your head tilts, allowing Simon to push his tongue past your lips. He doesn't let up, doesn't get up for air, he just fucking wants you, wants to take you right then and there with how much he misses you.

His hands cup your ass as he lifts you up against the all and you wrap your legs around his torso as he finally pulls away from the kiss. "I need you, baby... Fuckin' missed you too much..." he practically growled as he sucked on your neck, walking to your bedroom.

"Simon, calm down..." You mumbled as he set you down on the bed, you could feel how rapidly his heart was beating but that only made him chuckle. "Can't calm down when I have you in my arms again, love" He stared down at you as he leaned back up, removing his shirt quickly.

"Missed you so much..." He whispered against your ear when he dove back down, making space for himself between your legs as he hovered on top of you with his arms on either side of your head. "Missed the way you feel around me..." He hummed while his hands trailed down your waist, to your hips, then just above the hem of your flimsy sleeping shorts.

"Did y'think 'bout me too? hm?" he asked, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his hand travelled under your shorts, his middle finger now circling on your wet clit through your panties. You didn't notice how you ruined your underwear until you felt how slick and uncomfortable it was when Simon pressed harder against your clit.

"Yeah... I did..." you whispered breathily, back arching at the feeling of Simon's thick fingers pleasuring you. He smirks, taking the opportunity to kiss and suck at your neck. "Mmm... Yeah?" He chuckles against your throat, parting your slick covered panties to the side to finally tease at your wet pussy.

"Fuck baby... She missed me didn't she?" he laughs, looking down at the way his hand moved from under your shorts. "Fuckin' pussy missed me too, huh?" He chuckles, as he pushes his thick finger inside you, making you gasp and grip at his arm.

"Simon!" you shut your eyes, back arching as he pressed gentle kisses against your throat. "Relax baby... need to prepare you again, been too long since I've fucked this pretty little pussy..." He coos, adding another finger to stretch you out, curling them so deliciously inside you.

"Fuck... I-" you whimper, sucking in a breath as he finds that spot inside you that just makes you break, he still knows of course, knows every single spot and every single way to make you crumble and submit to him. "I'm gonna cum, Si..." You whisper breathlessly, hands shaking around Simon's arm weakly.

Simon doesn't say anything except give you a cruel chuckle when he waits for the perfect time, just when you're about to cum to take his fingers out and it makes you shoot him a nasty glare. "Why did you do that?!" You whined, but your voice weakens at the sight of the hard bulge under his pants.

"Don't want you cummin' on anything but my cock tonight, love..." he chuckles dangerously, sitting on his knees to unbuckle his pants. He looks down at you with a hunger in his eyes, licking his lips as he finally rolls the zipper down. "C'mon, don't just stare" He smirks, snapping you out of your trance. "Right..." you blink, moving closer to him.

"Good..." he praises as he watches you tug his pants and boxers down together and tossing it down the side of the bed. "Fuck..." He hisses when he's finally free, his dick rock hard and heavy, twitching as beads of precum roll down from the tip. Your breathing quickens when you see it, it's bigger than you remember, thick and running with veins you wish you could memorize.

"On your back..." Simon commands, his voice low as he wraps a hand around his shaft to stroke his dick slowly. "But..." you look into his eyes but he shakes his head with a mean smirk when he looks at you. "As much as I wanna fuck that pretty mouth of yours, that's gonna have to wait another time" He chuckles, pushing you down on your back by your shoulder.

"I need t'fuck you, baby... Need t'feel you 'round my dick again..." he growls, watching the way your face is flushed and your legs are spread out on either side of his torso. He strokes his dick in his hands as he hums, using his free hand to slide your shorts and panties over your legs, throwing it with his pants.

"Fuckin' hell..." he groans when his eyes finally see your bare pussy, your clit twitching and your entrance clenching around nothing. It makes him fist his cock harder as he runs his free hand down your stomach, his thumb finding your clit and rolling it down in little circles.

"Stop teasing..." you say through gritted teeth as one of your hands grip the sheets under you and the other pressed against Simon's chest. "M'not teasing" He chuckles, tapping his dick on your clit a few times. "Just shut up and fuck me already, Simon..." You whine, slapping his chest pathetically.

"Gettin' feisty now, eh?" he laughs lowly as a low satisfied rumble comes from deep in his throat when he grinds his cock against your pussy, letting it catch your slick. "Need to take it slow, love... I don't wanna hurt you" Simon groans, aligning his tip with your entrance.

"Oh... god-" you breathe out matched with a long moan from Simon as pushes the tip in. It makes a lewd, sort of wet sound when he enters you. It makes your head spin in the way it makes Simon throw his head back as he pushes deeper until he's completely inside you with a hard thrust.

He rolls his thumb over your clit, waiting for your breath to steady. "Doin' so good, baby... Taking me so well..." He coos, pressing on your clit as his eyes narrow on the sight of your body, all hot just for him. "M-move, Si..." You whimper out, closing your eyes tightly and adjusting to the feel of Simon inside you again after so long.

Simon hums while he rolled his hips, slowly thrusting his cock in and out. It's slow so he can let you adjust, help you remember how good he stretches you out that it makes you all dumb and pliable for him. "Mmm, yeah... Feels so good, love" he grunts, his hips moving just a tad bit faster.

He thrusts all the way to the hilt every single time, and it feels like he goes deeper and deeper with every thrust he gives you. He squeezes at your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs even more, putting you in a mating press.

It makes you whimper the way you're starting to feel the slight pain of Simon's body pressed right into you. He's like an animal now, fucking you in such a primal way when he growls in your ear, encouraged by the delicious moans you give him and how you squirm and say his name in your breathy, fucked out voice.

"That's it, taking me like such a good fuckin' girl" He chuckles, driving his hips harder, the sound of his skin slapping against your cunt almost drives you crazy. He leans up, letting your legs rest as he massages them gently, a sharp juxtaposition from how hard he's fucking your weeping cunt.

"Needed this so bad, baby..." He groans, pulling your legs around his torso as he leans down to kiss at your neck. You can hear him mumbling sweet little nothings in your ear as his hands grip at your thighs and the soft skin of your waist.

"Tell me y'missed me... I wanna hear it" He mumbles against your neck, moaning lowly. He sounded so calm and so gentle yet the way his cock was filling you up and stretching you out so good was far from gentle. "Tell me y'missed this dick, baby, c'mon..." He hums, his hand travelling up to play with your tits.

"I-I mis-" You started, but the way Simon was fucking you so good made your head spin you couldn't even string a proper sentence together. He laughed, grazing his teeth over the skin of your shoulder, "Awe can't even speak anymore?" He teases, slowing his hips down and it makes you groan in disapproval.

"Why'd you slow down..." you whine, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Wanna hear you say you missed me first" He chuckled. It was bad enough that he slowed down, but it's even worse when he pulls out and looks down at you with a cruel smirk, stroking the cock that was supposed to be making you cum.

"Tell me how bad you missed me, baby, you can do it" He laughs lowly and he doesn't look away from you as he fists his cock to the look of pleasure on your face.

"I-I missed you Simon, so much-" you moaned out desperately as your pussy clenched on nothing. You were ready to beg for his cock again if he needed you to but you didn't have to worry for long when he turned you around, stuffing your pussy with his fat cock from behind.

"Good girl... Such a good fuckin' girl, aren't ya?" His words are so dirty it makes you tighten around him with a stifled moan as he fucks you fast and deep, not giving you a chance to adjust to the new angle he's pounding you in.

You can't respond and all you can even do is moan and take Simon's hard dick stuffing you over and over again. It doesn't take long for you to feel that tight knot forming in your stomach and Simon can feel it too from the way you're starting to tighten around him.

"Gonna cum, baby?" He asks you with a drawn out hum as he kneads your ass, watching the way it jiggles with every thrust.

You nod, moaning into your pillows as you clawed at the sheets. "Cum for me then... Cum on my dick..." He coos, pushing your hips down to give himself a better view of your ass. Your arms give out and you're practically being fucked into the bed.

Simon chuckles, taking your wrists and pulling them towards him suddenly. It makes you gasp when you feel the pressure building in your shoulders when Simon tightens his grip on your wrists.

"Si... M'close..." Your voice comes out choked out and broken, spiking up every time he bullies his cock harshly inside you and makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Don't need to tell me baby, just cum f'me..." He mutters breathlessly, now holding your wrists behind your back with one hand as the other lands a harsh slap to your ass, making you whimper.

You gasp as tears rolled down your cheeks from how overwhelmed you were. "Simon... Simon..." your voice shakes as you struggle against his grip on your wrists. "Do it baby, cum for me..." He hums, giving your ass a loving squeeze.

You dig your nails into the sheets when you finally feel that knot in your stomach unravel, you feel tingly all over as you cum on Simon's cock with a loud moan of his name. It makes you whine when he doesn't stop, chasing his orgasm now when he feels your pussy tighten around him so good.

"Fuck baby... That's it, that's it..." His groan turns into a drawn out moan as he throws his head back. With the way you were clenching down on him, it made him sloppy.

Simon was sounding whiny now while he chased his high. His hands were squeezing your hips as he held you down and fucked you harder into the bed. He was babbling now, about how good you felt and how you were such a good girl. All for him.

"Feel's so good, lovie... Let me cum inside, please?" He whined through gritted teeth, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. "Please let me cum inside? Please, baby... Please..." He moans into your skin desperately, leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder.

"Yes... Yes, inside..." You nod desperately, feeling overstimulated after just coming down from your high and now being used by Simon to chase his own climax.

"Oh fuck..." His voice shakes as he cums inside you, painting your walls white with his cum as he gives you a few more hard thrusts to make sure you take all of it.

"Thank you, love... Thank you" he whispers after some time had passed, giving your hips an appreciative squeeze as he slowly pulled out of you. You whined when he finally pulled out, leaving you breathless as you felt his hot cum drip from your pussy to your clit.

"So beautiful..." Simon whispers as he lays beside you, pulling you close to him in a warm hug with your back against his chest. He wraps his arms around his waist and means his head down on your shoulder to give you gentle kisses.

"I love you..." He whispered close to your ear as his hands caressed your body soothingly. You hummed in content as you relaxed in his arms and allowed yourself to move a bit closer.

"I love you too..." You say quietly, rubbing his arms which were wrapped around you. Simon hums and kisses your hair, lingering there to take in your scent. "I won't leave again... I promise" he mumbles against your hair, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly.

You nod, looking over your shoulder to give him a warm smile, you were too tired and spent to talk but you knew Simon would be able to know what you were thinking just by looking into your eyes.

He chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your lips briefly. "And you know what's funny?" He laughed softly, raising a hand to caress your cheek, "It's Valentine's day" he looked over to the window and you followed his eyes.

The sun was starting to rise and it made you scoff that Simon really came back to you at the perfect timing.

"We're staying in, that's for sure" you laughed quietly, feeling your eyelids grow heavy as sleep slowly overtook you, but you didn't feel lonely anymore. Simon was back, and he knew he would never leave again.

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Supreme Empress

Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: The dark side chose you. They pried you out of the rebel camps and dragged you from the ashes and the corpses of your family. The dark side chose you to strengthen the force, to be the vessel for their plans, to be the bride of the Supreme Leader's pupil, to bear Kylo Ren's seed and ensure the might of their divine wrath.

Word Count: 11k+ 🧍‍♀️💀

Warnings: fem!Reader, slow burn, forced marriage AU, themes of stockholm syndrome/gaslighting/brain washing, mentions/depictions of violence, enemies to lovers?, smut (scratching, marking, ?manipulating?, fingering, vaginal penetration, cock warming), fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this fucking ai chat man. fuck that shit MINORS DNI honestly. its my fault for making a plot. i just wanted to write smut fml. i hate it here. i couldn't even finish it cos now i cant write the smut dafaq? anyway im sure i got typos so you must forgive me. i have not gone through this yet and i need to brush my teeth and pull myself together bye Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

I fell to my knees. I was in tears, in dust, in blood, and in pain. My wrists were bound behind me and my clothes were tattered and torn.

This was it. This was the day I die. I felt it in my bones. This was the reckoning.

And then my deliverer, my executioner, came before me. And then I felt the Force in him echo in the room and ripple through me like a blade through my chest.

It was him. The phantom that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. He was the nightmare in my sleep, and the damning voice in my head in the morning. The dark warrior, death given form, the murmuring voice of the shadows.

The Sith Lord.

Here he is, crossing this bridge from the entrance of this cursed compound.

The place is busy, busy with its plans of destruction. I heave at the grandness of it all. It was terrifying to see it up close, especially since I was evidently at the top, and it was a very long drop down.

I crane my neck up at him, face stained with tears. I was exhausted but I put on my last show. I bared my last look of defiance before he kills me, before he finally completes this cycle of torment he has been inflicting onto me.

I close my eyes and await his judgement.

I feel him come before me, but he instead walks past, and I hear someone choke from behind.

"Did I not instruct that she be left unharmed?" his voice barks through his dark mask.

My heart pounds as I hear straining from behind me. I steal a look from over my shoulder and instantly regret it when I see the two stormtroopers that dragged me here get thrown down the side of the bridge. I shudder. Like I said, it's a long drop down.

I look straight when he returns to me. I feel him undo my shackles with his Force, and then... he clutches my arm to help me stand.

I look up at him. I see my reflection on his helmet. I clench my jaw, "what do you want from me?"

"My empress-"

My stomach rolls.

"-I have finally retrieved you from your sullied camp to bring you to your rightful place next to me. To claim you as my own."

A shiver runs down my spine.

No, this can't be real.

My breathing strains. I grip my hands and I begin to step back.

It electrocutes me, this searing cold voice in my brain. It was a suddenly as if I remembered the dialogue in the horrors of my slumber that I so hardly tried to suppress. It was replaying now, the voice of the malevolent, the voice of the creature ruling my nightmares. "I give you to my pupil. With your Force converged with his, the purest of warriors will be borne. And my power will know no bounds."

"You remember now, bride," my captor iterated, "that voice in your head right now-- that is the Supreme Leader; that is Snoke."

I step back, "bride?" my breath hitches.

I was his b--

My knees almost give in, but again, his hold on my arm keeps me upright.

I feel my eyes begin to water.

Please, please, let this be another horrible, horrible nightmare.

"Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, my lord," two voices call out from behind me.

"Good," he says, and I released, "I will watch as you prepare her. I will not allow her be injured further."

I was--

I was here to be sacrificed to the darkness.

I was here to answer to the calls that have been plaguing me for so long, ever since that day my home planet was invaded, ever since everything I knew was reduced to atoms.

I let out a loud yelp when I am splashed with cold water. I let out a breathy curse and the servant who had done it, who had profusely apologized, is suddenly being choked.

It is only now I am cognizant again. It was now that I was aware I am in the bathroom, stripped naked in a tub, and my captor has his servant in a chokehold from across the room. I gasp and cover my bare chest, looking over my shoulder as he hisses, "you could not have made the water warmer? How would you like to be dunked in a pool of ice water?"

My breath hitches, "let her go!"

His voice buzzes behind his helmet as he curls his hand further with his outstretched arm, "she has one task, one simple task, and if she cannot perform it, then she is no use to me."

I panic as I see the servant's eyes water. I jolt when the other servant grabs my shoulder and begins to wash my skin as though nothing was awry. I turn from the servant back to him, "LET HER GO!"

He does nothing.

"LET. HER. GO!"

He seems to be debating my words.

I panic and quip breathlessly, "let her go!"

I sigh in relief when the servant is dropped.

A shiver runs down my spine when he goes at ease by the door. He clutches his hands before him and announces, "thank your empress for her mercy."

Immediately, before she can even catch her breath, the servant responds, "th-ank you, empress." The woman quickly begins to attend to me again.

I am far beyond perturbed.

I don't know what to do with myself, not when I was being bathed by strangers, not when I naked in the tub, not when he was there, watching me.

Why the fuck did that sicko have to watch like a bird in a fucking cage?

Careful, bride.

I stiffen in my place. The servants working on my body halt their work and ask me if their touch was too rough.

Lest you forget I have also been in your dreams. You ought to honor me even in your thoughts, baby bird.

"... my empress?" one servant calls.

"She is fine," he answers for me, "you may proceed."

And then, I'm being dragged out of the tub and patted down in front of a huge mirror. I don't know what to cover, and I can feel him looking. Never mind my naked form in and of itself, but my cuts and bruises from ripping and screaming at the stormtroopers that pried me into their ship. It was loathsome sight to see.

"Must you watch me?" I ask accusingly yet under my breath.

"Yes," he replies, as if it makes anything better, as if it was actually a question, as if he didn't know what I meant with my words. And then he clarifies, as if it helped, "your physical state does not bother me. It does not make you any less than you are, my bride."

My eyes twitch as I am finally handed undergarments to wear. I find my voice again, finally, "that's not the-"

"My pretty bride."

I cease my movements. What the fuck is he saying?

I don't have time to ponder those words as the servants urge me to dress and then quickly begin to fasten me with bandages, namely on my thigh where I had a cut and on my bicep that had a burn.

And though I so badly wanted to whine in protest and dramatic spite, I do my best to contain them. After all, the servants were helping me, they don't need to be Force choked for doing a job they were tasked to accomplish by their malignant master.

The next moment, I was being put into an elaborate garment and then they started painting on my face. Suddenly, I was.... turning into something else. I looked at the mirror and everything was so very real and unimaginable all at once. This was all happening to me. This wasn't a nightmare, not a fever dream, and there was no escape.

And then they told him- my groom- that I was done and I stared at my reflection, unable to recognize myself.

Who in the world were you?

"Come," he says, raising his hand up to me, "we must not delay any further."

I look at his reflection from the mirror. I look at his hand, hid behind his glove, his body, hid behind his cloak, and his face, hid behind his mask. I was going to me wed to this stranger, hidden in darkness?

I stare at him. I clench my jaw. I tell him I'm not going but utter not a single word. I sear it in his brain with my eyes. I scream it, blare it out as loudly as I could.

And yet he only watches me. He watches me with an urging dark hand.

My heart pounds in my ribs. I expect him to begin to lash out at one point, to choke me next, but he doesn't. He stands there, just stands there, reaching out to me.

Was this his twisted way of making me feel like I was willingly going to him? His way of telling me he was the only route in my life now?

My nostrils flare and I gather my skirt. I stare at him as I walk past him. My body was rigid and I had no idea where I was going, but I walked. And then he opened the doors for me.

My hand twitched when he took it, as he was suddenly beside me. I gasp at the unexpected and uninvited touch and I turn to him in surprise, but it is arduous with this ridiculous headpiece on me. His hand is massive and burning hot against my freezing clammy one. He tugs me toward him, "it's this way."

So, we when go this way.

We tread the halls, and I swear I could feel people following after us, more and more each moment, but I couldn't look back, literally, the fucking headpiece was in the way.

And then the atmosphere started to get darker, and it was like it was suddenly so much harder to breathe. It was clear to me we were heading for that large door, and that whatever was behind there was not good. It was not good at all.

He waved his hands once and the doors opened.

There was a great and terrible rush of Force that knocked into me. It was so strong and terrifying, I tighten my grip on my captor, and I cling onto him for safety. My breath is knocked out of my lungs, and all at once I am facing this large entity, this massive body of darkness, the literal flesh form of all my worst nightmares.

I was reeling back in fear. My stomach was in my chest and my heart was in my mouth.

I was in front of him. The Supreme Leader. Snoke.

And he was looking at me, looking right at me with contempt, with impatience, with exasperation.

My feet were stuck on the floor and my fingers were digging into arm of the man by my side. I couldn't do anything but feel my eyes water.

I snap to look my side when my name is called out. I turn to my groom as suddenly he is pacifying me, comforting me even, "the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave."

I don't know how I feel about his words, I don't know how I feel about how he takes my chin in his fingers and makes me turn my body to him. I don't know how I feel when he steadies my stupid headpiece when it knocks onto his shoulder. I don't know how I feel when I follow him mindlessly, when he and I head towards his gargantuan master.

Snoke speaks the moment we are in front of him. His voice rings, it reverberates, in the hall, in my ears, in my thorax, and in the dark corner of my mind that shudders at the recognition, "you have done well, my pupil. Very well."

My eyes lock with Snoke. I evade his stare and abruptly pull away from the man on my right. He stares at me for a moment when I do so, then looks back at Snoke, "thank you, master."

Snoke grumbles, "well, remove that ridiculous thing on your head and let us begin."

I don't know whether it is because I am fearful of the evil-king before me or because I am anticipative of the face of the man behind the mask, but I turn to him with a desperation. I turn to him when he removes his helmet and my breath catches in my throat.

He tucks his helmet under his arm and looks at me with his brown eyes that glistened with something sinister behind them. He parted his lips and I noticed the scar by its side that started by his brow went far past his cheek and collar. His hair was somehow perfectly tousled even after staying inside his face cage for so long. I don't know how I felt after seeing him face to face like this.

I suck in a sharp breath when he takes my hand. He promptly begins to speak.

"I-" he turns to our joined hands as he lifts them chest level, "Kylo Ren," his eyes dart back to me, "take you-"

My skin pricks at how he whispers my name. He says it as if it were a secret, as if he meant it with reverence, as if it was solemn.

"-to be my wife."

My empress.

I suck in a sharp breath at his voice in my head. My breath picks up. My stomach rolls. Get out.

Kylo Ren rubs my knuckles, "To protect you, to honor you, to venerate you until my last breath, or even beyond."

And then he looks at me. He stares at me. He bores into my being and plunges into my soul. I feel my hands begin to shake in his hold.

Kylo Ren looks in silence and I look in fear.

I start at the harsh call of the Supreme Leader to our side, "SPEAK YOUR VOWS, GIRL!"

I screw my eyes shut and gulp. I have to get out of here. Get me out of here! My breath strains now more than ever.

Suddenly, I hear a soft voice in my head. Suddenly, I dare to open my eyes and I see a disconcerting softness in my groom's expression.

Shhhhhhh.

He hushes me in my mind. He repeats his words from earlier.

The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.

I open my mouth and huff helplessly. I repeat my groom's words and tears begin to fall from my eyes.

Snoke leans back in his throne and tents his hands together, "good, good. Then by the power of the darkness, the power vested in me, The Supreme Leader, the ruler of the galaxies and all peoples," he nods his head, "two have now become one."

My shoulders rise and my heart pounds at the explosion of loud exclamations. I look around the hall and only now realize that there were hundreds of individuals, looking down at us from the balconies above.

"Long live the Emperor and Empress!"

I am at a loss for what to do next. I don't know if I want to run away or drop dead. I find myself looking to Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren, whose brows slightly furrow in his seriousness. Kylo Ren who looks up to his people and raises his hand that is clutching his helm, inspiring them to cheer even more. Kylo Ren, who then looks down at me and firmly grips my hands before leading me out of the room.

I don't know what happens after that.

I think I'm having a panic attack.

Am I having a panic attack?

Can someone even think if they're having a panic attack?

I'm not having a panic attack.

I'm not having a panic attack.

"Enough," he speaks, turning to me, clutching my cheek. Kylo Ren looks at me with knit brows while his gloved hands make me face him. My neck strains because of the weight of my headpiece. He blinks at me and slips the thing off my head. A weight is lifted off my shoulders. Very suddenly, I think I'd have preferred if he removed my head altogether. He uses his Force to bring the object away. I watch as it floats off to a dresser, beside his helmet that was already there.

All at once, I realize I was in a bedroom. I look back at Kylo in horror. Oh, fuck, I was in a bedroom.

He huffs through his nostrils, "your thoughts are as loud as sirens."

I clutch my skirt tightly and slowly begin to move back.

Kylo watches me. He tilts his head down slightly and narrows his eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat, "so what?" I shudder, "you're going to force an heir in me now?"

He raises his nose and tilts his head to the side, "it is my duty to sire an heir."

I gulp. My breathing begins to get shorter and shorter.

I start when he steps forward. I put more distance between us.

I shiver when he calls out my name.

"Don't," I point, "don't come any closer."

Kylo Ren offers me the courtesy of stopping in his place.

I catch my breath and watch him as he brings his hands behind him. Goosebumps form on my skin when he speaks, "I have just vowed to protect you, to honor you, and to venerate you." He brings his hands to the clasp of his cloak, "I will not force you to do anything with me that you don't want."

I scoff, tightening my grip on my clothes, "and you think I wanted to marry you?!"

I tense when Kylo unfastens his cloak and folds it in front of him. I freeze in my spot in anticipation of what he's going to do next. He looks at his cloak then looks at me, "you do not understand it now, but you are the key to securing the strength the Sith, securing the Order."

A shiver runs down my spine. How can he say that so plainly?

I cannot comprehend how utterly indoctrinated this ideation is in his being. It is shocking honestly, to see up close and personal that he believes so much in his cause, that he genuinely does not see fault in this, in forcing me to marry him, in taking me by force, in destroying my camp, in laying waste to my people, on wreaking their ill-judgement to the stars.

I shake my head, "do you honestly believe I will eventually come to you with- with open arms?!"

Kylo Ren straightens his posture. I nearly trip when he walks over to me as I attempt to rush back. He raises two fingers and keeps me upright with his Force. He keeps me in place and stands before me. He leans his face close to mine, then barely opens his mouth to speak, "I do."

And then, he releases me and walks away.

I watch him as he exits the room and leaves me. The sound of the door closing is all that's left.

I begin to pant. I begin to heave in anger, in loss, in panic, in desperation. I have to get o-

I slap my hands on my mouth. I screw my eyes shut and shudder.

Silent. I have to be silent.

The next day he asked me to accompany him while he ate.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he said, I should join him, so that we would both grow accustomed to each other's company during such intimate moments, and that we would also get to know each other more.

I scoffed at the idea, so much for not forcing me to do anything I don't want.

"I am not forcing you, wife," Kylo calls across the expanse of the long table.

My eyes that were idly watching my fork swirl the unknown delicacy on my plate dart to him. My shoulders tense as Kylo Ren grabs his glass and drinks from it.

I huff, "do you mind getting out of my head?" I ask though it wasn't really a question, it was a threat, as much of a threat a captive could give.

Kylo sets the object down and taps his finger on it, "if you don't want to join me..." he thinks for a moment, "you don't have to."

I straighten in my seat. I silently look out to him in challenge.

I stiffen when the pitcher begins to float and water is then poured in my cup. I clench my jaw, turning back to Kylo, finding his raised finger.

"I would prefer if you dined with me though," he says, putting the pitched back down.

I turn to my food, idly pushing it around again, "I would prefer if I dined by myself... in my-" our "-room."

I hear him exhale. I hear the contact of his cutlery on his plate, "a disappointing conclusion."

I slowly avert my eyes from my food to him. He is now focused on his own plate. He mumbles, "but I will allow it."

The next day, I am woken to eat breakfast and urged to get out of bed. I explain to servant I was allowed to eat in my room and that I don't want to eat yet. I scoff in disbelief when I am told I am meant to tour the place with the master, with that damned Kylo Ren, and is thus advised to get ready.

And so I did. I got ready and went into the dining room and interrupted his breakfast. If I can't have peace, neither can he.

Kylo turns to me and nods, "wife."

I clench my teeth, "tour me now," I huff, "I'm not hungry, so tour me now."

He turns back to his food and seemingly debates my words for a moment. He then stands from his seat and puts on his helmet, leading me out of the room. If I could burn holes onto his back with my eyes, he'd have been nothing but charcoal.

I suppose I should have given more attention to his tour than I did because knowing the place would surely benefit me when I make my attempt to esc-

"Are you certain you're not hungry?" Kylo Ren asks out of the blue as he leads me down the weapons room, "you're quite snippy and demanding. I would assume that's because you're hungry, baby bird."

I can't help but scoff at his mockery, "or, this is just how I am," I mumble, "so don't act like you know me." I aimlessly look at all the weapons on display, weapons meant to destroy others like me.

But I do know you.

I avert my gaze to him. I stiffen as I glare.

"I have been in your mind and seen the depths of your soul," he mutters, "and I know you're irritable because you're hungry."

And then he conjures up a tin-wrapped object in front of me.

"Here," he gives me the item using his Force, "you can eat this while we walk back to our chambers."

My lips curl in disgust, "is this meant to be enticing?"

He tilts his helmet clad head, "it's meant to be my lunch for later," he grabs the floating object, then my wrist, placing the silver thing on my palm.

I tense in his touch and I am glad he doesn't linger long there. I look at his would-have-been lunch then turn back to him, seeing my scowling reflection on his dumb helmet, "what an honor to know I won't be poisoned since this is apparently yours."

"It is mine," he rebuts rather impatiently.

I roll my eyes and shove it into his chest, "if you want me to be less irritable, let me go back to my chambers." I catch myself when I say this. It sounds like I want to be in that damned cage, instead of outside of this compound. I correct myself, "or better yet, let me go."

Kylo Ren places his lunch in pocket that I didn't know he had, "We will continue this tour tomorrow."

And so we did. This time, he made sure to have someone come to me after I ate.

I must say, perhaps he was partially correct in the fact I was irritable because I was hungry. I did find him more bearable today, as far as forced husbands and captors go. But then again perhaps it was because he was touring me in the biggest library I have ever seen.

I couldn't even feign disinterest as he motioned to each area of the place and explained they were arranged by planet of origin.

I was far too busy craning my neck up to see how high the bookshelves reached that I bump into one. Or at least I thought it was a bookshelf and not fucking Kylo Ren. I jolt when I look at him, firstly because we had a collision, secondly because he magically didn't have his helmet on anymore.

I reel back as he looks down at me, on I think a more figurative sense if anything.

I am immediately uncomfortable under his gaze. I mutter, "sorry."

"You have questions," he mutters. He turns to me and lifts his chin, "ask them."

I evade his stare. Don't tell me what to do.

"I'm not telling you what to do," Kylo Ren retorts after hearing my thought.

I turn back to him. I snort and grumble, "stay out of my head."

He looks up at the shelves and then looks down at me with his eyes, "a hundred layers."

I pull my head back and scoff in disbelief, "the shelves have a hundred layers?" I look over my shoulder haphazardly, "seems unnecessary hard to manage."

"Well," he brings his head down, "it hosts knowledge from peoples across over the stars. It must be capable of securing the vastness."

When I look back at him, I tense when I see he has come far too close to me. It would have been wise to pull away, perhaps to even shove him off to get my point across, but somehow, I find his proximity as a challenge. I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes at him, "undoubtedly stolen, plucked from the rubble of your destruction."

A chill rushes up my spine when he smirks at me. It remains lopsided and smug as he whispers "I don't feel the need to preserve artifacts from a race that is unable to see the glory of my purpose."

That's it. I begin to slowly step away from him.

"Do you want to know how these shelves are managed?"

"No, I really-"

I make a sound when he grabs me and locks me against his chest. Before I can even begin to fight back, I find my feet get lifted off the ground along with him. Next thing I know, I'm gasping and clinging onto him for dear life.

"Put me down," I gasp against his chest as I seal my arm tightly against him.

He chuckles as we continue to float up. He tightens his grip on me as I feel myself begin to slip. He flexes his feet and pushes them beneath mine. I look up at him as I step on his boots.

"This is how you manage them," he iterated, then motioning to his side, "or you use the ladder."

I scoff in disbelief, grabbing onto his collar, "put me down, Kylo."

He blinks at me, lips curing into a bigger smile, "alright."

He slowly bringing me down and I tense when he clutches my waist and speaks out my name.

I look away from him and watch as the floor nears. By the time it was close enough, I jump off him and walk away.

Kylo Ren watches and chuckles, "the exit is the other, baby bird."

I stop in my tracks and glare at him. He does not waste time and walks up to me. My breath hitches when he does, reeling over the look on his face. He moves past me and walks away.

I watch him as he does so, and then an idea strikes me. I debate my chances on living here and convincing the servants to get me food... a bucket-

"Don't be ridiculous. I will throw you over my shoulder if you will not follow," Kylo Ren announces. He stops in his tracks and looks over to me, "you are my empress, not my captive, even though you feel that way."

I watch him as he raises his hand to me, reaching out to me again like on the day of our wedding, except this time, I could see his eyes and is pouty lips. I huff through my nostrils and grip my fists. I walk over to him glaring at him all the way until I move past him.

Kylo watches, a glint in his eye as he does.

I hear him chuckle.

The next day, I woke up, realizing I was allowed to sleep in. That got me tremendously excited, and so I quickly began to ready myself to begin my attempts at an esca-

I slap my hand on my mouth and release a deep breath from my nostrils.

I take a few more moments and ready to exit my chambers.

The moment I'm about to exit though, I am faced with a servant. I tense at the sight of her but offer her a pinched smile, "Rezba."

Rezba nods and walks in with a tray of food, "please eat before you leave. I will be scolded if I am found to failed to feed you."

Dammit, Rezba.

I sigh, turning to my feet. I watch the woman as she walks off and sets the table. She was one of the servants that helped prepare me on my... wedding day, the one that didn't get choked. As for the one that was, I have not seen or heard from her ever since.

My conscience presses on me every time I think of this. I sigh, walking over to her. I sit down on the chair by the table and smile, "thank you, Rezba. You can go now."

Rezba nods, "as you wish, empress."

I wipe my face as he walked away. I quickly stuff my face with the food. I mean, after all, if I manage what I do, I'll need all the food I can get.

The moment I was done, I exit my chambers and head outside with purpose. I nod at the personnel that greet me and make sure to keep my mask of confidence as I make it to the launch pad.

I practically beam when I see a ship ready for the picking. But then I feel a force surge through me.

"Fuck."

My bride.

I turn over my shoulder in horror. Lo behold, the dark mask of my groom, strutting over to me with troops behind him.

"Come to visit me?" he muffles out behind his helmet.

I clench my jaw and turn to him, doing my best not to roll my eyes.

Somehow, I can see his smirk underneath as he speaks, "you didn't even change out of your nightclothes."

I let out a strangled sound as I turn to the two people behind Kylo. One had red hair and one was as clad in uniform as the Supreme Lord.

"This is General Hux and Captain Phasma," Kylo motions to the two of them.

I hum, "yes... hello," I smile without meeting my eyes, "well, now that I've... seen my husband, I'm... I'm going back to my chambers."

The two behind Kylo nod at me. I try not be so annoyed as I walk away.

Next time you plan to escape, you should probably change into something that would protect you from the harshness of space.

I grit my teeth and snap over my shoulder, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

General Hux recoils at my voice. Kylo Ren chuckles under his breath.

The next day, I have no such luck of escaping at all.

"Don't you have some-" I quip over my shoulder as Kylo tails me like the dark shadow he was, "-I don't know... planet to blow up," my voice gets increasingly smaller as I say this and hear myself.

Kylo Ren, in one of the rare occurrences he did not have his helmet on, stops to look at me. He presses his lips together, "do you have a pla-"

"No!" I raise hands, "forget that I said that... please."

I turn away from him and begin to tread deeper into the halls of the library.

I hear him snort behind me, "I don't want you to continue to delude yourself into thinking escaping is an option. It would just be a waste of both our time if you do so."

I roll my eyes and shake my head, "and I don't want to delude you in thinking that I would ever stop trying to escape you."

I actually stop in my tracks when I hear him laugh out loud. I turn over to him in great offence as he then turns to me with bright eyes.

I seethe with venom, "I'm glad one of us finds this funny."

He straightens himself up and crosses his arms, "it's funny how you fail to see how alike we are."

My face drops in horror. I march over to him and point a finger at him, "we are nothing alike!"

I jolt when he grabs my wrist and pushes my hand down. The amusement in his face falters and shifts into something else, "aren't we, my empress?"

My heart begins to pound. I pull away from him and recoil.

My breathing begins to pick up as I rub my wrist.

Kylo watches me and makes up for the space between us by walking forward, "did that hurt you?"

"Does it matter if it did?" I quip.

His face softens yet his brows tighten, "it does."

I scoff.

"I am not the monster you make me out to be."

I scoff again as I continue to walk back, "oh yeah, then what ar-" I gasp when I hit something. I panic and turn, seeing it was the step ladder. I have no choice but to halt as Kylo presses nearer. I swallow the lump on my throat as I look at his face.

I will myself not to be so affected by his presence.

I clench my jaw.

My willpower is not very effective.

"I am your husband," he mutters.

I freeze when he brings his hands to my side, though he does not touch me. His eyes dart to my hands that I clutch to my chest. He releases a breath, "I want to bring order to the galaxy."

A shiver runs down my spine, "Kylo..."

His eyes lock on mine. I even my breathing.

I shake my head and knit my brows, "do you genuinely think," I speak softly with no hint of malice, "that killing billions is order?"

His jaw tightens. He drops his hands to his side, "it is an necessary stake for the greater good-"

"Greater good?!" I quip under my breath, grabbing onto his cheeks. I look at him with wide eyes as he looks at me with a similar shocked expression, "you believe razing through the stars is the greater good?"

My whole body pricks when he takes my wrists in his hands and whispers, "my love."

I suck in a sharp breath.

"You do not understand it now," he explains, shaking his head, "but everything that I am, everything that I do," his voice becomes really quiet, "is for us."

My expression drops where his softens.

"For our future," he whispers, "for our next generation and after."

"Kylo-"

"I do it because I believe in our cause," he cuts me off, "I do it because without us, the galaxy will never know anything but chaos."

My breath begins to strain.

He releases one wrist and reaches out for my face, "I will do all it takes, and give you all the time to understand this."

Mu face burns at the feel of his gloved hand. I shake my head, "why?"

"Because you are my star, my burning destiny," he mutters, "the Force brought you to me. I felt you that day on your home planet, you were so strong, you were so strong and so misguided. I tried to kill you that day, but you got away."

My eyes begin to water. I begin to relive that day in my head.

"Then I dreamt about you, I dreamt about how you escaped me and how I hated that you did. Snoke saw it. He saw you in my head. He saw your drive. He saw your weakness. He saw what you could become. And then, he said I burned because you were meant to be mine. He said our Forces were calling for each other, which was why I could not stop dreaming about you."

I begin to tremble against him.

He clutches my face with both hands, "don't be afraid. It took me a while to understand it as well, but-"

"Kylo-" I shudder, "you don't dream of me because I'm your bride, you dream of me because of him!"

He stills.

"Don't you see?" I pant, "he's manipulating you. The dark side is mani-"

"If anyone has been manipulated, it is you, baby bird," he grunts, "you were indoctrinated with beliefs that are short sighted and weak. I would not-"

He doesn't finish and turns his head to the side when a voice of a stormtrooper buzzes through the hall, "apologies for the interruption, my lord. I was tasked to escort you to the throne room, the Supreme Leader is summoning you."

Kylo Ren turns to face him. I suck in a breath as suddenly, he grabs my hand and pulls me with him as we walk past the stormtrooper, "an escort won't be necessary."

If I wasn't shaking a while ago, I surely was now, and Kylo Ren could feel it. Kylo stole looks over his shoulder. I did nothing but try to even my breath as we tread the hall.

I could feel him holding onto me with his Force, trying to contain me almost... trying to comfort me.

I tense when he releases my hand in lieu of draping his arm over my shoulder, "he will not touch you. He will not harm you," he mutters as I look up at him. He stares straight as we continue walking, "I will make it a point to keep this brief. You have nothing to worry about."

I wanted his words to comfort me, I wanted him to be able to comfort me so badly. And yet when I was face to face with his master, I couldn't even muster the courage to put my faux brave face on. He pulled away from me and pushed me behind him as he greeted the being.

"Why do you continue to disappoint me so, Kylo Ren?" Snoke inquires with a voice of disdain.

This had something to do about me, I am sure of it.

"I am doing everything you asked me," Kylo retorts rather simply.

"And I gave you a bride, yet still you have no efforts for an heir!" he accuses, "must I teach you even in the ways of the flesh, boy?!"

Kylo clenches his fist, he mumbles, "no."

"THEN DO YOUR DUTY!"

"I am making sure everything is perfect for her. She cannot bear me and heir if she is damaged or scared," Kylo retorts.

Snoke tilts his head, "and are you trying to say that has something to do with me?"

"I am SAYING-" Kylo Ren starts, raising his voice as he did. In my shock, I pull back at his cloak, not wanting to feel the wrath of his master. Not now, not ever, especially not in my dreams, not again.

Kylo holds himself back. He huffs, "I will do my duties as her husband. This isn't something for you to meddle with."

"Meddle?" Snoke scoffs but then laughs. He, in fact, laughs so hard, it echoes in the room. He catches his breath then sighs, "Fine." Snoke raises a finger and suddenly, Kylo's boots skid on the floor as he is moved away to reveal me from behind him.

I turn to Snoke, feeling my heart quicken in my ribcage.

Kylo steps back in front of me. I take his arm and hold onto it for dear life.

Snoke stares at his protégé. He tilts his head, "I expect this to change, soon. Her belly should never not be carrying an heir."

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

"Enough!" Kylo snaps me out of my trance. I turn to him, eyes wide, body trembling. We weren't in the throne room any more, we were in our chambers, soaked in dark retreat of it all. I had no idea when we got here. All I know was I was here with Kylo, who was clutching my face so tightly. He looks at me with something of annoyance, something of concern, "don't think about him anymore, think about me. Just think about me."

I shake my head in sheer disbelief. I push his hands away, "is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Kylo straightens.

"You," I start, "want me here for the same reason he does!"

His expression hardens.

"You and him had plagued me with nightmares for as long as I can remember," I shake my head, "the only reason, I think, I don't have them anymore is because I actually get to live my nightmares out in real life."

"So?" he quips, "what do you mean to say?"

I bite my lip, "just-" I feel my eyes water, "take what you want and... and-"

I hold my breath when Kylo grabs my chin and tilts my head up to look at him. He brings his face close to mine. His nose is barely brushing my own. I feel his hot breath on my face as he enunciates one word, "want."

I blink rapidly at the sound of his voice.

"Shhh," he hushes, "if it's Snoke you worry about, don't. I have been planning something for him, long before you even came to me. He is the least of your worries," he explains. "But do you know what I want, bride?" he asks, as though to taunt me.

I shudder. I think of replying, but I don't.

"I know what you want," he mutters. He begins to move forward, and so I have no choice but to move back as he pushes me in the direction he wants, "you want to run away from me, baby bird. You think you can break free."

His hand only leaves my chin when my calves hit the foot of the bed and I fall back, heart hammering, breath clawing at my throat. He drones, "but what I want?"

Kylo Ren undoes his gloves and undoes his belt as he towers over me.

I want to strangle your light. I want to break you so badly. I want to fucking burn you from the inside until you can only hear yourself screaming from how good it feels to finally have your wet, little c-

I slap my hands to my mouth I hear the thoughts running through his head.

Kylo stills. He tilts his head then chuckles, "so... you heard that?"

I sigh deeply, attempting to even my breath as I back away from him. I squeak when he lunges and traps me beneath him. He crushes me against his chest and pins my wrists by my head. I turn away from him as he whispers hotly against my ear, "it would be so easy to have you like this, right?"

My screw my eyes shut. Tears lace my lashes.

"You won't even fight me off, you couldn't."

I shudder when he releases one of my wrists and brings his free hand down to my thighs. I feel my body burn and tingle at his slow caress.

He kisses my jaw and my skin there is set ablaze, "you don't want to fight me off," he chuckles, "you could at least do something with your hand to save face."

When I finally remember where my free hand is, Kylo takes it back in his and lifts his head, "too late." He pushes himself up, "look at me."

I clench my jaw.

"You'll know never to make me ask for the same thing twice."

I give a shallow huff and open my eyes, looking up at him.

"I want you to beg me," he whispers, "I want you to be so desperate to finally," he begins to further pull away, "finally, take you," he knits his brows, "to make you my wife that you get on your knees and weep for it."

A shiver runs down my spine as I watch him get up from the bed and grab his gloves, "until then," he reaches his hand out and uses his Force to cover me with the sheets, "you belong to yourself."

He haunts me in my dreams that night. Not as a figure of darkness, not as a ghost, but as a man, as starving entity, ready to consume me, eager to take me.

He haunts me every night after. And every night his intentions are made clearer and clearer until I wake up and think he and I wake up and I'm shocked he's not actually there.

It became hard to look at him, especially when my stomach began to flip and my thighs involuntarily pressed together. I was turning sick.

And then one day, the news spreads like wildfire. Snoke is dead, Kylo Ren is the Supreme Leader, and I, his Supreme Empress.

It was weird. I was called Empress before and he was called Emperor before, but now, now it was real. Now I was parading with Kylo Ren in the capital, looking at citizens waving at us and throwing flowers our way. And then I was shaking strangers' hands and Kylo snarled at whomever dared embrace me a second too long.

But what really cemented our reign and the realness of it all, was when someone tried to attack me. Kylo felt the assailant before he got too close though and choked him dead in the middle of the crowd. I watched as the man's weapon fell to the ground, as he withered in pain, as he eventually stopped moving. He suffered. I knew Kylo wanted him to. The festivities were long over after that, and I was then I was reminded of who he truly was.

He was a brute. A beast. The shadow in my mind. He was-

I turn over my left as a blanket is draped over my shoulder. Kylo Ren sits beside me on the bed and offers me glass of water, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

I huff at the sound of his apology. I wrap my blanket tighter on me.

He sighs and brings the glass to the table using his Force, "I would do it again, though. You should know. I would not hesitate even a second."

I curl my legs up into my chest, "am I supposed to be grateful?"

"I would prefer if you were," he mutters.

"Kylo..."

I suck in a breath when he says his name.

"I'm- I'm too tired to argue. I want to go to sleep," I mutter, moving on the bed until I was laid down. Kylo watches me as I do this, then stands.

"Wait," I call out, surprising even myself.

Kylo stills.

No turning back now. "I... I don't want to be alone... not after that... even though you did it."

Kylo waits.

He debates my words.

I hide behind my blanket, "nevermi-"

The next thing I know, I feel him move next to me. And there, he lies.

I feel him next to me. We're under the same blanket. I feel myself begin to grow warm.

"I can get a separate blanket if you're so uncomfortable."

"Get out of my fucking thoughts."

"... ... I don't want to."

I grunt and wrap myself tightly under the blanket, surely yanking however much was on Kylo off.

"Your mind is an oasis to me."

I say nothing.

"My mind is a dessert, you are my oasis."

I huff through the sheets, "don't talk to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

"I'm telling you what-"

"I'm done with this conversation."

I close my eyes and tighten my embrace on myself. I release a breath and try to clear my mind.

"Are you that cold?" Kylo murmers

"I'm not cold."

"I know."

"Then why did you ask?" I quip turning to him.

I freeze when I do so, instantly regretting my decision. He was lying on his side, looking at me, his face was right in front of mine and his arms were wrapped around himself. He blinks slowly as he looks at me, "I know you want to be held."

I huff through my slightly agape mouth, then I clench my jaw tightly. I move back from him cautiously, retreating into my covers, into myself.

"I can hold you," he mutters softly.

I turn away from him, feeling my body ignite.

"I want to hold you," he whispers even softer. Let me hold you.

Shut up, get out of my head.

He takes a moment before speaking again. He releases a breath, "am I that terrifying to you, baby bird?"

Yes.

"Then why do you mutter my name while you sleep?"

I tighten my arms around myself. Stop trying to get into my head.

"I'm already in your head," he retorts, voice closer now, "and in your heart."

"Shut up," I whimper.

I hear high-pitched laugh in my head. His voice surrounds me through the Force. It makes my skin raise. I'm only telling you the truth.

"Face me," he mutters, "coward."

I scoff. I heave, feeling my insides curdle. I clench my jaw then hiss, "at least I'm not a killer with no remorse."

He laughs, "you're making it seem like I should have let him attack you."

"You didn't have to kill him!" I snap, turning back to him, pushing myself up on my palms, "you could have given him a prison sentence."

"For what?!" he barks back, unravelling his crossed arms, lifting face up slightly, "so he could plan to attack you again, but next time when I'm not around to defend you?!"

"He only wanted to attack me because I'm married to you!" I hiss, sitting up from my spot.

Kylo sits up too and shakes his head, "he wanted to attack you because he thinks you're my weakness."

"Because I am your weakness!" I quip, "I'm your docile bride!"

He scoffs, grabbing my jaw, "you made yourself into this, little girl," he leans towards me. My pulse quickens as he pushes my head back, hand coming to the side of my face, fingers digging into my hair, "you where the rebel that fought against my troops and managed to escape me. The Force is strong with you," he places his other hand on the other side of my face, "that is why you are my bride."

When Kylo Ren pulls away and lies down, my insides begin to burn, to fume, and rage at his words. I watch him and I slowly begin to see red. And yet, he closes his eyes and acts like this whole conversation didn't happen. He prepares to sleep like there's nothing wrong.

This is my final straw.

I lunge at him. I dart my claws out and growl. I jump on him and press down on his throat. I straddle him and lean all my weight all my strength onto his airways. His eyes shoot open. His hands dart to my wrists. He begins to choke. I put all my anger into my grip. I force against him, knowing full well if I lost the upper hand, I'd be dead.

Except he doesn't make an move beyond clutching my wrists. I wait for him to attempt to overpower me, I wait for him to throw me off him the way I knew he could, and end all of this, and, in turn, kill me instead, but he doesn't.

He doesn't fight back.

Instead he looks up at me as his air leaves him as his face begin to turn maroon, as his veins begin to stress, as his final breaths escape his lips. And then I realize what I was doing and I pull back.

I pull back and heave in horror, wrists breaking free of his hold, hovering by my chest as I looked down at him while he caught his breath. He closes his eyes as his palms land on my thighs. My eyes water, the same way tears laced his lashes.

Why didn't he fight back?

Why isn't he fighting back?

He wanted me to kill him?

He wanted me to kill him?

I watch as his chest rises and falls beneath me. I am then suddenly aware of our position. I feel a tinge burn in my cheeks and my core. It's inexplicable, whether I am embarrassed over the fact I tried to kill him or the fact I was straddling him beneath me.

Before I can get off him though, he finally overpowers me and traps me beneath him. Easily. Swiftly. I was nothing against him. And this fact was amplified as he pins my wrists down on the pillows overhead with just one hand. He presses himself against me, heaving heavily, as if he was doing something with great restraint. It makes my stomach drop.

"That's the difference between you and I," he pants, as his one hand comes up to my neck, "if I wanted you dead, my love..." he begins to press down on my throat.

I begin to panic and thrash beneath him.

Shhhhhh.

He steadies me still in his place. I am overcome by him, unsure if it was just his physical prowess or if he was using his Force as he pushes down on me. I get a semblance of an answer when the pressure on my throat remains and I unable to move my wrists though both his hands go to the sides of my thighs.

I gulp as he leaves hot kisses all over my skin. I huff sharply when I am released of my Force bounds. My hands dart to his torso, gripping at his clothes as I try to push him away.

I would never damage you.

I let out a sound when he releases his chokehold.

Not unless you want me to.

Kylo then begins to bring his face close to mine, pressing our cheeks together for a moment. My stomach rolls and my breath hitches when his hot lips meet my mine. My heart is racing. He undoubtedly could feel it against him.

My panic rises. I quickly manage in between kisses, "Kylo-"

"Beg me," he pulls away and breathes against my ear, "beg me..." he kisses the pulse on my neck, "to get off you-- to leave you alone, to shoot myself into the sun-"

Kylo begins to rub himself between my open legs. Slowly. Roughly. I whimper. He freezes. I feel blood rise up my face. I begin to push him back harder.

He tightens his hold on me, repelling my actions by pressing his weight further onto me, "beg me to finally make you live out your fantasies," his voice loudens, "to make you mine."

I grit my teeth tightly.

"Beg me," he groans, "beg."

I whine, nails digging into his sides as I push against him.

He kisses my jaw, hands leaving my thighs, grabbing my wrists, pushing them down on my sides, "use your words. Hark to me, my baby bird."

My breath hitches, "Kylo, please."

Kylo pulls his face back, nose just above mine, looking down at me with hooded eyes. He waits for me to continue, breath straining as he did. My lips part and my feel my pulse echo in every inch of my body.

I gulp and ready to speak... but I can't. I don't. My mouth goes dry and all I could think about was how his dark locks were framing his face, and how his lips were moving as he heaved arduously, and how I wanted to find where the scar on his face ended.

Then I am ripped out of my incredulous thoughts.

"Please what?" his breath his hot against my face as he coaxes.

I close my lips and catch my breath that was leaving me, "please... stop."

"Stop what, darling?" he utters. I close my eyes when he leans his forehead against mine. He releases my wrists, hands coming to my sides, nails scratching down me until his large hands ended up on my thighs again. I squeak when his hips buck into mine with more intent.

My hands come to Kylo's neck, fingers digging into the roots of his hair.

He shifts atop me, pulling his head back up, weight all on my core, making me moan at the pressure. His nose brushes against mine. He breathes out my name. My eyes shoot open because of it.

I find his eyes are screwed shut, a line between his brows. His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare as he steadies his breathing.

"Kylo-"

"Yes," he speaks before I even finish saying his name.

His eyelids slowly part when I tug his face towards me, legs tightening around his waist, crossing over his back. He lets out a huff that bounces from my face to his. His hands rub down to my butt and there his grip tightens.

Right when our lips brush against each other, he lifts his head ever so slightly and whispers, "beg me to make you mine."

My throat tightens.

"I need to hear it," his voice is soft.

I suck in a breath and call out his name.

He releases a sharp one as he says mine.

I call out his name.

He responds with mine.

I hesitate.

He rubs his nose against mine then says quietly, "make me yours please."

I suck in a breath. My stomach explodes with butterflies. "Make... me yours," I mumble, relaxing against him, hands rubbing down his neck to his shoulders. I close my eyes and sigh, "please."

He nods, "louder."

"Kylo-"

"Louder," he mutters with a tight breath, "one last time."

"Make me yours, please."

Kylo hisses then connects his lips to mine. He moans, amplifying the hungriness of the kiss. His hands are quick and desperate as they grip at my clothing. He pushes off me and begins to strip me of all the hindrances on my being

I whimper as he eagerly does his work. One by one, he rips my clothes off. He does so with such impatience, I hear the tears and the strains of my clothes.

He sits me down as he removes each piece off me until I'm left in my panties. I wrap my arms around my bare chest. Kylo leans in, hands rubbing my bare thighs. My skin pricks because of the contact. He mutters, "your turn, my dear."

He kisses me as he grabs my hands. He pries them off my chest and ends our kiss, placing my palms at the hem of his top. He lifts his hands, eyes not leaving mine, wordlessly urging me to strip him.

I shift on my knees and pull his top off, discarding it along with the rest of my clothing that he threw on the floor. My hands instinctively come to his pants, fiddling the belt on his waist band.

He gets on his knees and grabs my face. He pulls me in for a kiss, moving closer until I'm pressed against the headboard. He guides my hands as they push his pants down.

We keep kissing until he breaks away to strip all together. I don't have time to react cause when he does, he pushes me down using his Force, and brings my legs together as to rid me of the last thing keeping me modest. I screw my eyes shut as he snatches my underwear.

Before I could feel too conscious about being naked in front of the man that was my husband, about to consummate our marriage, I let out a shaky sound as my legs are grabbed and pushed apart.

I suck in a breath as my arms fly again to my chest. They only stay there for a moment. Even that, Kylo pulls apart as he presses against me. He presses my arms down on the pillows by the sides of my head.

I am unable to conceal my cries at the feel of his hot body pressing against mine. I feel his taut stomach press against my core. It drew out another sound I could not keep in. I feel my pulse against him. I feel my wetness smear on his skin. His hands leave my arms to grab onto my thighs.

When I finally dared to open my eyes, I caught the moment Kylo sank his head onto my chest and began to suckle at the skin on my sternum.

I whimper then I bite my lip tightly. Kylo looks up at me as he takes my left breast and nips at it. He begins to rub against me.

I fist his hair into my hands. I press my head back against the pillows. Kylo's hands travel to my hipbones and digs in his fingers into me. He releases my breast and checks on his work, appreciating the mark he left of my skin before continuing to attend to my breast with his mouth.

I tighten my legs around his waist as he continues to grind down on me. I feel my heart racket behind my ribs as Kylo moves to my other breast.

"Kylo," I whimper, as my nails dig into his scalp.

He moans and releases my flesh, whispering hotly against my skin, "yes, my empress?"

I exhale through my open mouth and look at him with a dazed expression. I clutch his cheeks, "I want you-- need you-" I sigh.

Kylo lifts his body slightly, one hand releasing my hip. "To what?" he murmurs, "-need to hear you say it."

His fingers roughly draw a line from my side to my core. I gasp when he touches my aching nub. I lift my head, looking out at his hand as he looks down on me. His two digits dote on the wet heat between my legs. He slowly rubs circles on my flesh, teasing my entrance.

He holds my hips in place as a squirm beneath him. Then his hands hook by the curve of my thigh and pushes one leg up to my chest. He leans in and says, "need to what, my bride?"

I whine as my hands brush down to his shoulders. I claw at him, pulling him closer to me, "need to..." whimper, "to be made yours."

He exhales loudly. He heaves heavily as he sinks two fingers into my sopping core, slowly and firmly rubbing into me, stretching my flesh deliciously. I whine like a wraith.

"You have no idea how long I've imagined touching you like this," he admits as he toys my entrance with his fingers.

"Kylo."

He pulls his hand away and grabs my other thigh, pushing it up by my ribs.

I look at him as he brings his face close and lifts his hips. He digs his fingers into the bend of my knees and my toes curl when I feel him press against me, hard and pulsing.

I lick my lips and break into a whine when he slowly sheathes himself into me, releasing a hot breath by the crown of my head as he did so.

I whimper at the feel of him sinking in all the way. I tighten my legs around him and reach out to the sheets by my sides and rip at them.

Kylo slowly begins to rock into me, groaning as he does so, "so warm, wet and soft," he grabs my hands and places it on his back, "so soft and-" he licks my skin and bites down.

I choke on my breath as he does this. His pace thrusts hasten. He hands grab my knees and push them into my chest, "mine. All mine."

He lifts himself up and ruts into me with vigor.

Soon enough I feel my mind blur while my voice lets out incoherences at the snapping of Kylo's hips.

I claw at his back with little regard for how much it may hurt him.

Kylo howls in response, quickening his pace even more, adjusting his hold on me until his position was perfect and my head was knocking slightly into the board.

"Fill you up with me," he grunts, "fill you until you're a mess, mark you until you're tender, repeat until you're sore."

I don't respond. I don't know what to. I don't have much of a brain to speak anything anyway.

Kylo thrusts into me at such a strong and steady pace, it's not long until I feel a flurry in my stomach and a tingle in my chest.

I whine out his name. I pull him into me. He leans in and huffs against my cheek, "feels good, right? I can make you feel good."

I catch his lips into my teeth. He rip away only to kiss me as he breaks me.

We pull away to breathe yet Kylo does lose his tempo. I feel my eyes water and my mouth dry over my continuous jaw dropped cries.

"Just want to make you feel good," he whispers heavily, "want to make you mine."

"Feel so good," I mindlessly mutter, "so - Kylo."

In that next moment, I feel my insides shatter around him. I let out a loud cry of relief. My fingers curl into his back as I tighten and convulse around him. My toes curl as I lock my legs around him. Instantaneously, I feel a sharp heat splatter into me and it magnifies my delirium.

I hear him curse and whine against my ear. I feel him tighten his hold on me as he continues the work with his hips, still as quick as before.

And as I ride out my high and tighten around him, only then does Kylo's actions find some irregularity. My head no longer hits the board, though my body very much still moves up and down with Kylo's movements.

As the final ripples of my pleasure calm down, so does the knocking of our hips.

When he is satisfied, he releases my hips and grabs my face. He kisses me and catches his breath in between.

"Do you want me to get off you?" he asks.

I quickly shake my head in disagreement and wrap my arms around him.

"Good," he rests his head beside mine and slowly relaxes on top of me. He sighs and brushes his nose against my head, "I want to stay in you forever."

I bite my lip and lean my face into his.

"I will write your name in the stars," he whispers, "I will give you everything in the galaxy. All you have to do is be mine."

I gulp and sigh heavily, yet I internally find myself agreeing.

His hand rubs my side, "I hope you don't get pregnant too quickly," he kisses my head, "there's so much I have to do with you first."

[prettyboykatsuki]

vanilla-cherry sweetheart | h. sakura

✮ tags ; gender neutral + afab!reader, dom top!reader, sub bottom!sakura, explicit feminization (referring to sakuras ass as a pussy, dick as a clit. the pet name good girl etc.), light dollification (reader dresses him up), rimming, anal fingering, pegging, cumming untouched, lots of gender fuckery, BRIEF breeding kink / pregnancy reference directed at sakura, excessive dirty talk, mirror sex 18+

✮ wc ; 5.1k (im crazy im crazy im crazy)

✮ a/n ; there's no way im not ovulating. this is insane. sorry. also sorry if there are any egregious typos i can only read this once over before i feel like exploding

✮ synopsis ; you think sakura makes the prettiest girl.

The soft slip of silk and satin feel weird  against Haruka’s skin.  

You’ve put effort into this, more than he thought possible. Every detail of him has been preened and plucked. A soft scent rolls off of his freshly smooth skin,  cherry and vanilla. His hair is styled down against, bangs laid flat as opposed to push backwards, decorated with clips and accessories.  

He has a face full of makeup on which was a pain to apply and even more of a pain to not rub off. His lips are parted, polished with color and his eyes are lined with a soft brown. There’s some shadow underneath, some glittery dust but everything is generally subdued. He hasn’t seen what the hell he looks like and he thinks he’d prefer it that way.  

Like hell he’d wanna see what perverted things you’ve done to his face.  

His clothes feel the most unfamiliar to him. Boxers replaced with frilly boyshorts. Bra straps tugging against his shoulder. Expensive so the fabric doesn’t itch. The kind without cups, all loose and sliding against his nipples every time he shifts. He’s wearing clothes you’ve hand-picked. Dresses that girls usually wear. Skin-colored tights underneath a patterned slip dress with that he doesn’t have the full chest to fit into, accompanied by a sweater hanging off of his arms and shoulders.  

All of these details on Haruka’s musculature make no sense. It can’t look very good on him, he thinks. Haruka has a hard body. Sinewy muscles from manual labor and fighting, a square set of shoulders. He’s always been thin and languid but not…feminine. He has no idea how to posture himself. In what ways he should sit or stand, how to behave with these soft clothes and light scents on his skin. 

The delicacy of your hands as they paint more of a nude rouge onto his mouth, makes Haruka blush further. His stomach turns as he stares at you, searching for answers he doesn’t find in the calm express on your face. You cup his jaw, your other hand using a lip brush to slide it against his mouth as you finish up with last touches. Focused as you prep him to your standards, whatever the hell they are.  

Haruka won’t pretend to understand. He thinks most of the effort you’ve poured in priming him is wasted. He thinks that this whole affair has been stupid and he’s sure the minute he catches a glance at himself he’ll want to explode into a thousand little pieces. You’ve been so damn meticulous, Haruka can’t even bring himself to destroy your hard work. No stone left unturned, each and every element met with incredible focus and detail.  

More shamefully, the attention has felt good. It’s hard to pretend that it doesn’t when it’s the only thing that makes Haruka bend at your will. He’s never had a relationship before, but he’s not ditzy enough to think your sex life is particularly normal. Nothing about you really is. Maybe your unbridled affection for Haruka can be attributed to that. It was you who pursued Haruka, you who courted him and romanced him - cornered him even as he  ran away, with frustrating levels of discretion - until the option to fall for someone else had all but disappeared.  

And Haruka had tried to run away from you. Many times. Your persistence wore him down until eventually his mind would only fill with you and whatever you wanted to do to him. With him.  

(Haruka loves you to put it plainly. You’re clever and sardonic and interesting and he doesn’t totally get you but he loves you so madly it makes him crazy. Loves you for the ways you’re good and careful, and loves you for the ways you love him. You’re so good to Haruka, so good he can’t stand it. So good his head feels staticky trying to make sense of it 

That’s why he’ll do anything for you, no matter how horribly shameful.)  

It’s impossible, difficult, irrational  - the breadth and depth of Haruka’s feelings for you are completely and utterly distanced from his own understanding. Where Haruka is abrasive yet timid, you are soothing but straightforward. Sincere. You’ve been gently introducing him to the depths of your affection, putting yourself forward in expressing your desires and thoughts.  

You’ve always been this sort of person, you hope he won’t hate you etc.  

You always give Haruka a chance to run away from you.  

No expectations. A warm gaze from across a shared bed that turns Haruka pink, incoming dawn on his cheeks down to his shoulders and collarbones. He always has options, but he likes the option making you happiest. The words thank you sound like a hymn on your lips. 

He tells itself its for you, and it is mostly. Mostly. After all this time though, he’s  conditioned. His body is molded for your touch. The unwitting pleasure of submitting himself to you had shocked him the first time he really experienced it. How soothing you were, how easily you dragged him into abyss of pure pleasure. Pleasure and sex he couldn’t imagine existing.  

Your touch had conditioned his body to burn bright wherever it lingered.  

The shame is always there, pooling in his gut and lying in wait to swallow him. It overwhelms him whenever he’s alone.  

But you always pull him from it, out of it - cradle him in the palms of your skilled hands as you whisper sweet platitudes against his skin. Praise him, fuck him into something boneless and desperate. Being exposed to a type of want, the euphoria in humiliation, the reclamation of his shame. It turns Haruka’s doubts into noise slowly but surely. He falls so deep into that depth, becomes completely unrecognizable only because he’s so sure you’ll catch him.  

He hates it so much. 

(Read: He hates liking it. Hates liking the forbidden sexual things you’ve introduced him too that he can’t forget. Hates liking the fact you’ve imprinted so mercilessly on his body and mind. Haruka could never be with anyone else. Nothing would work.  

No one could make him feel like this. You’re the first and only in the world.)  

A few weeks ago, you had mentioned wanting to dress him up like this. Stared, long and hard before petting his hair and assessing he’d make a pretty girl. There’d been traces of it before then but...  

To have it brought up so deliberately made him hiss at you feral until you winded him back down. Asked if he would be fine with it, assured it’d be okay if not.  

He said no then, and you didn’t ask again.  

(He brought it up later and felt all melty seeing you beam.)  

He thought it’d be simple. He’s seen stuff like this before when he went to look up other things you wanted to try. He thought it’d just be panties or clothes, something basic and lacy. Still perverted but simple.  

But everything has been elaborately crafted to make him pretty. The soft drawls and whispered demands, the compliments, painting his nails and washing his hair and shaving him.  

These are ritual acts of beauty, made to accentuate feminine appeal he doesn’t see in himself but you so clearly do.  

After you’re finish up your last touches, you tell him to keep his eyes closed. You stand behind Haruka with a hand under his jaw once he turns in his seat, still blind to his new looks. Your voice is an appreciative murmur, so genuine and so raw it makes all the hair on his neck stand on end.  

“Open your eyes. You’re so pretty, Haru-chan,” Your thumb slides against his cheek lightly. “Look how pretty you are.”   

He doesn’t recognize himself. Adorned, dolled up. The sinew of his muscles and hard lines of his figures contrast against the shapely pulls of his dress. He’s smooth and smells nice, perfumed and stunning. The makeup on his face doesn’t overwhelm him. It’s him but he’s pretty. So pretty it freaks him the fuck out.  

Pretty like a girl. The hell.  

“What’s all this even for? Doesn’t make sense. I’m a guy and I’m not—,” He murmurs, trying not to shudder as he feels self conscious. You lean down, your chest pressed to his back as your arms circle around his neck. “You’re so weird.”  

You ignore his empty threats skillfully. “It’s for me to fuck you in,”  

He wants to be pissed at you but you look so pleased. Obvious satisfaction making your shoulders relax, eyes raking over him in the mirror again and again. He looks in the mirror and sees a version of himself so…cute it’s unfathomable it’s even him.  

He makes a noise of discontent, lip jutted in a pout. That’s met with an airy laugh. “Seems pointless.”  

You smile at him in the mirror and his skin shades a deeper pink, tucking his chin.  

“It’s fine if you think that,” You murmur. “Is it okay if I make you feel good now?”  

“Don’t say it in such an embarrassing way.” He grits. You laugh again as you bend down over him where he sits, kissing him once before the two of you stumble into shared bed.  

Haruka feels conscious of himself when he finally lays back into the sheets. His dress rides up near over his lmees and there’s nothing underneath to shield him from your hungry view. His tights are too sheer of any use. You amble on top of Haruka, sitting on him as he lays back.  

You admire him for a long while like that.  Palm settled on his waist, you trace his features with appreciation. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you Haruka?”  

“I’m…” He deflects instinctively. A coy smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your fingers find the hem of Haruka’s dress. It’s a loose thing, a printed pattern decorated with a frilly hem meant for a more shapely frame. You toy with the material, rubbing it between your fingers. “Fuck off,”  

He can’t bring himself to say he’s not a girl. For some stupid reason. The words die on his lips when he stares up at you and sees you looking at him so reverently. So expectant without words. He squirms and looks away.  

“What word do you say when you want to stop, Haruka?”  

“Tomato. Or I can pinch you,” He repeats from memory. You smile lovingly.  

“Right. Is there anything you want to say to me?” Do you want me to stop? 

He looks away, frown deepening. Relieved when you take his silence as compliance as you often do so kindly.  

“Don’t worry about anything else,” You slide the spaghetti straps of his dress off his shoulder, pulling it down past his chest and revealing the soft patterned black lace underneath. His nipples peek through the material, the rosiness more noticeable through the paneling. It looks so lewd from the angle he sees it. “Just focus on being a good girl for me,”  

Haruka lets out a strangle protest before uttered soundless from your steely gaze, nodding  frustratedly as your hands slide up to his chest. You brush Haruka’s nipples lightly with the dull edge of your nail, his spine arching responsively to the pleasure. It’s a brief touch, a promise of what’s to come. You lean forward pressing your lips to his as you rub the hardened buds until they’re tender. His lipstick smears a little onto you, a dusty rose. Haruka moans into your mouth, entirely aware of the thing barrier between your touch and his chest. Your fingers are deft in rubbing his nipples as your tongue occupies Haruka’s. You lick against his lips and tongue, sucking on it lewdly. . 

Shameless in your pursuit of him, his ass throbs from prior prep and his cock stirs to all the sudden stimulation.  

The way arousal floods his brain scares him. He can’t fight it.  You’re so good with your hands. Good at everything, like knowing where and how and when exactly to touch him. His cock tents, strains against the suffocating nylon wrapped around his legs and waist. He shivers as he feels the leaky tip press against the silk and push desperately through the nylon - stretching it with it’s length. His whole body is throbbing urgently.  

You kiss down Haruka’s bare chest until your mouth finds one of his nipples. You suck them through the cups first before tugging them away slightly and giving Haruka what he wants which is the full heat of your mouth. You’ve made him so weird. Wired his body into feeling this unimaginable pleasure in places he hardly used to touch.  

His hips buck into anticipation, mouth open and panting as your incisors sink into the flesh of his pec.  

He cries out, shuddering as he grabs the nape of neck to anchor himself at the wet feeling. His blood is rushing south making him light-headed. He feels needy, sensitive. So much anticipation had built up while you spent time on him and all of it floods to his mind all at once. The attention you pay him and only him.  

The weight of your gaze clings to him.  

“Your clits getting all hard and sticky from having your nipples teased,” You point out.  Haruka groans reflexively at your tone of voice. “You’re a perverted girl, huh?”  

Haruka should protest your words. He wants too. The cognitive dissonance should cause him discomfort but he finds only euphoria in it’s wake. He can’t understand why. It’s all so weird, but you sound so sure of yourself. Falling deeper into those unfamiliar depths makes his anxiety curl up in his chest yet when he looks at you it all fades.  

He feels greedy. Feels so selfish when his mind chants for you to keep looking at him just like that. He falls deep into that familiar liminal space, warm and comfortable.  

Your eyes are softened and assured. Haruka makes a pathetic whine. It doesn’t feel like his voice. He protests the words right away. “I’m not,”  

“Not what, Haruka?”  

He blinks at you wetly, brows scrunched. He huffs. “I’m not a pervert, dammit.” 

It’s the right thing to say. He thought it’d be. You light up at the admission, sucking a mark into his neck as you grab his waist a little more and grope him all over. You can’t keep your hands off of him, your fingers searching for all of his skin as you kiss him again more feverishly. He wraps his arms around your neck, his sweater sleeves slipping awkwardly when he does, making you kiss him harder.  

“My Haruka. My Haru-chan,” You murmur against his lips in between kisses. Haruka opens his eyes to you looking utterly adoring. Lovesickness bleeds into your eyes, a drug to his system as you direct it his way. “So pretty and perfect.”  

“Shut up,” He goads, trying to get you to kiss him a little more. “You’re so annoying.”  

You kiss again, deeper and stronger before pulling back. “I’m gonna eat you out, Haru-chan.”   

The words make him gasp, shiver  - goosebumps covering every visible inch of your skin. “Gonna make use of your pretty pussy and split it open on my cock, make you cum from the inside like a good girl.”  

It melts him down to his core, spoken with such clarity - smooth leaving your lips and so genuine. Haruka has been fucked enough to know how it feels and to want it. He thinks of all times prior, and feels the plug inside of him more consciously at the mention. He squeezes his legs together from the arousal, like a girl he thinks and the whines somewhere deep in his chest. Preens for you.  

His consciousness feels like it’s fading with each step, each breath he heaves from his lungs labored.  

He forms his lips around words that never escape him. Before long you’re scooting yourself further back, down between his legs until you’re faced with his clothed erection.  

Arousal nips at him at the sight of your face near his cock underneath so many layers. You purposefully hold the skirt of his dress and rub all over - emphasizing the shape through it. Haruka flushes at the way his cock sticks up against them. Distorts that stupid floral pattern, stretches it. His ears grow hot at the lascivious image it paints. Your palm glides over his bulge once, twice, three times before sliding it up again.  

A wet patch stains his nude nylons visibly after all of the teasing, pre-cum dribbling between two thin layers that makes Haruka want to die. Your voice is gravelly, lacks it’s usual amusement. “You’re so wet, Haruka.”  

He shivers and huffs.  

His cock twitches and his ass is throbbing. Unspoken desire nips at him as your thumb presses against his slit through layers of fancy material. Praise falls from your lips crassly. He becomes more aware each second. His bra and panties, his dress and skirt, the feeling of make-up on his face and the sensation of clips keeping his bangs away from his eye. He looks like a girl and his dick is leaking, twitching, pitifully as you touch and caress him.  

His head rings heavy with the words wet.  

He wants you to touch him more. Nearly begs with his eyes for you get the memo. 

And you do. Of course you do, all wispy and pleased by his obvious desperation for your touch. “Haruka’s got such a needy little pussy, huh?”  

He hisses, swears, takes a sharp inhale of air as your fingers find the seam of his stockings and pull until they rip unceremoniously. You pull them until his cock and the insides of his thighs are open to air, and snagged nylon shrinks against his waist. His panties, black boyshort lace panties, make his milky skin look whiter and the tip of his cock redder. 

It’s so unbearably dirty to him. It’s so humiliating. Vanilla scented skin and the heady scent of his own cum, his painted, blunt nails digging into the palms of his hands  - bitten chest and misplaced bra,  all of it is so humiliating. Makes his dick even harder under everything as your fingers wrap delicately along his shaft with the fabric. “You have to cum from the inside first, Haruka,” 

You remind him and he aches, grits his teeth about it but you don’t budge.  

You don’t take Haruka’s panties off either. The panel of fabric barely covering his cock instead gets pushed aside. Haruka bends his legs up instinctively. Your thumb taps on the jewel end of a plug, one he’d mostly forgotten about until he’s forced to be reminded it of it. He swears loudly.  

You make an abrupt move suddenly, reaching over to bedside table and rifling along for things you’d both need. Lube, a harness, and something to fill Haruka with. You settle back between his legs when you’ve got them all before you carefully tug his plug away from him.  

The emptiness makes him whine  - hole pink and fluttery and open. Your thumbs pull him open until he gapes a little more, hands massaging his thigh. “Such a perfect pussy.” 

Haruka makes an aborted noise  - a pitchy whine cut off as you dip down further and further until your nose tucks against his perineum and your tongue slides over wet hole.  

He cries out at the sudden intrusion, muscles fluttering as you force your tongue as deep as it can go. It’s embarrassing, so shameful he could die and it feels incredible. 

“It’s fucking dirty,” He shouts, cries, prying himself away from you before it can feel even better. “Stop, it’s—“  

“Ish not dirty,” You mumble, words mumbled against his puckering hole. “I helpedth you clean, remember?,”  

You pull away and your face is wet with something, lube likely, but the visual mixed with everything else makes Haruka want to crawl into a hole. Your hands on his thighs are soft and your eyes gaze, turned on him is sparkling. “You’re a cute girl, Haruka. Saying things like it’s dirty. But this much is normal, okay? It’s only polite if I eat your pussy.”  

His stomach flips, heart racing at the ease of your words. A cute girl. Being praised in such a way… so genuinely. Enough to make him think it. Haruka likes being your boyfriend, your good boy but there’s something so much naughtier about all of this that makes him want to cry. His body is so chery red, down to his neck and shoulders.  

You’re going to fuck his pussy while he’s wearing these lacy, frilly, girly clothes and he wants it so bad he could die from the shame.  

“Do you want me to eat you out? Do you want me to make your pussy feel good?”  

The words come out like a sob, ripped out of his labored breaths. “Fuck, yes —“  

So you dive back again, pressing your tongue to Haruka’s hole with reckless abandon. It feels strange but it feels good when you tease and slurp. It’s sensitive and ticklish with each stroke, something about it feels dirty. All the hairs on the back of his neck stand - electricity shooting through his nerves and making him pulse hot all over. You’re doing it so passionately, eating him out like he really has a— 

He moans a little, shuddering, cock dribbling pr-espend. Tip ruddy and desperate, he want more. He grinds against your face searching for it, hips chasing for friction.  

He knows what he really wants even if it’s too shy to voice it. His body feels so empty, so uselessly empty. He casts his gaze on your harness, your cock—laying beside him and clenches without thinking. He wants it so bad he’s drooling, aching, hips pushing against air as he moans while you eat him out. Please, please,please.  

You make an appreciative noise into him as you pull away, his hole soaked from your saliva as you look up at him from between his legs. Noticing the state he’s in, faced reddened and chest heaving. He feels so ruined and so, so stupidly horny. He wants to cum any way he can, he thinks.  

He looks at your face, absolutely lovestruck, then shivers.  

That’s not true. He wants to cum from your cock, from being fucked. He wants to cum like a girl. 

“I want you to see yourself baby,” You say, all warm. Haruka pants. “Come here,”  

Haruka is dazed as you help him up to his feet and guide him back to your vanity. He can barely stand he’s so hard. His knees buckle further when he sees himself in the mirror. 

God. He looks ruined. His makeup smudged slightly at mouth despite himself, his bitten chest and skin and his clothes. His ripped tights. All of it is too overwhelming to process. He decides against thinking.  

You wrap your arm around his waist from behind. “My pretty girl.”  

Haruka covers his face instinctively, squirming. “Shut up.”  

“Mm,” You put a hand on the front of his thigh. “Put your knee on here and your hands on the vanity table, Haru-chan.” 

Haruka obliges only because he can barely keep himself upright other wise, propping one knee onto the vanitys bench. He’s close to himself in the mirror this way - the lights making him look at himself with more scrutiny than before. He has no idea what it is about this you like. Gold-silver eyes, short hair - everything about him, he doesn’t see what you admire.  

But you’ve put so much focus into accentuating each of his features. It’s skilled in the way Tsubaki is. Everything done with meaning.  

He looks at himself closely. The sweater around his arms, the shiny polish on his fingers, the jewelry. The ornery of it all messy and ruined. Mascara rings around his eyes and his lipstick is swiped messily. All of that effort to make him so beautiful only to fuck it all up. It’s fitting. To be made and completely ruined by you in the same breath.  

When you return to him, you’ve got your strap harnessed and lube in your hands. Pour  it onto his pussy and rub it in with rough touches, doing the same to your silicone cock before tossing the bottle back towards the bed. You finger Haruka open with a hand on his hips, squeezing appreciatively at his ass through tights before tearing them even more.  

He groans, gripping onto the sturdy vanity for his life as you work him back open soft enough to be fucked.  

“Haru-chan,” You murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss the small of his beck where his dress rides up. “I’m going to fuck your pretty pussy and make you watch,”  

Your crass words sent heat flaring through up his spine. His nerves fray at the end. He pushes his hips back on instinct as you slip a third finger in, curling against his prostate. Nearly slipping, Haruka lets the sensation bleed through him, tip weeping as his pussy aches for the perfect stretch.  

“Deep breath, Haruka.”  

He takes in a sharp inhale as the head of your cock swells inside of him. Pushes past the puffy, pink rim of his hole and stretches around the sticky, veined shaft. His mind goes numb, body limp. Your hand pushes down on the curve of his back until he’s arching properly, feeling it deeper. His body and mind disconnect, acting on instinct as his teeth grind making up for the emptiness. The tables edge digs into his palms hard and Haruka shakes. His mouth drop opens, drooling from the corners of his lip.  

“Deeper,” He groans, can’t think, can’t think of anything but the delicious and obvious intrusion of your cock inside of him. “Harder, fuck.”  

“I wanted to be gentle,” You tsk then thrust. Slam yourself into the welcoming tightness of Haruka’s pussy without second thought, knocking all the air from his lungs. “It’s good to be gentle with girls. Haruka likes it rough though, right? You like your cunt mistreated even though you’ve got such a cute face.” 

Your hips grind against the back of Haruka’s ass as you bottom out and his cock twitches. His vision goes white, body taut before trembling violently. You pause. “Did you cum, Haruka? Did you cum from having your pussy filled?”  

He’s shaking. He can’t stand up properly. He’s so full. His stomach is so full, he’s so happy to be so full. It feels so good everything in his vision is white, smatterings of starlight behind his lids when they flutter closed. His pussy feels so good. He feels good for you. He’s so contented nothing else makes sense.  

“Haruka,” Your voice is wrecked. Like you were the one being devastated, not him. “Oh, my perfect girl. Cumming from my cock, so good. You’re a good girl, you’re such a good fucking girl. Such a tight pussy.”  

You fuck Haru with reverence. Pure delirium. His eyes widen frantically when you pull out and blow wider when you slam back in - forcing him to hold onto the vanity for dear life. You angle yourself and fuck Haruka hard and hot without so much as another word of warning. Praising him endlessly as you look at him in the mirror.  

“Fuck, look.” Your hands go around to his chin, cupping his jaw upwards with free hand until he sees himself in the mirror in sheer bliss. He sees you in the reflection, too, besotted. Flushed all over, eyes glazed over in complete hunger. Haruka looks embarrassing, looks euphoric and messy and so filthy he can’t believe its him he’s looking at. “Look how fucking pretty you are.”  

You pull Haruka up back his arms until his back is against your chest when you fuck him, sinking your cock so deep he feels it in his throat. He cums again, dry, from the inside just like you want. The wet slam of your hips is making it hard to think.  

“So beautiful. Gorgeous, aren’t you? So stunning even without all this. My beautiful Haruka’s and his pretty, perfect cunt. You’re made for me to fuck you like this. Made for me to fuck you like a girl,”  You babble, voice hoarse as you fuck into him hard and precises over and over and over. “Made for my dick. Should fuck you pregnant, keep you all filled until you carry my kid , turn you into my housewife.”  

It’s nonsense. Useless, horny filth. And it makes his head spin, makes his body ache so hot when you say it. Hearing you praise his cunt so affectionately, being made to take your cock. All of it makes his blood rush and turns him stupid. Impossible but his body aches at the possibility as it gets filled. Haruka can’t keep his head on straight, can’t find his tact or pull away from you fucking him so ruthlessly.  

He moans your name with his voice shattered, hands at his sides as you pound away. Dick slapping against the soft plane of his stomach each time, dribbling cum onto satiny floral and dying it white.  

His body goes taut. He can feel it. He’s going to cum again, going to cum harder.  

His voice is shot as he begs.  

“Touch me,” He whines. “Touch me,”  

“Touch where, baby? Say it.”  

He nearly buckles. “Touch my c-clit. Make me cum, fuck.”  

“Good girl,” You praise, so sweetly. “Such a good girl for me,”  

Your wet hands wrap around Haruka’s shaft and everything he was keeping pent up inside him explodes all at once. You barely stroke twice before his cock starts to twitch so hard it hurts, an orgasm hurdling towards him full speed before he nearly gets knocked down. His spine arches against you as he finally, finally gets the relief he wants and he cums.  

Haruka cums hard. Thick, heavy, wet ropes of white semen splash onto your vanity and mirror, into your fingers as you fuck him through his orgasm, jerking him off hard until he’s howling from overstimulation. He’s overwhelmed when you bottom out, sticky hand holding his hips as you grind.  

“I’m close,” You pant. “Hold still.”  

Haruka feels as you grind yourself against the leather harness of the strap with your forehead pressing his back and feels aroused all over again. His brain is so clouded with lust he can’t stop the words from escaping his lips as he looks at your face in the mirror trying to cum.  

“Cum in me,” He begs helpless. “Want you to cum in me,”  

And you push yourself into him further, deeper, hips rutting until you drop down in a shudder and scream. “Fuck. Shit! Cumming in you, fuck,”  

You cum and still drunk from the endorphins Haruka thinks its a waste you didn’t cum inside  - too deep in his head space to think about the whine from his lips.  

You breathe slow and kiss his shoulders and all over his neck. “Love you, Haruka.”  

He shudders. “…Love you too,”  

[nackrosor]

~Magic Hands~

𝓢𝓲𝓶𝓸𝓷 '𝓖𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽' 𝓡𝓲𝓵𝓮𝔂 𝔁 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

warnings/tags: smut, massage, hurt/comfort, female receiving, v. fingering, soft Ghost, romantic tension, the room is packed with your mates so you have to keep quiet hehe

synopsis: in the aftermath of a rough mission, you find yourself unable to fall asleep due to muscle aches. Your Lieutenant offers to help you release the tension by giving you a massage, which escalates rather quickly.

word count: 4,1k.

[a/n: finally writing for my man Ghost and I'm quite proud of how this first story turned out. Now I'm curious to know what you think of it! Also, this wasn't beta-read so if there's any typo/grammatical error, let me know. Alright, enjoyyyyy 🌶️✨💀]

"You can't sleep?" 

Ghost's deep hushed voice coming from somewhere behind you makes you turn in your bedroll. The room is nearly pitch black, with only a sliver of moonlight streaming in through the half-closed window, yet providing enough light to make your close surroundings visible. Therefore, when you turn around, you can see Ghost sitting on the floor a few feet away from you, his back to the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest and legs stretched straight in front of him. The thin dark gray t-shirt, paired with the intense chiaroscuro that imbues the room, highlights the outline of his massive biceps. Your eyes linger on his arms before they meet his, which twinkle slightly as they capture the moonshine.

"You neither?" 

He hums in response.

A weary sigh escapes you as you sprawl on your back, hand flying to the nape of your neck, where the muscles tug and burn. You feel like a wreck. You knew today’s operation would have been rough, even more than the last ones and you were prepared for it, you had trained so hard for months. You've risked your own skin multiple times during the offensive, although in the end you got away with only a scratch or two; nothing major. You were still high on adrenaline as you made it back to the base camp -a dilapidated temporary facility in the middle of a thick forest- and you were even rather impressed of yourself for having handled it all so well… until fatigue came crushing on you like a double-decker bus, almost knocking you to your knees and you felt the magnitude of the efforts made in all its gravity. You tried to mask it as you dined with your brothers in arms, a scarce sorry meal that didn’t even quench a third of your appetite, then instantly dragged your 200 pounds heavier than normal legs to the storage room adapted for sleeping and flopped down on your bed roll. You thought the ache would pass, that you only needed to lie down and let your limbs rest but it has already been three or four hours since then and you haven’t been able to close your eyes not even once.

"Everything aches so much. I might have strained a muscle or something. Possibly all of them." 

Ghost hums again in understanding. A moment of silence follows; silence only interrupted by the rhythmic snoring of your mates, laying in their bedrolls all around you in the tiny room.

"Come here." 

Your head snaps up. 

"Uh?" 

"You heard me. We need to do something about those sore muscles. Can't allow them to get in the way of the mission tomorrow." 

You look questioningly at him, eyes roaming over his masked face, as if expecting to be able to read his intentions. What can he do for you? The same as he can do for himself, which is pretty much nothing; he’ll give you a pat on the back and tell you to suck it up. If only there was a medic in the facility, you could have asked for an injection to ease the tension in your body but alas, you're on your own down here, equipped with no instant medication other than a pack of analgesics reserved for battle and a pain drug; but there's no way you'd take one on a night before a mission and risk waking up as a zombie in the morning. 

You’d have to wait for a proper medical treatment when you’re out of this hell, assuming you’re still in one piece by then.

“We don’t have all night, Sergeant.”

Ugh, using your title, of course. It can only mean the Lieutenant won’t accept a refusal from you. And who are you to refuse anyway? Just a lower soldier in pain; nothing special about you.

Even though you are still perplexed about his intentions, you scoot toward him, crawling silently so as to not wake up the others. Fortunately you don’t have to step on someone’s lying body to reach your superior.

He spreads his legs to give you room to get closer and you swallow the thrill that inflames your body at the sight of that big hunk of a man welcoming you in his lap. This is not the time to give in to such fantasies. Nor there will ever be. Hard truth.

Ghost’s fingers masterly find the waistband of your cargo trousers and tug at it to make you slide closer.

"Turn around." 

His commanding voice compels you to do as he says without question. There's no room for hesitation when he employs that tone; you must obey his directives, whether you're on the field on a mission or killing time at the HQ. Nobody can stand up to it, least of all you.

You’re barely able to suppress a gasp when you feel his huge hands take hold of your hips and settle you between his thighs, your back colliding with his firm chest. You can't, however, physically stop the shiver that runs down your spine as his palms climb up your sides, sliding upward over your back, causing you to bend slightly forward as he reaches your shoulders. There, he begins to knead your muscles carefully, knowing where to apply more pressure and where to let the tip of his fingers do most of the work.

You’re too stunned to speak. Never in a million years you would have guessed this is what he had in mind to do to help you. Ghost, your Lieutenant, has his hands on you, in a room full of fellow soldiers, in the middle of the night while you are on duty. What crazy-ass dream is this?

"Ghost-," you shudder, his hands working on a particularly sore spot, "a m-massage, seriously?" 

“What?”

“They only make things worse-”

While having Ghost do it is a whole new experience for you, you've received your fair share of massages, both throughout your years of training and after you became a special agent and they never seemed to work on you. They always left you in more pain than you were in before. You could have blamed it on the medic if only you hadn’t changed so many during the past years; they couldn't all have been incompetent, could they?

"You never got one from me, innit? They don't call me magic hands for nothing." 

You frown, throwing him a sideway glance over your shoulder. 

"Nobody calls you that." 

You hear him huff and your head is forced back to face straight by a firm nudge.

As strange and unexpected as it may seem, you must admit that his hands are truly doing Lord’s work against your shoulders, easing your tensed muscles and relieving some pain, so much so that you find yourself closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. 

"See? Just relax." 

His hands scoot lower, sliding down your back and sides, resting just above your bum. The warmth of his palms rubbing that sore area in circular motions sends more shivers up your spine. In his ascent back up, he pays attention to the tensed muscles of your arms, thumbs kneading deep into them and then finally, he goes back to your neck. Your breath catches at the feeling of his strong hands wrapping around it. His firm touch appears to arouse something primal within you. You can feel heat pooling in your core right away. 

"Fucking hell. Your neck is rock hard." 

He increases the pressure, rubbing the skin and working on the knots. His thumbs slide up and down your larynx, matching the movement of his other fingers on the nape. Your head bends backward on its own, landing on his chest. 

Ghost hums again, appreciatively. 

"You liking it?" 

"Y-yes, sir-"

His chest shakes softly against your back, a light rumble coming from his throat. 

"Good girl." 

You bite back a gasp. Those hushed words only add to the growing ache between your legs. The massage is clearly starting to turn you on and you feel… conflicted. You know you shouldn’t let his skillful touch, nor his raspy voice whispering so close to your ear or the warmth of his chest pressed against your back affect you so much. However, you are basically caged in his lap, how are you supposed to not let that cloud your judgment? To not allow your fantasies to run wild in your head? Yes, you’re strong, but… not that strong. You can’t possibly stop your body from reacting so naturally to all of these overwhelming sensations. Especially when you’re so touch-starved, and having Ghost being the one to indulge your craving doesn’t help in the slightest.

 " Mh, you're tensing up again." 

Ghost swiftly resumes working on your back, placing the palm of each hand on either side of your spine and working his way up, keeping his hands parallel to one another. When he reaches the top of your back, he fans his hands outwards across the shoulders, as if outlining the top of a heart. Using a kneading motion, he returns to the lower of your back to work the large muscles on either side of your spine then presses his fingertips firmly into your flesh before quickly releasing as he works his way up. The constant pressing and releasing sends your spine tingling and you fail to hold back a moan.    

“Yes. Don’t fight it.”

If only he knew what you were actually fighting against. How can the tension leave your body if his touch and his closeness and his voice are all working so hard together to make you tense up all the more?

You feel his hands close into fists and his knuckles start to rub gently but firmly across the tops of your shoulders and then glide down your biceps, the inner part of your arms, the side of your chest... 

Inadvertently, your body jerks at the new sensation, and his hand accidentally brushes up against your breast, fingers knocking into the slight bulge in your top caused by your aroused nipple. You stifle the moan that erupts from your throat by biting your bottom lip hard, your body stiffening instantaneously. 

Silence falls into the room, coating it in tension; your mates are not even snoring anymore. You don’t dare to move a muscle, you can barely keep your ragged breathing under control. 

Has he noticed? Does he realize what has just happened? It’s so dark in here and it all happened so quickly, he may have no idea what he has just touched, he may have not caught the lewd sound that came out of your mouth, either. Your body has tensed so much, however, that your reaction must have caught his attention. Any doubt goes out the window when you feel his hands retract and his body shift uncomfortably behind you. 

Well, fuck it . You just had to make it awkward, didn’t you? For both of you! How embarrassing. He will look at you and treat you differently from now on, you know it already. You're soldiers, for god’s sake! You're professionals! And he’s your superior! These things shouldn’t happen! They should stay out of work. And to think that you've managed to get this far, despite Ghost's strong magnetic pull on you since the first time you saw him... You’ve hidden your emotions so well for months. But unfortunately, no matter how hard you try and succeed at hiding it, you can’t really control your body and how it reacts to his presence, touch, or gaze. This was bound to happen sooner or later, as much as you prayed it wouldn’t. Besides, how could you have even imagined you would find yourself in such a crazy situation at one point? Working with him every day, getting very physical on the field and still keeping your emotions at bay was already enough to drive you insane. There was no way you could have handled this and came out victorious.

But perhaps you could still salvage this somehow, or at the very least escape the horrible truth-spilling conversation that awaits you. Yes, it is possible. You simply need to get the hell away from Ghost, crawl back to your bedroll, attempt to sleep it off, and put the burden aside to deal with it another day. Easier said than done.

Your hands fumble around you, hoping to meet the cold tiles of the floor -rather than those god-like legs stretched at either side of you- and you bend forward in an attempt to hoist yourself up. 

“A-alright, this has been nice-”

A steel-strong arm snakes around your middle and forcefully pulls you back. You gasp as your spine collides with his chest once more. 

Now that you're pressed up against him, even closer than you were before, you can feel his bulge against your lower back and your mouth goes dry.

"Ghost-", your voice comes out in a loud, unsteady squick and he instantly hushes you, tightening the grip around your waist. 

You feel his hot breath caress your ear even through the balaclava. “We’re not done here, yet.”

His hands start to travel up and down your body once again, bolder this time, skimming over areas he hasn't touched before. The hand wrapped around your middle slips under your tank top, fondling the smooth flesh at your side as it raises, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin, until it reaches the upper area of your stomach. There, his fingertips tease the lower curve of your breast from above the fabric of your sports bra. Your breath catches again but you don't dare to move. He holds his palm there for a long minute. 

Is he testing you? Is he messing with you? Is he silently asking for permission to move forward? The affirmative guttural sound that rewards you as you finally throw your morals out the window and boldly place your hand over his and tug it upwards, sweeps away any doubt. His big hand instantly covers your whole breast, groping it gently at first then squeezing it decisively. His other hand comes to match the motion as they both slide inside the cups and fondle your soft sensitive flesh before turning the focus onto your erect nipples, causing you to arch your back forward and shiver. 

“Is this-”, your voice catches in your throat as his fingers pinch your nipples hard, lips squeezing together to muffle a groan, “-why they call you magic hands ?” 

You feel a light chuckle rumble in his chest and against your back.

“You catch up real quick, Sergeant…”, he whispers in your ear in that gravelly voice that makes you squirm, “...but you don’t know the half of it.” And as if on cue, one of his hands sneaks out of your tank top and slides down your stomach, skimming over the inseam of your pants and resting on your crotch, causing a warmth to spread from deep within your stomach. Two fingers push against your core, suggestively and your heart races. Your breaths are ragged in anticipation. 

“Bet you’re desperate to find out, innit?”

You don’t even realize you’re nodding in response until you feel him huff a laugh through his nose, blowing cool air right next to your ear. 

"Curiosity killed the cat, didn't you hear?" 

His palm rubs against your crotch up and down a few times before giving it a firm squeeze. 

You suck in air through your teeth and your hand lands on his thigh at your side, fingers dipping in his firm muscle. 

" Please -" 

You're not sure what you're even begging him for, your mind dazed with desire, and all you can focus on is the heady sensation of having his warm palm rest so close to your aching cunt but still denying you the touch you desperately crave for. 

Ghost doesn't need you to say anything, he clearly knows what you're pleading for and he makes quick work of unzipping your pants before sliding his hand inside. His eager fingers meet your panties which are, unsurprisingly, already soaked; a small detail that he seems to appreciate greatly. He runs his digits over the wet patch on the fabric, eliciting a loud moan from you. 

An abrupt stirring sound freezes you and your head snaps up, heart jumping in your throat, while your eyes dart across the room expecting to meet the shocked expression of one of your brothers. The thought of having been spotted however doesn't seem to stop Ghost from pushing his fingers beneath the damp fabric of your undies. You don't have time to still the violent beating of your heart as he begins to circle his way through your folds, instantly drawing back your whole attention. A harsh whine crawls up your throat when the pad of his finger meets your clitoris and his free hand immediately moves to cover your mouth. His clad lips suddenly draw close to your ear, skin tingling at the contact. 

"You don't want to wake up the boys, do you, kitten?" 

You shake your head profusely and he hums softly. 

"Thought so."

You suppress the cries of pleasure that he provokes by rubbing his fingers up and down over your slit in a slow intoxicating way, your hips shaking with each swipe. He presses his forearm against your stomach to hold your body still, squeezing you closer to him as a result. 

You wince as you hear it; the wet sound of your desire seems to be the only noise in the otherwise silent room and it only grows louder when Ghost teases your entrance, rubbing his pads around it before easily pushing two fingers inside. You screw your eyes shut and throw your head back against his chest. As he thrusts inside you in a steady rhythm, he presses his palm on your most sensitive part, and drags his hand in a firm circle against it. The feeling is dizzying and it sends lightning jolting through you. 

Ghost's hand leaves your mouth to grab your inner thigh and push it over his adjacent knee, spreading your legs wide apart to gain better access to your core and thus shove his fingers deeper inside you. In fact, his next thrust perfectly hits that sacred spot buried deep between your walls and you grasp a fist of his t-shirt and pull it against your lips to muffle your whimpers, while your other hand tugs firmly at his tensed arm lying on your stomach.

You are close, so close. You can feel the heat in your gut begin to bubble and spread, scorching and hair-raising, to the rest of your quivering body. Ghost too seems to notice by the way you tuck into him and clutch at his arm as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded, your safe anchor. His fingers grab your chin and angle your head so that your eyes meet. 

His eyes… his big eyes. The only visible part of his face, the only part you are allowed to lay your gaze on and let it linger. And oh, how beautiful they are. Especially now, glinting with moonshine and looking down at you with a special twinkle which you can’t quite decipher but that makes your heart swell. 

You prompt yourself up in a daze, just enough to cup his cheek and pull him down to meet you in a quite unorthodox kiss. You press your lips desperately to his mask, just above his own and you feel them twitch at the contact, responding to the kiss only a moment later. 

You stay like that while his hand still works against you, faster and sloppier but hitting you perfectly with each push. You keep your lips glued to his as the coiling pleasure in your belly finally snaps, a heady wave of pleasure washes over you and makes your body jerk uncontrollably. Your cries are muffled by the fabric of his mask, even more so when his hand cups the back of your neck and presses you harder against him. He continues to slowly dip his fingers inside your fluttering walls then litter your small bundle of nerves with a few more soft teasing caresses all the while subsiding your spasms with his strong embrace. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your chest heaving hard, heart still racing and legs still shaking when his hand slips out of your pants and you pull back. You let your head rest on his chest as you take a deep long breath. Almost instantly a subdued ruffle of fabrics strikes your ear and you can feel a cool breath blowing on your neck before a pair of soft damp lips meet your boiling skin. You bite your lips at the shiver-inducing sensation; it feels like a vital secret shared in utmost confidence and you don’t dare break the touching moment until his lips retreat and the mask is safely put back on. Only then you chance a look up through a heavy-lidded gaze and you meet his beautiful eyes again, which in turn watch your reactions with a hazy, adoring gaze. All is forgotten; the packed room, the initial conflict you felt, the aching muscles… The only thing you can focus on is the tingling sensation abandoning your body, leaving the way to the heartening warmth of his embrace and gaze. 

“Ghost-”

“Simon.”

You gulp, nodding feebly as you reverently search his eyes. 

“Simon…” 

Saying his name feels strange but also… meaningful. Like uttering a magic word or being handed the sole key that unlocks the armored door that keeps the treasure safe; treasure so priceless and vulnerable that only a few trusted people are allowed to take a glimpse at it.

“I’m-” you fail to find the words, mind dazed and heart hammering in your chest, “that was…”

“Kitten got more than she bargained for.” 

You catch an amused hint in his voice and even if you can’t see it, you’re certain there is a smile tugging at his lips, for the corner of his eyes curl up slightly.

“I take it the massage didn't make things worse after all?”

"Well��", you shift in his embrace, turning to face him with a sheepish grin, "that was some effective massage, alright." 

You prompt yourself up and reading your intentions he closes his legs to let you settle on his lap, your knees resting on either side of his hips. His eyes never leave yours as you lean up, arms latching around his neck. 

"Nothing aches anymore thanks to you…", you grind your hips slowly down against his, relishing in the sound of his heavy breathing picking up, "...but maybe it's you now who is in need of a release ?" You bite your lip at the rousing feeling of his throbbing bulge rubbing against your still sensitive center, as well as at the rare thrilling satisfaction of seeing him crane his head slightly up to look at you. 

His hands descend on your hips, fingers almost painfully gripping the flesh, causing you to groan.

"I wouldn't mind it one bit kitten, believe me…", his lust-clouded eyes rake over your body. You see him swallow hard as he glances down where your hips meet and a long breath escapes his lips. His gaze then trails back up, savoring every inch of you, until it finally locks with yours once again. "But you should hit the sack now."

Disappointment shows plainly on your face.

"But-" 

"Besides, I'm on second watch tonight."

"T-That’s good! I can sneak out to keep you company. I'm not sleepy! Even less now than before. We can-" 

" Negative .” His tone is peremptory and it shuts you up at once. “And don’t fret. You’ll be asleep before your head hits the mat.”

" But -" 

His hands slide up your sides and squeeze your waist, pulling you down to sit on his thighs and hold you at eye level.

"We're taking a rain check, Sergeant."

The title again. His words are final, then. 

A huge sigh escapes you and you nod at last. Reluctantly, you climb out of his lap, his hands following your every movement to support you. Before you stand on your feet and turn around, you chance one last look at him. Your heart swells as you meet once more his big beautiful eyes which look at you so gently, so wistfully… you think you can catch the promise behind them.

"Don't you dare die tomorrow, Simon."

The corners of his eyes curl up again. 

"Surely not on your watch, Kitten."

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Ignore Me

Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc wants you to ignore him.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Let's file this under, we don't have time to unpack that.

Warnings: reader has tattoos, swearing, p in v sex, cream pie, vaginal fingering, Marc wanting to be ignored during sex as a kink, Marc saying some self-deprecating things about himself as a kink, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2130

“What’s this one for?” Marc lightly tapped the tattoo on your bicep with the tip of his nose and snuggled a little closer to you in bed, his chest against your back. 

“Oh, that one?” 

“Hmm.” He pressed his lips to the spot before he rubbed his cheek against you. 

“That one gives me the ability to tell the future.” You say playfully. 

Marc snorts, “oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

“Steven says that’s bullshit.” 

You turn to look him in the face over your shoulder. “No way Steven would say that.”

“What? He swears all the time?” Marc grins. 

“Yeah,” you can’t help but smile back, breaking your pretend outrage, “that’s true, but he’d say ‘that’s shit’, bullshit is too American.” 

Marc chuckles and snakes his hand down to pinch your side a little, just enough to make you laugh and squirm. His other arm holds you tight against his body. “How would you like some American in you?” 

You laugh harder. “Marc, that’s terrible.” 

“You love it.” He kisses the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and purposefully bites down gently. Hard enough to make you squirm again and push back against his hardening cock. 

“So,” he mumbles in your ear, “you gonna tell me the meaning behind this one or…?”

“Is that a threat Spectre?”

He grins again against your shoulder. 

“I think you’re not actually interested in what it means.” You tease, purposefully scooting forward a little when he tries to grind against your backside. 

Marc’s fingers twitch around you, his left hand going to your hip to hold you still, but you wiggle away from him. 

“I think you’re preoccupied with something else.” 

“What?” He tries his best to keep the amusement out of his voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shifts closer to you again and you bend back, bowing outward so that he still can’t rut against you. 

“Oh really?” You tease. 

He growls playfully at you, pulling you back towards him with a gentle, but firm strength, until you are flush against his chest. 

He silences your next teasing retort by swiftly sneaking his hand down the front of your pyjamas.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice hitching up at the end as he lightly pinches your clit. You press back against him, your legs instinctively inching wider. 

“Oh, so now you wanna be close, huh?” 

You give him a look over your shoulder accompanied by a frustrated grunt that earns you a chuckle and a kiss on the nape of your neck. 

He rolls your clit slowly between his thumb and forefinger, adding just the right amount of pressure to have you keening and rocking back against his aching cock. 

Marc gasps, letting out a low grumbily moan as you press against his sensitive tip. Precum is smearing against his stomach and soaking a wet patch into his boxers. 

Despite how you push back against him, your movements starting to border on frantic as heat begins to build and build in your stomach, he keeps up his languid, tortuous pace. Often, he likes it best like this. Slow and drawn out to almost the point of pain until the dam breaks. Makes it feel like he’s useful, like he’s doing a good job. Frantically trying to hold himself together, gripping onto the last pieces of his self-control until pleasure pulls him down into blissful mindlessness. 

He dips the tip of his forefinger lower, just teasing at your entrance before sliding back up as he muffles his moans at your wetness into your bare shoulder. 

But it seems you have other ideas. 

You turn your head, just enough to give him a messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, the glide of your lips on his own quickly pulls a desperate moan from his chest. You hook your fingers into your waistband and pull your pyjamas down, kicking them off the last bit of the way. 

He growls as you press back against him and sneak your hand back to stroke him twice over his boxers, revelling in his little whimpered shiver, before you slide under the material and eagerly run your fingers over his hard, velvet length. 

His grip tightens on your waist for a moment before he moves closer, plunging two fingers inside of you in one quick motion. 

You gasp in surprise as he strokes your walls, pleasure blossoming along your spine. 

Marc moans against your shoulder, nipping and biting softly at your skin as he muffles himself. “So wet… fuck…” He bucks mindlessly against you for a second, focusing completely on the feel of you squeezing around his thick fingers and your little whimpered groans as you press your face into the pillow. 

His caress is dizzying, maddening as he purposefully goes the smallest fraction slower than what you want, what you need. Obsessed with seeing you writhe and beg for him. 

“Marc, please,” You buck up against him, grabbing hold of his arm to try to keep him at the angle that makes you see stars. 

He groans low, lightheadedness washing over him as you beg and his dick twitches. “Baby, please can we…” He bites his lip, screwing his eyes closed and he swallows down what he wants to say, hoping you were too caught up in your own pleasure to have heard him. 

But even as your hips move and breathing hitches you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “What do you need?” 

He sinks his teeth into his lip harder and shakes his head ever so slightly. 

“Marc,” the low, desperate edge to your voice makes him whine. 

“Can you ignore me?” He blurts out, heat rising to his cheeks and blistering his skin. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

You slow your hips, halting his hand's movements and Marc wants to go find a ditch to bury himself in, but your sweet voice makes him open his eyes. 

“Ignore you?” There’s no judgement, but he still hides his face and presses his forehead against your back. 

“Hmmm.” 

“Sweetheart,” you stroke his hair. “Tell me please.” 

He breathes a heavy sigh against your skin before blurting out. “Can you ignore me while I fuck you for as long as you can?” 

You smile, “you’d like that?” 

There’s a little spark of hope in his chest that makes his dick throb. “Yes.” He whispers. 

“Okay. How do you want me?” 

Marc moves quicker than you thought possible and you almost laugh at his eagerness, but stop yourself from fear that he would take it the wrong way. 

He carefully positions you on the bed, on your stomach with a pillow under your hips to prop them up slightly. He leans over you for a second, softly placing his hands on your thighs and spreading them slightly. A shiver of anticipation runs up your spine. 

But he quickly stops, leaning to the side and taking your book off the bedside table. “Could you, erm, read this? Or pretend to read it?” 

The uncertainty in his voice is so sweet, gentle, like a fine dusting of snow. You nod as you take the book out of his hands and turn to a random, previously read, page. 

“Thank you,” he mutters and kisses your shoulder blade before trailing down your back and pressing his lips against every tattoo he can reach. 

Marc waits for a moment apprehensively, just watching you read, taking in the way you have propped yourself up a little so that you can easily hold the book, before he pulls off his boxers and takes himself in hand. 

He tries to be as quiet as moves between your legs, spreading them over so slightly wider as he slowly runs his hand along his dick and just teases at his slit with the tip of his thumb. But he can’t stop his breath from hitching as he sees your arousal shining in the weak light. 

He swallows and inches forward on his knees, gradually leaning down to run the head of his cock through your soaking folds. 

He feels your shiver, the way your muscles instinctively clench around him, but you stay silent, your eyes glued to the words on the page even though for the life of you, you can’t focus on what you are seeing.

Carefully Marc notches his fat tip at your entrance, breathing through his nose as he painstakingly slowly pushes inside. 

Your walls squeeze around him, pulling him further in and welcoming him home. And he can’t stop the gasp of pleasure that tumbles out of his lips. He grabs your hip, just to steady himself, just to focus as the pleasure twists so tightly in his stomach. 

He glances at the back of your head for a second, biting down hard on his bottom lip to control himself as he bottoms out. 

You turn the page and carry on pretending to read. 

Marc whines, his arousal making him lightheaded and can’t resist any longer. He slowly pulls out before pushing himself back in, leaning down so that his right hand rests on the mattress while his left still holds your hip. 

The pace is moderate, at first. The only sounds are the slick wetness as he steadily fucks you, punctuated by his little gasps and moans that he tries so hard to swallow down. 

He changes the angle on each trust, trying to find the perfect spot. 

Your grip tightens on the book as he hits it, your thighs clenching, back arching ever so slightly. But you bite your teeth together and manage somehow to stop your cry of pleasure. 

Marc shivers as your body reacts but you don’t, a low and pathetic whine grumbling out from his throat as he increases his thrusts and focuses on that spot. On hitting it perfectly every time. He can feel you shake, the smallest shift as you push back against him ever so slightly, trying to stop yourself from going too far. All to indulge him. And his resolve snaps. 

He moans loudly, thrusting up into you hard and moving your thighs further apart so he can watch himself disappearing into your tight, wet heat. 

“Oh fuck, fuck,” he can’t stop himself now, can’t help the words from spilling out. “Fuck, you don’t even know I’m here, do you? Don’t even care that I’m fucking you, because,” he gasps as you clench around him, “because I’m so small you can’t even tell,” he starts thrusting rapidly, pounding into you and you see stars, “can’t even,” he moans loudly, his voice dissolving into a whiney needy breathy mess, and for some reason a sharp spark of arousal slides along your skin. “I can’t even make you cum, I can’t-”

You moan loudly, your pretence of reading the book abandoned as you can’t hold back any longer as he continuously hits so perfectly deep. The force of his thrusts rock you against the pillow under your hips, dragging your clit across the cotton and making you scream. 

“Oh shit!” Marc’s grip on you tightens, his eyes rolling back in his head as you clench and gush around him, your orgasm being ripped ruthlessly from your bones as he fucks you perfectly. 

“Baby, fuck,” he cums inside, filling you up to the brim. His hips keep moving, fucking you through your orgasm even as overstimulation prickles along his skin and makes him whine. 

It’s only when you reach back and grab his hand, pulling him towards you that he finally stops and collapses on top of you. 

He quickly goes to move to the side, but you squeeze his hand. “Stay here.” 

“I’m not squashing you am I?” 

You shake your head. “Feels comfy.” 

He chuckles and kisses your cheek. You can still tell he’s leaning slightly on his left arm and leg, not wanting to put his whole weight on you. 

A little awkwardly you manage to coax him into relaxing on top of you. 

“Was that…” he swallows nervously as he traces the tattoo on your ribs. “I hope that was okay for you…”

You smile. “I didn’t know your dick was so small I couldn’t even feel you.”

He groans a little and buries his head into your neck, but he’s chuckling.

You pause for only a second before you continue. “I liked it.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, I liked that you were all whiney.” 

He snorts. 

“I didn’t know you liked that.”

“Liked what?” He asks.

“Being ignored.” 

“Oh… I don’t know.” He pauses. “It’s just… it’s like I can’t control anything, that what I do doesn’t matter so I just have to let go?” 

You nod and squeeze his hand. 

“Would you… be up for doing it again maybe?” 

You turn just enough so that you can kiss his face. “Of course.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[libraryofgage]

Addams Family Steddie Seven

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | ao3 (this part hasn't been added to ao3, yet, but I'll do it when I get the energy for tags lol)

Anyway, I'm back with another Addams Family for y'all fhdjsk

We now get Steddie children! I added little picrews of them at the very end, too! I just think they're little guys (affectionate) ^_^

Anyway, he's a big boi this time too, so you definitely don't see any typos no matter what you think

Dustin

"It's haunted?!"

Steve grins a little as he lets Dart dash into the house before shutting the door behind them. Dart only pauses by Dustin long enough to get a pat on the head before rushing off to explore. "Yep," Steve says, messing up Dustin's hair and meeting Eddie's gaze as a door bangs in the distance.

"Are you sure that's safe? What if it goes, like, full poltergeist on us?" Dustin asks, looking up at them suspiciously.

"I wish he'd go full poltergeist. I couldn't summon one for the life of me," Eddie says, sighing and shaking his head. "There's nothing like blood dripping down the walls to make a place feel like home."

"Okay, this?" Dustin says, gesturing to Eddie with raised eyebrows as he looks at Steve. "This is not making me feel better about the ghost."

Steve snorts and shakes his head, removing his hand from Dustin's hair. "Don't listen to Eddie. Blood is too hard to get off the walls and would mess up the paint. Anyway, Casper lives in the tower, and he likes D&D, so you can include him in sessions and stuff."

Dustin's face does this weird twisting thing as he tries to process the fact a ghost lives in their house and that it likes D&D enough for that to be a significant feature of its personality. He looks up at Steve, squinting slightly. "Like the friendly ghost?" he asks.

"He thinks it's ironic," Steve and Eddie say, perfectly in sync, and Dustin's disgusted expression nearly makes Steve dissolve into laughter.

"You're disgusting," Dustin tells them, rolling his eyes as he picks up one of his suitcases. "Just show me to my room before you start making out."

Steve snorts and leads Dustin upstairs, pointing out the living room, kitchen, D&D room, and guest rooms along the way. He has to grab Dustin's arm to keep him from veering straight into the D&D room, shooting him a look as they head up the stairs. "You can check it out later," he promises.

"I'll give you the grand tour," Eddie says, trailing behind them with a box of Dustin's computer stuff in his arms. "But first, check out the room. Stevie's been dying to know what it looks like."

"I haven't been dying," Steve says, looking over his shoulder to wink at Eddie as he continues, "You'd know when I'm dying, babe."

"C'mon!" Dustin shouts, ducking away from Steve and running up the last few steps. "Stop making everything a weird flirting thing."

"We're in love, Dustin," Eddie tells him, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs next to Steve. "It's only gonna get worse from here."

"I'm moving out. Don't even bother putting the stuff in my room. I'll go live with Mike, instead."

"At least see the room before you do," Steve says, gesturing to the door with Dustin's name on it.

Dustin rolls his eyes and marches over to the door. He throws it open, clearly expecting to see nothing of interest, only to freeze in the doorway, his eyes widening. "Woah," he whispers.

"I knew he'd love it," Eddie says, pulling Steve over so he can see the room is well.

It's at least twice the size of Dustin's old room. There's a loft bed with a desk and lamp under it against the wall to the right of the door. The opposite wall is covered in tools and random parts and wires, all placed carefully on hooks or shelves with a large table underneath. A pair of safety goggles is hung on a nail right above the table, with a little sign next to them that reads in all caps "WEAR THESE!"

Steve almost makes out with Eddie in the doorway of the room for that alone.

The wall with the window has been turned into a cozy area with bookshelves and posters of fantasy maps and cryptid anatomy. A telescope is set up next to the window, which has a clear view of the sky. In fact, it's one of the only windows that isn't blocked by trees from the cemetery. Two oversized chairs are set into a semicircle with beanbags, creating plenty of space for Dustin's friends to come sit and hang out.

"So, you like it?" Eddie asks, setting the computer box on the desk under the bed.

Dustin nods as he drops his bag, rushing over to the work table so he can inspect the tools hanging over it. "This is fucking awesome! Everything I need to make a lich animatronic is here!" he shouts, his excitement so great that he completely misses the equally excited flicker of the lights in the room.

"Language," Steve scolds, more on reflex than anything else.

"Yeah, yeah," Dustin says, waving his hand dismissively as he reaches out and pulls one of the wire bundles down from the wall. "I take back everything I said, by the way, be as gross as you want. I don't even care anymore."

Before Steve can tease Dustin, he's grabbed around the waist by Eddie. "With pleasure," Eddie purrs, dipping Steve and kissing him breathless just inside Dustin's room.

Steve can't help laughing into the kiss, inadvertently letting Eddie's tongue slip past his lips. And then he doesn't really care about laughing, too consumed by Eddie and his hands and his tongue and his teeth and Eddie.

He does, however, start laughing so hard that Eddie almost drops him when Dustin turns around and screeches like a banshee.

Belladonna

Eddie brings their first child home on a wonderfully dreadful day. The sky is unleashing a torrential downpour on the world, lightning cracks and thunder rolls through the clouds, and wind howls across the street. Perfect weather for a Saturday, really.

Steve was ready to spend the first half of the day in the kitchen, trying out recipes Wayne and Grandmama had given him while Dustin sat at the island to finish his homework. In the second half of the day, he'd sit at the piano outside his and Eddie's room and play while Dustin watched TV or worked on the lich animatronic in his room or fine-tuned a new character in the D&D room.

Eddie would be gone for most of the day, trying his level best to get struck by lightning. He's yet to succeed, but that just means Steve gets to cheer him up when he gets home. And the new song he's working on will do just that, especially when he tells Eddie it's composed from the lyrics Eddie wrote in that journal he gave Steve before they started dating.

Yeah, that will definitely cheer Eddie up, and Steve should probably tell Dustin to just order Chinese for dinner because he doubts they'll be leaving the bedroom after that.

The thought makes Steve grin as he pulls out an apple and nightshade pie from the oven, the cloying scent spreading through the room and making Dustin crinkle his nose. He hasn't quite worked up to nightshade, but he's almost there.

"I finished," Dustin says, pushing his homework away and dropping his pencil.

Steve sets the pie on a cooling rack and shuts off the oven. "And that was all your homework?" he asks, dropping his oven mitts and moving to Dustin's side of the island. He leans over Dustin's shoulder, pulling the homework back and skimming over the answers.

It's a sheet of chemical equations, and Steve very quickly realizes he's got no clue what he's looking at. He frowns slightly and hums. "How confident are you?" he asks.

Dustin chooses one of the equations and starts explaining his balancing process. He gets about halfway through before Steve puts a hand over his mouth to stop him. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're gonna make my brain hurt," he says, grimacing when Dustin licks his palm. He pulls his hand away, dragging it on Dustin's shirt to clean it.

"Can I go now?" Dustin asks, looking up at Steve.

Steve sighs and ruffles his hair. "Run along. I think Casper is in the D&D room," he says, his guess confirmed by the slam of a door down the hall. With a grin, Dustin slides out of the chair, shoves the homework into his backpack, and runs out of the kitchen.

Now that he's alone, Steve takes a deep breath and starts cleaning the kitchen. He rinses used mixing bowls and utensils before placing them in the dishwasher, unplugs the mixer, and wipes the counters clean of flour and sugar and nightshade extract.

He's just finished cutting the pie when lightning strikes a tree outside the kitchen window, thunder rolls loudly over the house, the lights surge and flicker, and the front door swings open to slam against the wall with a vigor only Eddie could produce. Steve blinks and looks out the window once more, confirming that it is, in fact, still raining, and leaves the knife in the pie to welcome Eddie.

If he's come home this early, he must have finally been struck by lightning, which means there's something to celebrate.

Steve grins excitedly and heads to the front door only to stop short when he enters the hallway. Eddie is soaked to the bone, which is expected, sporting a huge grin that reveals too-sharp canines with the ends of his hair burnt like he'd (finally) been struck by lightning. He looks like a drenched rat, and in his arms is an equally drenched child that he carefully sets on her feet.

She looks no more than ten and sticks close to Eddie, staring at Steve with silver-grey eyes. Her skin and hair are the same deep black as the calla lilies on the porch, and the hair she's pulled up into two puffs on either side of her head has a similar reddish tinge along the edges. Splashed across the bridge of her nose, cheeks, and forehead are freckles lighter than the girl's skin, standing out because of it.

Eddie smiles excitedly at Steve, practically vibrating where he stands but not moving since the girl is gripping the edge of his shirt. "Stevie! Sweetheart! I'm home!" he says, his gaze flicking between Steve and the girl and unabashedly begging Steve to ask about her.

Steve can't help chuckling. "Welcome home," he says, walking closer and grabbing the towel he'd placed on the coat rack after Eddie left that morning. He crouches in front of the girl and smiles warmly. "Hi, what's your name?" he asks.

She fidgets for a moment, glancing up at Eddie long enough to see his relaxed shoulders and infatuated smile before looking at Steve again and smiling at him. Her right canine is sharper than her left, and Steve feels his heart melt at that sight. "I don't know," she says, shrugging as she steps forward. "I don't like my name much, but I haven't thought of a new one, yet."

"I see," Steve says, unfolding the towel and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Well, my name is Steve, and you've already met Eddie here. Did you lose your parents?" he asks.

It's not that he doesn't know why Eddie brought a child home. Steve has made no secret of his desire for children, after all. He just has to make sure Eddie acquired the child...well, legality doesn't really matter, but he can't have stolen the child from people who truly care for her.

The girl rubs her cheek against the towel, looking delighted by something so soft, and says, "Oh, I haven't lost them. I know exactly where they are." Her grin widens a bit, and she points down at the floor. "I put them there myself."

Steve raises an eyebrow at her, getting a slightly amused smile. "Did you? How come?"

She sighs, shaking her head as though it's a shame. "They were meanies. I wanted new parents."

"And you met Eddie."

She nods, looking excited as she glances back at Eddie. "He had a big pole to catch the lightning!"

Eddie crouches next to her now, his eyes bright and eager as he says, "It was amazing, Stevie! The moment she walked up to me, I was finally struck!"

The girl nods in agreement, and Steve looks between the two of them as he considers. Her parents are gone (by her own hands, apparently, and Steve feels oddly proud already), and she got Eddie struck by lightning. "Do you have any other family?" he finally asks.

When the girl shakes her head, a few drops of water flying off the ends of her hair, Steve can't help grinning. Something settles in his chest, warm and happy, and Steve nods once. "There's a lawyer in the family," he says to Eddie, meeting his gaze.

"They're perfectly corrupt, too," Eddie agrees.

Steve nods and looks at the girl again. He scoops her up, standing straight and grinning when she squeals with delight. "Welcome home," he tells her, already figuring out the best way to introduce her to Dustin.

----

Exactly two weeks after Steve and Eddie gain a daughter and ask a favor from the Addams lawyer, she chooses her name.

It happens in the kitchen. She's sitting next to Dustin, both of them watching Steve and Eddie make pancakes for breakfast. Eddie is getting the pan ready while Steve is making two batters. One has chocolate chips and will be cooked the first. The other will have chocolate chips and nightshade berries fresh from Flora and Fauna's secret garden at their psychiatric hospital.

"What are those?" their daughter asks, pointing at the jar of nightshade berries.

Steve picks up the jar and shakes one out, placing it in her palm for closer inspection. "They're called nightshade. They're deadly," he says, smiling as he shakes the rest into a black mixing bowl.

"Do they taste good?" she asks.

"I wouldn't try it," Dustin says, leaning closer despite his wary look. "Unless you're like Eddie and Steve, I guess."

"Am I?" she asks.

"Well, you did just fine with the cyanide," Steve reasons, considering the berries for a moment. Finally, he nods once and gestures to the berry in her palm. "You can try it."

She lights up and pops the berry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. After a few seconds, she swallows. "They're good," she decides, nodding once and looking unaffected by the berry.

Steve decides to give her a few minutes still, just to be sure.

"You know," Eddie says, looking over his shoulder and taking the finished chocolate chip batter from Steve, "they come from a plant with purple flowers."

"Oh!" Dustin says, sitting up straight, "We learned about them in class. They're called Atropa belladonna, or belladonna for short. They're native to, like, Asia and Europe."

"What class did you learn that in?" Steve asks, mixing chocolate chips into the batter alongside the nightshade in the second bowl.

"English. We read some story where a wife poisoned her husband using belladonna. Max said it was very girlboss of her," Dustin explains.

"So, it's a flower and a poison?" Steve and Eddie's daughter asks, studying the jar for a moment before grinning. "I like it!"

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, flipping a cooked pancake onto a large plate before pouring more batter into the pan. "Maybe we should get you a cutting."

She shakes her head. "I like the name," she explains.

Steve and Eddie both pause, sharing a look before turning their gazes to her with serious expressions. "Would you like your name to be Belladonna?" Steve asks.

After a few seconds of serious consideration, she nods once. "Yeah, I like it."

Eddie abandons the stove, dropping the spatula in favor of sliding around the island and lifting Belladonna from her chair. "It's perfect!" he tells her, hugging her close and spinning her in a circle. "Our little poison flower!"

Belladonna squeals in surprise, latching onto Eddie's neck as Steve flips the pancakes so they don't burn. "You know we gotta enroll her in school now, right?" he asks, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Eddie throw Belladonna in the air.

"Aww, man, she's too young to get her spirit crushed," Dustin says, leaning forward to watch as Steve slides a few more pancakes onto the plate.

"There's nothing wrong with a good spirit-crushing," Steve says, glancing up when the lights flicker and a cabinet door slams. "See, Casper agrees with me."

"They can't crush my spirit if I crush theirs first," Belladonna says, scrambling her way to sitting on Eddie's shoulders. She drapes herself over Eddie's head, arms hanging in front of his face, and brightly adds, "And by crush, I mean kill."

Eddie grins and grabs her hands, moving them so he can see Steve. "Our daughter is perfect," he tells him.

"She's just like y'all," Dustin says.

"Isn't it great?" Steve and Eddie ask, meeting each other's gaze and laughing when Dustin just rolls his eyes and mutters about them getting grosser by the day.

El

El stays with them on the weekends. She spends all of Saturday playing with Dustin and Belladonna, switching between the two as she pleases until they've all somehow congregated in the living room to watch true crime videos and judge the criminals. On Sunday, she helps Steve in the kitchen as he preps lunches and dinners for the week and then tends to the plants outside. Eddie sometimes joins them in the kitchen, but he usually ends up doing laundry most of the day.

On this particular weekend, Wayne drops El off with several suitcases next to her on the porch. Steve stares at them for a moment before looking up at Wayne. "Did something happen?" he asks.

"Well, I'm leaving on a world trip," Wayne says, placing a hand on El's shoulder as he continues, "and El would rather stay here than tag along."

"It is the middle of the school year," Steve points out, glancing down when Belladonna pokes her head out the door.

She sees El and lights up. "Oh, perfect! I've got a brand new guillotine from Cousin Wednesday. You got one, too, right? Let's race them!" she says, pushing onto the porch and grabbing El's hand.

El nods and looks up at Wayne. "I will be inside. Please help Steve bring my bags in," she says before grabbing one of her bags (presumably the one with the guillotine in it) and letting Belladonna drag her into the house.

Steve can't help smiling as they pass him, reaching out to ruffle each girl's hair. When they've gone inside, he looks at Wayne. "Where are you planning to go?" he asks.

"I'm gonna start domestic with Area 51," Wayne says, looking excited just to talk about it, "Then I'm gonna hit those Parisian catacombs, make my way to a haunted forest in China, and then circle back to spend a few weeks in the Bermuda Triangle."

"You'd better not pull a Fester on us," Steve jokes.

Wayne sighs, shaking his head regretfully. "Nobody could pull a Fester except him. How do you follow that up? I mean, the grief he put his brother through, it's impressive all right," he says.

Knowing the full story of Fester's disappearance and homecoming, Steve can't argue with Wayne. "Well, maybe you'll get lucky enough to be abducted," he says.

"One can only hope," Wayne says, returning Steve's grin. "Seriously, though, you don't mind watching El, do you? I'm sure Cousin Itt wouldn't mind if it's too much trouble."

Steve waves away his worries. "She's Eddie's sister, which makes her my sister, and she's friends with Belladonna and Dustin. Of course, she's welcome here. In fact, you're welcome, too, when you get back," Steve tells him.

Wayne laughs, pulling Steve into a spine-crushing hug. "I just might take you up on that," he says, patting Steve's back before pulling away. "Now, let's get El's stuff to her room."

----

El already has a designated guest room, and she helps Steve unpack her things in it. Her clothes are already in the closet and dresser, her books and knick-knacks are on the bookshelf, and she's currently setting out her skeleton collection on the windowsill while Steve hangs up her photos of cobwebs.

"Can I invite friends over?" El suddenly asks, looking at Steve as he carefully hammers a nail into the wall.

Steve blinks and looks over his shoulder. She's finished placing her collection and is now sitting on the bed, feet idly swinging over the edge. "Yeah, just try to let me or Eddie know when you do," he says, flashing her a reassuring smile before focusing back on the nail.

As though he's been summoned, Eddie bursts into the room and zeroes in on El. "It's about time!" he says, throwing himself onto the bed next to El. His weight makes her bounce, and she falls over Eddie's stomach, blinking a few times.

"You know," Steve says, putting down the hammer to hang the photo on the nail, "you could've invited her to stay here at any point."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Eddie asks.

"Why was waiting more fun?" El asks him, pushing on his stomach to sit up again.

Eddie grins at her. "Cuz I made a bet with Dustin about how long it'd take, and I won," he explains.

Steve pauses and raises an eyebrow at him. "What did you bet?"

It must be something good because Eddie doesn't shy away from Steve's gaze. Instead, he lights up and jumps off the bed. "Well, Dust-Bunny lost, so he's agreed to babysit Belladonna next Friday," he says, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist and spinning them to the center of the room. "So, we can go out."

"Like, a date night?" Steve asks, a smile tugging on his lips.

"Whatever you wanna do," Eddie promises, pulling Steve into a dance to music only he can hear. Steve is only a little jealous of Eddie's auditory hallucinations.

"I can also watch Belladonna with Dustin," El offers, watching them from the bed. She has a tiny smile, looking completely relaxed and at home watching Eddie and Steve flirt. "If she dies, it will be in an entertaining way."

Steve snorts, pulling away from Eddie and dropping onto the bed next to El. Eddie follows, crouching in front of them and grinning up at her. "You don't need to babysit, too," Steve tells her, ruffling her hair. "But we'd appreciate it if you make sure Belladonna actually goes to bed on time."

El nods once. "I can knock her out if she stays up too long," she says.

"We have sedatives for that, so no blunt objects required," Eddie says, "They're in the kitchen."

"Can I have a bottle for my room?" El asks.

Steve and Eddie share a look, and Eddie shrugs. "Sure, I'll make some just for you," Steve promises. When El smiles a little wider at him, he pulls her into a hug. "Remember, this is your home now, too. So, just do whatever makes you comfortable."

"Oh," El says, leaning into Steve as she nods, "I'll start putting down traps, then."

Steve makes a mental note to warn Dustin later to watch out for those traps.

Romero

Three months after Belladonna twirls into the house and sets root and two months after El has laid down her final trap, Steve starts rearranging one of the guest rooms. He's not sure why, of course, but he's filled with a sudden and inescapable need for it to be different.

Steve changes the sheets on the guest bed, replacing them with a new, forest green set. He gets a dresser for the room and asks El to carve insects along the sides. The desk stays, but he moves it to sit under the window and replaces the curtains so they're lighter and more easily swayed by the breeze. He gets a bookcase and fills it with odds and ends: a jar of marbles, a comb with a mother-of-pearl handle, a shrunken head Belladonna found on the ground one day, and a collection of buttons, to name a few.

Finally, Steve covers the room in plants, dragging in planters and pots and even a fish tank for an aquatic plant set-up. While he never had a green thumb before, taking care of Nix and spending several hours on the phone with Morticia has given him the skills to make sure the plants thrive. He grows flowers and succulents and wall-crawlers and everything in between.

When he's done, two weeks have passed, and Steve inexplicably feels like the room is just about perfect.

It's just missing an occupant.

----

Someone grabs the back of Steve's shirt, tugging on it until Steve groans and rolls over. He stops once he's facing the edge of the bed, blinking tiredly against the odd glow coming from the kid standing there.

It's the middle of the night, and Steve had been halfway through a dream in which Dart and Nix were waltzing in the backyard, so he can definitely be forgiven for not questioning the child's existence. He just questions what brought the child to their room.

"Wha'z wrong?" he asks, the words slurred together and practically incomprehensible.

Thankfully, the child seems perfectly fluent in half-awake linguistics. "Bad dream," he says, voice soft like the breeze but all-encompassing like the rustle of leaves.

Steve hums softly and reaches out. He picks up the boy, vaguely noting that he can't weigh more than a five year old. The child says nothing as Steve cradles him to his chest and rolls back over.

"Sleep h're," Steve mumbles, placing the boy down between him and Eddie. He keeps his right arm under the boy's head, letting his bicep act as a pillow. And Eddie, somehow, seems to sense a child in the bed in his sleep. He shifts closer, draping his arm over the kid's stomach and then grabbing the edge of Steve's shirt tightly.

The boy settles in, grabbing Steve's other arm to hold like a teddy bear. "Good night," he says, the words barely more than a whisper.

Steve smiles and kisses the boy's temple, murmuring a good night in return before falling right back to sleep.

When Steve wakes up in the morning, his arm is still acting as a teddy bear. He tries to pull away, intending to go to the bathroom, but the grip tightens. Steve is about to tell Eddie he'll be back in a minute but pauses when he looks down.

Green eyes meet his, staring calmly. They belong to a little boy, no more than five, with skin so pale it almost has a green tinge and hair so red Steve is surprised the pillow isn't on fire. The boy is pinned under Eddie's arm, looking perfectly content to stay there.

"Uh, good morning," Steve says, his voice rough from sleep.

Before the boy can respond, Eddie hums softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Good morning, sweetheart," he says.

Steve can't help a soft laugh. "I wasn't talking to you, babe," he says.

Eddie opens his eyes at that, zeroing in on Steve first like always before seeing the boy in their bed. "Oh," he says, holding the kid's gaze for a few seconds, "Good morning."

The boy nods to Eddie and sits up, finally letting go of Steve's hand only to hold his arms out. Steve doesn't really think; he just scoops the boy up, cradling him close.

Apparently comfortable, the boy finally says, "Good morning. My name is Romero."

And Steve suddenly knows who he redecorated the guest room for.

----

Belladonna and El don't blink twice at seeing Romero sitting at the kitchen island, a small cup of milk in front of him, when they come down for breakfast. Dustin, however, stops in the doorway and gestures at him while asking, "When the fuck did we get another one?!"

"Okay, first of all, language," Steve says, turning around and aiming a spatula threateningly at Dustin. "Second of all, this is Romero. Now, come sit down."

"Do neither of you find this weird?" Dustin asks, looking at Belladonna and El as he slides into his usual seat at the island. Eddie places a cup of orange juice in front of him, pushing down the bill of the cap he insists on wearing inside before moving on to get drinks for El and Belladonna.

"Nope! I've got a brother now," Belladonna says, grinning as she leans closer to Romero and pokes his cheek.

"You already had a brother," Dustin mutters before taking a sip of his juice.

Belladonna still hears him, so she turns to Dustin. "Yeah, but you're, like, an older brother," she says. "I go to you when I need to bury someone or rig something to blow up. Now, there's someone who can come to me for that stuff."

Dustin blinks, considering for a moment before relaxing. "Well, I guess that's true. Oh, and that music box you asked me to...fix is done," he tells her.

"Thanks, Dustin!" she says, settling in her seat again as Steve slides a plate of eggs in front of her.

"I put ghost pepper on it like you asked," Steve tells her, kissing the top of her head before putting another plate in front of Dustin. "And yours already has ketchup."

He goes back to the stove and finds a cup of coffee waiting for him. "Thanks," he says, pulling Eddie into a quick kiss before pulling away.

Eddie hums and playfully nudges Steve away from the stove. "I can make the oatmeal," he says, gesturing for Steve to go sit at the island, too. "Go bond with the kids."

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. He just takes his seat next to Romero and idly fixes a few fly-away hairs sticking up. "Romero, this is Belladonna, Dustin, and El," he says, pointing to each kid as he introduces them. "Belladonna is our daughter, Dustin is my brother, and El is Eddie's sister."

After a few seconds, Romero looks up at Steve. "Must I call them aunt and uncle?" he asks.

"Nope, you can call them whatever you like," Eddie says, grinning over his shoulder at Romero. "I suggest Dust-Bunny for Dustin."

"Can we please let that nickname go?" Dustin asks.

"No," El says, watching as Eddie pours oats into a pot of warmed milk. "It's amusing."

Dustin groans and shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Hey," Belladonna says her eggs, poking Romero's cheek again, "How come your skin is green?"

"To blend in," Romero says, inspecting his now empty cup with a slight frown. He doesn't ask for more, though.

"Blend in with what?"

"The forest."

Belladonna hums, nodding once like that answers every question and doesn't inspire more, and focuses on eating her eggs.

"You know, we'll have to enroll Romero in school, too," Steve suddenly says, taking a sip of his coffee.

Eddie hums in agreement, pouring oatmeal into bowls before placing them in front of El, Steve, and Romero. "Good point. How old are you, Romero?"

"How old do I look?" he asks, picking up a blue plastic spoon and using it to stir around the oatmeal curiously.

"Around five," El tells him, pouring pitch-black syrup into her oatmeal before passing it to Eddie.

Romero nods. "I'm five."

Steve hums, meeting Eddie's gaze. His husband doesn't seem to have any ideas, either, so Steve tucks this moment away for later, after the older kids have gone to school. For now, though, he pours some honey into Romero's oatmeal and encourages him to give it a try. When Romero's eyes widen slightly at the taste, Steve grins and feels something warm settle in his chest.

Robin

Two weeks into summer, Robin appears on the front porch of the house with her dorm room in bags around her and an impatient expression. Steve has a similar expression when he opens the door. "What took you so long?!" he asks, yanking Robin into a tight hug that she quickly returns.

"C'mon, dingus, you know I had to finish school," she says, digging her fingers into Steve's side and grinning when he jerks away. "Now, show me to my room. I know you've set one aside for me."

Steve rolls his eyes, but he doesn't correct her. He has set a room aside. It's on the first floor. He'd dubbed it Robin's room when he finally spent more than two seconds studying the space and realized it had a perfect view of the house where the married couple likes to argue on the front lawn. They'll offer Robin hours of entertainment.

"Help me carry your stuff," he says, picking up several bags.

As he's shouldering two of them, Belladonna rushes onto the porch and crashes into Robin's legs, grinning up at her. "Robin! What took you so long?" she asks.

"Geez, she really is your kid," Robin says, grinning at Steve before crouching. "As I told Steve, I had to actually finish school."

"I know. I wanted to go set it on fire, but Dad wouldn't let me and Romero said it would draw too much attention."

"Well, set it on fire next time. If anyone dies, they have to give everyone an A."

"That's not true," Steve says, shooting Robin a look before gesturing Belladonna closer. "Here, can you help us carry stuff inside?"

"Okay! I'll take...this!" Belladonna grabs what looks like the heaviest bag on the porch, straining as she drags it inside.

Steve watches her and shakes his head. He looks at Robin and gestures to the final bags on the porch. "You gonna get those?" he asks.

"I can't believe you're making me carry things, Steven," Robin says, huffing as she picks them up. "Me, a guest in your home, having to carry her own things inside."

"One, not my name. Two, you're not a guest, Robin. You're family. And family carries their shit."

Robin rolls her eyes, unable to help a grin as she uses her foot to hold the door open for Steve. She slides into the house behind him, nearly tripping over Dart but managing to step over him at the last minute. "Once again, your name is whatever's comedically appropriate, dingus," she says, sticking her tongue out as they catch up to Belladonna dragging her bag down the hall. "And aww, you called me family."

Steve pauses and looks at Robin, a serious expression on his face. "Of course, you're family, Robin. You're more family than my parents. Living in a house with you was literally my birthday wish when I was 13," he tells her.

"Ooh, kinda embarrassing to admit that," Robin says condescendingly, her face scrunched into a sympathetic smile. It only lasts for a few seconds before she drops it into something more genuine and bumps her hip against Steve's. "But you're my family too, and I'm glad we get to be together now."

"Is this Robin?"

Steve blinks and looks over his shoulder to find Romero standing just behind them. He's gotten used to his son just appearing whenever and wherever he likes. "Yep. Romero, this is Robin. Robin, this is Romero, my son," Steve says, unable to contain a grin.

"Ohhh, this is the famous Romero," Robin says, spinning on her heel and crouching in front of him. They study each other for a few seconds. "Favorite color?"

"Gold. Like honey."

"Favorite food?"

"Dino nuggets."

"Right on. Favorite movie?"

"Friday the 13th."

"Favorite weapon?"

"Crossbow."

Robin nods once and looks up at Steve. "He sure fits right in," she says.

"He's got a way with the electric chair in Belladonna's room," Steve says, a happy pride filling his words.

"I'm sure he does," Robin says, nodding along like she hasn't heard Steve say this before during one of their phone calls. She flashes a grin at Romero, messes up his hair, and then stands. "Okay, show me my room already, dingus."

Steve snorts and nods, leading Robin the rest of the way to her room. "We're planning a big dinner to welcome you," he says, looking over his shoulder at her, "Everyone is gonna be there. Except Casper. He's on vacation."

"Ghosts take vacations?"

"Well, you can't expect him to work 24/7, right?"

Robin considers for a moment before nodding, figuring it would be an unreasonable expectation to have.

----

"The blood doesn't even look real," Robin complains, throwing popcorn at the TV from where she's sprawled on the armchair. He head is resting on one arm while her legs are thrown over the other, a bowl of popcorn and a soda balancing precariously on her stomach.

"It's the first movie," Steve tells her, shifting to lean more comfortably on Eddie's shoulder, "Give them a break." Romero is in his lap, sleeping with his head cushioned on Steve's chest. He'd nodded off a few minutes into the movie, and Steve had started idly running his fingers through Romero's hair.

"But she's right," Belladonna says, pouting as she tilts her head back to look up at her parents. "It's too dark to be real."

"They wouldn't really let the actors bleed," Dustin explains, looking up from his little animatronic long enough to meet Belladonna's gaze, "It's not, like, ethical. And the actors could sue them."

"They have never bled to death before," El decides, frowning from her spot on the floor. Her head is propped on Dart's side, and she's idly playing with a spider she'd found in her room. "They don't look nearly happy enough."

Steve feels Eddie laugh before he hears him, his shoulders and stomach shaking. "It's not even a clever death," he points out, feeding a few pieces of popcorn to Steve, "I wouldn't look happy, either."

"See, when I made these kinda comments at college, everyone looks at me weird," Robin says, nearly spilling her soda over herself and the chair as she wiggles to get comfortable. "Thank fuck I'm around normal people now."

"You think this is normal?" Dustin asks her.

"Yeah."

Dustin blinks and then points at El and Dart. "That's literally a freak of nature," he says, his tone still affectionate despite the words.

"Thank you for the compliment," El says, tilting her head to look at him.

Before Dustin can say he was talking about Dart, Belladonna turns around and pouts at him. The scene on the TV starts flashing, backlighting her in red and white and black. "How come you haven't called me a freak of nature?" she asks.

"It's okay, sweetie," Eddie says, reaching out to pat her head. "You'll always be our little poison flower."

"Besides, being a freak of nature is about your vibes, not your looks," Steve adds, flashing her an encouraging smile.

Belladonna considers this for a moment before nodding and turning back to the movie to watch the character's arm get completely torn off. "The arterial spray isn't accurate," she complains.

"You're all so weird," Dustin mumbles, not bothering to hold back the endeared smile tugging at his lips.

Steve's own smile widens as he reaches for Eddie's free hand and brings it to his lips, playfully biting his palm. "Isn't it great?" he whispers, meeting Eddie's eyes. He gets a semi-feral grin in response, one that shows off sharp canines, and Steve decides they'll simply have to break the bed again tonight.

Tag List!

(Tumblr has a limit, so I couldn't get everyone who's requested a tag, but I did try to get as many as I could)

@estrellami-1, @justforthedead89, @starman-jpg, @abstractnaturaldisaster, @sugartin, @ashwagandalf, @xjessicafaithx, @somegirlsomewhere, @imjust-that-shy, @blaqcats-fics, @littlebluejane, @xoxoladyclara, @halfadoginatank

@pjoneedstherapy, @nocturnalgayboi, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @justforthedead89, @gothwifehotchner, @elizbaehth, @angels-dressed-in-blood, @imfinereallyy, @oile-loves-sharks, @carlprocastinator1000, @stxrcrossed186, @spider-boygirl, @epiclazershark, @7shrewsinatrenchcoat

@perfectlymellowthing, @just-a-tiny-void, @nburkhardt, @nailbatandfreak, @sunfloweringstories, @vampireinthesun, @novelnovella, @bookworm0690, @bestwifehaver, @goosesister, @phantomcat94, @martinskis-lydias, @ghostofyourvampiregf, @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring

@nerdsconquerall, @dontslayfay, @potato-of-the-lord, @suikatto, @deliriousmom, @code-switcher, @lizard-dyk3, @anonymousbandgirl

Belladonna! (POV: you are Steddie and your daughter is very proudly showing off her new fang)

And Romero! (POV: you have insulted his little bow tie and he is now contemplating ways to get revenge)

[lovebugism]

i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus

summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!

a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.

The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.

This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element. 

As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.

This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you. 

Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.

It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.

He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful. 

He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.

Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.

And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.

It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals. 

No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”

“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”

It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice. 

Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.

“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”

The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”

“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”

This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back. 

You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.

Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.

There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.

“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious. 

He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.

You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”

Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.

It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.

The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.

“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.

“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”

“I meant as a reward, dummy.”

“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”

“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.

You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”

That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin. 

You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.

Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.

“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”

“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.

“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter. 

“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”

A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.

“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”

You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”

He wants to. He always wants to.

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Then just stay over.”

Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.

The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache. 

You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him. 

And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.

Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.

“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.

His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”

“Right… Okay.”

“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”

The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.

“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.

“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it. 

Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh. 

The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.

Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.” 

You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.

“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High. 

The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.

“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”

You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.

“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you. 

You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.

He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep. 

It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side. 

The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.

You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.

“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”

“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”

“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”

“It didn’t.”

“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”

“You weren’t.”

“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”

Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now. 

The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.

“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. “And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.

“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin. 

“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.

He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.

“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.

And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.

Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.

You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.

You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he’s done something particularly sweet.

It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.

The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna. 

He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.

“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.

You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.

The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.

Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you. 

His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.

You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.

He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.

“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.

Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”

He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”

And, of course, by “fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.

You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.

“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.

“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word. 

The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.

The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place. 

They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.

Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.

He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.

You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.

You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.

Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.

So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.

Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.

“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused. 

Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”

“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”

“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”

Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.  

Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.

Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.

“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”

Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.

“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”

The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.

His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”

“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.

“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.

You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.

You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.

It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.

Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”

“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”

“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”

A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing. 

Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.

“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”

“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?���

“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”

When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.

With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.

It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”

The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.

Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”

Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.

“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”

“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.

“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.

It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.

Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.

She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.

Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.

And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.

Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another. 

“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.

Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”

“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”

That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”

“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.

He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. 

“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”

“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.

“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”

Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.

“You think so?”

“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.

Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.

He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.

The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty. 

See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes. 

All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.

It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.

He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same. 

He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.

“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.

“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”

Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills. 

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.

He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you. 

He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him. 

Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.

Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.

He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything. 

He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim. 

He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.

The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.

The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.

He kicks it back under his bed again.

Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag. 

“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”

Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”

“Should be good to go now, though.”

“Sweet,” the boy nods.

Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”

“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?

You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?

“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”

“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”

The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.

He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.

Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”

The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.

“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”

The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”

“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”

Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.

The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”

Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.

“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”

“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.

“…What is it?”

Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”

Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.

“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.

The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something. 

It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.

“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.

The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”

“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.

The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.

But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.

Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.

Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.

“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.

“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”

His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”

“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”

The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.

“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.

Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year. 

It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.

“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.

Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”

His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.

He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something. 

And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are. 

But it’s different. 

Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.

Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.

That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined. 

But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special. 

And Eddie was really special and then some.

There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.

Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.

You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.

You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.

Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.

The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.

You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.

Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.

“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.

The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.

Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it. 

He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.

It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.

He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.

Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather. 

She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.

You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her. 

“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly. 

Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.

You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.

“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”

You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.

“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too. 

Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you. 

“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”

“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.

You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.

“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.

It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.

“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.

Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it.  The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed. 

“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”

You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.

“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”

A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.

The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.

“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.

“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”

The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway. 

Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.

“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck. 

You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.

Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.

One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.

His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.

“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.

He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.

He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.

“No, it’s because you’re smart.”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.

His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.

“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...” 

His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.

“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone. 

A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.

“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”

Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit. 

And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”

A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.

Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test. 

You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.

It’s not fair to either of you.

You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.

“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?” 

“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”

You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you. 

He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.

“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”

Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.

Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words. 

His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.

He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.

All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.

Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.

You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

He got so damn lucky with you. 

He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.

Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.

It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.

Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.

It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.

“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.  I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”

Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.

It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.

So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way. 

He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.

Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.

The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.

Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.

You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.

He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.

“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.

Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”

“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”

You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.

Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two. 

“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.

“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.

One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.

He looks at you and all words lose meaning.

“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.

You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.

Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it. 

You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.

But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.

Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.

You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.

The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.

The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.

But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.

The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.

In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.

He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.

You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.

“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly. 

Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.

“Hm?” the boy hums back.

“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”

Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.

“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.

The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.

“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”

Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”

“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.

Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.

“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…” 

There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.

Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.

It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?

“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?” 

You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.

Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.

You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.

He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.

Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.

You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.

“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.

He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.

It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.

For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’

Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.

But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.

Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do. 

Eddie’s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.

You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.

The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely. 

Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.

“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.

“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”

“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”

His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.

Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.

You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.

All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.

You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees. 

“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.

“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”

You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.

Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.

“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”

“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”

“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.

Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”

You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.

You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.

It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 

His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.

His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.

“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.

He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.

“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.

“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.

Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.

Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.

“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.

“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.

It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.

You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.

Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 

When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.

A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.

The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.

“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 

Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.

“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.

Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.

You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.

It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 

It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.

Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.

“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”

The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.

The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 

You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.

“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.

He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.

Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.

Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.

You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.

And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.

It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.

The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.

It just has to be.

There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.

Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.

You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.

You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.

And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.

You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.

You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.

“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.

With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.

You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.

His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.

It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.

“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”

“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”

His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.

“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.

You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.

It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 

“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”

His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.

“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”

You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 

Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 

You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.

Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 

He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.

He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.

He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.

“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

[cantwritethetword]

Biceps? Really?

Fic Descript: Superman finds out Batman has a very odd ticklish spot, and of course has to tease Bruce half to death over it.

~A/N  - HELLO ONCE AGAIN

Look at me being somewhat consistent with uploads SDJFHKALSDFJHKH amazing what meds can do

I've had these requests in my inbox for aaaaaages (im so sorry) and I feel like I can finally write something for them.

Prompts were:

Please excuse the typos and the "it's ok that this will be s(H)ort" cause that was back when I was like super burnt out AND unmedicated lmao so I was like OH JUST A LIL FIC YOU CAN DO IT but this will be a proper one lmao

Also lmao forgive me for the super boring title I couldn't think of another one.

EDIT: ALSO AGSKAGSKAGD ILL HAVE IT BE KNOWN I USE DARK MODE ON MOBILE THIS WAS ON MY LAPTOP AND IDK HOW TO GET TUMBLR TO BE DARK MODE ON LAPTOP HENCE THE WHITE SCREENSHOTS THANK YOU THAT IS ALL

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @constanteyeburn

Masterpost Link 

"I still..." Bruce huffed as he lay on the floor, glaring at his partner. "Don't get... why you're still so surprised... every time we do this."

Clark, the absolute puppy dog, was still beaming after launching yet another random tickle attack on Bruce. Since first discovering the Batman's hilarious (and quite frankly adorable) little weakness, it was like crack for Clark. Any time he had the opportunity, he launched himself at Bruce and just started squeezing. And, because Bruce was just that damn ticklish, the poor superhero couldn't last ten seconds before crumbling into a flood of chuckles.

"I don't know." Clark grinned. "You don't seem like the ticklish type, is all. Never have."

Bruce rolled his eyes, before starting to stand up. "I am not the ticklish type."

"Uh, oh yes you are!" Clark laughed, reaching to grab Bruce's arm. "And where do you think you're going?"

Normally, Bruce's response to this would be a swift bat (hehe) at Clark's hand to push it away from him as he stood, and an even swifter escape before Clark decided to go for round 2 (it had happened before, and Bruce swore he would've passed out if Clark hadn't taken pity on him).

But this time, whatever way Clark grabbed Bruce's arm, sent electric shivers coursing down Bruce's side. Bruce let out a yelp, and half-collapsed onto one knee.

Clark gasped, his face like a kid on Christmas morning. "No way."

"Clark." Bruce's eye's widened as he pieced together what had just happened. "That wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Clark interjected, pulling Bruce closer to him using the aforementioned grabbed bicep.

The tugging motion pressed Clark's fingers right into Bruce's muscle again, forcing a symphony of strange noises, squeaks, and choked laughs out of the absolutely screwed superhero. As Bruce fell, Clark expertly manoeuvered him onto his back (for the second time that day) so that Clark could kneel on his forearms.

"What the hell Kent?" Bruce grunted, pulling his tough-guy facade over his currently anxious and flustered self. "Let me go."

Clark chuckled. "Oh no, we're investigating this."

Bruce cursed under his breath. He remembered Clark's methodical tickle monster days all too well. When Superman himself had him pinned to the floor with no hope of escape, and took his sweet ass time tracing and prodding with various numbers of fingers on any tickle spot that came to mind.

This time would be no different. Clark began with his thumbs, massaging small circles into the very center of Bruce's muscle.

And holy fuck did it tickle.

Bruce's entire torso tried to lift itself off the floor for a moment, his eyes wide in shock at just how bad it was, before his body slammed back onto the floor and flailed. His legs kicked a ticklish drum beat as the highest pitched giggle either man had ever heard escaped his lips.

"Wow you're ticklish here!" Clark laughed over the noise. "I can't believe this is even possible!"

"SHUTUP!" Bruce shouted between bouts of hysterics, twisting his hips from side to side to alleviate the torturous sensations.

"Seriously though," Clark continued as if nothing was even happening. "Ticklish biceps? You've got to be kidding me."

"CLARK!"

Superman nodded to himself, resting his hands on his thighs. "You're right, you're right, it's time to move on to something else."

Bruce gulped in mouthfuls of air before registering what Clark was implying. "No-... wait-..."

Ten feather-light fingernails touched down right above Bruce's armpit and paused for a moment, soaking in the anticipation. Clark didn't have a chance to start moving before Bruce broke into deep streams of laughter.

"Really, Batman?" Clark taunted. "Breaking that easily?"

"Fuhuhuck ohoff."

Superman rolled his eyes, before trailing down Bruce's biceps from elbow to underarm. That singular smooth movement upped Bruce's laughter by a few pitches, a good sign for what was to come.

Clark lifted his hands and reset them back to their starting position on Bruce's arm, before letting his fingers begin their descent once more.

Except this time, each finger took its turn to softly trace up a few inches before lifting and straightening again while his wrist moved further to Bruce's elbow. Like two gliding spiders, Clark's hands pulled downright squeals from Bruce.

"NOHO!" The Batman pleaded. "I CAHAN'T- CAHAN'T TAKE IHIT!"

Smirking, Clark tutted. "Oh come on, you're usually so tough!"

But, now that he thought about it, Bruce was rather red by this point (and not just from sheer embarrassment). And while it certainly was fun tormenting the usually far too stoic superhero, the fun could wait for another day.

Clark wasn't forgetting about this any time soon.

[an-unknown-writers-world]

Are you mad? ~ A Jake “Hangman” Seresin Drabble

 Summary: Loosely based on the Brett Young song Can’t Sleep Without You

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, implied smutty ending (not written), mostly unedited so please ignore the typos

Pairing:  Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 690

A/N: Meh, this isn’t my best work. But I’ve been struggling on the writing front and wanted to get something out.

“Are you mad? You look mad.” You asked timidly, sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck.

“I’m not mad.” He responded softly.

“Your jaw is clenched, and your face is screwed up like your mad.”

“I’m annoyed, not mad.” He tried to clarify.

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you. Each time you drove under a streetlight or a car passed in the opposite direction, you could see the lingering frustration on Jake’s face. You knew that he had had a long week at work and the last thing he wanted to do was bail you out of trouble.

You and Natasha had gone out to The Hard Deck, and Bradley and Jake had declined the offers to tag along, leaving it to a girl’s night. One thing led to another; both of you had drank more than you should have. When a pair of guys wouldn’t take no for an answer from you and Phoenix, you resulted in something other than words. A thrown drink and a punch to the face later, they were both thrown from the bar, and Penny called Bradley and Jake to come to pick up their wives.

“You still look mad.” You muttered.

“I’m NOT mad! But I will be if you keep asking!” Jake raked his hand over his face. “I’m sorry.” He spoke again, this time in a softer tone. “I’m annoyed with how disgusting men can be and that I allowed myself to put you in a situation where I couldn’t protect you. I know you’re a grown woman who can care for yourself. But as your husband, it kills me to know that something like this would have never happened if I had just been there with you.”

He reached across the center console of his truck and laid his hand on your thigh.

“I know you had a long week. I’m sorry Penny had to wake you to come get me.”  

This made him chuckle, “Oh babe, I can’t sleep without you. Even if I tried, I would just toss and turn, waiting for you to come home.”

“Jake, you know I would have stayed home if you would have just asked.” You said, intertwining your fingers with his.

“I know,” He pulled your intertwined hands up to his lips and kissed the back of your hand. “That’s why I didn’t ask. I meant it when I told you to have a good time tonight. As long as I know I’m the one you’re coming home to, I’m happy. You work so hard and spend too much of your time doting on me. You deserve a night out, especially a girl’s night.”

He pulled into the driveway, letting go of your hand long enough to throw the truck in park and remove the keys from the ignition.

“Can you do me a favor?” Jake asked. “Next time, let Jimmy or Penny know what’s going on before it gets to the point of drink-throwing. Call me or text me. Hell, you could call Bradshaw if that would help.”

You giggled. “So the next time I need help, I should call Bradley?”

Jake shook his head, smiling; he knew what you were trying to do. He leaned forward and kissed you chastely. “I’m being serious,” He said, resting his forehead against your own. “I was worried when I saw Penny calling. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

“I promise,” You murmured, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I worry about you every time you’re out of arms reach. It’s my job as your husband.” He chuckled, “You realize how accident-prone you are, right?”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Before he could speak again, you closed the distance between you and kissed him. You nipped at his bottom lip, begging to deepen the kiss. Your fingers threaded through the hair at the base of his neck. His hand cradled the side of your face. You didn’t intend for it to turn into anything, at least not at first.

“Take me to bed, lieutenant.” You whispered once the kiss broke.

A/N: If you’ve made it this far - thank you so so so much for reading! My Masterlist can be found here. All work is also available on AO3   

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Ch 3

A response to the prompt: "You're staring." Thanks to my harem cohort @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally @powerofelvis and @whositmcwhatsit

Summary: Bess heads to the dance the Morale, Welfare and Recreation Committee for the 37th armored tank division is throwing, and manages to avoid dancing with the most notorious soldier on post, who cannot seem to take his eyes off her.

Warnings: None! Wait, kissing. Swear words. This may be the slowest burn yet. Probably typos, I wrote about 1K words over the last three days and then the rest in a fever dream. So.... may not make sense. Also I am pretty sure the first phase of basic training would not have them in tanks yet, but....I am playing fast and loose with Army life in this one.

Word Count: 5. 3 K

This is my newest WIP, please like, comment, reblog and tag and let me know what you think. Thank you for reading.

You can catch up on the previous chapters here

Basic Training Chapter 3: Just Kiss Me

Saturday, April 5, 1958

7:30 p.m.

The Schwartz Residence, Killeen

Just as her shoe hit the bottom stair, Bess realized she had left her lipstick in her room and was turning back around to grab it when she saw Kay sitting in the living room, dressed in a pink cocktail dress. Her puffy crinoline skirt was gathered in a heap around her as she shifted in place, adjusting her pearl necklace.

“Um, where do you think you are going?”

Kay looked up, tucking her brown hair behind her ear as she eyed the tight, fitted sheath dress Bess was wearing. She smiled at how the white sequins and embroidered red flowers glowed iridescent in the dim light and whistled low.

“Who are you dressing up for? The guy who you snuck in last weekend?”

“What makes you think there’s a guy, Katherine, honestly. I don’t sneak men into our house.”

“Uh huh,  so you’re all gussied up in your favorite dress just for a bunch of enlisted soldiers?”

Kay grabbed her purse and followed her sister to the door.

“Why are you being weird Bess, I always come with you? You’ve been going to army dances since you were sixteen. I’m about to graduate, plus, I told Dickey I’d meet him there.”

Bess sighed, thinking of Kay’s latest boyfriend. She supposed that she should be happy because he seemed like a harmless nerd, and, according to the files she had pulled on him, was not married, inbred or bankrupt.

“I just - we - I didn’t invite you to this dance because it’s an enlisted platoon. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Wow, you must really like who ever it is, if you don’t want me to see you with him. Too bad. Dori called earlier and told me to come. She’s been trying to reach you all day, by the way.”

Bess locked the door, and they got into her car.

“Can you believe her date?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Of course, then it all made sense why you guys would be messing around with an enlisted tank unit. How did Dori even get involved with their MWR Committee.”

Bess rolled up her skirt so she could comfortably drive, and shifted into reverse, arching her eye bow at her younger sister as she did.

“How do you think? She asked to be reassigned to it two weeks ago.”

“Man oh man, she really is lucky. I wonder if we’ll all get to dance with Elvis?”

“Look, Kay, they sent out a memo to everyone, do NOT make a spectacle over Private Presley. Just act like he’s any other solider”

“Of course Bessie bushka. I’m on my best behavior.”

Bess looked Kay in the eyes as they pulled through the base gate.

“I am just going because I told Dori I would, I don’t wanna stay too late. So maybe Dickey Rooney can drive you home if you wanna swing all night?”

“Yeah, sure, ja volt. You don’t have to be ein klafte, Elisabet.”

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

The tight cloth of her dress didn’t have much give, and Bess regretted her choice as she tried to keep up and hold on as she danced

“Look, this is tactical move that requires delicate maneuvers—”

“I’m not spiking the punch, Jim.”

Bess huffed and got into her rhythm as they kept up with the band’s rendition of “Tutti Fruity.”  If she let her self relax and swing into each step, it was almost like old times when she, Jim and Ben used to go out dancing in Austin or Killeen and she’d take turns dancing with her fiancee and his best friend all night. They had been the three musketeers. But that was last year, when she had a fiancee. And a different future peering back at her from her crystal ball.

The music brought her out of her silent reverie, and Bess looked to her where the band was performing on stage. The lead singer’s voice reverberated through the building, echoing up into the tin ceiling and back down again, making the room buzz with energy. There were six people in the all-Black Flapjacks: drums, guitar, bass, trumpet and then a male and female vocalist. The men wore matching silver dinner jackets and black bow ties, and the beautiful, Black woman had on a gorgeous silver dress with tulle flowers at the bust.

Bess took a deep breath, her attention shifted back to Jim, whose hands were always steady, but never needy. She was grateful he had agreed to come when she called last night and asked. A year ago they had spent almost all their free time together. Stalwart, an honorable prankster, Jim wasn’t shipping out to the Army Intelligence station in Heidelberg for another two months and Bess wondered if their friendship would end. If Ben’s new German wife would win him over and, like his friend before him, Jim would forget all about the last three years of shared adventures and promises of a lifelong friendship. Men mean it in the moment, Bess thought, I suppose women do to. Forever. What a meaningless word. How can we plan forever when we cannot know the future? The song ended and Jim escorted her off to the side. She looked for her sister, and found her swaying with her beau towards the back, hands clasped together between the lock-eyed look of first love.

“I forgot how good a dancer you are, Schwartz. And in that dress, whoowee! You’re a knock out tonight.”

“You can cut the flattery, Jameson, still not spiking the punch.”

“S’not flattery, how dare you insinuate that I would be disingenuous? You look good all dolled up, s'nice to see you this way. It’s almost like fun Bess is back, though a year ago she wudda helped me spike the punch.”

He took out his large, dark leather flask and handed it to her after taking a nip. Bess’ face scrunched up in distaste as the vodka burned down her throat, but she greedily held on and took another long drink.

“A year ago I didn’t work here, I was just hanging out with some of the reprobates from the German language division. Now it would be bad form for a Front Office secretary to spike the punch.”

“Look around, Bessie, this crowd needs to relax. They’re alllllll keyed up waiting for that Hound Dog.”

Jim was right, a heightened sense of anticipation pervaded the warehouse, even the strings of colorful paper lanterns seemed to sway with anxious excitement above them. Bess looked over at the big bowl of punch, next to the trays of deviled eggs, brisket sliders, the lime jello mold filled with seafood salad, pineapple upside down cake and more. She was sizing up the punch and checking her breath as they waited for the next song when she heard a wave of hushed murmurs ripple through the large room and turned to see Elvis, Dori and a few other soldiers in dress uniform enter the dance together. Bess’ eyes narrowed as Elvis’ looked at her.

Jim followed her gaze, then met Bess’ eyes.

“There he is, as handsome as he looks in the movies.”

Bess’ grimace could have cut through glass as she turned to her friend and elbowed him.

“Not you too?”

“What, art thou so high above us mere mortals that you don’t find Elvis Presley attractive, Schwartz? To gouache for a scholar like you?”

“It’s Private Presley now. And I’m not made of marble, Captain. Of course I recognize his attractive features. He just isn’t my type.”

She sniffed, and grabbed the flask from inside Jim’s uniform, the breath coming out of her nose forcefully as she drank a long draught.

“I’ve met him, actually, already. I was there.” Bess took another drink, tipping the flask back again and noticing that the liquid didn’t burn so much this time. “When he asked Dori out. I’m happy for her.”

Elvis and Dori began walking toward them, and Jim noticed how Bess’ stance changed as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips, suggesting that she what felt was the opposite of 'happy for Dori.'

“Well, I was at the press conference his first day here, at least four reporters asked if he has a girlfriend. Said he was playing the field so many times, sounded like a broken record.”

Bess straightened as she watched Elvis’ hand tighten around Dori’s waist and push under her bust while the blonde leaned into it and introduced Elvis to some of the eager MWR committee members who had stopped them.

“Yeah, that would be the alternate version of Hound Dog, it’s on the B side.”

Jim chuckled at Bess’ joke, but she didn’t notice, she was busy watching the Hound Dog himself, and caught Elvis glance over at her and give a little nod before his lips bent into a smirk. She realized she was frowning and plastered a big smile on her face. Jim watched this exchange with interest as Bess turned back when he spoke.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Definitely not your type.”

Bess scowled and whispered for him to stop as Elvis, Dori and another soldier approached them.

“Why Captain Daniels, how nice to see ya over at this little ol’ dance for the 37th, are you Bess’ date ta night? Or sneaking in to try and meet you-know-who?”

Dori giggled and playfully tapped Elvis’ chest. In case, you know, they didn’t get whom she was referencing.

Jim nodded and shook his hand to stop Elvis and the other soldier from saluting him.

“Oh, neither, actually, I’m just here to make sure Schwartz doesn’t spike the punch.”

“Don’t believe a word the Captain here says. This is a great introduction, by the way. Captain Daniels, meet Private Presley, you know Doreen of course, and then, well, I cannot say we’re acquainted.”

The liquor had loosened Bess up and she giddily put out her hand to the other soldier, as Elvis fiddled with the blue dress uniform cap under his right arm and took charge of the conversation.

“This is Rexadus, I mean, uh, Private Mansfield, he’s in the 37th wit me, another Mephisss boy, we were inducted ta gather, actually." Now Elvis was turning his hat over and examining it, speaking with confidence, almost as if from a script he had rehearsed in his head. "He’s a solid, solid, guy. He really is. Guess I’m lucky, since he’s spending all his time stuck in a metal box with my ass - I mean stuck with my behind.”

Rex her shook their hands with tight, swift grip and a warm smile. Jim raised his eyebrows at Bess.

“And how do you find the Army, so far, Privates?”

“Well, it was easy ta find, just follow all the tanks.” Elvis  smiled and  looked down. “Nah, well, speaking’ jus for me, I mean, I was real honored when President Eisenhower sent me an invitation to this here costume party, and all the boys are real nice."

There was that scripted voice again, Bess mused. She had seen under the hood and Elvis' attitude toward being drafted had not struck her as honored and grateful.

"It’s not easy, golly, I tell you, it’s really whooping my - uh - caboose. But I never felt I earned my supper so well, that’s the God’s honest truth.”

Dori giggled like Elvis was the wittiest man in the world, but he barely noticed, his eyes were focused on Bess and she coughed, uncomfortably. It was hard not stare back. She almost forgot to breathe, and exhaled deeply as she forced herself to look over at the band.

Her eyes trailed over to the food, and she looked back at Elvis with concern, knowing he rarely actually went to the mess hall. He had been meeting her at her back stairwell every evening at 5:15, opening her car door and getting in without even asking. As if it were his own car and sliding across her seat was the most normal thing in the world. It actually did seem normal now, and had become part of her daily routine these last three days. They sat there in their own private enclave, and every time, as he laid his head between her thighs and rubbed her waist, she told him that they were just friends hanging out. Yesterday they’d talked past dinner hours and she’d ask him if he didn’t want to go to get food, prompting Elvis to share how someone had yelled out in line at him Monday, asking if he missed his teddy bears, and he hadn’t gone back since. Sergeant Norwood’s wife, apparently, was providing him with a loaf’s worth of peanut butter sandwiches every night. But that wouldn’t have happened this evening and Bess thoughtfully looked over at the food table.

“You must be hungry. All of you, I mean.” Bess stuttered, trying not to stare at Elvis, which, for some reason, backfired, because consciously trying not to made her think about him even more and she failed horribly at being able to stray from his blue eyes for very long. “Because you just got here. Of course.”

Dori smiled and took this as her cue to play hostess and lead Elvis away to the refreshments.

“Yes, of course, of course, y’all must be hungry, doing those tank exercises all day. I made the seafood dip over there in the jello mold, it’s a recipe from Ladies’ Home Journal, you simply must try it and tell me what you think.”

“Aw, darlin’, I don’t, don’t eat seafood.”

“The brisket is pretty good.” Bess chimed in.

Dori smiled even deeper.

“Hmm, well, I suppose it’s probably ok for a Yankee like ya self, Bess honey.”

She pulled her arm tighter around Elvis, leading him to to the brisket as Bess heard her say, “Personally, I find Millie’s brisket a little bland and dried out, but come on, you’re a growin’ boy, need to refresh ya energy.”

Dori’s giggle trilled back as she walked him away and Bess frowned again when Elvis turned back over his shoulder, clearly grinning deeper as he took in Bess’ eyes following him.

She made small talk with Rex, mentioning how the last time she had heard this band, The Flapjack’s, they had played all of Elvis’ big hits and there had been none tonight.

“He bribed them.”

Rex whispered, looking over at where Elvis and Dori stood, as she fed him a deviled egg and then a brisket slider, sticking her finger in his mouth to lick the barbecue sauce off. Her high laugh echoed all throughout he warehouse, prompting Bess to roll her eyes.

“Bribed them?”

“Yeah,” Rex continued. “Not to play ‘Hound Dog,’ not to play any of ‘em. And he bought cases of cigarettes for all the guys in our unit. He wants to make sure tonight is nice, smooth, and normal. As it can be for him, I suppose.”

Before she had the opportunity to inquire further Bess was distracted by the band as they started up a new song, a rendition of Johnny Mathis’ “Chances Are,” and she watched Dori squeal that she loved this song.

 Bess smiled at Rex.

“Well Private, want to cut a rug?”

He hesitated. “Uh, I think -" he looked over at Elvis, who was making his way to the corner of the dance floor. “Probably better if I don’t, gonna go check out the chow.”

“C’mon, you little Yankee, I’ll dance with you, even if you have no taste in brisket.” Jim took her hand and raised his eyebrow. “By the way, Elvis Presley is in love with you Bess.”

“Stop it, Jameson.”

“Did you see how his buddy hardly touched you?”

“How would he know? These boys don’t talk about their crushes in their bunks at night. ‘Sides,he is here with a date.”

“Oh fooey! Elvis doesn’t have to tell him anything, all Rexadus, or anyone need do, is clock how that boy looks at you and, man, that’s all she wrote. You don’t dance with another soldier’s girl, it’s the code. Dori doesn’t stand a chance, honey, he’s just too polite to turn her down. I bet his mama is just like her. Which is probably why he likes you.”

Bess gave him a stare.

“Ok, maybe not exactly like Dori. I cannot see the good Mrs. Presley making you go all the way to Dallas so she can dress shop at the boutiques. They were share croppers, right?”

Bess nodded at Jim as she swayed with him, attempting very hard not to look over at where Elvis and Dori slowly danced.

“Something like that. Very very poor. But Jim, you dance with me, and I was your friend’s girl for two years.”

“That’s different Bess, I hate most women.” Jim looked back over at Rex and his voice trailed off. "Most people, actually. You are saving me from all the eager beavers here looking to snag an officer as a husband.”

“Well, looking around, some of them would probably settle for snagging just a night with an officer.”

They laughed and Jim led her around the dance floor in perhaps the most chaste slow grip of any of any officer or gentleman that danced a slow dance that evening.

The song ended, and the band kept going with their version of Sam Cooke’s hit “You Send Me.”

Bess could not help herself, and found her eyes move to watch Dori press her cheek to Elvis’ and it made Bess’ stomach clench inadvertently. Elvis’ eyes locked on hers while he pulled Dori tighter to him, tilting his head with a smirk. Something in his eyes told Bess he could tell how much she envied her girlfriend, a fact she refused to even concede to herself as she looked away, scanning the room for her sister. To her dismay, Kay was now kissing her dweeby young lieutenant toward the back of the warehouse, not so much dancing as staggering back and forth in place.

Hitting someone’s shoulder, Bess turned to apologize until she saw Elvis had moved Dori right behind them. She stepped hard on Elvis’ foot, then apologized loudly and profusely. That didn’t get him to scout off and they remained dancing next to each other as Jim ignored Bess’s pinches at his wrists clearly signaling for him to lead her away.

“Why hello there, Moo Moo, fancy bumping into you here?”

Dori smiled big and pushed her hands further up around Elvis neck as she swayed to the rhythm.

“Moo Moo? Y’all are gonna havta tell me bout that” Dori giggled. “And look at you Bessie, honey, I just LOVE your dress.” Her eyes moved to Jim. “Y’all having fun?”

Bess stepped closer to Jim, nodding and avoiding the coy irreverence in Elvis’ dark blue eyes as she slyly tried to navigate her partner away from them. She kicked Jim’s shin to let him know that if he did not politely guide her away this very instant she would begin to kick harder.

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

Leaning against the wall during a ballad, Bess found herself making a mental note that Elvis’ seemed to avoid dancing to the faster songs. During this one, he had gone off to get some punch and then started walking in her direction only to be assaulted by a troop of MWR committee members, offering him samples of the desserts they had baked as a pretext to come and talk to him. Bess smiled as one asked him to dance, then turned at Mabel’s voice, observing the rosy glow of the other secretary’s cheeks.

“Mhmmm, the punch is good tonight.”

Bess smiled, then leaned in to smell Mabel’s glass.

“How many of these have you had, Mabel?”

The older woman replied without missing a beat. “Five.”

“I’m cutting you off, I think it’s been spiked.”

“Of course it has. By me.” Mabel took her glass back, gulping the rest down with a wink. “Someone needed to liven up this funeral. Hold this for me, won’t you?” She asked, and Bess’ jaw dropped a bit as she watched Mabel cut in on Dori.

Bess wondered if Mabel still preferred Burt Lancaster to the movie star she currently leaned her head against, happily watching her colleague cozily nuzzle into Elvis tall frame. He was a good sport, joking and swaying with Mabel for a second dance,  then stepping to the side and chatting with another swarm of woman who tried to contain their eagerness as they brought him another tribute of dessert platters.

Bess danced to The Flapjacks performance of “Jambalaya,” but quit as the music turned toward more and more ballads while the night went on. It was late, the people on the dance floor seemed to have coupled up and the decorum had slowly fallen to the wayside as the senior personnel disappeared. The air fell thick with a heady, hazy lust provoked by the swell of sweet, slow rhythm and blues and the release dancing provided from the stress of barracks life. Jim had ducked out, and Bess wished she had given Kay her keys and gone with him. She managed to stay as far away from Elvis as she could through he evening, which wasn’t hard. If Dori was not monopolizing him, he only made it a few feet before another woman tapped on his shoulder. During this time, Dori had cornered her and begun drilling Bess for information, asking why she didn’t pick up her phone anymore, and what the deal was with Elvis.

“Moo Moo? Is that a nick name? Are you sure y’all are just friends? Honey, say the word, and I will be on my way. I do not throw myself at men.”

Thinking of their double date last week, Bess restrained herself from explaining that this seemed to be Dori’s primary hobby.

“I promise, it’s a silly nick name, Moo Moo is what he called his childhood cow named, get this, Bess. I’m telling you, Doreen, we’ve just accidentally stumbled into a very casual friendship.” She rubbed her friend’s shoulder, and looked out at Elvis laughing with his dance partner.

“He's lonely, and just jives more with women. You saw him with Mabel in the office. I’m not saying I see wedding bells in your future either. But then again, Dori, you don’t want to get romantically involved with Elvis Presley, do you? I can only imagine the havoc he is going to wreak on the girls in this town once he gets his bearing and into phase two. That boy is a fast operator, so fast you don’t even know what happened and boom, you’re asking him out.”

Dori narrowed her eyes. “Mmmhmm. Well, honestly I don’t want to marry him, Bessie Boo. I just want to experience him. He is so soft, Bess. That jaw! And those eyes. Ufffff. And when he kisses you, oh, it’s like having lightening strike your cheek. I’m fixin’ to get more before the night is over, hopefully with my mouth.”

She winked as the song ended, and strode off to get him back. Bess had to giggle at the glare Dori shot a younger girl from the switchboard office who looked like she was about to ask Elvis to dance.

Lonely, awkward, and ready to be done, Bess rolled off the wall and told Kay she was ready to leave. Her sister politely told her to get bent, promising Dickey would drive her home. So Bess subtlety slipped out of the side door next to the stage and made her way towards her car, ambling slowly in the cool evening air. Bess found it a sweet respite from the crowded, stuffy ware house stuffy. Out here, it was peaceful, and she savored the darkness as she looked up into the black sky. The stars and moon were hidden by some clouds, and Bess tried to get lost in the murky shadows as she wandered away from the sounds of the dance. She begged the wind to tamp down the anxious buzzing in her head. It was then, when she paused in the passage way between two tall buildings, that she heard the sound of footsteps following her, and turned to see a tall, dark figure striding toward her with purposeful, swift steps. His shoulders were back and his hands were out and he slowed when he heard Bess speak.

“All dressed up and marching in a hurry, huh? Loose your parade, Tupelo?”

Elvis’ gait turned into a wide swagger and Bess stumbled into the building backing away from the force of Elvis’ magnetism. It was not a smart escape strategy because he followed in step, his hands on his waist as he looked her over.

“Al - al - always, the smart ass, huh?”

“I’ve been a smart ass my whole life, Tupelo. Try to keep up.”

Elvis shook his head, chuckling low.

“You’re staring. Stop it.”

“Honey, if you didn’t want me to stare at you, shoulda worn a different dress.”

She gasped, and Elvis stepped closer, his right arm up against the wall while his left moved over her waist and he whispered into her forehead, his voice was low, teasing, almost babyish.

“Be honest, Moo Moo, did you come out here cuz you wanted me to chase you?”

Bess looked at the eaves of the building above her, she could hear the faint sound of the band back at the dance playing “The Girl Can’t Help It” and Elvis hips swayed very slowly at half time with the beat.

“Nope, I, I was leaving, actually.”

“How could you leave without dancing with me, baby. Not even once. An ya hardly even talked to me all night. Every other girl in there is ready and rearin' ta pounce on me, but you make me come chase after you?”

“I’m - I’m not like very other girl, Elvis. I’m not trying - trying to ….”

The way his thumb trailed up her arm made Bess shudder and she lost her train of thought.

“Hmmm. Not tryin’ to what, Moo, huh?”

He leaned into her ear as he spoke, and the skin on her bare shoulder prickled as his thumb rubbed over it while he whispered softly.

His voice was warm on her neck, and it reminded her of the first summer Mama drove her and Kay down to Galveston spontaneously for a week. They had stayed in a cheap motel across from the beach and enjoyed the warm Gulf water while eating fried shrimp and hush puppies and getting sunburnt. There, in the golden sun of the Texas Gulf, Bess had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to move through the world. No, standing where the sun met the surf had set her free, and she had become a wild animal dancing in the water and screaming into the waves while the sand crabs tickled her feet.

Elvis’ breath on her neck had the same effect. She felt wild, relaxed, totally at the whim of her body as she bit her bottom lip and looked up at his half-lidded eyes. She wanted to pull him close and scream into his mouth, howl at the untamed force of nature that rippled beneath his cheeks. He tightened his hand at her waist and kissed her neck, but then stepped back at her shudder.

“Ya scared not scared of me, Moo Moo, are you?”

She shook her head, but trembled as Elvis fingers feathered lightly down her arm.

“You don’t never have to be scared of me, baby, I won’t ever hurt you.”

“Elvis, I -”

He kissed her neck again, murmuring into her skin. The top of his cap rubbed into her hair. “Wanna get out of here? Go somewhere we can jus… Talk?””

Just as Bess began to answer, she felt a light sprinkle of water on her nose and looked up as it started to drizzle down on them. The rain brought her wits back to her and she gently pushed Elvis away, feeling the water increase and her hair slip down over her face. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

“You are here on a date with someone else, and I have to go home.” Squeezing him in a tight hug, she kissed his cheek one last time as he nodded, before removing her heels and sprinting off through the puddles to find her car.

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

Bess had managed to wash her face and get her dress off before she succumbed to the extreme need for a pot of hot tea. Now she stood in her kitchen, towel drying her hair and shivering as she waited for the kettle to boil. Hearing a knock at the door, she yelled out hurrying to the front of the house.

“Kay, the door is open! Or is numbnuts a catching disorder -  shit.”

There was Elvis, hat in hand, on her front doorstep.

“Numbnuts?”

She swayed to the side, watching the back of a white Studebaker whirl around the corner. A white Studebaker very much like the one Mabel owned.

“My sister’s boyfriend is not the sharpest shooter in his platoon.” She held her robe closed as she looked down at her thin, white silk night gown. The thin matching robe didn’t do much, but she felt more decorous pulling it over herself.

“Did Mabel sneak you off post?”

Elvis grinned mischievously and strode past her into the house

“Hello to you too, Bessie, whatcha cookin, good lookin'?”

Closing the door, she shoved him as he walked backwards down the hallway.

“Don’t you hello me, what are you doing here?”

Elvis unbuttoned his jacket, and draped it around her shivering body.

“Still cold honey?” He drew her in, rubbing her shoulders. “Let me see if I can warm ya up.”

His jacket was still cozy with the heat of his body as he drew Bess into him. Breathless, she let him enclose her in his embrace, folding her arms into his chest as she lifted her chin up to gaze into his eyes.

“There she is, there’s a good lil Moo Moo.”

Elvis leaned down to bundle her further into him, his hands moving inside her open robe to caress the sides of her body, his nose stroking hers as she closed her eyes and whispered into his jaw.

“Elvis, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know honey.” He pulled her closer, kissing her cheek at the fold of her earlobe as Bess crushed into his.

Her mind was racing, racing the with knowledge that at any moment her 17 year old sister would come home and probably know how to work the door knob. Racing with the knowledge that her father and mother were flying back to Waco tomorrow and she needed to be rested and alert when she drove to pick them up. Racing with the knowledge that Elvis Presley was the absolutely worst choice for a romantic entanglement or fling, not just because he was famous, handsome, rich and probably already dating any number of women in Los Angeles, Memphis and God knows where else. And therefore, an unimaginable person to be seen with publicly or explain to her family.

But it was worse than that, she could already tell, from the way her mind bent towards him all through the day when he wasn’t around, and directed itself to him with an intense, buzzing focus when he was. For these reasons, she knew he would be the worst kind of all-consuming distraction that she could possible let herself get involved with right now.

Her mouth had other plans. Namely, how could it find his mouth?

“Elvis.” She mumbled as her lips brushed the nape of his neck and her hands wrapped around his body.

“Yes Bess?”

He looked down at her as she tried to find the words she wanted to say.

“I - I - I”

“I know honey, you don’t date soldiers.”

She smiled a lazy, goofy half smile.

“Mmmhmmm.”

He gripped her tighter, pinching the flesh at her sides.

“Honey, dating is not the word on my mind right now. I am not interested in asking you on a date.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I do not have no intention of driving up to your house in my pink Cadillac.”

He kissed her nose.

“I don’ wanna have to come meet ya mama and shake your daddy’s hand.”

He kissed her cupid’s bow.

“And I definitely ain’t about to take you out to fancy restaurant and buy you dinner.”

He kissed her lightly on the top of her mouth, his teeth grating over her lip.

“I do not want to date you, Bess.”

“Good, because I don’t want to date you either.”

“So don’t date me, baby. Jus kiss me.”

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

Click here to read Chapter Four: Dance

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[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XIII.

GIF by alexturner

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Literally just Jolene by the iconic Dolly Parton.

WORD COUNT: ~7.7k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: angst :p, OFC lowkey being a brat and javi not tolerating that shit, some horniness to satiate the masses, alcohol consumption, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: for the sake of the plot we're just gonna pretend that before he cheats exist at this point of time okay? okay! anywhooo we're so close to getting to the fucking fluff of this fic... our couple deserves some semblance of PEACE and HAPPINESS am i right? but that sweet, sweet angst must come first in order for the pay off to be gr8 <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Paloma begins her parade of amends with her boss at the library, profusely apologizing for being fickle which typically isn’t like her. She’s been so caught up in August and his wistful musings that it momentarily had her acting out of character.

Fortunately, Olsen accepts her apology almost as quickly as the words tumble from her lips. He reassures her that it’s okay and that what he really needs is for her to begin logging books into the new computer system they’re implementing.

So that’s exactly what she does. She situates herself behind the circulation desk and spends her entire shift typing away at the clunky keyboard, surrounded by carts stacked with books. She’s so engrossed in her task that she doesn’t even notice when Sloane walks in, a giant smile lighting up her face.

“Hey, doll.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet her friend’s and she feels a tinge of frustration at her presence. The last time they were together, she had tried to convince her to kill someone and then got pissed when Paloma didn’t go through with it.

“Hey,” she replies simply, her voice lacking its usual warmth and quickly returning her attention to the computer, muttering under her breath at how sluggishly it’s operating.

She hears a sigh, and then Sloane is leaning forward against the desk, tilting her head to the side and pouting. “Are you still mad at me?”

A snort escapes her, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Yes and no. If I’m bein’ honest with you, I’m feelin’ real conflicted.”

Sloane’s cadence is lighter as she asks, “What can I do to smooth things over?”

“Give me the space I told August I needed.”

Their gazes lock, and Sloane’s shoulders slump, the weight of her words settling in.

“Why on god’s green earth are you wearing a scarf in the middle of the summer?” Paloma can’t help but ask, eyeing the flimsy material around her neck.

“That’s actually why I stopped by. I was hopin’ you weren’t so mad at me so I could tell you ‘bout the amazin’ fuckin’ lay I got last night.”

At this, Paloma rolls her eyes and flips open the next book, meticulously scanning it for imperfections. Leave it to her so-called best friend to reach out just to brag about getting laid. 

Not to check in on her or apologize for being a giant cunt back in Louisiana. 

She decides to pacify her, hoping that feigning interest in her love life will get her out of the library without the awkwardness that would come if she just outright told her to leave. 

“Really?” Her tone drips with forced enthusiasm. “Tell me all about it.”

Sloane launches into her story overdramatically, obviously messing with her, but she still nods along, her mind only half-engaged. She silently prays for the conversation to end soon, eager to return to the relative peace of her book-logging task.

“Alright, quit beatin’ around the bush. Who was it?”

The scarf is slipped off, revealing her marked-up neck, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Christ almighty, Slo, who did you sleep with? Dracula?” Various purple splotches litter the other girl’s skin, and she wonders how long it’s going to take for those suckers to heal.

Sloane giggles, smirking as she shows off her neck. “No. But that woulda been one hell of a story. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.”

Time stops. The air stills, and her motions halt entirely. Sloane continues talking, but all Paloma can hear is the blood rushing in her ears and the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat at the news. 

I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.

She feels like she’s been punched in the gut, the wind knocked straight out of her. She tries her hardest not to let her body language reflect the heartbreak that surges through her.

Javier Peña. Of all people. Shock and something she can’t quite place thud in her chest viscously. Forcing herself to focus, she tries to catch the tail end of Sloane’s story, but her mind is a mess.

She shouldn’t care, but the problem is that she does. Despite things between her and Javi being a done deal. They’ve both made their intentions clear and it is better to pretend like the other doesn’t exist until he leaves town.

So why is she so hurt at the fact that her best friend had gotten a taste of the man she’s supposed to be over? Why does she feel that nasty green monster slithering its way through her body, into her chest, and up her throat?

“You what?” She interrupts, not even listening to what she said after. 

Sloane’s voice trails off, her eyes widening slightly at Paloma’s sudden intensity. “I, uh, slept with Javi,” she repeats, feigning confusion.

The envy and betrayal coil tighter around her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She forces herself to look at her ‘best friend’ and she sees the hidden excitement in her eyes. It only deepens her ache.

“Why him?” Paloma asks, the words tinged with a vulnerability she can’t hide.

Sloane shrugs, once more pretending to be oblivious to the turmoil she’s purposefully caused. “It just happened, P. We were talkin’ after work, ‘n one thing led to another… I figured you wouldn’t mind, considerin’ you’re with August now and hate the officer’s guts. I was jus’ havin’ some fun. No harm in that.”

No harm in that. Nodding slowly, a tight smile forces its way on her lips, “Well, I hope it was worth it,” she says strained but steady. How badly does she want to verbally eviscerate her and drag her across the floor by the crown of her hair.

The keyboard keys feel foreign beneath her fingers as she attempts to return to the task at hand. She knows she’ll have to confront her feelings eventually, but for now, all she can do is focus on her work to try and keep the pieces of her shattered heart from showing.

“Look, Slo, I’m happy to hear you’ve been keepin’ busy,” wince, “but I’ve got a lot to go through here ‘n I would like to be left alone to get it done. If you don’t mind.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sloane studies her, and Paloma pretends not to feel the weight of her stare. If she keeps looking at her like this, she will burst into angry, frustrated tears.

“Right… right. I’ll leave ya to it, doll face.” She taps her fingers against the counter, then adds softly, “And… just so you know, I am sorry ‘bout losin’ my shit that night in Louisiana. Wasn’t very fair to you.”

What isn’t fair to me is for you to sleep with the guy I cried on your shoulder about for weeks.

“Thanks. I’ll see you,” she replies curtly, trying not to let her hands shake as she reaches for another book.

Slo finally leaves, and she waits for her to be fully out of the building before letting out a heavy sigh. The ache intensifies, weighing down on her poor heart. She stares at the screen, the words blurring as tears threaten to spill over but she forces herself to keep typing.

The quiet of the library is almost oppressive, amplifying the commotion inside her. She can still see the image of Sloane’s marked neck, a painful reminder of what transpired between them. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the pain just doesn’t subside.

She can’t afford to break down here. Not now. Not yet. She’ll deal with the aftermath later, when she’s alone.

After thirty agonizing minutes, she realizes that she simply can’t. All she can visualize is Javier and Sloane together in the most intimate way possible. His lips all over her, her hands on him. Was she a better kisser than her? Had Javier enjoyed being inside Sloane more than being inside her?

Standing abruptly, she smooths out her sundress and goes to track down Olsen, finding him tucked away in the science fiction section of the library.

“I’m sorry to do this,” she begins, already cringing at the request she’s about to make, “but I’m just not feelin’ good. I feel nauseous. Like I’m about to vomit.” It’s not technically a lie; with every blink, there’s an image of Sloane bent over for Javier, and it makes her emotionally sick.

Olsen sighs, giving her a look. “How far into the logging did you get?”

She answers, and he agrees to let her leave, telling her he hopes she feels better and to let him know whether she’d be able to come in for her next shift.

Grateful for his kindness but also feeling guilty about how unreliable she’s been, Paloma thanks him before gathering her things and leaving the building.

The warm summer weather contrasts sharply with the coldness that’s crept over her entirely. She walks slowly, each step feeling heavy, her mind racing with thoughts she wishes she could escape.

Finding a quiet spot in a nearby park, Paloma sits on a bench and takes a deep breath. She watches the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze, the world moving on obliviously around her.

She just needs a moment of goddamn peace.

It’s serene here. Children laugh and play in the distance, couples stroll hand in hand, and birds chirp merrily in the trees. But all Paloma can think about is the betrayal she feels, the jealousy that gnaws at her, and the deep hurt of knowing that the man she still harbors feelings for has slept with her best friend.

She really shouldn’t be so worked up over this. While she and August have never explicitly put a label on their relationship, they’re together. Hell, she’s fucked him more times than anyone else she’s been with.

Then why is it that she’s so pressed about Javier, a single man, hooking up with Sloane, a single woman?

It’s because of the tangled mess that is her connections to both of them. How she had been vulnerable with Sloane about her conflicting feelings towards him, and how Sloane had always been there to reassure her that he was nothing more than a piece of shit manwhore and that she deserved better.

So why go and sleep with him?! Paloma groans, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm as she balls her fists out of anger.

She contemplates whether she wants to cry it out at home or by the abandoned railroad tracks. The answer is neither, because before she knows it, she’s at The Whiskey Fox ordering a shot of tequila.

“Stranger danger,” Tammy, eldest of the three sisters who own the bar, approaches her with a sardonic simper on her face.

Paloma just waves her off, her heartbreak evident as she takes the shot and immediately orders another, earning a surprised look from the older woman.

“Woah there, sugar. What’s goin’ on? You hardly ever drink, let alone do back-to-back shots.”

She just shrugs, staying silent as she proceeds to shoot the drink, not even grimacing as it burns down her throat, then reaching for a lime wedge to bite into. Tammy watches her with a mix of concern and curiosity, leaning against the bar, her maternal instincts kicking in. “Why don’t ya tell me what happened? Might help to get it off your chest.”

For a moment, Paloma considers it. Considers unloading it all onto this poor woman but she remains silent, twirling the empty shot glass between her fingers.

“Oh, c’mon now, Paloma. S’bad enough that you’ve ghosted us for the past month. Don’t give us the silent treatment too. What’d we do to you, darlin’?”

Rolling her shoulders, she keeps her gaze fixed on the empty shot glass in front of her. “Y’all didn’t do anythin’,” her voice is a little hoarse due to how dry her mouth feels, and there’s a pang of guilt in her stomach at hearing how her absence has affected the people she cares about. “I’ve just been dealin’ with a lot.”

She let her friends lead her down a fantastical path, and while it was exciting and thrilling at first, she’s realizing that it shifted her into a defiant headspace she wasn’t used to and didn’t like being in. When did everything get so complicated? What happened to just basking in the attention of two handsome men and enjoying a summer romance?

Now she’s caught in the middle of something so convoluted. Her mother’s mysterious past, the uncertainty of her own future, the heartbreak she continues to suffer at the hands of Javier Peña, and the gut-wrenching betrayal of her so-called best friend. She feels overwhelmed by the severity of it all, like she’s sinking in a never-ending pit.

Fuck, she needs another drink. She goes to order it, but Tammy blocks her. “Okay, so spill. The tequila is not goin’ t’ make it any better, baby, trust me. I’m speakin’ from experience.”

Paloma snorts, shaking her head, exasperation bubbling inside her. She just wants to numb herself with alcohol, to drown out the images of Javier and Sloane together. “Just guy problems, Tam. Now will you please let me drink my sorrows away? I’ll deal with the consequences and the hangover later.”

Tammy contemplates whether it’s a good idea to let her keep drinking, but ultimately she allows it. Everyone goes through this at least once. Everyone learns from experiences like this in their own way.

The older woman then nods understandingly and pours her the shot, this time setting the bottle down next to her. “Alright, but don’t overdo it. We don’t need you passin’ out on us.”

Paloma gives a weak smile and continues to drink, the tequila burning a path down her throat, momentarily granting her relief from the uncomfortableness she’s been wallowing in.

As the night wears on, the bar fills with the usual crowd, but she remains in her own bubble of despair, getting drunker by the minute. The lively chatter and clinking glasses become a distant hum.

She wants to be able to confide in someone about the root of her conflictions, but she knows that if she were to spill all the details, including the outrageous backstory of her mother, it would be met with jarring skepticism and criticism. Tammy would probably look at her like she was crazy and her father would probably have her secretly lobotomized for speaking such blasphemous ‘lies’ about his wife and her mother.

He wouldn’t actually, but she’s drunk and her mind is going to the extremes.

Tammy keeps an eye on her, occasionally checking in and she appreciates it, even if she can’t bring herself to say it out loud. She’s not sure how she’ll face tomorrow, but right now, she’s content to let the alcohol do its thing and forget, if only for a little while.

There’s a reason why people say not to drink on an empty stomach, and Paloma is feeling the effects smack her square in the jaw. Her vision is hazy, her movements sluggish. At least she’s not hurting as much as she had been when she came in.

It’s well into the night now; the dim lights of the bar cast shadows on the faces of the crowd around her. The bottle Tammy had set in front of her is almost gone, so she drinks the remaining tequila straight from it, not caring about appearances or what the town gossips might say if they were to see her now.

With her veins coursing with liquid courage, Paloma hops off the barstool, wobbling a bit due to her inebriated state, and makes her way to the stage. No matter how tough things get, she can always count on music to lift her spirits.

That’s another thing she’s been neglecting— her music, her passion. So much for complaining that she didn’t have any inspiration to write new songs. Now she’s drowning in it, struggling to stay afloat.

Tammy’s eyes follow her the entire way, concern etched on her face as she bites her lip, contemplating whether or not she should let her go up there and potentially make a fool of herself in her drunken state.

She reaches the stage, her heart pounding against her chest. Shuffling through the available songs on the karaoke machine, she stops when she finds the one that she’s looking for. She grabs the microphone with a shaky hand, the spotlight harsh on her face.

The bar quiets down, curious eyes watching her every move.

“Hey everyone,” she slurs slightly, giggling drunkenly. “S’been a while since I’ve been up here ‘n I apologize for my absence,” she hiccups, “but tonight, m’gonna sing a song to make myself feel better.”

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly to steady herself. The familiar chords start playing through the speakers then she begins to sing; her voice fueled by emotion and tequila.

♫

Tammy decides it’s wise for her to phone the sheriff’s department, specifically asking for Javier to come by.

He only has ten minutes left on his shift and doesn’t want to get caught up dealing with another drunken idiot, so he almost sends one of the deputies but then she mentions Paloma and how shitfaced she is.

Immediately, he’s reaching for his keys.

“I don’t want Romeo seein’ her like this. Kinda my fault, to be honest, but who am I to stop a young girl from drowning her man problems in tequila? Anyhow, any chance ya can take her home?”

Man problems? Had August done something to her? His nostrils flair at the thought of him hurting her.

As if he hadn’t hurt her tenth fold.

Javier arrives in record time, urgency evident as he busts through the doors of the bar. Despite his entrance, no one seems to pay him any attention; all eyes are fixed on her as she stands on stage, clearly intoxicated yet still captivating the room.

His jaw tenses as he beelines over to the bar where Tammy is already looking at him expectantly.

“How long has she been here?”

“‘Bout four hours now. At least she took it slow. S’probably why she’s like this,” Tammy nods her head towards the stage, handing him Paloma’s car keys, and Javier can’t help but glance over too.

Her voice echoes through the bar and the words flow from her lips as a cathartic release of all the pent-up feelings she’s been carrying. There’s a plethora of mixed reactions coming from the audience, but she isn’t really performing for them.

To her, she’s in her bedroom with her curling wand in hand, belting out to her favorite song.

Despite her initial nerves and the alcohol clouding her senses, she finds solace in the music. It’s her therapy, her way of expressing what words alone can’t capture.

By the time she finishes, there’s a mix of applause and quiet murmurs in the bar. She sways again, catching herself on the microphone stand with a tipsy grin. Javier’s heart clenches at the sight.

As she steps down from the stage, her eyes lock onto him leaning against the counter with Tammy. Dread grips her heart like a vise, her breath catching in her throat. The tequila swirling in her stomach threatens to come back up. Without hesitation, she changes direction abruptly, veering towards the restroom at the back of the bar.

The door slams shut behind her, and she leans heavily against it, the cold metal offering a momentary reprieve.

No, no, no. I can’t see him now. Not like this.

Paloma rushes to the sink, splashing water on her face in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. Deciding that she won’t face him, she makes her escape through the small window near the ceiling.

It’s the longest fifteen minutes of his life, each second feeling like an eternity. She hasn’t come out and Javier is unable to wait any longer. He strides purposefully across the room towards the restroom, twisting the door handle open with a sense of urgency, expecting to find Paloma inside.

But the stalls are empty, the restroom devoid of any sign of her presence except for the open window with a torn piece of her sundress caught on a protruding piece of plastic.

“Goddammit,” He curses under his breath, pissed yet not surprised that she had fled. He rushes out of the restroom, sparing a quick explanation to Tammy before bolting into the parking lot. The engine of his cruiser roars to life as he pulls out onto the road.

She, despite being piss drunk, managed to move swiftly through the shadows outside, her torn dress fluttering in the night breeze. She kept to the alleys and back streets at first, away from the main roads where he might expect her to flee.

She isn’t far from the bar when he finds her. Perhaps half a mile down a dark, deserted road flanked by endless crop fields. The night offers no solace, no streetlights to illuminate her path, only the distant glow of his cruiser drawing closer.

He could really lay into her, scream at how reckless and fucking dangerous it is for her to be walking around aimlessly at night. It’s not like there’s an active killer lurking about, targeting girls like her.

The blue and red lights slice through the darkness, casting an eerie glow around her stumbling figure as she trudges along the roadside.

“Get in the car,” Javier’s voice carries through the rolled down passenger window as he slowly drives beside her.

Paloma ignores him, determined to keep moving despite the plea. She doesn’t know where she’s headed, all she knows is that she doesn’t want to be around him. All she’ll see the second she looks into his eyes are images of him balls deep in her best friend.

The reminder has her clenching her jaw against the flood of disarray threatening to overwhelm her, straightening her posture in a futile attempt to regain her composure. The alcohol in her system blurs her vision and makes her head spin, but she continues to march obstinately along the empty road.

“I said get. In. The. Car.” Javier’s voice booms through the PA system now, sharp and authoritative, having her flinch at its suddenness. She rolls her eyes, refusing to acknowledge him, her gaze fixed ahead as if the darkness holds the answers to all her turmoil.

In response, she simply raises her middle finger, a gesture dripping with contempt. Javier’s patience for her insubordination is wearing really fucking thin.

“Last warning. If not, I will get out and put you in here my damn self,” His tone crackles with restrained anger, the lines of his face drawn tight with exasperation.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

There it goes, his patience. He forcefully slams the mouthpiece of the speaker back into place before speeding up along the deserted road and haphazardly blocking the path ahead, his vehicle jolting to a stop with a gravelly skid.

He jumps out of his seat, the door swinging open as he rounds the car to approach her with determined hastiness, pissed that he has to deal with her immature ass right now.

Paloma’s instinctive flight response has her sprinting into the vast open field, her heart pounding in sync with her rapid footsteps. The tall grass brushes against her legs and she squints in an attempt to see ahead on this moonless night. All she’s focused on is getting as far away from him as possible.

Javier curses loudly and immediately chases after her through the uneven terrain. He thought he left this chasing shit back in Colombia. 

Despite her intoxicated state, her desperation fuels her speed, making her a bit of a challenging target. But when she stumbles over her boots ever so slightly, he seizes the opportunity.

In a swift motion, his arm snakes around her waist, yanking her towards him before deftly hoisting her over his shoulder. Paloma squeals as he straight up manhandles her, her fists hammering against his back while she squirms in his grasp. “Put. Me. Down. You. Asshole,” she seethes between blows, each strike punctuated by a grunt from him as she hits sore spots on his lower back.

“You ran off like a fucking child,” he snaps back while stalking towards his car, irritated as all hell. The urge to land a harsh spank against the back of her thighs is there but he shows some restraint.

He glances around, relieved that the deserted stretch of road spares them from prying eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, or I will cuff you,” he warns sternly, setting her down cautiously but keeping a firm grip on her arm.

She pushes at his chest, stumbling backwards but she catches herself, sticking her hands out to keep him from steadying her. “Don’t. Leave me the hell alone, I’m tryin’ to get home.”

“And I’m trying to make that happen. Let me drive you, you’re fucked up.”

“I’m not, and if anyone is fucked up here it’s you, you fucking dickhead,” she retorts with a bite, her words laced with venom and alcohol-fueled bravado.

Javier exhales heavily, his patience wearing thin yet again as he struggles to reason with her. “Quit being ridiculous, Paloma.” He urges, frustration simmering beneath his somewhat controlled exterior.

“Ridiculous?!” She rolls her eyes dramatically, a gust of wind tousling her hair and she angrily tucks it behind her ears. “I wanna walk home. Away from you.” she slurs, her determination punctuated by a sudden hiccup and point of her finger.

A snarky reply of his own is on the tip of his tongue but she interrupts before he can spit it out.

“I am more than capable, ‘n I’ll prove it by walkin’ a straight line while sayin’ the alphabet backwards,” The challenge in her eyes is unmistakable as she takes a few steps back.

Javier can’t help but chuckle dryly, reluctant amusement coloring his expression. He leans casually against the cruiser, arms crossed as he watches her attempt the sobriety test she’s proposed.

“Z... y... x...” Paloma begins, her attempt at reciting the alphabet faltering from the start. Her footsteps are uneven, her balance wavering with each syllable. “W... v... u...”

He shakes his head in mild disbelief, his frustration momentarily overshadowed by the absurdity of the situation.

“A.” She punctuates the letter when she reaches the end of her recitation attempt. She looks up at him, now much closer, with an insolent glint in her eyes despite the undeniable signs of intoxication.

He just raises his brows in amusement.

“Told ya.” she challenges, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. “Sober as a nun.”

Javier reaches for the breathalyzer on his belt, holding it up between them as he turns it on.

“You’re going to blow into this,” he begins with an authoritative tone, “and if it lights up green then you’re good to do whatever you want. If it’s red, you’re goin’ to quit fucking around and get your pretty ass in the car.”

Paloma snorts, “No way. This is just some perverted trick so you can see my lips wrap around it and pretend it’s your cock––”

His hand shoots out to cup her jaw, thick fingers digging into the soft skin of her cheeks, causing her lips to purse together.

“Nena, you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on you.” He tuts at her and her eyes widen, pussy quivering, “It’s gonna get you in trouble.”

He brings her closer by her face, smelling the alcohol on her breath, and places the plastic tip against her puckered lips, “Blow it.”

His grip loosens enough for her to do as she’s told, and her lips encircle the hard plastic. This feels charged with an intimacy that weakens her knees, and she watches as Javier’s eyes drown with lust; their usual golden glint now gone.

The second it blinks red, he smirks and lets go of her face. As the tip is pulled out from between her lips, a thin trail of saliva comes with it which has him biting his tongue to suppress a groan. His cock stirs at the sight.

“In the car. Now.”

“No!” She pushes away from him, slapping the damn breathalyzer out of his hand and watching as it breaks against the asphalt, “I’d rather walk on glass barefoot than get in the car with you. M’goin’ back to the bar and callin’ my boyfriend to come pick me up!” The emphasis on boyfriend is said with the intent to piss Javier off but she doesn’t gloat in his reaction as she turns sharply and begins to walk away in the opposite direction.

“Puta madre…” It lands exactly as she intended for it to, the spark of jealousy in his chest having him leap forward, expertly pinning both of her wrists against her lower back with one hand while the other takes a hold of her shoulder, guiding her over to his car.

“You asshole!”

“Yeah, how many times are you gonna fuckin’ remind me, querida?”

She’s bent at the waist on the hood of his cruiser, the engine that’s still running leaving the surface warm as her chest gets pressed down onto it. Her ripped dress rises up revealing the curve of her ass to him.

Javier is fully hard as he reaches for his cuffs, clasping them over her wrists and she gasps when she feels the cool metal come in contact with her blazing skin. He presses his bulge against her ass and she whimpers at the pressure of him so close to her throbbing core.

Grabbing ahold of her shoulder again, he brings her up so that her back is flush against his chest, both of them heaving in unison.

“Told you that little mouth of yours would get you in fucking trouble.” He mutters into her ear, feeling the softness of her hair against his face as he takes in a deep breath of the coconut scent of her shampoo. His entire being is pulsating for her, craving to feel any part that he can.

Paloma is dizzy with arousal, hatred, and alcohol; feeling him all over except where she needs him most. Inside her weeping cunt that’s begging to get wrecked. She despises him for making her feel this way, especially after today’s revelations.

He opens the back door of the cruiser, the metallic click of the cuffs echoing in the quiet night as he pulls her into the backseat. Despite his intention to be firm yet gentle, his frustration seeps through, and he handles her a bit roughly, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud.

Paloma jolts upright, the abrupt sound snapping her out of the horny trance his restraint had put her in.

“Always have to get your way, don’t you? By any means necessary? Looks like some things never fuckin’ change.” Her words blend together, slightly slurred, as he starts driving towards her house, relieved that Romeo is working overnight and spared from witnessing this.

She was already on thin ice with him all things considered. She’s sure her father would have a cow if he saw her this drunk.

She leans forward, pressing against the partition cage separating them, her gaze locked with his in the rearview mirror. Tension crackles between them during this silent exchange. His jaw tightens when she continues her tirade.

“Is this the same arrogance that led you to Los Pepes?” The mention hits a nerve, causing him to momentarily lose his composure. She smirks, satisfied with the reaction she’s provoked. His stare darkens with intense anger, magnified by her smugness.

How the fuck did she know about that?

As if reading his mind, she continues. “I read the article from the Miami Herald. Got curious, decided to read more on the elusive yet admired Javier Peña.” Another flash of anger courses through him, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles turn white.

“You did some fucked up stuff, agent. Gettin’ involved with killers. How are you not in prison right now?” Her words cut deep, dredging up his past in a way that feels unfair, but she’s hurt and beyond giving a fuck at the moment.

Javier struggles to find the right words, torn between defending himself and acknowledging the truth in her accusations.

“Paloma…” His voice is low with restrained frustration. “You don’t understand––”

“Don’t give me that shit, Javi,” she cuts him off bitterly, her voice cracking with emotion. “I understand enough. I trusted you.”

Each word hits him like a bullet from a gun he loaded himself and fired by yet another woman that he’s hurt. He’s rendered speechless, so much bullshit accumulating to blow up in this very moment. He hadn’t even realized that they weren’t far from her house.

“You hurt people after usin’ ‘em yet somehow the consequences never seem to reach you. And when they do, it’s nothin’ more but a slap on the wrist.”

She contributes to this so-called unfair display of punishment. She can’t bring herself to penalize him with her indefinite absence for the way he shattered her heart.

Instead, she’s acting like an idiot, handcuffed in the back of his cruiser and so pissed that it’s turned her on. Not even ten minutes ago, she was on the verge of telling him to fuck her on the side of the road, teetering on the edge of desperation.

Now she’s full on chastising him.

Javier is trying real fucking hard not to blow up on her, it’s as if she’s had a look into his mind and pulled out all the spiteful words that he repeats to himself every single day. His silence remains, the urge to defend himself faltering.

She groans in exasperation when he doesn’t reply, her shoulders tense from having her arms pinned back by the cuffs, the rough edges digging into her wrists.

She’d never understand, not even if he laid it all out to her in the most vulnerable way possible. Hell, he still can’t sort through his shit without triggering an existential crisis.

Paloma continues with her angry ramblings as they arrive at her house. He once again roughly pulls her from the backseat, fumbling for the key to unlock her handcuffs, desperate to release himself from the fraught situation and rightfully fuck off. He can’t continue to deal with this shit tonight.

Leading her up to the porch, he finally frees her from the restraints. She whirls around to confront him head-on.

“What is your deal?! I need to know. Goin’ around makin’ a girl feel special… spendin’ all your time with her then rejectin’ her just to turn around and sleep with her best friend. That’s low, Javier.” 

His eyes narrow. He should have known that Sloane was the catalyst to all this. It explains her seething jealousy, her emotional outburst at the bar, her current fury.

Despite reading him to filth, he’s undeniably attracted to her and her intense antics. He shouldn’t find this possessive side of her as hot as he does.

“Last I checked, corazón, I don’t belong to you or any other woman in this town.”

Paloma’s eye twitches involuntarily at his remark, the harsh truth of it cutting through the haze of the alcohol. They don’t belong to each other; there are no ties binding them beyond their shared history and tangled feelings. Yet in this moment, with her intoxicated by both tequila and his presence–– he does belong to her. Javier is hers.

He plucks a cigarette from his pocket, needing it desperately considering the rollercoaster of emotions he’s gone through in the last however long. He lets it dangle from his lips as he digs into his back pocket for a lighter.

“That new boyfriend of yours must not be fucking you right if you’re this wound up over who I decide to stick my dick in.”

His petty remark hovers in the air like a volatile spark waiting to ignite. Her chest heaves with indignation, whole body vibrating with the raw intensity of her feelings. She doesn’t hesitate, her hand moving swiftly to deliver a resounding slap across his cheek. The unlit cigarette drops from his lips, forgotten as it lands on the ground beside them. Javier remains still as he absorbs the sting of her palm against his skin.

They lock eyes in a tense standoff, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Her breaths come in rapid bursts, her heart pounding in her chest. Without warning, she lunges forward, her lips crashing against his in a desperate, fervent kiss.

His initial surprise gives way to instinct as he responds to her, his lips moving against hers with a hunger born from their shared, toxic yearning. But as her mouth opens to deepen the kiss, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue, a reminder of her intoxicated state. He pulls back gently.

“No, please don’t do this to me again…” She whimpers out softly, her eyes filling with tears as her hands cling to the fabric of his shirt.

“We can’t… not now, cariño you’re really drunk.” The instant switch in her tone and body language is enough to trigger his tenderness, his hands coming up to rest atop of her balled up fists against his chest.

The pure vexation and trepidation from before begins to simmer out, both of them having reached the peak of their respective moods and now suffering from the declining slope that follows.

His rejection this time around doesn’t sting as much as the last. There’s a bittersweet clarity in knowing that he’s choosing restraint over indulgence, respect over desire.

“I-If I wasn’t drunk… would you have fucked me?” She blurts out, bottom lip quivering slightly as she waits for his response, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what he might say.

He hesitates, a myriad of emotions flickering across his features. He leans forward instinctively, steadying her as she wobbles on unsteady legs.

“Let’s get you inside and in the shower. You need to sober up a little before getting into bed.” Javier ignores her question all together, removing her hands from his chest as he carefully maneuvers her towards the front door.

“I got it.” She tells him with her head hung low, reaching over to a nearby flower pot and digging out the spare house key.

She, in fact, does not got it when her attempts to unlock the door fail as she struggles to get the key in. Javier takes over gently, letting them both inside.

Getting her up the stairs proves to be more of a struggle than he anticipated. She clings to him, her grip tight and insistent, bombarding him with questions about his night with Sloane.

Am I as pretty as her?

Did she do it better than me?

Do you have feelings for her?

Again, he ignores her because it’s all ridiculous and she’s too drunk for him to thoroughly explain that he doesn’t see Sloane like that at all.

She was a mistake. A lapse in his judgment. A reminder of how he’s no good for Paloma.

They reach the bathroom and he gently lowers her onto the closed toilet seat. He turns on the shower, the sound of running water filling the room with a soothing rhythm. When he turns back, she is already beginning to undress, her movements slow and unsteady.

He averts his eyes quickly, a flush creeping up his neck at the proximity and intimacy of the moment. Clearing his throat, he steps out right as the last article of clothing is shed.

“Gonna get you some water. Please be careful in there.” He’s hesitant to move from his spot at the door in case she falls over.

She grumbles out a brief ‘okay’ and after a few more seconds of hovering, he quickly goes to the kitchen to get her some water and painkillers.

He’s back in her room now, turning the bedside lamp on to get everything ready for her to get some sleep.

Javi pauses for a moment. It’s the first time he’s ever been in this space and he feels like he’s intruding on her. He gets a sense of déjà vu, recalling the day he had been in Jessica Valadez’s room and the similarities between her and Paloma.

He rummages through her dresser until he finds a t-shirt and some shorts, walking down the hallway to the bathroom where she’s just shut off the shower.

“Got some clothes for you. Here.” He sticks his hand through the cracked door and not long after does she take them from him silently, shutting the door. Javier lets out a shaky sigh, leaning against the wall and giving himself a second to breathe.

She stares at her reflection with teary eyes, feeling a little lighter after her shower. If it were up to her, she would have stayed in there all night; comforted by the warm water hitting her skin.

With him on the other side of the door, she doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s transpired. Why does she always have to do this when she’s under the influence? She’s already starting to hate herself for it now, she knows the embarrassment will only be worse when she wakes up tomorrow with a killer hangover.

After getting dressed in the clothes he brought her (a sweet gesture that makes her want to wring his neck) and brushing her teeth, she emerges from the bathroom, her hair damp. She walks past him without a word, heading straight to her bedroom.

Javier hesitates, torn between leaving now and staying a bit longer to ensure she’s okay.

His feet carry him to her bedroom door before his mind catches up. “I’m headed out,” he announces awkwardly, his gaze fixed on her as she crawls into bed. “Drink some water and take those pills.”

Paloma nods faintly, doing as he instructed, her eyes avoiding him as she curls up under the blankets.

He wants to say more, to fix things somehow, but he knows he can’t. Not tonight, not like this.

“Can you come here, please?”

Her words carry a vulnerable tone that tugs at his heartstrings, having him walk over to her.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you want me Javi?” Her voice trembles slightly, head sinking deeper into the pillow. Her sad, twinkling brown eyes plead with him, searching for answers that have eluded her for too long “What don’t I have that all the others do?”

He feels a pang in his chest, kneeling beside the bed and bringing himself to eye level with her. He can’t bear to see her like this, questioning her worth because of his shortcomings. He knows it’s not about what she lacks—it’s about his own fears and insecurities.

“Cariño, you have so fucking much,” he murmurs sincerely. His fingers reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She’s so beautiful. “You have this warmth, this passion... It scares me, Paloma. How strongly I feel about you.”

He searches her eyes, hoping she’ll understand, hoping she’ll see that it’s his own tensions holding him back, not any fault of hers. But he knows words alone won’t heal the wounds he’s inflicted. He wishes he could erase the pain he’s caused, the doubts he’s planted in her heart.

Her gaze holds his, a mixture of longing and hurt swirling in his mesmerizing brown eyes. She doesn’t verbally say anything, but her stare speaks volumes—pleading for an explanation.

“But why?”

“‘Cause shit has never worked out for me.”

“So you just gave up entirely?”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“Yeah. Until I met you and realized how lonely it is giving up.” Paloma hiccups softly, her words tinged with vulnerability, nuzzling into his touch against her cheek. “Do you like being lonely, Javi?”

There’s a long pause.

“…No.” He’s never been this honest before.

She scoots closer to him, closing the gap between them. Her hand reaches up tentatively, fingers brushing against his. “Then don’t be. I’m right here.”

Javi looks down, pulling his hand back. “You need to sleep this off baby.”

Her brow furrows slightly, frustration clear in her expression. She wants him to stay, to talk, to unravel the complexities between them. But she knows he’s holding back, keeping his distance for reasons she can’t fully grasp.

“Don’t fuckin’ dismiss me—”

“I’m not dismissing you. We’ll talk about it another time when you’re sober. Right now you need to sleep.”

“Promise me.” Her voice is insistent now, “Promise me that you’ll actually talk and be honest when we speak again.”

He knows he owes her that much—honesty, vulnerability, a chance to mend the fractures he’s caused. He nods slowly.

“Si, te lo prometo. Pero ahorita, mi palomita, tienes que descansar (Yes, I promise you, but right now, my little dove, you need to rest).” 

He reaches out again, this time his hand finding hers on the bedspread. Their fingers intertwine briefly, a silent reassurance passing between them. He squeezes gently before standing.

Her lips curl up into a small yet sweet smile, feeling newfound hope at the prospect of making amends with Javier and finally getting what she actually wants.

No fantastical tales of peace and power, no outlandish adventures and sneaking around, no deceit.

All she desires is to be wanted by him.

He lingers by the door again. “We’ll talk soon.”

Paloma nods, “Goodnight, Javi.” Her eyes follow him as he leaves the room. Alone now, she curls up under the blankets, drunken thoughts swirling in her head. She wants to believe in his promise, to hope that their next conversation will bring clarity and maybe even something more.

Now outside, Javier bends down to pick up his discarded cigarette, leaning against the car and lighting it. He runs a hand through his hair as he exhales the smoke heavily. He’s committed now, committed to confronting his own fears after half-assing it for so long. It won’t be easy, but for Paloma, he’s willing to try.

[just-some-random-blogger]

hey gorgeous! it's me! thank you so much for writing it! tbh, it's not what i expected but AGWHWHWG bc soft!daemon? i LOVE it!! such a cutie!! i still do need him to suffer more, though... what do you think about maybe a part 2? where he's the one who (finally) gets teased and gets the taste of his own medicine (reader flirting with HM ser stong?). so the demanded apology with tears on the knees (not nsfw) because this pretty prick deserves it :) again, thank u so much for writing it! sorry if it's too much, never wanted to make you uncomfortable! take care!

Since You Asked So Nicely

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Harwin Strong x Reader

Summary: Your feud with your husband was about to meet a swift and strong end.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of violence, daemon's still such a man, fem!reader, wife!reader, i love strong puns XD, married couple quarrels, harwin daddy, jealous!daemon, fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: the title of this fic is my reaction to you nonnie. honestly i kinda felt both bad that my fic wasn't enough T_T LIKE PLEASE I TRIED then annoyed like HOW DARE YOU NOT LIKE IT THEN MAKE ME WRITE SMTH ELSE HADhASLHDA HAHAHAH nah but then you asked me so nicely so i thought ok fine i'll give it another wack i hope that i'll finally be enough for you T_T i guess our theme for today is petty 🥰 WIAT GURL THESE GIFS SIDE BY SIDE TOGETHER FUCK THAT SHIT IM DEAD BYE Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony Part 1 (which I think you should read) "It Takes Two"

We had not spoken since our struggle last night. In the flames of my anger, I woke up before him and made no effort to alert him of my errands or duties for the day. That of course, also meant, he was certainly riveting in annoyance and betrayal having woken up alone after pleading mercy to me until he and I both fell asleep.

In all his pride and morose wailing, still, he did not find it in himself to ask for pardon. He instead wasted his breath in trying to convince me he did it as a game, and that I should not have thought much of it, that he would happily get on his knees but for the exact opposite thing I truly want him to do.

And even now, the man is as insufferable as he can get. Since it seems it was nary clear that I did not enjoy the sight of him divulging his attentions to other ladies at court, he did, what? Yes of course, the very exact thing.

Each ear of his had a young lady giggling bashfully into it. I had gone a great many lengths to ignore it, but then it began to be unbearable when I finally noticed the lords and ladies turn from my husband to me, muttering and laughing under their breath.

Normally, I wouldn't even bat an eye over the opinions the pricks had of me or my husband. Here and now however, it was hard not to feel like a dunce, when I was the princess, yet I was standing alone, and my prince had ladies fawning over him left and right.

Enough.

I will not grant him the satisfaction of humiliating me any more than he has. I'm leaving.

Daemon watches, perking at the sight of the exit. He steps forward, away from the irritating voices, smirk falling, for it was never truly genuine in the first place.

His face hardens when there is an interception.

"My princess," a deep voice speaks, as a large man blocks me.

I lift my gaze and stop before we collide. Immediately, my spirits are lifted at the sight of the dark man's hair and beard, "Harwin."

His lips curve at the familiarity of my addressing.

"I thought you were off, doing gods-know-what again?"

Harwin chuckles, shaking his head, "the gods have allowed me to accomplish my tasks swiftly.

He raises a brow and places his hands behind him, "you're not leaving when the festivities have not even commenced yet, are you?"

I scoff, crossing my arms, "festivities are naught this eve, ser Strong."

"That is because," he steps forward, taking my hand slowly, "you and I have not yet shared a dance."

I roll my eyes at him, "you're a poor partner."

"And that is precisely why the festivities will commence."

I snort, smiling up at him, as he smiles back down. He takes my expression as wordless agreement. Harwin spins me once before leading me to the dancefloor. I chuckle at his theatrics. Poor he may be in dancing, he's always been good at making me smile.

I press slightly against him as his hand falls to my back, the other clutching my arm delicately.

"Tell me, Winne," I grip his firm shoulder as we glide with the music.

He snorts at my archaic pet name for him, rolling his eyes as he licks his teeth in amusement.

I am amused by his reaction, pleased to know that the name still held him tightly in annoyance, exactly like how it did when we were younger. I chuckle before deflating, "do men normally think it a game to toy with their wives' feelings?"

Harwin's amused expression fades. He grunts and spins me around, using the opportunity to eye Daemon, who was undoubtedly already looking at us.

When his eyes dart back to me, he purses his lips, "indeed this night is not at all festive to you, little doe."

I turn away from him, aimlessly looking at his collar to avert my glare elsewhere. He did not mean to trigger my anger, what he said was his pet name for me as children, but it had been since overshadowed by my husband's musing of the name; he called me his little doe in times he came to me as a predator and I appeared to him like prey.

My gut groans in annoyance.

Harwin notices my discomfort and does me the courtesy of changing the subject, "tis unfortunate for me to announce a tonne of men believe riling wives a thrilling sport."

I turn back to him; the darkness in my face melts when I catch the concern in his. I purse my lips tightly, pushing a stray curl away from his face, "and do you hold the same regard, Strong?"

"Hmm," he looks away to think, "my princess would be pleased to learn that as a child, I had a terrible playmate," Harwin turns back to me, raising his brows, "she was the most entitled little girl I ever met, was so viscous and strong."

I snort.

He mimics, "though perhaps not as strong as me. Still, I am aghast to ever think of crossing or treating a woman poorly, not even because I think it descent, but merely for I fear the rage of she."

I cannot help the fond smile that spreads on my lips. I tilt my head as we circle the room, continuing our movements, "I suppose it is the gods irony that the Strong boy fears a strong girl."

Harwin laughs, twirling me around once more. I break into a chuckle as he does so, a bit dizzy when he pulls me back close to him. I am heaving slightly when he pulls me close.

"I suppose it is, princess," he tilts his head.

In that moment, the song ends and each dance partner parts, clapping as they did, us included.

"Care for another dance, Winnie?" I ask, extending my hand to him.

"Actually," he leads me to the side, "I was wondering if you wanted a change of pace," Harwin brings us by a column, "I feel that, in all his pettiness, the prince has not yet told you that the flowers he requested for you have recently just been planted in the gardens."

"What?"

Harwin huffs, "I had the same reaction when I heard of it. Your husband is a fu-"

Instantaneously, I am pulled aside and a string of, what I knew to be High Valyrian curses, were muttered tightly. Daemon seethes, gripping me with his iron hand, "and what of her husband, Strong?"

Harwin is unfazed by the glare Daemon throws.

I wince at how rough his grip is on me, "unhand me!" I bark, shoving Daemon off me. He does not budge and tightens his grip further. It is clear to me Daemon is too blinded by his rage to realize he is hurting me.

It is because of this, Harwin finally steps in. He barks, yanking Daemon off me, stepping between us, "you're hurting your wife, prince!"

Of course the action only caused further injury to me, Daemon's nails grazed my skin, and yet I am thankful for Harwin's interception.

The vein on Daemon's neck flares as he presses forward, closer to his opponent, "you have no right to tell me what I do with my wife!"

The area of my arm that Daemon grabbed throbs in pain. Tears fog my eyes as I watch the two of them squabble.

"I have every right to protect the princess," Harwin flares, "especially from the likes of you."

"From the likes of me?!" Daemon narrows his eyes.

The crowd breaks into a shocked gasp when the prince lunges and grabs Harwin by the collar, muttering something in High Valyrian, then threatening, "I best kill you. Who the fuck do think you are to tell me anything, vermin?!"

"Daemon!" I quip, prying him off Harwin, "unhand him!"

"YOU KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!" Daemon seethes, hands digging deeper into Harwin's clothing.

"KEEP YOUR ATTENTIONS ON HER THEN!" Harwin barks back, overpowering him, twisting Daemon's hands off him and shoving him away.

The next instant, the attentions of the entire room is upon us. I feel my blood pump as my head spins, unsure of what to do next. I still manage to act swiftly before anything else can happen.

I walk over to Harwin, calling out to him. "that's enough, please just-"

"Why are you going to hi-" Daemon starts, grabbing me again. He cuts himself back and recoils when I whine and draw back at the contact he makes at my sore arm, the arm he most definitely bruised.

I snap at him, throwing him a hot glare. He looks bewildered. He looks guilty. He doesn't even meet my eyes and instead is staring at my arm. I point a finger at him, "I'll deal with you later."

I turn back to Harwin, placing my hands on his chest, pushing him away, "go home, Winnie."

Daemon's head cocks, his lips twitches in an unpleasant manner, "Winnie?"

Harwin gently takes my arm, leaning in, "he hurt you."

I feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I fight them off as I whimper, "please, just go."

Harwin brushes his calloused hand on my injured arm before walking back and storming off.

When I turn back to Daemon, he is looking at me with a stoic expression. I grit my teeth and grab him, dragging him away with me as we leave this damned hall.

I take him all the way to our shared chambers, but I stop just outside the door. I finally release him and begin to berate him, "are you satisfied?"

Daemon stiffens at the sound of my shrill voice.

I heave, "not only did you ruin my night, you ruined everyone else's!"

His eyes evade me. His lips part when he sees my arm. He reaches out to me and I recoil, "don't you dare fucking touch me."

"I didn't mean-"

"YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO DO ANYTHING BUT YOU STILL DID THEM!" I scream. I poke his chest in anger, "you claim it's all a game to you, and yet you're the only one that ever enjoys it!"

"It's all that cunt, St-"

"IT'S YOU, DAEMON!" I flare, "It's always you!"

Daemon's face contorts. His breath hitches. He walks closer, "my love, please-"

"You hurt me, Daemon!" I word carefully, wanting it to finally get through his thick skull, "not just tonight, but for the past weeks!"

He calls out my name but I raise a hand to silence him.

"You're either sleeping on the floor or sleeping elsewhere."

He gulps, ready to plead his case again. I cut him off before he can even open his mouth.

"Speak a word in protest over my generosity and I will chose a far crueler fate for you," I coldly spit, walking toward the door, pushing it open. I look over my shoulder as I walk in the room, "what's it going to be, prince?"

Daemon cringes at the call, brows tightening along with his fists. He deflates and mutters under his breath, "floor."

I turn to him, eyes narrowing, "you were so loud a while ago, where did your fire go, dragon?"

"Floor," he utters walking in the room, stopping once he is in front of me. Daemon's expression is grave as he mutters again, "I'd much rather sleep on the floor, wife."

I pull away from him before he can even attempt to touch me. I walk towards our bed, grabbing a pillow, haphazardly throwing over to him. I glare darkly, "if you are cold, sleep by the fire, dragon."

Daemon calls out my name, wanting to begin his pleas again, but then he stiffens when he watches me walk toward the door, "where are you going?"

I scoff, "how cruel of you to think I'd sleep with a throbbing arm."

"I'll come-"

I turn to him, tears finally running down my cheeks. Daemon freezes in his spot. I huff, looking away from him, "do not show your face to me until I've calmed."

Daemon frowns.

"I mean it."

At last, he finally has the brain to no longer push the matter further.

[zeggyzone]

michaelangelo / david (to carve you out the dark)

chamber/cypher (valorant) tags: mentioned deadeye | omega chamber, name changes, unreliable narrator (only for a bit!), domestic, home, comfort, references to depression, bathing/washing, non-sexual Intimacy, implied sexual content, not beta read, cyphber week 2024

synopsis:

synopsis: after crossing paths with deadeye, cypher avoids the outside world like the plague. chamber wants his lover back. day 1: domestic / "home" / comfort | mini-fic for cyphberweek on twitter!

sfw. 2.3k words.

Cypher seemed to be fine after the whole Omega incident. Amir was not.

His room, normally bleak, has accumulated a stench– a putrid mixture of cigarettes and cherry brandy–, the plates and cups are stacking, and the only thing kept somewhat clean would be his desk.

An ashtray sits to the left of his keyboard, clicking and clacking away at hours God does not consider. Cypher doesn’t even think God would be interested in what he has to offer; a sad, forty-one-year-old man's antics were probably the last thing on his mind; that’s at least what he thought.

The man sits at his desk, typing another wellness journal that Ling Ying had advised him to keep logs of during his episodes– especially after what happened a week ago. His fingers move hastily– typo after typo weaves its way into his review and he wants to claw his eyes out.

He hasn’t removed his mask in days– unless you count the occasional lift of the bottom to get to the bottom of a bottle or the end of a cigarette. Few people have checked on him. Ling Ying knocks on his door every once in a while. Han periodically brings him a plate of warm food. Hazal asked if he needed anything, to which he ignored.

However, Vincent hadn’t talked to him since the briefing.

Cypher believed that to stay the same until he ran out of painkillers, and decided he’d finally have to leave his room. Of course, he could just page Ling Ying for more, but she’d keep it on a specific dosage, and Cypher was not about to run out in a few days time. It’s not like he’d abuse the prescription– no, why would he do that?

So, he slides open the door, and he sees Vincent right outside his door, adjusting his cuff while his fist is up to knock on the metal.

Cypher’s existence is dreadful. Vincent’s is picture-perfect. Cypher feels like a child looking at him. Vincent doesn’t look at him with disgust. It’s more concern.

It’s silent. Staring. Burning.

Cypher tries brushing past his presence, “Excuse me,”

“Amir,” Vincent’s eyebrows furrow, turning in the direction he tries walking off to, reaching out his hand to grab the shorter man (not by a lot, Cypher wants to mention), from the back of his coat, forcefully hauling him back to the doorway. 

“Ow.” Cypher fusses, swatting Vincent’s hand away, turning on his shoulder to look at him. The top shutters on his eyes are angled downwards— angry. Vincent almost laughs. He was like an angry little cat. He bites back his laughter with rising concern.

“You haven’t come out in days.” Vincent begins, fixing his cuff once more, rolling his wrist. “I knock, you don’t answer—“

“You haven’t knocked,” Cypher squints, a small hiccup accentuating his already sluggish words, “You haven’t even paged me—“

“I have knocked, Amir— supposedly only when you were either so drunk you couldn’t hear a simple tap or asleep.” Vincent snaps back, arms moving to highlight the importance of his words as if they didn’t already jab at Cypher enough.

He stays silent. Vincent opens his mouth.

“… thank God I found you before you went off and did something stupid.” 

“Stupid?” Cypher retorts.

Vincent crosses his arms. “Well? What were you going to do?”

Cypher can’t just say he was going to get a bottle of painkillers from the medbay and expect Vincent not to think he was reaching to abuse it.

“Pain meds.” But he says it anyway.

“I think you’re in pain because you aren’t taking care of yourself.” Vincent rolls his eyes, one hand reaching over to push down Cypher’s hat. He flinches. The hand quickly retracts.

“… perhaps I’m too hard on you,” Vincent adds, pliantly tucking his hands into his back pockets. Amir’s shoulders untense at that movement.

“What are you going to do about it, anyway?” Cypher exhales through his nose.

“I’ll make you a meal—“

“You’ll use far too much butter—“

“— and wash the cigarette ash out of your mangy beard. But since you want to be a pain—“

Cypher rolls his eyes behind his mask, “It was a joke,”

Vincent sighs a laugh, “I know, mon coeur.” He says, passing Cypher, looking back expectantly, “You forget that I know how to banter.”

Cypher shakes his head, following Vincent without a second thought.

Their relationship was nothing friendly. Cypher hardly considered Vincent a friend. Their relationship just had benefits, is all— whatever that relationship may be. Vincent often cooked for him after their scenes; after long weeks; especially after a rough day. They hadn’t gotten together since the incident. This would be the first time.

His thoughts lead him to the kitchen with Vincent, sitting at the island while he waits for whatever buttery meal his lover (a work-in-progress title for Vincent; even Cypher doesn’t know what to call him) has prepared for him. His shoulders droop, feigning slumber. Vincent cracks two eggs into a bowl and walks over to the island to wash his hands. Cypher looks up.

“We haven’t talked since the … uh, comment dit-on, the … incident,” He exhales, drying his hands on his apron before returning to the counter, where he beats the eggs in the bowl before dipping two pieces of bread into the liquid.

Cypher clicks his tongue, “Brimstone called your strike team ‘SHATTER-02’, which I thought was incredibly unoriginal—“

“Besides the point, Amir—“ Vincent sighs, “I understand that things get bad for you, but this is terrible. You live in filth and you reek of drugs.”

He doesn’t stop there, “What happened to you was terrible. I agree. I’m here to help you come back from it.”

Especially because it was Him who did it to you, he wants to add.

Cypher rests his chin in his palm, looking at Vincent cook. Deadeye.

He shakes his head.

“Have your wounds gotten infected? Anything I should be aware of?” Vincent asks, picking up the soggy bread and putting it in a pan on the stove.

“No infections. It just hurts.” Cypher complains, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’ll get you a medically recommended dose and we’ll clean you up, oui? Is that of interest to you?” Vincent asks, brow raised.

Cypher tilts his head, “Will we share your fancy cigarettes?”

“No.” Vincent squashes his expectations— probably for the best. He imagines his double used the same brand. Even though Cypher smoked them with no problem, he didn’t want to remind him of that. At least… not while he was here.

“Luxuries aside… it sounds fine,” Amir says, getting up and walking around the island to stand next to Vincent and watch him cook. He hands the spatula over, and Amir begrudgingly takes it, pushing the toast into the pan to hear the small sizzle before he flips it.

It’s quiet from then on out. Amir flips the other buttered piece of toast and hands the firstly finished French toast to Vincent, who shakes some cinnamon on the top. He finishes it off with some syrup. He does the same for the next piece of toast.

Amir watches. Vincent empties his left hand and puts his thumb through the back belt loop of Amir’s coat. He rubs— so gently.

It is removed seconds later.

Cypher exhales, previously holding his breath. Amir’s face swells up. Comfort? Contentedness? He inhales.

He’s probably hung over. That is a good explanation.

Before he knows it, the apron is off and Vincent plates the dish, gently patting Amir on the shoulder, beckoning him over to the hallway once again. Amir grabs two water bottles from the fridge before retreating with his lover.

Because he’s had a long week. And that’s it.

The trip is short, and they make it to Vincent’s bedroom now. It’s neat, a bit rough around the edges here and there, yes, but it’s in a much better state than Amir’s. His LED screen is powered on, displaying Toulouse, Paris; home to France’s Aeronautics industry– Vincent’s hometown, from what Cypher gathered.

His bed is the same as always. Navy blue sheets, an abstract comforter, and gold satin pillowcases that he had spent far too much money on, and intended to use them until they frayed. When Amir found that out, he laughed in his face.

“I’ll help you wash up, yes?” He repeats, standing in front of Amir and gently placing his hand atop his hat, looking down at him. Amir scoffs out an affirmation, pushing away Vincent’s hand. He dares not to make eye contact again. He doesn’t know who he’ll see.

“We can do it the same way we always do,” Vincent says, voice gentle and sweet.

Amir missed it.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, hand rounding the top of Cypher’s hat. He nods.

Vincent removes the hat, walking over to put it down on his bed. “Go inside and call me when you’re ready. Take your food too.”

“What, will you feed me as you bathe me?”

Vincent titters. “That was the plan, yes. Maybe I didn’t think this through.”

“But of course,” Amir jests, “you never do.”

Vincent shoos him off.

French toastless, he walks over to his drawer, carefully taking out a long pair of shorts he wore to sleep, replacing his outfit with simply that and the undergarments he was wearing. He strips off his vest and dress shirt, folding them neatly on the bed for later use.

He hears two knocks from inside the bathroom, and he knows Amir is ready.

Vincent slides the door open, quick to turn off the lights and shut the door. He knows the routine all too well. Turn off the lights.

Shut the door.

Climb behind Amir.

Vincent crosses his legs behind his lover, craning himself to align his nose with Amir’s neck, breathing him in. He laughs– he smells terrible.

“We said no kisses, Vincent.”

“That wasn’t a kiss,” a graze of his lips, “nor that.”

His lips graze behind Amir’s left shoulder, and Vincent’s nose rests just above his trapezius, leaving peppered kisses along the backside. Amir leans his head back, “You never listen.”

“Guilty as charged,” Vincent smiles against his skin. Amir gently taps his nose with the showerhead, and Vincent happily takes it, pulling the faucet knob. The shower roars to life, and cold water hits Amir’s leg, making him flinch. Vincent chuckles, adjusting the temperature to a tolerable warm.

“I’ll wash your body first,” he says, “then we’ll get to your crusty beard.”

He rubs at Amir’s stubble. Amir pulls his hand away with the same laugh bubbling in his throat.

Vincent takes an exfoliating loofah, from his shelving (when you shower in the dark, you tend to memorize where specific things need to be) and applies body wash to it, lathering in his hands before scrubbing at Amir’s back, gentle and soft in circular movements.

Amir could fall asleep, just as he almost did many times before.

The loofah makes its way down Amir’s arms. Vincent gets to his chest and memorizes where the stab wound from the previous week resided (just below his left clavicle) and avoids it, tenderly rubbing around the sides of it to avoid any discomfort on Amir’s end, even if he’d tell him if he was.

“Neck,” Vincent mumbles. Amir hums and tilts his head up so Vincent can reach. “Can you do your legs?”

“I don’t know…”

“My goodness, mon coeur.”

A laugh, cigarette befouled, “I can.”

The exchange is swift, and Vincent softly tucks Amir’s hair back to wet. “Is this okay?”

Amir stays still. An exhale.

“Just be careful.”

Vincent nods, pressing a kiss behind his ear, “Okay.”

Once Amir’s hair is completely dampened, Vincent puts down the showerhead and puts a generous amount of his expensive shampoo in his hand, carefully lathering it into Amir’s strands. He does it slowly, careful for any injury there.

“I’m done with the loofa,” Amir mutters, picking up the showerhead and rinsing off the rest of the soap from his body and the sponge.

“I can take it,” Vincent responds, taking it from the older man and placing it back on its respective shelf. He returns to massaging the soap into Amir’s head, using his fingernails to drag the grime out. “I must buy you curl product.”

“No need.” Amir responds, “They will flatten anyway.”

“At least then you’d have something to take care of,” Vincent argues lightheartedly, “allow me? Please? Just this once, mon amour?”

He knows Amir loves it when he calls him that. “Fine,” Amir sighs, “only because I know you will do it anyway.”

Vincent laughs, “Because I never listen.”

“Precisely.”

The showerhead is exchanged with a gentle tap of the shoulder, and Vincent washes the soap out of his lover’s hair, angling it so it won’t get in his eyes. He wrings it shortly after, pulling the conditioner bottle from the shelving.

“Can I wash your face for you?” Vincent asks, “While the conditioner seeps in?”

“Don’t you always do that?” Amir asks, tilting his head towards Vincent just a bit– at least, that’s what Vincent thinks with how his head moves while he rubs in the conditioner.

“Yes, but I feel as if I should ask this time around,” Vincent says, voice small.

Amir tenses.

“You may.”

Vincent rinses his hands, pulling his facewash into his hands and arranging a careful amount. Amir turns to face him. His clean hand reaches out to feel Amir’s face– every cavern, every dip, every sag of skin, and every wrinkle, carving him out of the dark like Michaelangelo to David, bringing him to life with each etch. He can imagine him in his wake. What would he do for those lights to suddenly turn on?

Nothing.

He is content with this. He is content with his Amir.

He will bathe him in the dark for years if it means he’ll get to keep him.

For whatever man he might see, he will still be his Amir.

He feels a smile on the other man's face as the other hand comes to wash.

Son Amir.

His Amir.

check out cyphberweek on twt!

as always, my socials twitter tiktok tumblr

and our valorant lore-centric discord server! we’d love to have you! 人´∀｀)

[hydrus]

Version 526

windows

zip

exe

macOS

app

linux

tar.gz

I had a mixed week. I was a little short on time, so this is a simple bugfix and quality of life release.

full changelog

highlights

When you petition in the manage tags/siblings/parents panel on a repository, it typically asks you for a reason for the change. There are some fixed reasons, but now the system will remember the last five custom reasons you enter too. I hope this saves some typing/pasting work for people with clever petitions to make. You can change the number of recent reasons saved (including setting to 0 to disable) under options->tags.

Every multi-column list in the program now has a 'reset the column widths for this type of list' entry in their header right-click menus. It also resizes immediately (an old debug routine that did this for all lists needed a restart). If your thread watcher list goes crazy wide, it should be fixable now! Let me know how it goes.

I added the basic media keys you find on many keyboards to the shortcut system--previous, next, play/pause, volume up, volume down, and mute. On Windows, these keys seem to have a global hook that fires regardless of how I capture it too, so they may not be so useful yet, but feel free to play around with them.

I fixed a stupid logical typo in my new date calculating code that was breaking system time predicates with the same number of months as the current month (like "system:modified time before 2 years 5 months ago" in May). Sorry for the trouble!

next week

There is going to be an important update next week!

Last week, I tried to update OpenCV for everyone, but it caused a dll conflict in the updated build and I quickly rolled it back in a hotfix. We are going to try again next week, which will require 'extracting' users to perform a clean install. Since we are making that change, I have decided to also roll in a long-planned renaming of the program executables. 'client' will become 'hydrus client' and 'server' 'hydrus server'. This part will require updating of custom shortcuts and launch scripts. I will reiterate all this with specific instructions for all platforms in next week's release, and I'll drop reminders for several weeks after.

Next week is also a 'medium size' job week. If I have time and energy, I'd really like to see if I can get the Qt media player working as an mpv fallback.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Trine [5]

Anselm Vogelweide X Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Part One • Trine Masterlist • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • request info • ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: When Anselm has to go to a meeting Blue gets bratty.

A/N: A MASSIVE, HUGE THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL @lonelyisamyw-0love FOR BETA READING AND SAVING ME FROM BAD SPELLING, TERRIBLE TYPOS, AND QUESTIONABLE GRAMMAR! Also huge thank you to the anon suggesting Blue called reader and Anselm, mommy and daddy. (I will be answering your ask in more detail in the future for sure!)

Warnings: reader is married to Anselm, Blue being a BRAT, then a whiney sub, begging, p in v sex, cream pies, oral (f receiving), grabbing by the neck (Blue receiving), Blue being quite rude actually, Blue calling the reader 'mommy', please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2362

________________________________

Anselm had gone out to an important meeting early, well before Blue had even opened his eyes. 

Your husband had kissed you goodbye, promising to return as soon as he could. 

When Blue found out that Anselm had gone without saying goodbye to him he was insufferable. Pouting and scowling, huffing and puffing as he ate breakfast. (Which was another cause for his distress. You’d already eaten. And despite how you’d kissed his cheek and told him you’d sit with him while he ate he still grumbled and glared. One breath away from throwing a toddler level tantrum.)

“I’m showering.” He had declared with a stroppy throw back of his head, his arms crossed. 

You had smiled despite your best efforts not to, thoroughly amused by his little display. 

Which only further upset him. 

You’d settled in the day room, reading with your legs up on the sofa. 

An hour or so since you’d last seen Blue he came marching into the room, a deep scowl on his face.

He was only wearing the thin silk dressing gown he had decided was his. His hair still wet from the shower. 

He stopped an arm's width away from you, his hands on his hips. 

You watched him out of the corner of your eye and slowly turned the page.

He huffed, sighing irritatedly at your lack of attention. 

You ignored him and suppressed your grin. 

“What are you reading?” He demanded, speaking before you even had a chance to respond. “And why is it more important than me?” 

You hide your face behind the book to stop your laughter from being completely obvious. 

Blue breathes in deeply, scowling. “This isn’t funny!”

You can’t help yourself. “Isn’t it?” You put your bookmark in and close your novel, placing it gently on the floor. 

“No.” He pouts. “It’s not, despite how amusing you’re finding it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Quite the display you’re providing me with.” 

His frown deepens and you can’t help but think he shouldn’t look cuter while he’s trying so hard to be menacing. 

“I want to fuck you.” He says with all the arrogance of a spoilt prince. 

You stare back at him. 

“I said,” he steps closer, going to grab your ankles. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” you tut and move your legs away. 

He gives you the dirtiest look you have ever seen. “Wh-”

“If you’re so desperate to get off,” you nod towards his obvious erection and move so that you’re sitting upright. “You can get on your knees and hump my leg while I read.” 

His face reddens in anger. “I am not a fucking dog that you can just order around,” he leans closer to you, trying to intimidate you  by caging you in, “that you think you can-”

You grab his neck firmly and he yelps, his right hand going to grab your wrist as his eyes widen in surprise. 

Your goodwill with his bratty behaviour comes to a very sudden end. You sit up straighter, forcing him to his knees and squeeze ever so slightly. 

Blue gasps, whining, his pupils dilating. 

“You think because Anselm’s not here you can behave like this?” Your voice comes out in a hiss, the closest to anger he’s ever heard. 

Blue tries to shake his head but your grip hampers his movement. 

“You think I’ll just roll over and let you be so disrespectful?” 

His eyes widen as you squeeze. His words come out in a whimper. “I’m sorry.”

“What was that?” 

He swallows, his throat bobbing under your hand. “I’m sorry.” He says clearer. 

You nod, but don’t loosen your grip. “And?” 

His cock twitches at your firm tone. “I won’t… won’t do it again… I’m sorry.” 

“You better not.” You snarl and push him back away from you. The action isn’t hard, or intended to cause any real pain. But he stumbles back anyway, reaching out behind himself to stop from toppling from his knees. 

You pick up your book and open it, your jaw clenched. 

Blue bites his lip, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as his heart hammers in his chest threatening to break his ribs in two. 

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hadn’t meant to anger you. To make you truly upset. He’d just… wanted his own way. 

Nervously, he tugs at his short hair, shoulders slumped, mind speeding. His thoughts going so quickly he couldn’t even keep hold of them. 

He risks a little glance up to you.  You’re back to reading, seemingly ignoring him again. 

Hesitantly he shuffles forward on his knees, inching closer until you can feel his warm breath on your bare shin. 

He reaches out, lightly placing his hand on your knee with trembling fingers. 

You don’t react. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “Really sorry, I…” He swallows pitifully and shuffles closer. He presses his face against your leg, rubs his cheek against your skin as he kisses you lightly. “Please,” there’s a little hitch in his breath as he tries to not let his emotions completely overwhelm him. Tries not to drown in them.

He doesn’t know what’s happened, what’s wrong with him. He used to just take whatever and fuck whoever and now… now he’s here practically sobbing on his knees for your attention. And he’s never felt so aroused in his life. 

“Please,” he drags his lips up higher to your thigh when you don’t stop him, kissing and licking at your soft skin. “Please,” he groans, he just can’t help it, as he slowly presses your legs apart and you yield. 

“Please,” his eyelids flutter as he moves the skirt of your dress up and sees you’re bare underneath. Heat sizzles along his spine and he moans wantonly, gazing at your pretty cunt. 

He glances up at you, rubbing his thighs together and bowing his back ever so slightly to get some relief on his aching cock. 

You’ve put the book to the side and your expression has softened somewhat. But still not enough to reassure him he is back in your good graces.

He licks his bottom lip nervously, “please?” 

You cock your head to the side and watch him for a moment. “You think you deserve it? After how you behaved?” 

He closes his eyes and hangs his head, “no.” His voice is soft and submissive, just on the edge of breaking. 

Gently you take his chin in your hand and raise his head up. He gazes at you, blinking heavily with shiny and confused eyes, but moves with you when you guide him forward between your legs. 

His breathing hitches, excitement pooling in his belly as he moves ahead of your touch, pushing your skirt up completely around your hips and licking a long, slow line through your folds. 

You bite your lips together to stop the moans from escaping your throat, but you needn’t have worried, Blue’s own groan is loud and drawn out. Vibrating through you as his tongue circles your clit.

He sucks it into his mouth, whimpering and whining and inching as close as he can, burying himself between your legs. He rubs the length of his cock weakly against the edge of the sofa as he spreads you wider, sinks his wicked tongue in deeper before he drags it upwards in a tortuous slow lick. Lapping at you like you were his only source of oxygen, drinking down your slick like it was ambrosia. 

He moans with every movement, eyes closed in bliss as he presses his hands into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, practically bending you in half against the back of the sofa as his tongue seeks out every single part of you. 

You hang onto the back of the settee for dear life, unable to stop the gasped breaths from leaving you now as he rocks and licks, sucks and whines. Your wetness mixes with his salvia, smearing over your folds and his cheeks as he makes a mess of you. 

It’s so warm, and wet, and oh god when he looks up at you, eyes lidded and pussy drunk you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. 

You groan his name, pressure coiling so tightly in your belly as you buck against him. You barely get a seconds warning before a final swipe of his tongue has you coming hard. 

You cry out as pleasure flows through you, tensing your muscles and turning your bones to jelly. 

Blue whines as your release hits his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he keeps moving, trying to prolong your pleasure as long as he can. 

As your shakes still he slowly moves back, his face shining and wet. You breathe deeply, spaced out for a second from how hard you’ve come. 

Blue gets up to kneel on the very edge of the sofa in between your thighs. You don’t quite register what he’s doing at first until he presses the back of your thighs once more, folding you up on yourself slightly and noches his leaking, red tip at your entrance. 

“Blue-” your question becomes a deep moan as he just sinks into you, stretching you so wide and filling you so perfectly. 

He bites his bottom lip hard, his eyes still hazy and spaced out. He gasps, as he moves, plunging deeper. “Don’t worry, I’m not,” he groans, “I won’t cum, I don’t deserve to cum,” he bottoms out and breathes deeply, composing himself for a moment. 

Your walls pulse around him and he sobs at how good the sensation feels. He swallows and pulls out half way before sinking back in, starting a deep and tortuous pace that has your spine bowing. 

“I want you to cum though,” he babbles, keeping his thrusts even and deep, watching your face as you moan and clench around him. “Want you to feel so good, want to show you how sorry I am,” his voice raises at the last word as you buck and he seemingly slips deeper. “Want you to cum all over me, I’m just your toy, just your toy to fuck and feel good mommy,” he moans loudly, his hips starting to move on autopilot as your heat squeezes him and pulls him closer. 

He bites his lip, a flush on his face and neck the second he realises what he said. “I, I-”

“It’s okay Blue,” you moan, hardly able to string three words together without moaning as he strokes your walls, repeatedly hitting perfectly inside with every thrust. He rocks his hips upwards every time he sheathes himself inside, rolling his pubic bone against your clit in a long drawn out stroke that drives you to the point of insanity. 

You didn’t think you’d be able to come again so quickly, but your orgasm is hurtling towards you at lighting speed. Your thighs shaking with every thrust and every moan from his lips. 

You groan, “You’re gonna,” another long gasp leaves you as his hips snap against yours, “gonna make me cum again Blue.” 

He whines, his own muscles shaking from the exertion of the angle and from trying to fight off his own orgasm. 

“Noone’s ever made me cum so fast from-,” you moan, your eyes screwing shut. 

Blue’s own whine joins yours, harmonises with the sound as he leans closer, places one foot on the floor for better leverage. 

You scream. The angle change shatters you into pieces, liquid pleasure flowing out and filling your veins as you shake and pulse around him. 

Blue gasps, keeps moving as best he can as he groans and watches you come apart completely on his cock. 

He swallows, mouth dry as you finally relax, breathing hard. He wants to cry, he wanted to see you cum for longer, see that pleasure on your face for hours and hours. He bites the inside of his mouth, about to move back and out of you when you wrap your left leg over his hip, halting his movements. 

He looks at you quizzically, “I?”

“Cum in me Blue.” Your voice is tired and fucked out, but firm. 

“I don’t deserve-”

“Are you questioning me?” 

He shakes his head rapidly, wide eyed. 

“Good.” You buck up against him. “Then cum for mommy.” 

He moans. His hips rutting against you of their own accord twice before he empties himself in you with a cry. Tears flowing down his cheeks as he practically cums on your command. 

His arms give out on him as his orgasm rockets through his body and you hold him in your arms, cradling the back of his head as he shivers and shakes. 

“Mommy, mommy, thank you,” he whines, sobbing and blabbering. “Thank you.” 

You kiss his temple as he calms, as his breathing evens out. “Feel better?” 

He nods against your neck. 

“You’re not going to act like a brat like that again for me, are you?” 

He shakes his head quickly. 

“Or I won’t be happy.” You stress the last word and he looks up at you quickly with his large shiny eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. I promise.” 

You nod once.

“I…” he swallows. “I was… upset…”

You raise an eyebrow at him to continue. 

“I thought… I thought you, me and Anselm were going to be together the whole day and I…”

“You had a tantrum because he had a meeting.”

Blue nods again embarrassed. 

You breathe in deeply, “maybe Anselm is right, maybe I do spoil you.” 

He shakes his head quickly, panic greying his face. “No, no, no, you don’t, please, I promise I’ll never do it again, I-I,” he breathes in rapidly, “I’ll never make you sad again, mommy.” He bites his lip again, embarrassed that that word slipped out again, but you stroke his cheek and kiss him lightly. 

“Alright.” You kiss him again, deeper this time and he moans as he melts into your embrace. “It’s okay.” 

He nods. “Sorry.” 

“I forgive you.” You kiss his temple and hold him tight as he snuggles against you. 

“But I’m gonna have to tell Anselm about this when he gets home.” 

____________________

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