#awed by the beauty and power of them. yet at the same time they are so terribly tragic.. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkrelish · 1 year ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶The garage gets slammed with clients, and the clear delineation between workplace flirting and PDA is put to the test when stolen kisses in the storage closet aren't enough, over the clothes touching leads to frustration, and getting interrupted in the breakroom leaves Eddie aching.✶

NSFW — smut, porn with plot, dry humping, oral (receiving), pussydrunk!eddie, horny depravity at work, van sex, masturbation, swallowing, teasing, sexual tension, hickeys (giving), reader and eddie are verbally harassed by a customer, protective!eddie, protective!reader, 18+

chapter: 12/20 [wc: 23.7k]

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

AO3

Chapter 12: Satanic Mechanic

The storm triggered rising temps.

————

Monday smacked you awake.

Your digital alarm clock wasn’t worth its price tag when the power flickered, and the blinking numbers of 12:00 seared into your tired retinas, really highlighting the fact that the two fat backup batteries hadn’t been replaced since you lived in a dorm. Whatever—It wasn’t that late, just late enough to cause a sweat when you were half hanging out of Robin’s car, wrestling with a spare umbrella while the sleeves of your light gray Champion college sweatshirt were darkening from ice-slushed rain. Oh, and because that wasn’t enough, the bottom of your pants waded through a puddle in the auto shop’s parking lot, too.

Stupid cursed town.

Swearing under your breath, you sped towards the employee door, and your expectation of a teasing remark from Carl about your tardiness lapsed into stark bewilderment.

You shook off your umbrella, and tossed it in the only available corner inside the cramped garage. Between the shuttered doors were four motley muscle cars parked back-to-back in various makes and models from yesteryears, bright colors announcing themselves amply. As you neared one, a quick shadow passed over the floor from the lobby door opening, widening the men’s muffled voices inside into clear conversation, and closing. You turned to greet them, but the words caught in your chest.

Eddie crowded you two steps backwards, away from the windows, and tucked you to the concrete wall where privacy could be had.

Heat stung your cheeks at the sight of your boyfriend of thirty-two hour’s careful attention on you. Thoughts on thoughts on thoughts wore themselves like a fever under your thick winter scarf. The same fingers he fiddled with to release his nervous tension were once tracing your spine. Not two days ago the big pink tongue he pressed to his teeth licked the intimacy between your breasts. Frazzled curls stood from the rest of his hair as if your hands had been through them time and time again. Soft concern edged the beautiful brown of his eyes analyzing your expression as he did when your bodies were entwined on his couch—yet, in this moment, he idled a measured distance away, guilt weighing heavily on his posture.

The tender rot of apology weakened his tone, “Hey, baby. I’m sorry about not calling. My power’s been out since I got home the other night, and I only just got it back this morning. I hope.. I hope that’s okay.” Reading the quick flit of your eyes falling to his hands and back up, his voice erred remorseful, “I promise I would’ve called.”

“Aw, handsome,” you released. Slotting your fingers into the cup of his palms, you narrowed the space between you in a squishy tennis shoe step. “Our phone line’s down too, and the power’s been going off and on. You didn’t think I was mad at you, did you? Even if something came up and you couldn’t get around to it, I would’ve understood.” The shelf of his shoulders were dotted with rain. “Were you pacing outside?” Meaning: were you so anxious you made yourself nauseous?

“No, no, this is just from dropping Adrie off. Uhm, I actually.. I know I look nervous—couldn’t help it once I saw you, ha,” he broke into a shy giggle, already sticking his gaze on his thumbs engulfing your knuckles. ��But uhm, I actually wasn’t worried about you being upset with me. I know you said that when I dropped you off, but I’m getting better at not, ah, freaking out. Thinking of the worst case scenario, shit like that.” A glance through his lashes, and his lips stretched into a sly grin, rounding his cheeks. “I know we’re good. You and me.”

“Yeah, we’re good.” You leaned in, a hint of mischievousness marking your suggestive tone, “More than good.”

“More than good,” he repeated in a smiley mumble. “Just didn’t want you gettin’ the impression I’m some jerk who forgets to call his girl.”

His girl, his girl, his girl.

“I’d never think so poorly of the sweetest man alive.”

Magic happened. There, in his labored swallow, and your fluttery blink. An invisible pull encouraging your bodies closer, sliding your shoulder along the cold wall of your workplace. Seeking heat where it was found against his belly, standing the peach fuzz on your arms at attention from a single brush of your fingertips over his jumpsuit. Want, need; a wish to relieve the burn of pride in your chest, longing to reward him for his progress of keeping a level head when he could’ve spiraled into negative thoughts, yearning to kiss his rosy cheeks aglow with respect. But under the guide of his excessively gentle thumb strokes over your knuckles, a truth was earned. To him, it didn’t feel appropriate to kiss where people could see. Where people could fawn, pry, ask questions, put pressure on something so new. The desire was there. Oh, the desire was there in his gaze dipping to your lips, and staying.

Remembering Saturday, you inhaled sharply. “Oh! I didn’t tell you the good news. Robin got a call the other day, and—”

The voices in the lobby grew. One gruffed out—“Hey, you two?”—and you released each other’s hands, jolting apart. “Wanna get up to date on this shitstorm of a week?” Mr. Moore asked, motioning you both inside with two succinct waves of his clipboard.

A feeble look was exchanged from Eddie to you. The good news would have to wait. Talking would have to wait. Discussing the events from the weekend and all the pretty words he wanted you to hear while his mouth was nurturing the intimate skin beneath your paint-stained crewneck would have to wait.

Following your boss to the circle of employees gathered in front of your desk, Carl and Kevin said hello with raised eyebrows, and Mr. Moore flipped through the sheets on his clipboard, catching you up to speed. “So, lucky us," he said, tone betraying the luck, "the storm hit Springfield harder than Hawkins, so the annual Classic Car Show was moved down here this weekend." Rolling his hand, he grumbled—guy said the ol' historic buildings downtown would look nice in photos—"Anyway, all those uppercrust sons’a are gonna start droppin’ their cars off here for last minute maintenance, or whatever damn hell Roy was sayin'. He sent what parts he had, but we'll have to put in an emergency order, and of course the damn phone is still out."

Mr. Moore targeted you. "We can not," he stressed, "can not accept normal customers this week with all these yuppies comin' in. Unless it’s an emergency, just turn them away, or point 'em towards Thatcher's if they need their tires rotated. Got it?"

So, that explains why Eddie's eyes were welded shut in preparation for the arduous day ahead. The cavity between your hand and his could’ve been filled with a supportive squeeze, maybe a silent assurance in the passing touch, but you tore your gaze from the myriad of grievances wrinkling his expression, and answered your boss, "Got it."

Papers were divvied, sighs were had. With a hard clap of Mr. Moore’s meaty hands on each of your shoulders, he guaranteed a generous bonus for the extra work, and dismissed the group. You pivoted to collecting mail-in order forms for car parts in case the phones didn't work by the afternoon, and the men went off to the garage where hours were lost to the heavy clank of tools making clockwork.

As the day yawned to noon, Eddie’s ears were ringing. He fetched his Walkman from the car, and blasted music through its shitty foam cups in effort to destroy his hearing with something preferable. Amongst the mayhem of cars rolling out of the service bay and being immediately replaced by another, he curled his fingers in a small wave at his favorite Office Administrator, but you missed it on account of the old man at your counter needing the keys for his ‘57 Chevrolet Bel Air.

It was a lonely day. A busy day. An aching day where the itch to connect with each other led to melancholy behind every antsy glance through the windows gone unmet.

Your lunch was a limp sandwich eaten between visiting clients, and when Eddie ate, he did it with his back facing you, bent over the work table on the far wall, mixing cleaning solution for an engine block in between sips of Campbell's tomato soup.

In the wait for a muscle car to be exchanged for a truck requiring new brake pads belonging to the mom with two kids in the lobby who needed it for work the next day, Eddie sought you for comfort in the breakroom, but you had walked to the post office after the rain let up, and by the time you got back, you shrugged off his jacket, picked up a stack of clean rags from the storage closet, and used them as an excuse to enter the noisy garage.

Handing off the rags was the closest either of you had been since that morning. Skin contact was bittered by the barrier of his black nitrile gloves, and the interaction was stained by grime sketching the fine lines of his tired face, stress preying on his mood when you pulled away. He needed you.

Miss you, you mouthed.

Miss you, baby, he returned.

Eddie went back to his project. You went back to organizing paperwork. When you checked the phone line, it wasn’t even joy which influenced your forced smile at him through the window. It was just more work when the dial tone answered.

Busy, busy, busy. No respite for conversation, not even between the mechanics. Kevin’s goodbye was offered as the sun hung low in the sky, touching the tree line. Carl knocked on the hood of the car David was working on to get his attention before clocking out for the night. In retrospect, Mr. Moore was the only one who held a proper conversation with Eddie, telling him he’d be in his office for a bit, and he’d stay late to help on the final set of cars.

In the last slants of daylight dragging through tree branches, Eddie focused on the Mustang Mach 1 in front of him. Sun at his back, wiping sweat from his forehead. Wasting his time on small detail work he wasn’t normally paid to do, yet finding some fulfillment in clearing the nooks of leaf debris and polishing excess grease out of the crannies, salivating at the reward at the end of it: a fat check.

Indeed, he was lost in fantasies of how he’d spend his money when a commotion invaded his mind palace, infiltrating the blank air of his cassette clicking to the end of its tape. Eddie pushed the headphones down to his neck, squinting at the windows to the lobby.

His sweetheart’s face was set with bored malice. An air of disregard, but annoyed all the same. Softly narrowed eyes, loose shoulders, crossed legs. Listening to the man who leaned over the heightened front of your receptionist desk with a pointed finger you didn’t care for, and moving your mouth in a rehearsed response. The man’s voice raised, tanned skin gone blotchy. Spitting mad. You flinched at his irate gestures nearing too close for comfort.

Instant. Adrenaline whipped Eddie forward. Muscles flexed into action, constricted, strained, prepared and loaded, roiling with power ripping open the glass door, sending loose papers flying off the black tool cart, including the one with the man’s name he recognized—

How could he forget?

Square jaw, springy curls cropped close to his skull. Light brown hair extending to the shitty wisps on his upper lip not any better than a grandma could grow. Ditch the letterman jacket for a suit and tie all he wanted, but there was no mistaking Andy, best friend of Jason and player on Hawkins’ High basketball team who helped scar Eddie Munson’s frail reputation after that fateful party he never went to.

Someone he was lucky to dodge at most preschool functions by virtue of his son being nursery-aged.

“—It’ll be ready tomorrow,” you finished in uniform curt.

“Listen better, bitch, I don’t have time for—”

“Hey!” Eddie’s voice packed the tiled room in an authoritative boom with the same fury he entered, commanding the space, possessing the attention as papers floated to the ground behind him. Shifting in his stance, his heart pounded against the strict discipline he leashed himself to, gaining control of his volume for your sake. Quieting to a seethe, he forced out, “You can’t speak to her that way.”

The subject of his ire slid his snakey gaze to him, deducing his long hair, his cheap cassette player, his jumpsuit. Sizing him up. Assessing him. Casting judgements.

Holding reign with a steady pupil on his target, Andy straightened himself from the desk. His expression wore neutral, hands pushing himself away from the ledge and rolling his shoulders with casual controlled dominance. His ugly red tie slipped against his white poly-cotton button down shirt at the motion, following his slow turn towards someone he thought so lowly of. “Figures you’d be here,” he said, jaw jutted in a lax chew as if he were sucking on a toothpick. “This the only place that’d hire a scumbag like you? Hm?”

Fingers stretched and flexed. Veins coursed with heated blood. Sweaty palms were crushed closed.

But it wasn’t Eddie who responded—no—it was his little Mouse.

Jumping from your seat, your chair rolled into the rackety filing cabinets behind you, causing a scene with your hand striking the desk. “You can’t talk to him that way!”

Andy arched an eyebrow at your bark, however, he propped his elbow up in a lazy lean on your binder-clipped manila folders, and held a mutual gaze with the man opposite him. “Sweetie,” he patronized, addressing you with a smug crook of his lips aimed to taunt Eddie further, “this devil worshiper here preys on pretty girls like you. Don’t defend his honor. He’s got none.” With a cocky tongue click, he licked his bottom lip, reveling in the storm brewing in his doormat’s eyes. There was history in the words he chose. They were crafted for The Freak of Hawkins specifically. The rumors he was known for. The lies. Also, the truths.

Testosterone suggested violence in Eddie’s deliberate refusal to blink, but anger did not darken his cheeks in reveals of red as they oft do, nor did he rear a fist like you wanted to. Hard pumps of aggression strained the tendons in his neck, creating shadows along the thick blue vein leading to his strong jaw, but otherwise much of his reaction was reserved, contained in his stoney expression and hidden beneath his biding posture, waiting. Assessing. For years he endured his name being spat on, and he was only beginning to understand the toll of surrendering.

“You’re new here, aren’t cha?” Andy spoke to you, but matched the trained stare across from him. “There’s no need to stand up for this creep. He’s just some lowlife who begs for table scraps, and still can’t coerce girls into giving him the time of day. Kinda pathetic, don’t ya think?” Tone sneering to a scoff, he added to Eddie, “S’kinda miracle you managed to procreate.”

“Shut up!”

This anonymous man regarded you finally. Confusion hung heavy on his brow, curious as to why you were so adamant about protecting someone like him. Then, he dropped his head to the side, enough to see you, and raked his glare over your body, pausing his study on one place in particular.

Your jaw dropped at the audacity, throwing a hand over your stomach on instinct.

Andy involved you with a nod. “This another chick you knocked up?”

Quickfire, Eddie snatched starchy fabric and knotted silk in his fist, dragging him in by his tie, smothering his wet grunt of surprise with a vice grip on his shirt. They were the same height, but when pitted against steel toe boots, leather loafers lost. Not that he needed the extra inch. A different danger lurked in Eddie’s minimal movements, reeling the other man closer without much effort. Enough intimidation lived in his clenched jaw and quivering muscles to show he was not tucking tail and rolling over.

“Hey now,” Andy rasped against the solid threat of knuckles digging into the hollow of his throat, taming him from uttering more. He raised his hands in defense, manicured nails atop soft fingers atop softer palms.

“Watch your mouth,” Eddie enunciated, slow and warning.

Knocked off status by the brave chin challenging him, Andy’s nostrils flared, but his amusement didn’t waver. Under pressure, he wrung the corner of his mouth, lifting his fuzzy upper lip in sly charm while he puzzled out the dynamic between the cool-headed receptionist who’d gone rabid at a bit of joking, and the blue-collar mechanic who abstained from standing up for himself, but sure as hell did when it involved you.

A smirk dared to stretch across his face.

Andy tucked his eyebrows in, and pleaded, “Don’t tell me you already brought more annoying spawn into this world.”

Visions of red gushed over Eddie’s scarred, dirty knuckles, but the reality was ripped from him before he explored the sweet relief.

Dying to get your hands on a ghost from his past, you competed for the shirt on Andy's back. Grabbing his shoulder, you tore him from your beloved’s grasp, slinging him backwards on stumbling feet. You didn’t let the fucker catch his footing before you rammed your shoulder into him with all your scrappy might. “You wish you were half as good of a man as he is!” Growled through bared teeth and trembling with malice. “You’ll never compare. You can’t! I feel sorry for everyone you’ve ever met.” Snarled from darker depths than witless gossip about a man you adored, slapping your hands hard on his chest, shoving him. “Get out!” Shove. “Out!” Push. "And if you ever—ever!—bring up Adrie again, I'll fucking.."

His wild eyes searched for Eddie across the room, but you demanded respect.

Harder shove, striking palms where it hurt—making him cough. “Get the fuck out!”

His steps faltered, disoriented by the polarity of the quiet bitch behind the desk being the one to catch him off guard, attacking him before he could gather his dignity and stop. fucking. tripping. “You little—!”

“Out!” You cut a fierce line with your arm, pointing at the streets. “Leave! Out! Now!” Shove.

Scrambling, slipping on the wet tile, the metal corner of the door handle bit his squishy palm, pulling a hiss from gritted teeth. Shove. Point. Bark. He yanked the door open with a slew of words you’d only tolerate from Eddie when he said them in the heat of your bodies joining in sweet passion, and you let him know with a guttural grunt, pushing Andy out and into the parking lot where a puddle of ice water awaited his shoes. Squish, squish, squelch. He found his footing on the cracked pavement, huffing and puffing with haughty swipes at his clothes, dusting them off on the way to his Cadillac.

You followed his retreat with two proud middle fingers, shouting, “Take that ugly hood ornament and shove it up your ass!” When his shoulders squared like he was going to turn around, you yelped and scurried inside, locking the door only to hear him spit on the ground. Gravel crunched afterwards, and you assumed the tire screech was him leaving.

Dry gulp. Pounding heart. Aching wrists. Loud blood rushing everywhere. Vision vibrating from the adrenaline pulsing between your ears. You got your bearings, and turned to Eddie—except, he wasn’t there. No one was in the lobby. No one was in the garage, either. Down the hall there was a sulking shadow cast across the floor, growing smaller as it sat down.

You went towards the breakroom, passing by Mr. Moore’s head peeking out of his office. Creases from a notebook marked his cheek. Groggy and confused, he asked, “You handle whatever that was?”

“I did.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “Good on ya.” He shrank back into the dark room, returning to his nap.

Approaching the round table with caution, you picked the plastic chair next to Eddie and sat gingerly, noiselessly. Hands folded, upper body turned, waiting for him to speak first. And when he didn’t, you prodded. “Are you okay?”

Eddie unlocked his twined thumbs, and dropped a heavy hand on your knee, patting you. “Yeah, I’m okay, baby,” he replied softly. He didn’t pull his gaze from the wall, blinking only when he brought himself out of his ruminations to pat you again. Blank expression, hollow. Legs spread wide, ruling the space while your thighs were tucked tight together, same as any day you’d share lunch while he brainstormed a campaign idea, writing the story in his head and forgetting to hold a conversation with you. But his silence separated you. You needed more from him.

“Do you want a hug?” you asked.

Pat, pat. “Nah, I’m good, I promise,” he said with a bit more sureness lifting his tone.

Staring holes into the side of your boyfriend's face for far longer than it took to lose faith in telepathy, you swallowed through the scratchy rasp taken hold of your throat after yelling at a customer, and guided him, “Can I have a hug?”

“Oh shit, right, sorry!” The cluelessness jumped off of him as he sat up and wrapped his arms around you, scooping you to his chest. Your cheek picked up a healthy amount of dirt when sliding past his, and his headphones smoothed most of his hair from entering your mouth, but as sweaty and filthy the hug was, his crushing hold on you was everything a platonic coworker could ask for after being verbally harassed. A forearm behind the shoulder blades, a kind splay of fingers on the mid-back. Polite. “I’m sorry he yelled at you.”

Arms trapped against his chest, you bunched the collar of his coveralls in your fists, and he hummed into the comfort of your reciprocation, no matter how covert while your boss was one door down.

“S’okay,” you whispered. Nudging towards his ear, you smeared the sweat at his hairline onto your temple in a blessing. “My first job was at a McDonald’s drive thru. I was fourteen. I’m used to men in business suits yelling at me.” Caught between a sympathy snort and cringe, he offered another apology and pulled his face away.

His eyes and smile went soft, losing their strength from a different emotion trickling in. “Should I have decked that guy? Did you want me to do that? Did you want me to stand up for you, and knock ‘im out?”

“And risk you getting an assault charge on your name? Uh, no. I’m more than capable of standing up to a guy who won’t hit back because I’m a woman.”

Nodding against his ego, he took a moment to mull it over, and dropped into a serious tone, “I don’t want it to seem like I was letting him walk all over me, either. Not that long ago I would’ve freezed up. Probably would’ve sat there, taken it, and fixed his car while he watched. Then I would’ve gone home and cried about it because I’d be so fucking mad at myself for not dislocating his jaw. But,” he paused to run his tongue over the back of his teeth, settling the anger he harbored after the years of unapologetic abuse he tolerated.

He exhaled in a two-count, inhaled on three.

Collecting himself, sincerity replaced the animosity. “But since me and you have started hanging out, I can see how wrong he is, and it just—sorta–doesn’t bother me anymore, y’know? Like, I don’t even have to think about it, I know I’m not those things he said.” He strummed his thumb over your shoulder, soothing the lingering fight shivering through your body, invoking care in his words to calm your racing heart, and his. “I kinda lost it when he brought you and Adrie into it, and I’m glad you intervened when you did, before I did something I regretted, but I’m sorry for what he said. Or what he was, ah, implying about you..”

“Wasn’t really an insult, anyway.”

“Hm?”

“You know, as if it’d be a bad thing to be—uh, uh..” Your stomach clenched from the impact of his gaze falling to it. The sentence would never be finished, and it didn’t need to be. Your mindless chatter proved your subconscious thoughts loud and clear. It wouldn’t be an insult to be pregnant with your child.

Panic prickled your nervous system hummingbird fast. Slews of mortification reached your eyes, urging him not to draw conclusions based on something you blurted on the spot, because—because—just—Jesus Christ, man, please move on.

Shifting topics with more tact than his faintly stuttered exhale would suggest, he shook the stiffness from his posture by clearing his throat, and narrowed his eyes in a curious squint. Dropping his head to you, his fingers skimmed the clasp of your bra band through your sweater, and one of his anxieties was stroked into the relationship with a pivotal question, “Can you tell me, are there cameras in here?”

Without looking, you thought of the layout. “No, there’s just the two outside. One facing the entrance, the other facing the intersection. Why—umph?” He stole the concern from your lips.

Crashing mouth on mouth, he moaned at the relief of having you after a shitty day, and you doubled his vigor, dragging him in by his clothes until it hurt. Spine bent, hips to hard plastic, lips smashed against teeth, joints leading to your strained fingertips twisted above his embroidered name tag. You kissed him until it ached, until he was sated, until lungs burned for breath. It was the best change of subject, because when Eddie flirted his bottom lip along yours after you broke for air and his spit mixed with tangy salt on your tongue and gritty earth between your teeth, you wondered if the primal emotion steeped in his heavy-lidded eyes was the result of the same phrase repeating in his head as yours. Knocked up.

“Do you think it’s okay if we kiss like this? As long as we’re alone?”

“Yeah,” you guessed. “I think it’s okay if we’re alone. Not while customers are out there, or in front of the guys. We should be good, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. “I’d like that.”

You accepted his forehead against yours, feeling him sag with a tired groan. Exhausted from responsibilities, emotionally drained and succumbing to the crook of your neck, depending on you to rejuvenate him with tiny, smiley pecks at the top of his ear. Poor man.

As usual, you were the bearer of his weight, trusted to hold him up and be the pillar of strength as his arms fell to your hips, hands at the waistband of your jeans, ambitions decidedly pious as his fingertips explored the ridge of a stretchmark on your lower back. “Ed?” You tucked some loving caresses through the hair at the base of his nape, working circles into his oily roots. “I never got to tell you my good news.”

“Oh!” He piped up, coming into focus, face alight with excitement from your giggle.

“Bobbie got the call, and our apartment is ready!”

There was hardly a predictability to how Eddie would react to things. Sometimes sharing stories about your past in New York would earn his disinterest; sometimes he was eager to listen. Talking about the future was the same. Sometimes his gaze drifted faraway when you brought up the potential of your favorite Chinese restaurant closing before you could have the #4 special again, and sometimes he needled you about learning to drive before he finds you and your bike crumpled in a ditch on the side of the road one of these days.

But worry not, the sunshine grin breaking across his lips warmed you in all the right places.

“No shit?” he released in a breathless, excited laugh. “No more living with the Buckley’s, huh?”

“Mhm! No more competition while solving the Wheel of Fortune, but I think I’ll live. Especially if it means having my own bathroom.”

“Nice, nice, nice. And, uh,” he broke off to trace a pattern on your pants, “And, if I may ask because I’m an upstanding gentleman who wants to lend his strength without the expectation of reward, when exactly do you move in?”

“This weekend.”

“Oh,” he flattened. Voice monotone—Oh. Also known as ‘fuck’ or ‘damn.’ “Corroded Coffin has a gig in Indy this weekend. Drive there Saturday morning, come back Sunday around 3, maybe 4AM, if I rush.” He started mumbling to himself, “But, maybe—if Wayne can watch Adrie on Sunday, I could still— Or if she stays where I can see her and doesn’t get in the way, she can come, and I’ll help bring in big furniture, some heavy boxes. Set up your bed for you, the TV, uh, does the place come with a fridge? I could do that too. Make sure all your outlets work. Could hang some stuff up for you, help you decorate.” You sighed in a way where he’d get the hint to shut up.

He frowned. “What?”

“You don’t need to help us, we’ve got it figured out, but I was trying to tell you the news this morning because—” Quick high-pitched beeps from a Buick made your point. Eddie swiveled around to peek down the hall at Robin’s car parked out front, headlights beaming through the windows. You enunciated for effect, “Because we’re going furniture shopping and packing every night this week, so I’ve gotta clock out early, before the stores close.”

A heavy dose of disappointment jaded his hand falling limp over your thigh. “So, not only do we not get to see each other during work this week because I’m buried under cars owned by dickheads who should take pride in servicing their own vehicles, but you can’t stay late, either?” he summarized to your apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry,” you began, grazing your knuckle along the powdery soot lining his jaw like stubble. Incited by more honks, you picked up the pace, and fit his face to your palms, thumbing his cheeks; collecting him, lifting his chin, guiding him to your lips.

Two hums converged, harmonizing. His handsome nose mashed against yours in order to steal kiss after kiss as two people should when huddled in a private room away from their boss. Sympathetic to his cause, you resisted the urgency of the ticking clock, and worked your hips into his hold, swaying all the closer, consuming the dearness of his prayer when your fully clothed body stood between his legs, melting his stress away.

“Should get going,” you mumbled, brushing through his hair with each subsequent glide of his desperate tongue making it harder to leave.

Instead of a honk, a car door shut, and you pictured Robin stalking up to the door with her lips rolled in, gesturing animatedly at her watch.

Your muscles posed to take a step away from Eddie, but he climbed his hands to your waist, refusing to let go. “Wait! Wait!”

“What? What?” you mimicked.

“We didn’t get to talk about what happened over the weekend,” he insisted, and you took pity on him, raising your brows with a caveat grin telling him he should make this quick. “I wanted to say that our date was perfect. Like, amazingly perfect. Not just the, ah, obvious part, but watching movies and making dinner together was special to me. As dumb as it sounds, even washing dishes together was special to me.”

The bare circles on his cheeks where your thumbs wiped the dirt away plumped up from his grin.

“And then the way you took care of Adrie,” fondness rushed in, eclipsing the fatigue in his voice, “baby, you’re beyond perfect for that. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. You got her to stop crying when I couldn’t—Yes, I can hear her knocking—and you did everything just so exactly right, and I’m so fucking grateful for you, and, wait! Before you go,” he begged you, laughing into another lip-smack on your forehead. You backed away until he stood up, face still wedged between your palms, coerced into following you into the hallway so your best friend didn’t think you’d gone missing without a trace. “I’ll try not to do the whole crying-my-eyes-out and then spilling-my-guts-to-you thing every time we’re together.. No promises, though.”

Almost to the door, you continued to walk backwards, advancing him until the last second when you had to let go. You teased him, “If it becomes a habit, I’ll put ice cream on the grocery list, and we can sob it out together at my place like real friends do. Sound good?” Umbrella, purse, chapstick—check. “See you tomorrow, handsome,” you said on your way out. Eddie filled the doorframe, casting a sharp eye around the parking lot while returning your adoring goodbye.

He curled his fingers in a guilty wave at Robin.

She, with her keen nose, bent to sniff at you, and commented overly loudly, “Your sweatshirt smells like Camels.”

————

Tuesday was a strong, steady build in pressure.

Privacy could be had in the public space between buildings where cars passed on either side, puttering at their leisurely pace before slowing to a stop when the intersection lights flipped red. You bounded up to Eddie carrying two waxed paper cups filled with morning energy, beaming brighter than the dawning rays glancing off the brick alleyway. “Hey! Got you a little somethin’.” That, along with the rocks crunching under your shoes, was his only warning before you were forcing a drink into his hand, and slipping your other arm inside his unzipped jacket, squeezing his middle.

He rocked on his footing and laughed, collecting your head to his chest with a firm palm behind your neck. Your bodies swayed together, ear pressed to the source of his voice; his choppy cadence drawn tight from the sudden rise in eagerness to tuck his chin and mash kisses atop your hair. “Hey, sweetheart,” he breathed, tinted with a stutter from surprise. “You got me coffee?” Spinning it in his hand, he read the shop’s logo stamped onto the cardboard sleeve and put the lid to his nose, smelling the steam piping through the hole. “Mmm, a latte. You didn’t have to go and get me something special like that.”

“I wanted to since I was too busy to call you last night,” you apologized. “Thought you could use the extra caffeine, too.”

Bathed in the teasing glow of sun, you lifted your cheek from the thick scent of burnt tobacco baked into his coveralls, and swam to the heady surface of smoke enriching the crisp air. Raising your nose higher, though, there wasn’t a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Fresh mint followed the thin fog escaping his lips in a visible puff of breath.

Eddie kissed you deep. Wrigley’s Spearmint coated the flavor on his tongue as he dragged it over your bottom lip and across your teeth. The recent ad campaign targeting smokers sponsored his confident lick into your mouth. Lazy and casual, relaxing his arm around your shoulders. Hot coffees tucked to his chest. Pocket below his name tag stuffed with the red and white packaging of foil sticks next to his lighter and Camels, finishing up his morning habit with a clean taste now that he gained certain privileges at work.

“Could definitely do with a pick-me-up from my girl,” he mushed en route to your cheek, pulling away to take the first sip of his coffee and ending with a satisfied mmm.

You vied for his approval. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another sip, another warm ahh fanning your cheeks. His one-track mind instilled bravery in his hand sliding down from your shoulders to the roundness of your ass, groping your hips flush against the metallic clink of the button snaps closing his jumpsuit, bringing you to him.

Regarding you down the length of his nose, he dipped his smoker’s rasp into something rougher, deeper, resonating from the courage in his chest, “Y’know, I used to worry about making things weird at work if I made a move on you and it wasn’t appreciated–”

“Oh?” you interrupted, pointing above you. “Do you.. Do you not see the flashing sign over my head begging you to ask me out?”

“Hush,” he reprimanded you with a wolfish spank over your back pocket. “What I’m saying is that I’m startin’ to see the perks of workin’ together.” He flicked his eyes up to survey the end of the alley, minding the crawl of traffic passing by. Any Hawkins citizen could turn their head and see you two together; fronts touching in the indecent way coworkers shouldn’t. Stomachs brushing in the intimate way acquaintances wouldn’t. Faces nearing, warmth radiating from his full lips holding steady above your silent plea in the eager way friends might not. Hands taking what they want—smooth and strong alike, improper filth—grabbing in the coarse way sweethearts do.

Eddie’s fingers followed the crease at the bottom of your ass cheek, cupping himself a handful, and drawing you into his nicotine and menthol kiss. You wrung a fistful of the back of his coveralls, using him for weak-kneed stability, yanking until fabric strained against the snap clasps, making gaps to where his shirt showed underneath.

Huddled, coffee cups captured in the embrace, your bodies buzzed drunk on indulgence.

In the echoey distance, a shutter door rolled open. “Perks gotta wait, I’m afraid,” you moped, falling short of getting swept into the intoxicating trap throbbing between your thighs when he groaned at the heavy chain rattling, locking one door into place before moving onto the next.

He shook his head, sighing in genuine annoyance at the few minutes you had alone, now over. “Guess we’ll have to sneak around if we want to see each other this week.”

“Yeah?” you drew out, thick and sweet like honey, walking your fingers up his chest. “Need me that badly?” you questioned, mawkish and innocent. “Need me to beat up your bullies, and kiss you better?”

Playful spite painted his grin. “Is that too much to ask for? They’re workin’ me to the bone here, babe. I think I deserve a little pick-me-up after replacing a heater core.”

The second service door creaked and clanked at the top of its slot.

“A little pick-me-up, huh?” you repeated, earning a nose-scrunched amusement at the quick peck you offered him. “Like that?”

“Just like that,” he confirmed, already against your mouth for more.

Just like that—

Even footfalls of heavy boots thudded closer.

Giddy kicks of excitement electrified your nerves. The thrill of sneaking around gripped, bound, and knotted your stomach. Eddie, intending to steal one last treat before his fingers and wrists were fatigued from labor, rocked you forward with his strong palm, but he too was spurred by the endorphin rush, hauling your hips in with too much enthusiasm and causing you to discover more than he’d meant to.

Swiftly separating, backs to scratchy brick, the third shutter door dislodged from the dusty ground and began its clattery ascent. Cool, calm, casual. Racing-hearted coworkers.

Hello, Mr. Moore. Fine day, isn’t it? Dotted cloudy sky with plenty of sun, no rain. Yes, I’ll get started on a pot of coffee in just a minute.

Your boss walked away.

You looked at your boyfriend. Waxy to-go cup poised at his puckered lips, eyes nearly closed to mirthful little crescents and twinkling from your collective shared secrets which grew exponentially. Plunging thoughts, yet you kept your gaze high, deciphering his devilish features instead of analyzing the outline below the waistband of his dark gray coveralls leading to his hand was in his pocket, picturing Eddie’s cock in his fist before noon.

Rock hard only from kissing.

He mocked you lightly—teacher’s pet, people pleaser— “Better get goin’, sweetheart.”

Your features arched to the tune of sarcasm on your tongue, asking him a question he refused to answer with anything but a smirk, “Why? Need some alone time?”

————

Wednesday ripened like boozy fruit.

Thick winter layers were shed for lightweight counterparts; canvas jackets shucked after a cup of coffee, breaking free from the hug of warmth before it riled a worse sweat than the impulses caused.

Just like that—

Treats throughout the day in between vintage cars and pretentious clients. Exploring the perks of a stolen peck in the breakroom after Kevin shuffled out. The favor of a massage along the knotted muscles between his shoulder blades when crouched behind an Impala, where you were changing the trash liners at the workbench, and he was counting lug nuts. Silly benefits like you thanking him in a kiss to your palm, blown from behind your desk after he delivered a stack of invoices, to which he mimed catching it and pressing it to his cheek, walking backwards into the garage in a lazy stride, embracing his dopey grin. “Corny,” he said that time. “Shh, baby,” he said another, when his wandering hand landed in a squeeze on your ass, and your squeal of delight peaked higher than he was comfortable with in the hallway outside your boss’ office, spiking hues of cassis wine across his nose.

Innocent snacks. Quick low-risk indulgences.

That’s how it started, anyway.

“Psst,” you got Eddie’s attention as he strolled past the storage closet on his way to the breakroom for his Chef Boyardee lunch. His elbow jutted a big angle from stretching his tricep, looking like Rosie the Riveter in his royal blue coveralls and red bandana on his head.

When his expression remained exceptionally oblivious upon seeing you peeking out of the narrow room housing dusty metal shelves lined with car parts, you snagged him by his grimey sleeve and dragged him inside. With two people crowding the shoebox shaped space, running into the cardboard boxes of windshield wipers you’d yet to put away was inevitable, as was Eddie ducking around the pull string for the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Your eyes itched and your throat scratched, but with everyone's breaks being staggered to ensure there was someone out in the bay and someone available to answer customer’s questions at all times, your loneliness was agonizing, and his sly smile accentuating his dimple knew it.

“Yeah, sweet stuff?” Already, the lure. The bait of his tone. Dry rasp in his overused voice, hoarse from yelling over the grind of a powertools.

The heavy door crept closed behind him, ajar enough to catch shadows. You backed to the furthest wall. He trailed, brushing his stained fingertips on his hips to rid them of excess motor oil before touching his girl.

But, before he could lift your chin in an overdue kiss, you stopped him dead in his tracks. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” you said, breathy and thin, too high-pitched and fluttery to be sultry. Butterflies had been building in your belly since you first had this idea at your desk, erupting into swarmy impatience as the timing never worked out and you couldn’t get him alone without one of the guys noticing, or a customer leaning over to ding the bell next to your pen cup, breaking you from your daydream.

Eddie was still a step away, raising his arm from his side, when a beautiful sight swallowed his pupils whole.

A shiver grasped your middle.

Sweat met cool air, erupting goosebumps along your ribs, tightening your nipples to stiff peaks. The hem of your thin sweater stayed gathered at the top of your chest, hands splayed to keep it in place, helping frame the generic black bra. You didn’t enter the day prepared to show off your lamest lingerie, but Eddie’s stare was glued to the plain dull shine of polyester stretched over cups covering the full range of your goods as if they were worthy of the French term usually relegated to something not designed for comfort.

He wiped his hands more energetically on his chest.

No pet names, no clever remarks crafted to make you melt. No swoony lines, no verbal compliments from his handsome mouth hung on a dumbfounded gape. No thoughts, wit, or brainpower. Everything vanished the moment you took his wrist, and smoothed his palm to your breast.

Suave, he was not. Eddie giggled like a teenager—elated, ecstatic to be touching a pair of boobs as if it were his first time. You pitied him in a chastising snort, hopelessly fallen for his big grin, and helped his other hand. Large palm, calluses dragging on the fabric. Cups too thick and opaque to ogle what was beneath. But he was mesmerized all the same. He fitted the stretch of his fingers across that which you arched into his hold, and ran his thumb over the softness. His knuckles and tendons flexed as he did so, moving under the pressure of your heavy suggestion, sliding his hand down so he cradled the bottom and lifted, giving him more area to explore—

Your inhale came sharp and sweet.

Eddie throbbed.

He checked your reaction, repeated the motion. Found the hard bud under the layer, and trapped it between the edge of his thumb, rocking it to the long side of his index finger. Your body leaned into the feeling, eyebrows drawn, bottom lip pushed out and freshly licked. He learned to do it again. Again. More. Harder. Shimmery praise collected in the corners of your eager eyes, heavy lids and batting lashes forced open to watch the confidence in his movements grow. Faster rubs, heavier pets. Kneading what you gave him. Drawing quick, simple breaths from your pretty mouth as he concentrated on circling his thumbpad around the point of pleasure, using his nail to skim over it, dragging a lurch from your core.

“Eddie.” His name tipped into a moan hummed through your nose.

The stuffy room heightened your fluster. Eddie burned. Furnace body, ember hands stoking your fire. Ends of his bangs coming to a damp point above his brows. Dewy skin beneath his diligent strokes over the polyester cups. The squish. The yearn. The need for cold metal shelves to be pressed into your backside, positioning himself against your front.

“Like it when I do that, baby?” he asked, deep and husky for no other reason than to hear your voice pitch when he pinched your nipples, elusive as they were from the slippery fabric.

You pushed your sweater higher, flaunting your arms closer. The amount of gratification coming from his thumbing was small, but the fun of doing it in a closet while on the clock had you oversensitive. Anticipation swelled your fat tongue, slurring your question with girlish flirt, “S’it a good pick-me-up? D’you feel better?” you asked for no other reason than to feel him grow hard against your hip.

Cement walls deadened outside interference, isolating his hammering heart in its loudest beats, and projecting the low sound stuck in the back of his throat. His deep rumble of, “Yeah, feelin’ better,” was spoken in the hollow between your chests, stomachs meeting during your feathery inhales opposite his resolute ones filling the planes of his pecs with renewed strength to get through the day.

Eddie’s exhaustion illustrated itself in the bags under his eyes; intense wells of purple beneath deep wrinkles you couldn’t begin to solve for him. However, you could stretch up, brush your lips over his, and make the eager noises which fed his ego.

“Makin’ you feel good?” he asked, grounding his pleasure in what he could do for you.

“So good, handsome.”

“Love it when you call me handsome.”

“Yeah?”

He collapsed into you, “Yeah.”

Sly now, your grin broke the kiss. “You still remember how to unhook a bra, handsome? Or has it been too long?” No surprise—he nipped at the bottom lip he adored so much, shutting you up.

His big, tired body lost its strength from cranking tools all morning, but he still managed to impress you with his firm determination laying against your belly, pulsing eager. He circumvented your taunt with fingertips diving to the bottom of the cups and pushing up, drawing tension on the underwire, tightening the band around your ribs. It teetered on the edge of a great reveal, nipples harder than him between your legs. You begged for the release, for your bra to finally crest the whole, and bounce what you had into his waiting palms, where his thumb and index were shaped to tweak another hot moan into his mouth—full lips mashed gently to your desperate whine—unapologetic confidence staring you down. Doing it all with a smile.

The door opened with Carl’s question, “You get those u-joints for me?”

Violent strikes of shame-induced panic shocked you both into action before thinking.

Thank God you still had a hold on your sweater to yank it down in sync with Eddie’s side-step, the dumbass, exposing you because his priorities laid in fleeing. Well, at least he was a redeemable dumbass who used his quick wit Dungeon Master skills to remain with his back turned towards the door, perusing the top shelf for a box of universal joints.

You acted your part. “Oh! Uh, I couldn’t reach them, so I got Eddie to help,” you overexplained, pointing at your taller platonic friend who definitely wasn’t the reason your clothes bunched weirdly over your chest.

“Hm?” Carl looked up from his invoices, just noticing Eddie. “Could’ya get me some washers too?”

“Yep,” you answered for him, hearing the box slide along with the rattle of the steel washers, taking them and handing them off to Carl who grunted out a thank you, double checking his paperwork as he walked away, none the wiser as to why your gaze was sealed on the floor.

Mouth dried of all fluid, yet body drenched in the same embarrassment which reddened your coworker’s face darker than his bandana, you gulped past your heart lodged in your throat, and idled next to Eddie, pretending to tidy up a container of gloves. Really, you straightened out your bra instead, door wide open behind you.

It wasn’t against the rules to date your colleague, but he was uncomfortable with other people knowing about your relationship. Perhaps it was the prying, the questions, the pressure which bothered him most. Or the loss of privacy. All eyes on the single dad who hadn’t been in a serious relationship since a brief stint out of high school, and finding someone now, for him, The Freak of Hawkins, was such a significant event they’d probably congratulate him, therefore crushing the dignity he worked hard to assemble from the crumbs he was left with.

He had more to care about. More to lose. Always, you followed your boyfriend’s lead when it came to his reputation.

“So..”

“S-So,” he answered. “Uhm..”

“Should we.. Do you want to keep doing this?” you hesitated, trying to figure him out. Eddie knew what you were asking, though. It strained against the last set of buttons to his coveralls. The edge with no relief. Sneaking around, copping feels in dusty closets, stealing kisses behind walls, never having enough time to start, nor end something worthwhile to ease the aches left behind. “Maybe we should relax at work until we have a real weekend to ourselves again?”

“Fuck no.” His blunt response raised your eyebrows. “C’mon, babe,” he scoffed, locking onto you with his sloppy puppy grin and playful nudge on your arm. “This work week already fucking sucks, and you’re the only good I get.”

Checking over his shoulder, he sidled closer to you, and lowered his voice, “Yesterday I got to kiss you, and then go home to my kid who ate her chicken and broccoli without a single complaint.” He cut his hands to his chest, palms up, bouncing them in a shrug. “I don’t see any downsides here.” Aside from the prominent downside in your periphery, you agreed. “We’re just havin’ fun, right? Our weekend’s gonna come. These, uh, close encounters of the romantic kind are just to hold us over until then, that’s all.”

Just having fun. Just like that. Perks, pick-me-ups. No downsides here.

After giving him a long look, you nodded. These were just treats to get you both through the tough week. You could resist the temptation of taking it too far, keeping it casual. He could dial it back, and remain level headed about kissing, and a little over the clothes touching. No big deal.

Casual. Dialed back.

Easy.

————

Thursday was hot under the collar.

Coffee sputtered fat drops into the glass carafe, adding steam to the small breakroom, and filling it with the wake-up scent. Sat in a creaky plastic chair was a man sapped of energy, and behind him was his dearest flame. On the clock, technically, but arriving before other employees dared.

“Had to stay late last night to finish a car on time,” he grumbled to you, neck muscles flexing under your fingertips as he lolled his head side to side. “Wish you didn’t have to leave so early.”

You pulled his hair off his shoulders, and stroked your thumbs from his nape to the underside of his jaw in long sweeps over the tense slope, down, massaging the base where his collar began. “I know, baby,” you gentled, “me too, but we found a couch last night, and made sure it was the perfect size and comfort level for cuddling during a movie marathon.” His groan scratched vibrations along the rub, tugging your heartstrings.

“That sounds so good right now.”

Nothing made Eddie feel further away than the graywash walls surrounding you; lights too bright, vending machines droning too loud, stale odor of motor oil stinking too harshly of motor oil. Too everything—grating. His solid shoulders bowed weak from unyielding tasks. Body tired, brain stuck in problem-solving mode, watching cranky customers like a hawk, never getting a break once he got home; making food, washing dishes, cleaning spills, changing laundry, vacuuming dirt, providing entertainment, being the source of a thousand answers, drying tears, saying he’s sorry he can’t find the missing Barbie brush, worrying about everything, forgetting nothing, trying his best, falling short, perceiving himself as inadequate, disregarding himself as worthy of nothing more. Never getting the validation he craved after a long day. Poor man.

You leaned down and loosened the only button on his pinstripe coveralls, below his throat. Slipped the sky blue plastic from its cotton vice, threaded it through the hole in a languid beat, and kept things slow. You crawled your fingers to the sturdy metal zipper—dull gold—and ground the teeth three stretches down his chest, parting the halves to expose his black tee underneath. Your nails scratched the union of his pecs on the way to pull the collar off his neck, earning a comforting sound of approval from him, inspiring your own hum tickling your lips.

Switching from your thumbs to your knuckles, you dipped under his coveralls, and prodded the chain of stiffness on either side of his spine. Cheap poly-cotton grazed your skin. Mmm—His breath hitched, cheeks puffing at the sore knot you encountered, exhaling hard through the pain of your digging. It was so reminiscent of your second date when you were straddling him on his shit replacement for a bed not fit for a grown man, it hurt. You worshiped him between the bones—a small relief you wished to give him, delaying the restless ache growing more visceral every day you didn’t get to hold him for hours. Eddie reciprocated the yearn. He rested his head on your belly, washed curls swaying from his crown, frizzy strands clinging to the static on your blouse; leaning backwards so the meat between his neck and shoulder rolled under your handiwork. Closed eyes, fanning lashes. Mellow sounds of contentment sung through his nose. Beautiful man.

“Feeling better?” you asked, squeezing his traps in hard pinches, collecting his woes and turning them into sighs.

Mhmm, he said.

Perfect, you thought.

Better meant there’s still room for improvement.

In a fluid motion, you bent at the hips, and he leaned his head to the side, accommodating your arms draping around his front. The angle pressed your ass to the wall in an audible glide of your skirt shifting against it. Eddie, so soft and romantic, hiked his shoulders up and beamed hard at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut thinking his sweetheart was hugging him. However, you slipped your hands under his uniform, and his sunshine grin faltered.

His pulse quickened at your descent.

“Whatcha doin’, baby?” he asked, tone floating the river of curiosity and suspicion.

You doled kisses where his bangs parted, down to his temple, his eyebrow, sunk in the hollow of his cheek between the hardness of his teeth. You traveled the smooth grain on his jaw—warm notes of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla in your lungs—and wandered over his earlobe, nosing through his long hair to the place you wanted. Lips on sensitive skin. Dangerous.

His throat bobbed at the top of a heartbeat, and his chest sank only to fill with a strong breath. The thin fabric of his tee stretched over the firm muscle laying dormant under a sleek layer of fat. Wheat shafts of hair mid valley brushed against the motion of your hands opening his coveralls further, fingerpads skimming his pebbled nipples; golden zipper sneaking to the top of his stomach, enough room for you to flatten your palms to his pecs, and unwind him. Like a good partner, you massaged the width where you laid your head to rest during a long hug, where you set your ear to listen to the rhythmic thump, where the source of his voice ignited when you asked him a question; thumbs joining to stroke the worthy center.

His black tee framed by the baby blue stripes paved a dark arrow to the kick of his hips tilting upwards as he slouched in the chair.

Excessive flattery laced your tease, “Are you hard?”

“‘Course I’m hard,” he pointed out the obvious. “You’re touching me.”

Not that the swollen length rising from his lap could be anything else, but knowing you caused such a standing ovation after a little bit of back rubbing ran you a mighty temperature.

Wicked thoughts pooled at the bottom of your stomach. The stiff outline influenced your thighs rubbing together, rallying hunger in your eyes. You angled your head, and shifted your focus to the goosebumps surfacing from your sigh fanning the shell of his ear.

Eddie’s neck invigorated your appetite.

You opened your mouth wide and grazed the sharp edge of your teeth over the vulnerable column thrumming with life. His body went rigid—”Oh”—then slack in increments. Again, you scraped lightly over the slope of warmed muscle appreciated by you as a result of the physical price he paid to assume the jobs of many, taking on the responsibility of Carl’s workload to ensure he made it to his son’s wrestling practice on time. Your man deserved the world; he deserved your lips forming a ring over his pulse, he deserved his heartbeat darting against your tongue, he deserved to melt under your attention. Your man deserved to have his little groan stolen when he remembered your mouth’s talent.

Despite the animal way you started, you eased him into the pressure, sucking down on his skin until your open bite filled with delicate flesh. A liquid glottal click preceded the faintest catch in his vocal chords. He secured a palm around your shoulder, heaviness drawing your arm forward, enticing your hand to rove down his chest. Shirt wrinkles collected around your fingertips as you reached the roundness of his stomach, and dipped below his coveralls. The change in environment was instant. Humid, sticky pheromones clung to your skin. Damp body heat trapped tacky warmth to your middle finger dipped to his navel while your knuckles prowled beneath his jumpsuit in visible arches. Edging closer, closer. Nearly there.

You arched your wrist to put strain on the zipper, dragging it with you, almost within reach of what he earned.

Eddie’s hand covered your own. “We shouldn’t, ah,” he cleared his throat, “shouldn’t start something we can’t finish,” he asserted, caught between the confliction crossing his face, and the gravelly tug in his vocal chords. He hooked his forefinger under your pinky and lifted your hand to the outside of his coveralls, where the halves parted below his sternum. “With our luck, someone’ll walk in on us.”

Yesterday’s incident in the closet brought fresh memories to his reddened ears; blotching renewed embarrassment along the pinkish skin where your spit dried. You took this into consideration when opposing, “Doubt anyone would walk in on us in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d deflect your implication with a glare if his eyes weren’t closed in disgust at his own actions.

“Just saying,” you sang, words becoming muffled on the stretch of neck he presented to you with a cant of his head, “we could have fun before anyone shows up.”

Teetering an inappropriate boundary neither of you should indulge, especially not in the storage closet or on your sturdy wood desk, his willpower faltered. “Don't tempt me with that shit when you know it’s a bad idea,” he griped without the balls to make it sound sincere.

You raked your fingers into a fist where they laid, pulling his uniform taut. The coveralls went tight over his lap, stressing deep shadows leading to the concentrated swell down his pants leg; made more obvious when he spread his knees wider, scraping his boots across the floor. Jittery nerves, flexed thighs, torn between crossing a line. Treats, perks, pick-me-ups. Hugging, kissing, touching over your bra. It was a dangerous path to tread. Risky. A million reasons why you shouldn’t.

“Want me to stop?”

“No.” Punctual, quick. Answered hoarsely in the breakroom of your workplace. “Keep going.”

His sentence rumbled in your mouth. Permission vibrated past your teeth, words rolled over your tongue, coating your brain in syrupy sweetness. Keep going. Texture of his stubble, then texture of his skin. Nearly invisible bumps matching the taste buds you licked down the sculpt of his throat, following the moody blue vein to where it disappeared under the ribbed collar of his shirt. You nudged the barrier away, and dropped wet kisses on the hilled muscle. His head fell further into the crook of your arm, offering, making the spot more accessible for you to lap at, cherish. The position was perfect. No better vantage point to stare down your boyfriend’s shuddering chest while you sucked a bruise on his neck, and wrung his coveralls a little tighter.

The shadows defining his lap twitched.

Eddie imposed his fingers between yours, and adjusted his grip several times until the sturdy cotton twill restricted his length flat. Without looking, you knew his nostrils flared when he released a rough exhale afterwards. Being so close, you heard the bubbles in his saliva pop before his mouth constricted on the swallow. You listened to the spit travel, saw his throat bob. Felt the hitch in his whine before he ever sank to the edge of the chair, where his hips would lurch and his clothes would drag along the oversensitive temptation begging for more in a hard throb. A short, delicate, and devastating morsel of what his mouth drooled for.

“Am I making you feel better?”

Through the trance of the powerful initiative rushing his blood south, compounded by the many rules and boundaries he broke of his own accord since he met you, paired with the sultry aid of your husky voice, he nodded. His muscle swayed beneath your teeth. “So much better, baby.”

“Love to hear it, handsome,” you kissed his cheek.

Dots of bright candy apple red bloomed amongst the pink where you marked the destination in the passage from his ear to his ball chain necklace. The metal beads were warm on your loving peck to his keepsake. Returning to the raw span beside it, you nursed the bruise along, sealing your kiss-plumped lips to the afflicted area, and bringing forth stipples of violet. Eddie disciplined his moan in the quiet room; coffee pot full, and vending machines clicking to lower hums; yet his weak noise wrapped you in tangled bedsheets, and unset alarms. Strong arms, and a slow cadence between your legs. Fantasies which were lost in the anguish of professionalism, and busy schedules.

Then, he called you back to reality with another sound. Whinier. Hemmed in his shaky breath, and a fluttered ‘oh’.

You broke the heavy-lidded spell over your eyes and fixed your gaze on the reason his grip on your shoulder cinched.

Eddie rocked his hips, and the outline of his cock strained against his coveralls. The entire definition of his head stretched the fabric as hard as it could at the top of the thrust, and fell to his thigh on the descent. Lines amassed on his forehead as he worked the circle again, starting on a pace which favored his next moan. Low, and slow—finding a steady rhythm, and simmering. Like that, accepting the urge and giving in, fuck the consequences. The spontaneity of you suggesting you give him some relief before the work day began spurred him, and whatever reservations he had about not fooling around while on the clock crumbled. Not that his convictions were ever strong to begin with when it came to you.

Approaching something more desperate with each controlled motion scoring the friction he couldn’t resist, another moan—thick, and hot like warmed maplewood sap—rumbled from his braced chest.

With his eyebrows pinched, and mouth slack, he watched himself get off on nothing but his own determination.

Spit flooded your bottom lip. Your palm needed to be filled. You ached for his smooth skin moving up and down while you fisted his shaft. You strangled his clothes at the thought, and yes, you begged, “Can I?” to which he dropped his head back and groaned a soft ‘fuck’.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he released in a jumble of grateful syllables.

Hanging onto his composure, he reached for the zipper, and the action stirred a phantom taste of his salty release on your tongue. Your body fought tooth and nail to have patience. You distracted yourself by placing fervent kisses in his hair as thanks for the wonderful start to the morning, about to pump Eddie’s cock to the same tempo as your racing heart without an ounce of restraint, when you froze.

A near-mute whoosh of air alerted every nerve in your body.

There was no mistaking the gust of the glass door rushing open, its whispered squeak imperceivable to anyone who didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time sitting beside it. But Eddie heard it. Or, he heard the thudding steps leading the jumpstart in his heart.

He freaked.

In a flurry, Eddie kicked up his hips to zip his jumpsuit to his throat, and you spun around to dig through the fridge while metal chair legs screeched across the tile, scooting in until his upper half was soldered to the rim of the table, and you picked out his favorite creamer.

Hot coffee beat out the smell of Old Spice. The fridge’s condenser fan knocked sense into the lapse of judgment. A booming voice penetrated the ringing pitch of bad decisions rushing loud in your ears.

“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore waited for your response of ‘Good morning’ to drive his Thursday mood, “Y’watch the news last night?” he asked, holding the conversation just inside the breakroom door. “Weather lady said the storm over Springfield is just sittin’ there—y’know, just hangin' over the city churnin' out rain like you wouldn't believe! It’s a strange one; the whole system is avoiding us, but it's what's brought on this heat wave. And just a few days ago we were seein’ our breath! The thunderstorm from the weekend dented my new chicken pen with hail, and now I’m turnin’ on the A/C, but that’s Hawkins for ya.” Sucking his teeth, he muttered to himself, “Cursed town.”

At that, you collected Eddie’s mug from the cabinet, and clinked a spoonful of sugar and Coffee Mate in his mug, stirring through the swirl of piping hot beige.

Mr. Moore continued, “Anyway, we should prob’ly dust off that drum fan, ‘nd set it up before the sun turns the garage into an oven.. You okay, Ed?”

You wiped the steam from your fingers onto your skirt, demonstrating an extraordinary amount of strength in resisting looking at him.

“Yeah, I—yeah, I think those fumes from yesterday got to me.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Mr. Moore replied, familiar with the debilitating headaches mechanics frequently succumbed to. “Take it easy today, will ya? And, uh, could you help me with the fax machine?” You perked up at the change in tone, understanding the question was intended for you. “If you got a minute, I need to send out some of these papers.”

Tapping the spoon, rinsing it, putting it aside, you said, “Sure can,” and your boss took that as his cue to walk into his office. Door open.

You set the perfect cup of coffee on the table, and stalled. Eddie’s fingers trembled over his forehead, laced into a shield and only lowered to the bridge of his nose in order to pierce you with all the glare he could muster; bouncing his knee in such a frenzy it quivered the curl of his bangs over his plum face, and shook the thinness of his scorched cheeks.

“Told you this was a bad idea,” he enunciated, wholly vindicated.

Your lips wore a tingle through their numbness as they thinned into a regretful grin. “I’m sorry.” You passed a kiss over top his head where your hand stroked. When the coal of his eyes continued to scold you through his thick lashes, you gave him another kiss, and spoke in softer earnest, “I really am, Eddie. I didn’t mean to, you know.. yeah.” Balls so deeply blue, they matched his jumpsuit. “Thought we had enough time to finish.”

He grunted.

Under the pressure of both time and guilt, you spun your hands into finger guns at the door, and shuffled backwards from him awkwardly, eyes set on the scuff marks on the floor. “I’ll just—” You were already steps away, about to exit.

“—guess I’ll jack off again.”

“What was that?”

Eddie jerked his head up, eyebrows lifting, realization crossing his glazed over stare. The sentence was meant as a vent of frustration, but not where you could hear it. He couldn’t get redder; in fact, he paled around his mouth a little, licking his lips. “I–uh.” He blinked irregularly through his stutter, finding the words which evaded him, scraping his brain for an explanation while he wrung and crossed his arms in a loose hug over his shoulders, fidgeting. “It, well, it h-hurts if I don’t..”

Corroding into an eye-roll only hidden by the very act of closing your eyes, you informed him, “Yes, I am well aware of the biological phenomenon. You said ‘again’, though. Meaning?”

After a moment of deciding how much information he was willing to divulge, he shrugged into his shoulders, dipping his chin to one side, using his hair to shy behind. “I’ve.. had to jack off before,” he answered, being coy with the topic.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“At work?”

“In the bathroom, yeah.”

“How come?”

His intentional avoidance drew your smile, so mischievous and calling his bluff, cornering the affection in his expression until his sneaky glance from beneath his bangs wove more and more of a story into his sheepishness. “Sometimes you wear stuff I like.”

You pounced. “Oh, yeah?” Interposing yourself between two chairs across from Eddie—ignoring the sound of Mr. Moore’s fist beating on the plastic machine in the other room—you drew circles on the tabletop, and pried, “What kind of stuff? When? Do you mean this week, or, like, before we were even friends?”

“I am not telling you that,” he laughed, he choked, he denied—hard—basically confirming he did wrap his hand around his cock at the thought of you, perhaps at work, perhaps yesterday after the closet incident, perhaps at the start of your employment at David’s Auto Repair when he didn’t know how to process the new receptionist flirting with him and his way of shutting down any feelings before they began was by ridding himself of the urge.

The topic itself was eliminated by his arm swinging outward, conversation not up for discussion.

And you, enjoying the attention that made him fold his hands over his lap, laid your upper half across the table, propping your elbows so there was a gap down your blouse if he so chose to ocularly venture.

Your words mushed from your fists beneath your chin, “Is it the skirts?” You rocked side to side. His crows feet deepened, shoulders shaking from suppressed giggles, refusing the allurement of your shapely sway draped in corporate gray. “Or is it the jeans and hoodie that does it for ya? Really getcha goin’ when I’m dressed down? Hmm?” Your eyebrow waggle dueled with his sealed lips.

“‘M’not tellin’,” he defended, hardly able to speak through his fondness for flattering you; as if praising you were its own reward, reflected upon him as a good man worthy of having his dirty boots tucked beside your front door.

From the hallway, a rackety sound strung together with a cuss and muffled call of your name roused the logical side of your brain, awakening you both from the hormonal haze.

Eddie clicked his tongue. “Best get to work, sweetheart.”

“Why? Need some alone time?”

The weight of the ache between his legs burdened his lack of comeback.

Obliging, because he was right, you stretched across the table and waited for him to meet you halfway. But he didn’t attempt to close the distance. He stayed put, committed to his stubbornness, and forced you to stain the muscles down the backs of your legs in order to reach. Fine, you played into his game. You planted your smirk on his mouth, dousing his smug features with your own.

“I was just thinking,” you lead innocently, “I’ve already packed my closet, but I might find the time to go through the boxes tonight, and pick out my outfit for tomorrow.”

“Babe—” It was an instant beg. Your favorite kind. “Don't you dare,” and he couldn’t even erase the intrigue, the thrill, the excitement of stolen youth in his tone. The sneaking around, the perks, the treats—the boundary you both knew you shouldn't cross, because of worse decorum than him sitting stiffly at a table, ripe with embarrassment. “You can’t do that. Are you even—? Baby?”

“By—e,” you sang on your way out.

————

Friday came with an excessive heat warning.

Footsteps came from behind you, lingering at the door. An arduous breath was spent sighing, but his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise, “You’re something else, you know that?”

Every beat of your heart was emphasized by his step forward, dragging his boots until his body heat warmed your backside. Blissfully unaware, you continued washing the glass carafe in the breakroom sink. Staying diligent in your task wasn’t an admission of guilt; rather, diverting your attention was an act of grace, of benevolence, granting him access to feast on your figure. It was obvious from the moment you arrived his hunger grew insatiable. You walked into the garage exactly as late as you planned, arms loaded with two boxes of freshly fried donuts, and the shine in his sharp-set eyes did not match those of his coworkers springing from their circle around the workbench. No, the to-go orders of dark roast coffees did not feed a smile to his face as it did for Kevin, nor did the waft of sugary glaze excite his mouth into watering like it did for the other men.

Eddie’s cravings were of a different breed.

His expression was hard, then. If you’d just met, you’d think your merry presence pissed him off. Now knowing better, you read the initial shock before he schooled it to an intense stare, steely gaze locking you into a match. You provoked him with a golden sunshine grin. His jaw went slack enough to run his tongue along his inner cheek, calming his rise in blood pressure, nose perking pink and eyes flashing dark and lips twitching to one side.

You excused yourself—“I should clean the coffee maker before I leave those grounds in there all weekend,”—and went to the breakroom. Eddie was hot on your trail. He came in not half a minute later. Probably didn’t even make up an excuse, he just left the circle.

“This is too far, even for you,” he maintained, aching and slow, words brushing over your ear.

Anticipation mounted in the sound of his clothing shifting, leather boots creaking. You expected him to do something sweet—run his knuckle down the small of your back, or thumb at the strap along your shoulder—but instead, you gasped.

Water sloshed in the coffee pot, suds squishing from the squeeze you put on the sponge.

He dived under the hem of your dress. The fabric fit tight on your body, snug to your waist, closing your thighs in a hug. He tugged it over the curve of your ass, exposing your bare cheeks to the chilly room. Bold. Risky. Dirty. Nowhere near the platonic workplace relationship he was trying to front. You twisted to look up at him with wide, thrilled eyes, giddy with the boost of flattery knowing your simple clothing choice drove him wild.

Eddie got a sturdy grip on the counter edge, and eased his weight onto you until you were covered by his magnificence, chest to back. He shaped his palm to your hip, and dug his thumb above the elastic band of your underwear, connecting the need of his hand to the yearn of his mouth. You melted in the pocket of his embrace, greeting him with parted lips, accepting his tongue. Never would you tire of his breath overtaking yours. Spit, spearmint gum, oddly metallic. Smoke break. You break. Morning tangle of you and him when the others were enjoying donuts one glass door away.

Fearless fingertips discovered you without hesitation. Polished callouses swept over and around to the front of your thigh, greeting the warm juncture with a smooth trace of his buffed skin, middle finger following the edge of your cotton panties down the seam, and up. Only an inch or so into the crease where your leg met the thong, back and forth twice along the line, enough to skim your nerves awake, and work you into a sweat for his index hovering over the swell where a single graze would have your knees weak. Taking the touch away, he wrapped his arm around your middle, and drew your hips in.

He pressed fat and heavy along your backside, unashamed.

The kiss ended in a juicy smack, finished by your hum against the coarse grain peppering his jaw. Lips were licked, sparkling eyes gazed into their match. Coming down with a lovesickness, your skin fostered a high fever, woozy bliss clouding your head—dreamy dreamy dreamy.

“You know what this dress does to me, don’t you?”

A grin cracked your face. “I might.” You immersed yourself in the comfort of his firm body draped around you, the raw sensation of your bare skin against his rugged coveralls, and lazed in the same memory as him.

The burgundy pinafore clung to the warmth of his taken smile from that night. So smitten, and fond. A dress made of belly clenching laughter, woven together with threads of brave glances, converging and averting when the strikes of nerves teemed on admitting too much. Cinnamon, nutmeg, grape jelly in the slow cooker meatballs. Freshly shed pine needles, and glitter. Significance baked into every fiber of the dress you wore under a lonely sprig of mistletoe, unkissed.

Never again would he let you go home believing you weren’t a treasure.

“Can’t be wearin’ this around me,” he obsessed, and you giggled at the rich confidence in his voice—a prelude to the depth he was willing to go. “Gonna get me in trouble.”

Using the sink ledge as leverage, you muscled Eddie into standing up straight with you, winning his heart with a doe-some blink. Arching, you swayed your hips on the length catching between your round cheeks, though the position flaunted something else which might entice him in engaging in risky behavior. “I’m not wearing a bra, either,” you said. Your voice was girlish—floaty and high—a bit raspy from your neck being turned to admire the handsome amount of approval twinkling in his dark eyes.

“Yeah?” Eddie moved his Stupid Cupid lips over the very edge of your ear, and rumbled through the words weighing down his chest, “Need me to fuck you that bad, huh?”

Thrums of pleasure lit within you.

You nodded the side of your face against the scratch of his chin—a morning, day, evening, night, dusk, dawn without a shave.

“Need me here?” he asked, slipping his fingers inside your dress. The fabric over your chest struggled to accommodate his circle around your nipple. You sucked in a breath—released in a moan—and grabbed onto his arm for stability, already falling backwards into him. The direct blessing of his prod to the bud was too much. Your toes curled at his pinch. He flicked the tip of his smooth finger pad over it faster. “Yeah? You like that?” You whined a croaky sound, resting your head on his chest, unable to keep your eyes open to admire the way he watched himself do this to you, chin hooked over your shoulder to view his own hand groping his girl beneath his favorite dress.

“Need me somewhere else?” he asked, and your hips began to mimic the circle he stroked as an answer.

With the ease of a man who’d pictured this scenario more times than respectful, Eddie seized the permission. Middle, index; his two thickest, longest, dexterous. Divine, and unholy. At the bottom of your dress bunched over the top of your thighs, he crooked those two fingers under the hem intentionally, while your hand combed through his hair at the suggestion. “Yeah? Want me to touch you there?” There—a base he’d yet to run even when you were alone on your second date. “Need me that bad while we’re at work?”

You verbalized your desire, as weak as it skirted past your sigh, “Please, Eddie.”

One plea, and it was Love Potion No. 9. His lean frame blanketed you, cradled you, collected you to his height, corded muscles gone solid with restraint. Large nose pressed to your ear, including you in the deep draw of validation into his lungs. Hugging you to the pride inflating his firm chest. The full throaty rasp of desire, and being desired, intimate and close. Two fingers ventured under your dress. You twirled his hair, teething your bottom lip in anticipation for the touch. They were shaped to claim his prize locked behind a fine layer, but he teased you first. He curved the breadth of his palm to the stretch of cotton, width of his calloused reach forcing your feet apart, and brushed past your deepest craving to cherish the place he craved.

“Jesus,” he wept.

His fingers glided along the wet patch on your thong, fabric sticking to your wet heat. It slid along you in a sticky lick, and he sank his teeth to the base of your neck, beyond help. A noise tripped in your throat at his simultaneous pinch on your nipple. He was a goner.

In a few circles around your entrance, he had you melting into his arms. A tweak on your nipple gained your fingers at the root of his hair. He squeezed your slick lips together, and your neglected need sang at the stimulation, begging him in a gasp to do it again. He did. He did, he did, again, however many times it took to have your sighs dive into moans.

Two devilish fingers began their journey upwards, intentions set and clear. Smarmy with ego, he goaded, “Let’s see how long it takes you to cu—”

The near-mute whoosh of the glass door was made obvious by the chorus of men’s laughter bouncing in.

Cold fear licked up your spine. You scrambled for the abandoned coffee pot in spectacular fashion, struggling to get hold of its soapy body in the fret of stress induced tunnel vision—but Eddie? Eddie took his time hitching your dress hem where it should be, flattening it to your thighs. The telltale gait of your boss was nearing, and he was in no rush to jolt to the opposite end of the planet away from you. Oh, no. Your boyfriend brushed his hands in methodical sweeps over the fabric, smoothing it to your hips, mirroring the same cadence as the steps which sent you into a panic. He even gave you a hard pat after he was done. Kissed your cheek to seal the deal, only stepping away to peruse the vending machines the moment Mr. Moore rounded the corner.

“Can’t resist havin’ a little sugar in my coffee,” he informed from the hallway, chipper as can be, strutting in while you were rearranging your dumbstruck stare into something pleasant. He swiped three Splenda packets. “We’re ‘boutta start the meeting, by the way.” You nodded at the coffee pot you washed to a shine. Mhm! you replied after an anxious attempt for anything better, tight-lipped, and dodging his prying eyes by enacting a coughing fit into your elbow in the other direction, willing to bolt if he even so much as thought about voicing his concern over your strange behavior.

Ka-shink, ka-shink, ka-shink. Eddie fed quarters into the Pepsi machine. “Be right there,” he announced, jamming one of the rectangular buttons on the side.

Mr. Moore paused for the longest .02 seconds of your life. No amount of money could bait you into turning around. Whatever expression he was making—if he knew what you and Eddie were doing—that was between him and God. Your shoulders were squared, muscles ready to flee in panic, heart racing beyond what it should be capable of. All the while Eddie crouched for his drink clunking to the bottom slot.

“Well,” was your boss’ succinct response on his way out, underscoring the end of his thought.

There should��ve been some relief, but your breath stayed in your lungs, and your hands shook horrendously, smacking the handle for the faucet too hard on accident, shooting the stream out on high. And, of course, the closed coffee pot lid was the perfect shield, sending water everywhere.

You screwed your eyes shut and defended yourself from the onslaught, worrying about your face and dress first, and your wimpy shriek second.

Eddie came to your rescue.

Ever the hero, ever the gentleman, he shut off the water for you. A ‘thank you’ had been earned, but one peek between your lashes had you quirking your brow in question. He was too close. Standing univinted beside you, almost touching, invading your personal space in a show of ownership. Shadows attempted to temper his smirk, but they cut harshly around the devious apples of his flushed cheeks. You opened your mouth to ask why he was looking at you like that, when—

The explanation came in your stolen yelp.

“Ed!”

“Shh,” he taunted, taking charge of his bubbling laughter at your reaction.

Goosebumps erupted down your legs, pebbling harder where he rolled the freshly dispensed can of Mug root beer across the back of your thighs. The chill bit into you, and you bit into your bottom lip. Squirmy noises squeaked from your throat. He reached under your dress and held the soda to your ass cheek, replacing the warmth of his cock with a bitter lesson. A stinging—fucking—cold lesson. He pinned your options between him, his arm, and the countertop. There was no escaping his revenge. You saw no other choice but to cling to his coveralls, let the shiver run its course, and scold him in a failed whisper, “Eddie—!” He loved it. Enjoyed every crinkle of your pathetic glare when you realized why he was doing it.

His length was softening against you. An old technique, rubbing vigorously at his sensitive head until the evidence of his arousal went away without repercussions. And now you were the one all worked up with no release.

Grinning like a menace, his cockiness eclipsed your vision, putting his forehead to yours so his snarky giggle vibrated in your skull. He wrangled you into his embrace, manipulating you with ease. Layers of implied strength snapped your hips forward. Years of unassuming muscle beneath his humble clothes locked you to his body without trouble. Strong arms you recognized the power of when they snatched a man by his tie, seasoned hands equipped for ripping out rusted axle shafts, fingers which threaded elastic string through plastic beads with the same finesse as soldering spliced wires together. They all joined in consecutive evil to slide the can between your round cheeks, down to where your yearning sprung.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You picked up his vocabulary at some point. “I swear, Eddie Munson, if you don’t move that right now.”

“I’m just coolin’ ya off, sweetheart.” He sounded so pleased with himself, the jerk. He also sensed the impending handprint on his cheek, and apologized with a bit of earnest effort, “Sorry.”

Not betraying his newly actualized cavalier attitude towards urgency, he utilized his afternoon drink against your needy core as a way to hike you onto your tiptoes, and bless you with an offensive smirk kissed onto your slanted grimace.

Pussy numbed, he took his root beer away, and moved past you.

“Did you plan this?” you asked, assumed, accused. Mellow in anger, harsh in disbelief. “Is this payback for yesterday?” And the day before that. And the day before that. And maybe the day before that, too.

“Well, yes and no,” he resolved, sorting his explanation while opening the fridge. You crossed your arms, and stuck your hip out. The sensation between your legs was dull and cold. “With our luck, I knew we’d get interrupted before we could finish—and I did intend to give you a taste of your own medicine—but, yeah, uh, then you showed up in that dress, and all my plans went out the window,” his voice tumbled silly with self-deprecation, gestures as big as his eyes. “I was planning on just coming in here, and letting you know how hot you were. Make out with you some, maybe get a lil’ handsy, y’know, make you feel good like you make me feel good. But, uh.. Yeah. Didn’t mean to get carried away like I did.” He prized you in another look over. A damning amount of awe sat in his simper, like he was experiencing his crush flirting with him for the first time all over again. That is, before he hung his head back, and opened his throat to release a hoarse groan at the ceiling.

Eddie held the cold can to his lap, rolling it over the swell, taming the last of his biological drive from showing. “Trust me, baby, I’m chewing through my leash to get to you.”

Too charming. A flustering rush of flattery washed over you—warm, fuzzy, prickly heat of the back of your neck. Your annoyance at him was never genuine, but it certainly wasn’t after watching him speckle his jumpsuit with condensation in effort to resist breaking a code of conduct. Though, you were still strategizing how long it would take with your deft fingers down your underwear in order to rid your own need, and sit at your desk without chewing through the particle board, too.

Reading your mind, he put the soda away, and approached you with two palms on your nape, frigid fingers laced behind your neck and cold thumbs stroking your jaw. He dropped his head to the side, and maintained unblinking eye contact through his slow disapproving shake, resentment festering in his desperate gaze. “If I don’t get a few minutes alone with you today, I’m gonna go insane,” he stated. You believed him. “I’m serious, you better scrape together a few minutes to come kiss me on my smoke break, or else.”

There was no elaboration on what ‘or else’ meant.

“I will,” you promised, weak to his kiss on your forehead.

Figuring you’d both been stalling long enough, he trailed his last goodbyes for the foreseeable future on the line of your cheek bone, your chin, bridge of your nose, corner of your lips. Wherever. He swept his hand into your own, and brought it to his mouth, hiding the beginnings of his smirk in the smooches to your knuckles. “Was the soda thing too much?”

Grinding dullness to his sharp intrigue, you rolled your eyes. “It was kind of hot, I guess,” you forced out in a monotone droll, feigning harder exasperation when his expression squinched too mirthful.

“Don’t you mean cold?”

You soured, distaste in every syllable, “Criminally unfunny.”

“I know you liked that one, sweets,” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows. “Now, let’s get to that meeting before they get any ideas about us, pretty girl.” He finished with a wink, and two giddy-up clicks of his tongue.

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I adore you.”

~~~

A few kisses in the alleyway, that’s all either of you asked for. Two minutes alone. Maybe more than three sentences exchanged about matters not pertaining to work. But, no. Even when you escaped the two men at your desk reciting an encyclopedic amount of knowledge about some type of engine you didn’t care about, you were roped into giving directions to the shop over the phone while shuffling through invoices in Mr. Moore’s office. And when Eddie got you pressed against the wall in the storage room, someone yelled for him to help with a rush job, killing the mood. To make matters worse, the grueling week ended with you and Eddie being scheduled on the same lunch slot, but with the approaching deadline for expense sheets being due at the end of the day, you were planning to eat yours at your desk, and avoid the torture of sitting next to him without being able to touch him like you wanted.

You opened the fridge and took out the Buckley special. Yellow squash casserole with a side of Shake ‘n Bake chicken. Eddie’s teal and purple lunch bag contained an extra helping of both. It’d become customary for Robin's mom to cook extra, and pack it away for you to bring for him. His actual lunch was in a paper bag next to it. Big spoiled man.

Speaking of, he was at the sink; sleeves rolled up his wrists, scrubbing himself clean with Fast Orange. Bitter citrus stung your nose as he lathered up his hands, working the pumice into the smudges of grease around his knuckles.

Mr. Moore got your attention without introduction. “I’m taking the wife out to that new Italian restaurant. Should’a asked her if she wanted Italian food, but oh well. We’re swingin’ by the sign shop next to it, and makin’ real sure our logo’s nice and big on that banner for tomorrow.” He accentuated the importance of David’s Auto Repair with high brows, and a canted head. He also managed to pronounce it both Eye-talian, and Uh-talian in the same thought. “Be back in, uhh—hour ‘n a half, maybe?” He swung his keys into his fist on his way out.

The group for lunch would be smaller, then. Maybe you could do your paperwork at the table, and get away with playing footsie with your favorite mechanic. Yipee.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Kevin announced, and you both looked at him over your shoulders. You were sorting the lunches to get the casseroles in the microwave, and Eddie was rubbing an extra squirt of Dawn between his fingers. Exceptionally mundane. “I was so impressed by that coffee this morning, I’m going down to the diner and ordering myself a sandwich and dessert. Prob’ly finish it up with another cup’a coffee after. Gonna make it a whole forty-five minute ordeal,” he sold the significance with several nods.

His immediate disappearance out the lobby door after his statement was strange, but you shrugged at each other, and went back to the lunches and hand washing.

“D’you know where those bottles of wax are?”

You shook your head. Eddie shook his head slower. A heavy thread of tension bred awareness between your two bodies strung taut from pent up urges.

“Weird,” Carl huffed. “I swear I just had ‘em. Well, shit. Can’t finish this car without at least one. I’ll go pick some up at the hardware store. Be back in a few,” he let you know, voice echoing off the hallway walls on his way to his truck.

Cold, warm, hot. Your blood buzzed. The bell above the front door dinged as it latched closed. Left behind was a lobby empty of people, garage paused in limbo, and a building cast in silence. You turned to Eddie. Dawning comprehension overtook your faces, wide eyes fixed on each other.

“Holy shit,” he exhaled, and you were already shoving your food back in the fridge, smashing his bologna sandwich in the process. Eddie cursed again, “Holy shit!” and snatched the hard bristle brush, scouring the dirt from under his nails, between his fingers, up his arms until the water ran clear and his skin burned pink. The same could be said for the grime on his cheeks. His light blue coveralls were soaked from the water dripping down his neck, but his face was spotless. Only the best for your lips.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie,” came your relief.

He accepted your willowy clutch on his sleeves. “It takes—It takes four minutes to get to the hardware store,” he stuttered in excitement, counting on his fingers behind your back, “so eight minutes roundtrip, factor in another eight for parking, looking for the wax, and checking out. That gives us sixteen minutes!”

Sixteen minutes where? Behind you was a plastic table which wobbled from an uneven foot. In the lobby was your desk in full view of the windows. In the bay were cars neither of you were quite brave enough to chance a stain on a seat.

“Um, um,” Eddie’s quick thinking trembled, about to suggest he take you there on the unforgiving tile floor, when he remembered, “Oh! My van! I brought my van.” He grasped you by the shoulders, shaking passion down to your toes about the hunk of metal parked outside his trailer when you visited. “I brought my van! I brought my van to drop off some amps at Gareth’s before the show!”

Rattled, you went to give him a thumbs up in full agreement, but he grabbed your hand, and bolted. You half-complained, half-shrieked, “You don’t need to drag me!” Reckless youth inspired him, broad grin loud and clear in his unadulterated sprint towards the OPEN sign and flipping it to display CLOSED. You skidded and bumped into him, bodies converging in true laughter. He caught you, he always caught you, and hauled you to the glass door, slowing in a smooth stride to open it for you. Always opening it for you. The garage was baked in sunshine, streaming through the warehouse windows on the bright day. Eddie’s boots clunked loud on the floor. A rock in the alleyway ricocheted off his shoe, bouncing off the tire of your temporary five star hotel.

The covert brown and cream van sat parked amongst the brick, gravel, and curls of dead leaves playing in the gentle breeze. It sat in full view of cars passing on either end of the back street. You hoped they were watching.

He wrenched one half of the creaky back doors open, and ushered you in the hollow between him and the carpeted floor, engulfing your face with his citrusy palms. “Don’t wanna waste a second,” he asserted in a winded breath, blurring your mind with a heady kiss, and impatient pat on your backside.

Rocks crunched under his boots. Two sturdy hands cupped the back of your thighs, helping you hop up onto the back of his van in a thrill of flirty giggles, weak for how bad he wanted you. Your calves slid against the warm metal bumper, your feet dangled by the exhaust pipe, your knees trapped his hips between your legs. His thick fingers sank into your fat, thumbs particularly bruising. Being everything he wanted, you snagged him closer by the collar, mouths almost meeting, and tilted yourself on the outline straining his coveralls, looking into his big brown eyes with a plea when the lone impact sweltered under your skin.

He hiked your knee to his waist, exposing you more to his packed heat aching to see you again. “C’mon,” he said, lips loaded with devilishness, “can’t stand to spend another second out here where I can’t have you.”

Anyone cruising by could bear witness to Hawkins’ number one Satanist loading a pretty young thing in the back of his ice cream sandwich colored van, and make assumptions.

Bless them.

You scooted backwards into the belly of the dragon’s lair. For an old beater used for transporting band equipment, he took good care of it. The carpet was clean. The wood paneling up the sides remained unscuffed. The back seat was taken out to make room for a hard case for a guitar, and two large amps wrapped in a spare comforter to prevent damage on either. And that’s where your observations ended.

Eddie’s indecent gaze was set on the stretch of white cotton under your dress. Nothing could break his stare as he threw his hair in a low bun, grabbed either side of the metal doorframe, stepped one foot on the edge, and bounced the van twice before hauling himself—and his manic smile—inside.

The acoustics amplified the door slamming shut.

His boots made for two heavy lovedrunk steps. Bruises were earned on his knees, dropping to them where your hem had ridden up, keen eyes traveling the valley between your thighs, up to the soft round of your nipples. Expecting his imminent weight, you laid back. Heat from the floor warmed you through your clothes. He crawled over you; one hand by your hip, the other next to your shoulder. You were lying beneath him for the first time, and he behaved long enough to memorize your gentle grin, and adoring squint.

“Oh, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he said, accent thick in his throat, ripe with lust. The gravel alone had your hands on the back of his neck, attempting to pull him down, to continue the momentum. But he didn’t budge. Distant in the blood rush, he found a bit of sobriety to ask, “D’ya mind if I get you dirty? I’m kinda gross.” His coveralls were marked with grime, dusted with dirt, splotched with oil. The overt blue collar status of his job opposed the unblemished burgundy and stark white tee of yours, sitting at a desk and answering phones in semi-working A/C.

You admired the mental fortitude it took to ask you first, but now was not the time to be a gentleman.

“So get me gross,” you replied, and a flicker of revelation stirred in his features. “I want to be gross with you.” You, Munson, The Freak of Hawkins, the one who everyone avoided; he who was rejected for being unapologetically himself. Taking advantage of his solid shoulders, you peeled yourself off the floor, and from the depths of belonging, you set fire to his kindling. “Make me fucking dirty.”

Eddie’s mouth pursed, then stretched thin, cheeks high, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “My pleasure.”

Plush lips crashed onto yours, body covering you in desperation, touch starved. His weight hugged you, pinned you. He flattened his arm alongside your head for support, and welcomed your legs bent around the length of his backside. Playfully suggestive hums followed his greedy hand scaling your thigh. Short layers of his hair fell forward, tickling your cheeks in summer innocence, while down below his thumb grazed the narrow string of your thong strapped over your hip in a fraction of the hunger he had for you. One trace under your panties, and the kiss went sloppy with tongue; slick mouths mashing, teeth knocking, jaws aching, and lips swollen. Aggressive, possessive, and dizzy. Your dress bunched around your waist. Rugged fabric rasped where your chests met. Smears of grime, dust, oil dirtied you.

Because the clock was ticking, you sped things up with a squeeze around his ass. Eddie listened. Oh, Eddie listened. He took the thrust in stride, pressing down on your need, and catching your forehead with his. The pain was negligible. A gift, even, to hold your gaze when you clawed for the waist of his coveralls, and harnessed a hotter tension on your underwear. A concentrated craze blunted by the thick layers separating you. You lifted your hips for him, spurring more, faster, pouring your strength into earning a faint squeak on the van’s suspension.

He nosed your chin up, and slipped painful kisses over your jaw, finding the spot below your ear to laud, like you did to him, sucking and releasing when your whine doubled. “Pretty,” he moaned into a harder kiss along the trail of spit his breath cooled. The edge of his teeth scraped another fragile gasp. He rocked his hips for a better one. “Love the way you sound.”

Grasping for clarity in the haze, you reminded him, “Just for you.”

“Fuck” —his voice cracked in the sprint to recover what those three little words did to him— “that’s fuckin’ right just for me.”

Copying what you did in the breakroom, he brought his hand up from your waist to move your shirt out of the way, exposing the meat at the base of your neck. Too excited, he left a map of his teeth. The bite stung your nails into his back. “Sorry,” he regretted, but you denied your pained gulp of air, rubbing your cheek along his temple in a head shake, S’okay. He ran his tongue over the grooves as an apology, anyway. Tracking the dips and curves, licking, suckling, and nipping however hard he could to make you scratch circles on his scalp while struggling with the two syllables of his name.

His hair smelled of fertile soil and charred earth, a tang of metal and new tires.

You gave yourself over to the garden of his scent, sunshine against your eyelids. Beyond the fatigue in your inner thighs was his constant, eager, chase. Chewing through his leash. Gnawing at his restraints. You focused on the long graze of friction, and forgot your surroundings which did not serve the fleeting jolts of pleasure between your legs, or the groping at your tits. You didn’t know there was an issue until Eddie’s frustrated grunt led to a harder tug at the unforgiving neckline of your dress, and finally, he shoved himself upright.

“How the hell do I get this off you?”

That explains why he was grabbing at both sides beneath your arms in search of a zipper.

Blinking, suddenly coming back to Earth, you contained your snort at his distressed motioning at the offensive garment enough to tell him, “It’s in the back,” and added, “like most dresses made in the last two, or three decades.”

He beckoned for you to sit up—a sharp gesture, but not without reason—and with your arms around his neck, he unzipped it with such speed, the plastic teeth should’ve melted from the traction. As he lowered you, the straps slipped from your shoulders, thick fingers inviting the release down to your elbows, breadwinner fists folding the top of the dress over on itself, joining where the bottom was scrunched around your middle. You’d only shaken the straps from your wrists when your body rocked side to side; a victim to his fumbling way of untucking your shirt, dying from suspense.

Stale air struck you from navel to neck.

His warm tongue was on you. “Oh—mm!” your voice raised a girlish notch. Two fat laps into coaxing your nipple tall, and fresh embarrassment ramped up your cheeks from the choked noise you made. You arched into his mouth for more, seeking foundation on his hands when an accidental skim of his teeth piqued your nerves alight. Rolling your head back, you found him through touch, starting with his wrists, working up to his knuckles, and curved squeeze cupping your tits together. He showed you how his mouth watered at the sight. Switching sides, he gifted the other stiff bud with a wet swirl, slipping over it again and again, gaining a squirm in your hips when he changed the speed—and without a break, he went back to the first to suckle, and his unintentional moan slipped out louder than yours when he pulled off.

He released a ragged breath into the valley between your breasts, “Couldn’t help myself.”

His determination throbbed impressions along your body even after he sat on his knees, leaving aches behind as a result of the sixteen short minutes he had with you. The adrenaline stayed in his shaky fingers. The top button of his coveralls dodged his pinch, eluding him. Another attempt, and a darker shade of red crept up his throat. “God fucking damnit, why’d I wear the ones that fucking button all the way down,” he fumed, wishing he could rip it open like the metal snap pair. You peered at his predicament through your lashes, and helped him out.

You tucked your chin to your shoulder in a pout, and competed for his attention, “Hurry up.”

“I know, sweet—” he verbally hit the brakes.

All too pretty, you pushed your tits together and strummed your fingers over your nipples in easy flicks, using his spit to skate over the peaks. You opened your legs wider, feeling his eyes devour you between the thighs. “I’ve missed you all week,” you said. His pulse jumped at the tiny excuse for underwear wedged further into the split, trimmed hair growing on either side.

Too long of a pause passed where his expression was slack. “Jesus Christ.” Working faster, he tore through the rest of the buttons, possibly losing one in the process, and shucked the jumpsuit over his shoulders. He flapped his arms to get the sleeves off, and his stark black tattoos made an appearance. The clumsy way he undressed shouldn’t have an affect on you, but when he took hold of the stuck cuff and the plastic beads clicked together on his bracelet, fresh roots of attraction thrived. Underneath his workwear a white ribbed tank top stretched over his chest. It must’ve been bought long ago when he was a size smaller, the bulk he’d packed on at the garage filled out the seams to their limit. Soft definition contoured the sun around his muscles. Veins strained the surface of his forearms, streaking shadows through the golden rays. Sparse curls fanned over the top of the neckline, thicker under his arms, and dark where his shirt rode up.

The jumpsuit hung loose around his hips, giving a peek at his boxers.

“You don’t wear jeans under those?”

“No? Did you think I did?”

The thought never crossed your mind until it was the only thing on your mind. You just assumed he would, so you shrugged, thinking of quickies in the future.

Eddie’s tolerance for conversation was low. A shuddered exhale blew past his lips, easing his hand down the front of his coveralls, pumping along the length fighting for his attention while he obsessed with what laid before him. Irresistible temptations which would forever change the way he looked at you were created the moment you touched yourself for him. Two fingers, two little circles over your underwear. You lured him, hypnotized him, sighing sweetly at the satisfaction. His bicep jumped in strength to restrain his pace, forearm pulsing from the choke he had on his base.

“Better calm down,” you teased in a slow lilt.

He scoffed—shallow in mockery, but burdened by the truth of the lines softening around his eyes. Shoving his coveralls low enough for his ego to stretch freely against his boxers, he walked his hands beside your body until his mouth was posed above yours. A suggestion of touch hovered over your knuckles rolling in a rhythm to honor yourself. “I haven’t known calm since I met you.” Your face scrunched cutely at the compliment, and you stopped adding fuel to your fire by bringing both arms around his neck, preparing your lips for a kiss which would not come. “I haven’t known calm since I met you,” he repeated. “So why start now?”

Unexpected pleasure consumed you. Eddie rocked his hips forward, and the raw glide of his cock with the thinnest separation of fabric possible stole anything that wasn’t animal instinct. You locked your ankles behind his thighs, drove the thrust deeper, and he answered by grinding down, working his base between your lips, loyal to you and the sweat beading on his brow.

You wrenched his tank top in your fists and felt it go tight where your chests merged, grazing over your nipples harsher with each rut. His shoulders shifted under your curious roaming, bulk of his body withdrawing. He didn’t stray far, only to tuck his forehead to your neck where he could hear the catch in your throat and the beat of your heart. Cozying to a place so near, you heard his guitar pick schlink past the beads of his necklace. Adjusting, he slipped into a deeper position between your legs, and a kiss was dipped to the top of your collarbone, long lashes brushing your skin as his eyes fell closed.

Cradled as one, Eddie dragged his cock down your heat, and followed the new angle up. Pitiful begs broke faster than his jagged groan. His fat tip notched itself at the top of your tender lips, nestled where your thong gathered, and he kept you on the precipice of your moan—of which you crashed into splendidly.

“That’s—god, Eddie, right there,” you babbled into a whimper.

“Fuck, such a pretty sound, baby,” his voice faltered on the endearment, panting hot and sticky on your throat.

The damp spot on his boxers grew. His unrelenting strokes over your clit fast-tracked you both towards the edge.

“Did you—condoms?”

Perking with interest at your hitched whisper, his stubble scrubbed your jaw in a delight of scratches on his way to nose at your cheek. “Picked ‘em up on my way home last night.” The suggestive rasp in his voice took residence in your rib cage, smitten by the thought of him going through a checkout so he was prepared to fuck you the next day. “They’re in the.. the..”

The rate at which his soul left his body would surprise grim reapers.

“Where’re they?”

Understanding your concern, he kept his eyes screwed shut and whittled at the knot between his brows with his knuckle, drilling away the irritation at himself. “They’re in the glove compartment.. of my car.”

“Oh.” The disappointment was brief. Your body clung to the fever he set, knowing you were both close, and paradise was another weekend away. Thinking quickly, you cupped his cheeks and put a swing in your tone, “We can do other stuff!” Hoping it was good enough, you scrutinized his expression, watching the words register, sink in, brighten his pupils into unholy territory at the idea.

The charm of his dimple was the cherry on top of his two front teeth emerging from the leap of his lips. Earnesty from a thousand endless wells poured out of him, “I love other stuff,” he said, imbuing each round word with a secret.

Jumping up, his enthusiasm was hampered by the roof. “Close call,” he commented to himself, narrowly dodging a concussion. He crouched to some degree, and made his way over to the amps, hiking up his coveralls to his hips as he went. The sheer lust in his weight pressing you to the floor was sorely missed, but you sat up to watch him waddle the amps to the center of the van and tip them, guiding their front plates down flat.

You puzzled out why he would line them up like a short mattress, and began salivating at the thought of him sitting on the additional height, and having his cock better in line with your mouth. “Are those for you?” Eagerness lifted your voice, swam in your glossy eyes. Eddie should be thanking the stars he landed someone so enthusiastic about drinking him whole after putting in hours around the shop, but instead of getting his brain-stopped-working glazed over stare, he slapped the amps twice.

“These are for you, pretty girl. Come sit down. I gotta thank you, remember?”

A memory of torn nylon and unfulfilled promises sparked at his phrasing.

Gotta thank you.

Getting to your feet, you arranged your arms for a bit of modesty, and snuck past the back windows, walking on shaky legs to where he kneeled at one end of the makeshift bed. Pure affection spotlighted you as the sole receiver of his enraptured smile, face aglow. He squeezed the tips of your fingers as you sat, and his lips were the softest thing to grace your cheek. It was the sweetest you’d seen him, especially when he anchored his palms to your hips, and his nerves crept in.

“Just, uh, tell me—or, let me know if I’m doing something you don’t like, okay?”

You tittered, “Okay,” as if you weren’t on the brink of unraveling regardless of skill, or even effort.

Putting faith in the durability of the hard shell encased amps, you leaned back on your hands, lowering to your elbows on the texture plastic, relaxing through the suspense of being on display for someone for the first time—and in broad daylight, too. Dim bedside lamps and flattering angles could obscure much, but why hide anything when your boyfriend spent the better part of his week biting at the cage of adult responsibilities keeping him from you? He’s the one who hid the new order of car wax for an excuse to fuck you sloppy in the back of his van. You basked in his reaction.

Eddie’s hands wandered the curves spread on the pedestal before him. One palm cupped your chest where his spit dried to a sheen, teasing your nipple lightly; juxtaposed, the other shaped itself over your waist and hips, clamping on your knee and smoothing his muzzled grip up your thigh. They joined to ruck the hem of your dress higher. But before the reveal, he bent over the slope of your body to cherish the glitters of sweat sparkling across your sternum. The minutes working against your escapade were unforgiving, but he chose to dedicate a few moments to your natural salt as he hooked his fingers under the stretch of your underwear. The cotton stuck to the praise he’d given you thus far, damp and tight, a work of art. Moving them aside, he stayed kissing the curve of your belly.

Intense, hot-blooded throbs of desperation concentrated on the immediate relief of your wet heat being exposed for appreciating. Fingertips caressed into a curl for his knuckles to adore your puffy lips plumped together, tracing up the other side with his thumb, and cresting the short curls at the top. A tortured lurch in your hips followed his touch when he took it away. Not a strong enough man to deprive his girl for long, he allayed you in kiss down your antsy chase, and sat back on his calves, landing his gaze where his fantasies only imagined.

He didn’t do anything for a few seconds.

Sunlight streamed from the window over his shoulder, shining radiance on the glisten made for him.

His lungs emptied in a thin, wispy breath.

Manners vanished when it came to a starving man. Your excited gasp lapsed into a spell of stunned giggles, which shot into an open-mouthed ah! No composure to spare, he dove in, shouldering one of your legs and hooking an arm around to pry your thong out of his way. Fat tongue, longer than you knew, buried between your lips. Insistent mouth framed by your pussy. Jaw slack to lap up his reward. He leaned his entire being into licking inside you, and dragging upwards, mixing your arousal with his spit and swirling it in a heavy circle. A single direct graze, and your chest rose and fell in stuttered bursts, shaking through the beginning of a sweet whimper. A light suckle from him pulling off to swallow the taste, and escaping your throat was a noise capable of convincing him God was real.

Attentive eyes connected over your mound. Big, brown, and pleased. Pupils inundated by curiosity, yet abundantly aware. Respecting you to the highest degree, he edged his fixation, surrounding your swollen clit with his full lips to feel you throb through the contact. “Eddie—” Your nipples hardened through the helpless pant of his name at the first true suction. Increasingly mesmerized by the response he earned when he added pressure, he stamped his tongue to his top lip and dropped it to his bottom, adding the sort of strokes that had your hand in his hair. “Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum so fast,” you rushed out. The shame in your whisper felt less like shame and more like a compliment when you held the back of his head, and tilted yourself in offering.

In one solid action, you were yanked to the edge of the amp by his grip twisting around your dress, and he looped his arms around your hips to hug you closer still, sealing your gift to his mouth. Muffled whines of gratitude came from his throat, so thankful for the opportunity, eyelashes batting heavily at the privilege of your inner thighs squishing his cheeks. Too beautiful. Could watch it for hours if you had the time.

You stretched out on your five star hotel bed, and closed your eyes, focusing on the articulation of his tongue against your need.

Steady licks devolved into wet kisses sucked between your lips. Pleasure bloomed from the place he persisted, weaving warmth from your stomach to your fingers in his loose curls. You swept his bangs from the beads of sweat plastering them to his forehead, raking them back with your fingernails on his scalp, luxuriating in the connection of your honeyed caress and his moan rumbling against your core. “Feels so—so fucking good,” you gushed.

The weight of one of his arms let up. Smooth calluses swept to your knee, rubbing the spanse of your thigh before shaking a handful of your fat, and leaving a sting of his handprint behind. Your body rocked from him shifting under your legs. Bumpy actions led to his mouth withdrawing, and the sounds of him making out with your cunt were replaced by your heartbeat hammering in your ears. He sat up to his knees briefly, and came back to tend to you in a distracted rhythm, clothes rustling in the process. A question formed in your head, but before you could ask it, he latched his pout around your clit, and worked you into a frenzy.

Pressure prodded at your entrance. One finger glided in without trouble. He fucked you with two, then. Two crooked inside, knuckles shoved against the hypersensitive skin running slick with arousal. He strove for a response until your heels dug into his back, and he knew the sensations were linked—inside and out, mouth and fingers.

Then he took his hand away.

You were left feeling empty when there was nothing to clench around, but his devotion didn’t waver. Your muscles twitched at each immaculate lick, thighs closing in on him, too close to care about whatever else he was doing. You concentrated on yourself, arching into your hands, spoiling yourself with fluttery traces over your nipples, rolling the buds in light pinches at the enthusiasm he had for savoring you. The constant vibrations of satisfaction he hummed on your pussy were enough to have you dripping, and when his big fingers stretched you open again, pumping you full in a few thrusts along the base of nerves which burned your cheeks, the van echoed every indecent soppy smack.

And again, there was a sensation of him curving his fingers deeper than normal before his shoulder dropped, and viscous yearning flowed after the emptiness.

A repetitive soft thumping noise blended to the back of your consciousness.

Eddie committed his sense of self to making you cum. Learning the unambiguous signs of your release, and being the reason they manifested, became his purpose. Sucking ceaselessly, investing the curve of his lips, his agile tongue, his entire mouth to heed the steady motion. Fingers still coated in sticky lewdness, they returned to fuck you too. Your deep breaths turned shallow, stomach seizing on moans and releasing them in trembling gasps. Waves on waves on waves of bliss crested under your hot skin, and your voice went too tight in your throat to not drive him crazy, “Eddie, I’m gonna—!”

Groans in the lower octave of a man enjoying himself shaped your release crashing over you.

The intimacy of his tongue on your oversensitive clit was incomparable, sending you into shamelessly grinding on his mouth, huffing out tiny whimpers as your muscles braced around him. Tighter, and tighter, until the tension became too much, and you were shivering for his mercy, riding the last jolts of your climax snug against his nose. “Please,” you squirmed for less, then when he gave you less, your ankles locked behind his back through the torture of a few more.

Doses of euphoria swam in your veins. Sinking from your high, heaviness blanketed your limbs. Bonelessness seeped from top to bottom. Tingly warmth took over, relaxing you to a state of clarity, flourishing in the scratch of Eddie’s five o’clock shadow on your inner thighs. He let go of your underwear, issuing an apology for where the material cut into your skin with a gentle roam over your hip as both hands left you.

The bend where the underside of your knees draped his shoulders bounced at an impressive speed.

You peered over your curves to sate your curiosities. Eddie’s temple rested on your leg, bangs askew and hair a mess of frizz and curls stuck to the sheen on his neck. He’d yet to move from his position, laying his head where he could, face angled to admire his work, eyes heavy-lidded past the point of inebriation. Ambient sun decorated the glisten around his mouth. A gleam of drool wet his red lips, flushed darker than his cheeks, which he pressed into a slow swallow over your tender cunt.

His exhale cooled the wetness before his tongue warmed it up.

A sharp hiss jumped into a whine of his name. “S’too much,” you strained. A wrecked man, Eddie couldn’t hear you through the pride you afforded him, flirting delicate kisses on your overworked clit, surrendering to the hold you had over him, and reveling in the aftermath of making you cum. Gradually going limp, his nose mashed to your mound, mouth hung open, pushing your orgasm in lazy laps. Another cry, beg, aftershock of his name and the burden of his forehead fell to your hip crease, filling his lungs in uneven drags. The break in sensory overload was appreciated; a sigh of relief.

You sat up and dropped your legs from their mantle, intent on clearing the fuzz from your mind, but—Eddie’s elbow rubbed a fierce tempo along your calf. The motion synced with the fast-paced squelch you heard earlier, before it faded to the background along with the soft thump and rustle of clothes. All of it came together in an echo of answers. Straightening up further, you witnessed exactly how worked up he was over your pussy.

Speechless awe overrode your ability to form sentences

In the gap framed by your thighs, his body shuddered through the fervent strokes focused over his lap. With his coveralls slacked to the tops of his thighs, he cupped his balls over the waistband of his boxers, skin bouncing in his palm, soft grip protecting their load while his other hand worked his length. Clear slick trickled over his knuckles, fingers slipping over the cream gathered at the head and guiding it down. Absolutely candid in his attraction, he fucked his fist using your arousal as lube.

In just a few twists over the blushy needy tip, he pumped the base in effort to make himself last, and peeled his sticky cheek off your thigh, looking up at you. Whiskey eyes awfully honest, awfully clear and round, he said, “You’re about to make me cum so hard.” In the vocal pause, the wet glide of his palm drove him to the edge, and his tone grew pointed as he went beyond the point of slowing down, “Like, now.”

The reason behind his direness took a moment to register, but when it did, panic flickered through you.

“Oh—shit—uh,” you stuttered. He needed a place to cum, and in your post-orgasmic daze you dropped your chin to think of your tits first, but had the wherewithal to decide against the possibility of him misaiming onto your dress. Beside you, the blanket was mostly stuck under the amps, and there wasn’t an extra rag in sight. His tank top was an option, but you thought of a better one. “My mouth!” you insisted with a gesture. “I’ll—” swallow.

Eddie was already to his feet. The van rocked with his heavy boots, wide stance stretching his coveralls tight around his legs, and undershirt pushed up out of the way. He braced one hand on the roof, cushioning his head bent to the metal in order to stand, and resumed his pace. You stuck your tongue out. The immediate pressure of his cock prodded the flat middle. Tasting yourself for the first time, the tang was surprising, but welcomed by the familiar salt leaking from his tip mixing with your spit. Warming up to the blend, you swirled sultry licks on the sensitive underside he avoided, and his tattooed stomach clenched.

Sitting pretty, you knew what he liked and cupped your tits together, gazing up at him with a submissive pinch between your brows. “So goddamn hot,” he grunted out, jaw clenched as if he were mad, stroking himself faster. His middle finger rammed over your lip on every pass. It might swell. It might bruise. “So—mmm—f’king hot.” Breaths jagged, his thighs flexed from the buckle in his knees, staggering him a step forward enough to put tension on your gag reflex. You clutched his jumpsuit into your fists. His rough groans shook through his stature. Building cusps of his release stuttered his hand flying over his cock, jerking himself off in bursts as pleasure peaked under his skin. The scrunch of concentration above his nose deepened. His stomach tightened in pulses, pecs jumping with his gasp, “Gonna,” and he was spilling into your mouth.

A moan made its way through your throat before it closed in a quick swallow. Tongue out, he trembled as he coated you some more. The first two shots were heavy, the rest followed suit, filling you for another round which you accepted with your lips snug around his fat tip. He doubled over at the achy raw sensation of your cheeks hollowing. Baby, he throbbed into you, flinching, yet giving. Allowed, you polished swirls over the throbbing head, lapping up any remains. You sat there with his clean cock in your mouth, meditating on the line drawn from the tattooed dragon wrapped around the sword pointing at the trail from his navel to the thick patch of curls at his base, which you could only reach when he was going soft, as he was then.

He tucked himself into his boxers after you pulled away, and sank to his knees. The sweat on his forehead merged with yours, oily noses pressed together, eyes hardly open as he trusted you to hold him up. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” his voice came hoarse with sincerity, anchored by the current of true longing flowing from the depths of his past. “How much it means to me, making you feel good like you make me feel good.” For Eddie, having proof of the good he could provide for you validated parts of himself he hadn't acknowledged for years. “Sorry I made it about myself in the end there. I, uh—ha—I couldn’t help myself when you were getting into it, and saying my name, ‘nd stuff.” Your bark of laughter encouraged his shy giggle, all bashful and humble.

Kissing his smile, your lips connected on the fated scents of each other after a hot and heavy day at work, and he sighed into palms fitting themselves to his jaw, mouth fixed in a taut smile as he worked through the happiness welling in his throat.

You told him, “Make me cum like that, and you can do whatever you want, Munson.” He snorted at his name, and played with strands of hair over his face, hiding his stupid grin. “I’m serious. Not that I thought you’d be bad or anything, but that was beyond good. Like, really good.” You should stop talking. “And it was flattering. Like, hot. It was really hot,” you decided, “knowing you couldn’t stop touching yourself—”

“Stop,” he complained in an embarrassed whine. Unable to take praise outside the heat of the moment, his gaze made friends with the floor while he mumbled about how he was a motivated learner and pulled out all his tricks to impress you, tucking his chin to avoid owning his skill. He dropped the act on a dime. Pointing, an overabundance of pride entered his tone once more, “You, uhm.. you christened my amp.”

“Huh?” You spread your legs to see. Utter mortification stung your nerves at the sticky stream of arousal, spit, and climax drying down the side of the plastic, wetting his piece of expensive equipment. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! Is it okay? Did I damage it—?”

“I got it,” he said with a firm hand to your sternum, laying you flat.

The low rumble in his throat drew near. Staying gentle, he parted your slippery split in a deep lick to your inner heat, running his tongue in broad strokes up the extra passion made just for him, quenching his thirst before your lunch break rendezvous was over. An appreciative kiss was bestowed on your clit before he smoothed your underwear into place. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and helped you up. The amp was left how it was.

Eddie opened his arms, and you understood. Moving slow through the syrup in your limbs, you straddled his lap, settling yourself over his softened cock, sensitive selves brushing through clothes. He reached behind him and popped open the door. Fresh air smacked rivers of sweat, cooling and calming. You melted into the other’s embrace, bonding in the last moments of your time together.

Sun glanced off the wood paneling, casting a glow on his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to share the same breath in the limited space between your chests. Lovesick eyes, bed head, face he’d have to wash in the bathroom sink with hand soap. So handsome. You combed the delicate hairs at his nape up into his bun, scratching tingles through his body. The threat of being caught was ignored for one minute longer.

Traces of humor rounded his clipt tone, “I need you next weekend. ‘Kay? I don’t care what we gotta do—if we gotta send Buckley off on some island vacation—I want some real alone time with you.”

“What? Is the van not good enough?”

“No,” he answered your tease with a serious drawl, raising his eyebrows. “This was just to hold us over until then. I don’t wanna make a habit of this, ‘cause then this? This is all I’ll think about when I’m supposed to be, y’know, working. Fixing shit. Not.. picturing you with your tits out.” Speaking of the distraction, he tugged your shirt down, and you fell into a fit of giggles, snickering against the crook of his neck as you stuffed the hem in your dress, and he crawled the straps up your arms, managing to zip the back up without looking.

Of which your good mood dwindled when you collected yourself. “Aw..”

“Yeah, it’s kinda worse than I thought it’d be.. Sorry.”

Dirt, motor oil, grime. Streaks, smears, smudges. And plenty of it. The burgundy dress he adored was visibly ruined, and only half way through your clocked-in hours.

You found the silver lining. “Guess I’ll wear black from now on.”

“Black looks good on you,” he assured. You reared back to assess the damage, and he filled the stretch of his palms with two handfuls of ass, ensuring you didn’t lose balance. Always willing to be of assistance, of course. “Oh, and may I say, genius planning on your part with the car wax,” he stressed his admiration of you. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself.”

Not following, you stopped scraping your nail over a patch of dust clinging to your white sleeve. “I thought you hid the car wax?”

“No..”

The next line was predictable. You would meet eyes, wait a beat, and deliver ‘Then.. who did?’ However, Eddie proved his impulsive thoughts won when devious shadows crowded the hook of his smirk, dimple arising. He opened his mouth, and you knew no good would come from it.

“I didn’t even fuck you, and you already can’t remember where you put the—Gah!” He shrieked at your pinch on his nipple, and the van rocked harder with your combined laughter, obnoxious in every organic way.

Casual wasn't an option when you wore this dress. Dialed back lost its meaning one root beer ago. The afternoon delight would live in the fibers of your unspoken language every morning when you looked at each other; coffee, cigarettes, spearmint. Goodbye normal workplace relationship, and good riddance.

~~~

Carl entered the lobby with confusion on his brow. He eyed the CLOSED sign on the door, and shuffled the bottles of wax loaded in his arms to turn it around, almost dropping them in the process. Earsplitting guitar licks and shrill vocals belonging to Iron Maiden beat on the windows to the garage, drawing his attention to the half-dressed mechanic ripping a bite out of his bologna sandwich, and flipping a socket wrench in his hand, head banging along to his music. Carl slid his side-eye away. Questions were not asked on his walk past your desk, merely serving a glance at your forkful of perceptibly congealed squash casserole which hadn’t been microwaved. Better yet, he didn’t address the canvas jacket you wore despite the visible shine dotting your forehead, nor your wheezing breaths as if you’d sat in your chair approximately thirty-nine seconds ago. He continued down the hall in silence.

The hair on your nape stood on end from someone’s gaze on you. The correct choice would be to ignore it, keep your head down, and finish the expense reports due by the time Robin picked you up. But like a good bitch, you submitted.

Waiting for you was Eddie’s cocky grin. Through the dusty glass pane indulgent curves of mischief edged his eyes into smug little crescents glinting from the secret between your bodies. Boundless amounts of vanity broadened his chest, pecs jumping as he tightened the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist. He peacocked in a slow turn to bend over the engine he was working on, shifting from foot to foot and leaning his hands on the car, flexing through the motion to catch swathes of shadows on the swell of his triceps leading to his hardened shoulders, strong back taking shape under his tank top. Mesmerizing. You couldn’t begin to imagine a world where you could keep the dreamy sigh out of your voice when Carl’s bewildered question arose.

“Wait—Were these here the whole time?” Judging by the plastic bounce and cardboard scramble, he had dropped one of the bottles, and when he dropped to his knees to grab it from behind a mop bucket you forgot to empty, he spotted the box of car wax you ordered at the start of the week and misplaced amongst the chaos in the storage closet.

“Oh? Were they?” you wondered. Stuffing the casserole in your mouth, the fork tines scraped across your teeth on its way out, chewing with your cheek propped on your fist. Blinking sleepily at the purply blue bruises you left on Eddie’s neck the morning before, you replied from faraway, “Weird. Thought I left them on the shelf.. Maybe the garage is cursed like Hawkins, too.”

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

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elixirfromthestars · 2 months ago

Text

Lines Crossed

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warning(s): 18+ mdni / drinking / jealousy / forced proximity / smut / female reader / drunk jerk (stranger) / tension / will they won't they oh they will 🫣❤️‍🔥 / sex w/protection / pet names / sprinkles of possessive + protective Bucky so be prepared / there's a build-up so enjoy ❣️

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

a/n: Please be kind this is my first time writing something like this. 🥺🩶 I decided to challenge myself and join @mercurial-chuckles‘ smutty September fest. A tad late on the deadline because Hurricane Helene decided to take the power out. 😭 This is a standalone fic, but you can most definitely read it (and is intended to be) as a continuation of the events of A Night of Frights & Delights. Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ❤️❤️

part one backstory // divider // ambiance 🤍

You step into the foyer of the Stark Manor, a grand staircase greets you, its golden railing glowing underneath an ornate chandelier. Various guests mingle around the manor, the buzz of conversation accompanying the music that pulses throughout. Everything about the sight in front of you screams old wealth and elegance.

Your eyes scan the luxurious home with an expression of awe. Despite being invited before, you had never come to one of Tony’s parties. Choosing the comfort of your bed and your favorite show instead. However, this time knowing a certain captain of the baseball team would be here—and your history with him—well you just had to come.

As you take it all in, your gaze locks on a pair of beautiful blues. The very same ones you were thinking of all day. And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was awaiting your arrival just as much as you had been waiting to see him.

There was no denying he most certainly had been.

Bucky had arrived about half an hour earlier with some of his teammates. His impatience grew by the second at your absence. He was dying to see what you wore for the party. You denied him any sneak peeks, which only fueled his excitement. He tried distracting himself by greeting anyone he could and making conversation, but he continuously gravitated to the foyer, waiting for the moment you stepped in through those doors.

When you finally did, Bucky knew with the utmost certainty that the wait was worth it. When his eyes met yours you knocked the air straight out of his lungs with the black dress you were wearing. The satin dawning your body accentuated your silhouette perfectly—and the high slit at your right leg showed off the right amount of skin. The way you did your hair and your makeup complimented you perfectly, and Bucky was losing his goddamn mind because of it.

Sincerely, he was close to whisking you away and keeping you all to himself.

You looked nothing short of beyond stunning. Bucky had been holding back for months, staying within the lines you drew that night in the tent, and honestly, he deserved a medal for that. It’s the hardest thing he's ever done. What he felt for you couldn’t measure up to anything else in his life. Never had he felt so over the moon in his feelings for anyone. Yet, you brought on those sentiments by just being you. He was sure if he wasn’t in love with you yet, he was damn near close to it.

And right now, seeing you in that dress, his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. Places that only belonged to him and his bed on those nights you left him wanting more. Thoughts and scenarios where the night ends with him tearing that dress right off you and showing you just how serious he is about wanting you.

He’s not so sure he can be on his best behavior tonight.

Bucky discards the drink he had been holding and saunters over to you. Your heart races in your chest when you see the way his blues darken when he rakes his eyes over your form—shamelessly drinking you up. You take in his figure as well, the all-black suit giving him an aura of class and sophistication that was stirring something dangerous within you.

Bucky cleaned up good, real good.

He stops a mere foot away from you, his eyes twinkling with intentions both of you long for. You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until his voice broke you out of your trance.

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave my side tonight, not in that dress,” Bucky’s voice is deeper than usual, contrasting the charming grin on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, “I don’t need a babysitter, Bucky,” you reply amused at the thought. Having Bucky by your side all night would definitely lead to you two enjoying each other’s company in other ways.

Not that you would object if it did.

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more as a light chuckle escapes him. “Maybe not you sweetheart, but I might. Someone’s going to have to keep me in check tonight. I already have a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you and now you walk in looking like a masterpiece and I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself?” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, almost as if to stop himself from saying too much.

“Something tells me you’re going to lay it on thick tonight, aren't you?” You tease him, all the while your body thrums with the way he compliments you. Bucky always knows exactly what to say to make you feel like the only girl in the room. An effortless gift he had only when it came to you.

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.

The spell you two were under was suddenly broken by Darcy, who rushed over to where you were standing and linked your arm with hers. “Sorry! I’m going to steal her away for a bit there Bucky!” She says unapologetically as she tears you away from the man who looks like he could have devoured you if your friend hadn't interrupted. Your protests fall on deaf ears so you're left waving a small—but not definite—farewell to Bucky.

It seemed Bucky’s friends had been waiting for the right moment to steal him away too. As soon as you were in another room Sam and Steve went up to Bucky and dragged him to whatever antics the baseball team was up to. His disappointment matches yours, but if there was one thing he had proven all these months was that he had a lot of patience. He knew you two would end up crossing each other’s paths more than once tonight. It was only a matter of time.

“You forgot you promised to stick by my side tonight. My ex is here, I need the support,” Darcy reminds you with a slight pout. She looks like a ball of fire with the way she pulls you through the crowd in her crimson dress. Her eyes dart to every guest looking to avoid her ex at all costs.

“I didn’t forget. I was just saying hi to a friend,” you explain emitting a snort from Darcy, “A friend? If he’s just a friend than I’m the Queen of England.” You roll your eyes, a small huff of a laugh leaving your lips. Darcy wasn’t wrong. You and Bucky weren’t just friends, but you also weren’t anything more—and that was by your account.

You and Bucky have fallen into a grey area of what you are to each other. At first, after the camping trip, you tried avoiding him. Not because what happened upset you—but because you couldn’t trust yourself around him after that. Making out with him in that tent made you realize that what you thought had been an annoyance towards Bucky was actually the beginning of a deep-rooted crush. One that bubbled to the surface after that night.

Avoiding him altogether was an impossible task when he lived in the other apartment in the duplex you rented. Especially after he insisted on giving you rides back and forth from campus with the excuse that now that you two were friends it's only natural for him to be more friendly. By his definition, it also included things like buying you food on days he knows you’ve been too busy to get something for yourself, walking you to your classes whenever he has the chance, and going with you to art exhibitions to dabble in your passion with you.

Oh, and it also included kissing you mercilessly during tutoring sessions.

Around the time that fall semester began, Bucky asked you if you could tutor him on a few subjects. He hadn’t done the greatest academically last semester and he wanted to keep his grades up before baseball season started. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when you realized how sincere he was about needing the help.

Tutoring Bucky meant spending lots of time with him after classes. The sessions were innocent at first, but after the first time kissing on your bed, Bucky made it a tradition to have his lips on yours, and his hands wandering your body at every session. He even stopped hosting parties at his place, preferring being in your room and getting drunk on the taste of you.

Bucky was too infatuated by you to ever want to do anything else. Studying was an afterthought whenever you were around, and yet he was doing better than he ever had before in all his classes. Being someone you could be proud of was honestly the best motivation he could ask for.

Deep down you knew you were falling for him. There was a bit of apprehension on your part as you hadn’t known Bucky to ever have a girlfriend. From what you can remember, ever since you’ve known him, he was the kind of guy who preferred flirting and casual encounters. And there was no guarantee you would be the one to break that. So to keep yourself safe you drew those lines—built those walls up high to guard your heart. Bucky respected those lines and never crossed them. No matter how badly he wanted to.

Some days, like today, made you want to say screw the lines and just give in to what you desired most. However, when that desire included lowering those walls you put in place, you weren’t brave enough to risk it—so you didn’t. Instead, you and Bucky danced around those lines until it drove you both mad.

Your thoughts follow you for the next hour as you stay by Darcy’s side. Bucky has this natural way of consuming your mind lately—and your sketchbook. You wish you had it with you right now because when your feelings decide to overflow you channel that intensity onto the paper. For months, every page had been filled with graphite drawings of Bucky. His smile, his eyes, his determined expression when studying, his confident stance during baseball games, and everything else that sparked the creative fire in you. You found a lot of solace in drawing him.

Bucky was undoubtedly your favorite muse.

You're so lost in your thoughts you don’t register you’re in the kitchen of the manor until the guests around you cheer. It seems Darcy and Thor have fallen into a friendly competition of sorts to see who could down more shots than the other in one minute. A group of spectators and friends have gathered in the kitchen to watch the showdown go down. Your eyes dart to Jane who only gives you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. She is not looking forward to having to drive those two home later.

Contrary to your friends, you weren’t drinking much tonight. Bucky’s lingering presence at the party was all your senses needed to feel like you were in a daze. For appearances, however, you decide to grab one of the red solo cups to blend in with the rest of those around you.

“Hey, Y/n! Enjoying the party?” A male’s voice comes from your right and when you turn to see who it is a friendly smile appears on your face. It was Ian Boothby, a fellow art major at your university. You’ve had him in enough of your classes to consider him a friend.

“Hey, Ian. Yeah, I’m having a good time. Are you?” Your question is a catalyst for a much longer chat with Ian. The two of you fall into light conversation about the semester, art, and other relevant topics. It's a nice breath of fresh air compared to the thoughts that had been consuming you tonight. Especially when he tells you the story of one of his painting mishaps causing you to laugh along with him.

Soon after, a hand snakes its way around your waist, and when you smell that familiar woody muskiness you know exactly who it is.

“Having fun without me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice has a slight edge to it as he speaks, his lips forming a smirk. You face him and the look in his eyes stills you.

Bucky does not look pleased.

“Bucky, hey man. How’s baseball prep?” Ian beats you to it by addressing Bucky first. Bucky's eyes flick between you and Ian before he presses you into his side by the hold on your waist. This does not go unnoticed by Ian.

“Boothby, it's going good. How’s the cross-country season treating you?” Bucky asks, his tone giving away how uninterested he is in continuing this conversation. If Ian picks up on the animosity he doesn’t show it as he goes on and on about the sport. Bucky’s impatience grows the more he speaks and his hold on you gets a little more firm. When Bucky’s expression finally gives way to how he genuinely feels Ian finds a way to excuse himself and exit the conversation.

A beat passes before you finally speak, “Ian’s my friend. You didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you say with slight annoyance. Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“Oh? And how was he looking at me?”

“Like in the way only I should be.”

The possessiveness in his voice catches you off guard. The air electrifying around you both at his words. You weren’t going to drink, but you suddenly felt the need to. You take a sip of the substance in your cup, the bitter liquid doing little to ground you. Bucky can tell how he’s affecting you and joins you with his drink. His eyes never leave yours as he gulps some of it down.

You have to stop yourself from inhaling the entire thing in one go.

“Ian’s harmless. He’s just comfortable with me because he’s an art major too. I’ve had a lot of classes with him,” you do your best to continue the conversation and ignore the way your body heats up when Bucky gives your hip a possessive squeeze. Massaging the area afterward in gentle strokes.

“You do a lot of bonding over paint?” Bucky’s response is slightly mocking, licking his lips to catch a drop of alcohol that wanted to escape. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he relishes the way you're looking at him now. Your gaze trained on his lips. When you realize he’s noticed, the heat from your body goes straight to your face.

You wouldn’t let him have the upper hand though. Never.

“Well, when you have to sketch someone’s naked body you obviously become friendly,” your reply causes Bucky to choke on his drink, the hand at your hip falling as he uses it to grab a few napkins from the granite counter behind him to wipe at the mess he made. You hide a wicked grin behind the rim of your cup.

He narrows his eyes at you, “Excuse me? What does that mean?” He knows what you mean, but he’s giving you a chance to tell him you're joking. He’s not hiding the jealousy that crawls up his spine at your revelation.

“It means Ian’s a nude model for some of my classes. He may not look like it but underneath those layers, he’s got the most gorgeous—” Bucky cuts you off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him. There’s been plenty of times you’ve shut him up with your mouth and it was his turn to return the favor. Because hearing you talk about the naked body of another man gets under his skin in ways he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t going to just stand there and hear another word of it.

The kiss catches you by surprise, but soon your drink is discarded in favor of pulling him closer by his blazer. Not caring who sees or what anyone thinks, since it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in front of others. Your craving for him was far too loud to ignore anymore. Your lips stay locked until your lungs burn begging for air.

Bucky pulls away with a smug smile, his voice an octave lower as he moves to whisper in your ear, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I know you love getting a rise out of me, but just so we’re clear—next time you want to mess with me like that—I’ll make sure you can’t even stand after I’m through with you,” his declaration causes a shiver to make its way up your spine.

You swallow hard, your mouth opening to say something, but no sound comes out. Bucky lets out a rough chuckle, ghosting his lips against your cheek before pulling away to stare at how speechless he’s left you. He’s blatantly savoring every second of it.

You want to say something—anything. Something witty or playful, but the thought of him making good on his promise—the image it conjures in your mind—keeps you silent.

“Buck! You’re needed at beer pong! Tony’s team is winning and the bet is up to five hundred,” Steve rushes into the kitchen, breaking through the bubble you two were in. His eyes dart between you and Bucky with a knowing look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the sight of you two.

You start to register there’s still an extravagant party happening around you.

Bucky sighs with slight irritation as he once again gets his moment with you interrupted. He reluctantly tears his attention away from you to call back to Steve, “I’ll be right there!” Steve nods in approval before going back the way he came.

Now’s your chance to say something, but Bucky pulls away from your body before you can. A coldness replacing where his touch used to be. “Hold that thought, baby. Looks like my team needs their star player,” he winks at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead, “you keep thinking about what I said while I’m gone,” he says in a gruff whisper, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip in a barely there touch.

He knows he needs to leave before he takes this somewhere you can’t go back from.

Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he makes a smooth exit. Heading out of the kitchen in the direction of the beer pong game. Your body prickling with an ever growing sexual frustration. You were embarrassingly close to snatching Bucky away and giving in to all your desires in one of the many rooms of the manor.

“You two need to get a room,” Jane seems to read your mind as she teases you. Appearing from behind you once Bucky was no longer in sight. You can’t deny her words, letting out a small huff, “I don’t know what good that would do. I’ve been clear about not wanting to take things further.” You explain to her, not sure if you could go back on your words for the sake of giving in to what you want now. Jane has had this conversation with you a few times before, and it appears she's hit her limit today.

“That man is absolutely head over heels for you. How can you not see that?” Jane shakes her head at you, wondering how she can make you realize what you already know yet deny. There's a vulnerability that overcomes you when you reply, “It’s not that I don’t see it. I just—I’ve never seen him be serious about anyone. The only thing he’s ever serious about is baseball.” Jane looks like she’s about to do something drastic at your denial.

“Y/n, Bucky is serious about you. He’s literally all about you—he’s chosen you over baseball many times. I’m not around him like you are and even I can see it clear as day. Do you know Thor and like half of the baseball team thinks you two are secretly dating? Stop denying what you know deep down is true and just give in—be happy,” Jane tells it like it is, her tone leaving no room for argument or denial.

For so long Bucky has shown you another side of him—one not many get to see. He’s given you priority and importance when he didn’t have to. Care and consideration when you needed it most. A shoulder to lean on and a steady support to rely on. Time and time again Bucky has demonstrated how much you mean to him.

Perhaps, you both have been something more to each other for a long time and Bucky’s kept his wishes at bay to make sure things developed at your pace.

When it finally hits you, you almost feel exposed by how skillfully Jane can read you. At how easily she can see the situation for what it is and not for what your worries twisted it to be. If Bucky had made it clear to you how he felt, what was stopping you from taking things further than they had been before?

At this point, nothing, nothing was stopping you but yourself.

This realization follows you to the dance floor. A very drunk Darcy had pulled you to it along with Jane, babbling tipsily after losing the drinking competition to Thor. You had never seen a living room with such high ceilings before or enough room to host a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth. The living space had been stripped of its furniture and supplied with top-notch equipment to make it resemble the inside of a club.

At least in the near darkness, it resembled one.

You’re in a huddle of your closest friends, all of them letting the music guide their movements to their heart’s content. You sway absentmindedly, so you're not merely standing there awkwardly. The kaleidoscope of party lights strobe and kiss your skin with an array of colors as the music thumps around your body.

A loud cheer catches your attention, the source of the sound coming from a table on the far left end of the room. Tony and his friends were boisterous as they made a shot against their opponent's team in beer pong—Bucky’s team. You had a clear view of it all from where you stood.

Bucky’s team seems to be taking turns on who drinks every time Tony’s team makes a shot. They look amongst themselves until Bucky steps up and chugs the liquid in the red solo cup. It's like he can feel the shift in the air because as soon as the cup is away from his lips his eyes scan the space and find you, and suddenly it's like you two are the only two people in the room.

You want him—all of him. You enjoy the teases, the banter, the back and forth, but you know you’d enjoy calling him yours more.

The music picks up in tempo as your boldness grows. Keeping your eyes trained on him, your hips begin to sway provocatively, tempting him to say screw the game and make his way towards you instead. Bucky’s not even paying attention to the game anymore his eyes soaking up your every move as it fans the flames of desire between you. The atmosphere around you buzzes as the ground shakes due to the sea of dancing bodies, and yet nothing thrums within you more than your need for Bucky.

The little show you’re putting on for him continues as you roll and wave your body in ways that seduce him. Ghosting your hand along the curves and dips of your figure showing him exactly where you’d like his hands to be. Bucky’s mind is reeling with everything he wants to do to you and none of it involves the dance floor and all of it involves you and him in some private corner of the manor where he can show you exactly what his hands are capable of.

You are making it impossibly hard for him to concentrate on anything else.

Slowly and with shady intentions a group of drunk guys circle the huddle of you and your friends like vultures. Finding their way to snake themselves into any corner or crevice they can fit into. Their bodies bumping and grazing against yours. There’s one guy in particular that has his sights set on you. Getting closer to you on the dancefloor and creeping his hands along your waist. You swat his hands away, but he doesn’t disperse immediately. The alcohol on his breath fanning your face causing you to gag. The more you dismiss him the more adamant he was about keeping you close to him.

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused.

Bucky glares at the drunk guy, his gaze cold and unapologetic, “Alright, that's enough.” The drunk guy sneers, his words slurred, “What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,” Bucky’s reply is sharp and menacing. He directs it to all the men that had swarmed you and your friends.

Shifting you so you stand at his side, Bucky steps forward to let the guys know he’s not messing around. Your hold goes to his right arm where you’re watching the exchange unfold anxiously. You hope things don’t escalate, not wanting Bucky to get into a scuffle. You know he can handle himself, but the idea of him getting hurt in any way caused your heart to ache.

The guys size Bucky up and it seems some of them think they can take him on. Until the strobing lights illuminate Bucky’s darkened gaze enough that in their drunk haze, they finally recognize him as captain of the baseball team. That means that fighting Bucky meant taking on the entirety of the team. And with the way Sam and Steve were looking over to see if they needed to step in, and Thor was already storming over—they knew they didn’t stand a chance.

It was comical the way the drunk men scramble to get away as fast as they could. Muttering incoherences and apologies under their breath. They don’t get far as Tony’s hired security for the night promptly kicks them out.

Thor comes up to check on everyone, giving special attention to Jane who keeps assuring him she’s fine. You turn to Bucky, who’s already inspecting you to make sure you are alright, “Bucky I—” You almost tell him not to worry, that you had things under control, but in reality, you’re glad Bucky stepped in.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, Bucky’s tense demeanor softens at your words. He moves to get a better hold on you, his grip at your waist protective teetering on possessive.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart. I got you—always,” Bucky’s genuine response makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken. Your senses are awakened by his proximity, completely enamored with the way he looks at you.

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you. There’s a sparkle in your eyes as you stare at him, Bucky’s heart racing at the sight of it.

“You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response. Bucky has never felt more elated knowing that maybe finally you two can go to places he’s only dreamed of.

“Yours?” You question him playfully, which causes him to chuckle, the sound a low rumble, “You and I both know you are, sweetheart. I told you I had all the time in the world to make you fall for me—and I meant it,” he smiles, an intense fire in his eyes that only accumulates when you respond, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Bucky.”

He wastes no second to connect your lips, kissing you with a loving purpose. His lips have a slightly bitter taste to them from the beer that still lingered there. And yet, the bitterness disappears when one kiss turns into two and then three. His arms encircling you to pull you into his chest, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck.

Bucky pulls away to ghost his lips against your jaw until his lips brush against your ear, “Those little moves you were doing for me earlier, do them again,” his husky tone sends a shiver down your spine as he tugs you in to dance with him. Your bodies mold to one another, hips swaying in rhythm with the vigorous music. The beat allows you to gyrate and grind in ways that drive him to the edge of his control.

His hand rests on the small of your back, holding you close, fingers splayed out as if making a silent claim. You can feel the way his gaze burns into you, the air getting hotter making it harder to breathe. Your hands trail up and down his arms as need be. The rest of the party fades away leaving you two alone in this space of this charged energy. Every lingering touch and longing glance is layered with unspoken urges that would soon intensify to the brink of madness.

“You have no idea what you do to me do you?”

“I do. I’m not immune to what’s going on between us, Bucky.”

Your body, your voice, the way you plead with your eyes for him to take this further—it causes a stirring within his pants—the fabric getting tighter the longer the dance goes on. He needs to get you away, to get you alone. Bucky needs to satiate this hunger for you that threatens to consume him or he is going to end up doing something Rated R on this dance floor.

The throbbing between your legs agrees.

An idea pops into Bucky’s mind when he glances at his group of friends. He increases the volume of his voice so you can hear him over the music, “The baseball team was going to host a game of hide and seek. Should we play?” Playful mischief glimmers in his eyes as he asks you.

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” You raise a brow, wondering how that was going to work in a mansion full of a million rooms.

“Yeah, come on. It'll be fun,” Bucky draws you away from the dance floor and over to where his friends are mingling and taking a few shots. Steve sees Bucky approach and they have a quick whispered exchange. Your eyes dart between them, curious as to what they're discussing.

“Seems like we’re getting a head start,” he comments to you as he leads you away from the main party and down a few intricate hallways. His hold on your hand is firm, yet careful—almost as if he’s afraid you’ll get lost in one of the many corners of the manor. The thrum of the music fades the further you slip away from the party. Your pulse spikes, both from the adrenaline of the game and the heat that still simmers between you.

Bucky has been to Tony’s parties plenty of times before, so he knows the layout of the manor pretty well. The clicking of your heels along the marble floors echoes at the pace of the beating of his heart. He tries to focus on the expensive artwork that lines the halls instead of the way your hand perfectly fits in his. The artwork is what’s guiding his path through the manor and you are the best distraction he could ask for.

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes down the endless hallway.

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he winks at you, your heart skipping a beat at his words, his pace steady and purposeful as he turns one more corner and slips you two inside a room. You're encased in darkness, blindly feeling for a light switch until Bucky uses the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the space. You faintly make out your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the many guest rooms of the manor. The attention to detail in the room was no short of the attention paid to the rest of the place.

You knew Tony’s family had money, but seeing how they splurged for a mere guest room, meant his family was beyond loaded.

Bucky whispered something to you, but you didn’t catch it as he took you by the hand and ushered you into the room’s closet, clicking it shut behind him. He reaches up to turn on the small lightbulb to cascade the enclosed space in a soft glow, turning off the flashlight on his phone and putting it in his pants pocket. The tension is now thicker and more palpable in the small space, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

If you had a dollar for every time you and Bucky ended up in a tight space together, you would have exactly two dollars. While maybe strange, it somehow seemed fitting for you two.

Bucky steps closer to you, your bodies inches apart, the dim light doing nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes, “Now that I’ve got you here—I think I did a good job with the hiding spot, don't you?” His heated whisper brings your breath to a hitch.

You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, “I don’t know…We had a whole mansion to hide in, and you chose a closet?” You can’t help but tease him, trying to lighten the unbearable tension.

“Would you rather go hide in the library? The wine cellar? The arcade?” His voice is dripping with mirth taking another step closer to you. He knows what you're doing, but he’s not going to let the tension die down—not this time.

“The arcade sounds fun,” you quip, leaning back against the wall.

“Hm, maybe, but I prefer the closet. It’s a lot more private and it has its…advantages,” he reaches out to pull your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss across your knuckles. You go to use that hand to lightly push at his chest, but he catches it in time and intertwines your fingers instead. Your heart is racing a mile a minute.

“Maybe the closet isn’t so bad, but these heels…Worst decision I made tonight,” you shift slightly, not meaning to change the subject, but your heels are torturing you. In the quiet of the closet the pain begins to creep up on you, begging to be acknowledged. After hours of walking on them, dancing, and standing overall—your feet were killing you. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stand upright while hiding.

“Are they hurting you?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Lets get them off then,” Bucky slides his hand underneath your right thigh, eyes locked on yours, as he hikes it up against the outside of his leg. Your hips brush up against his front, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. He watches your every reaction as he slides his hand down the underside of your leg until he reaches the strap of your heel. He’s able to undo it effortlessly, relieving you of the discomfort, his fingers grazing your ankle as he slides your right heel off. His every touch leaves heat in its wake.

“Bucky you really don't have to—” he cuts you off with a soft smile and half-lidded eyes, switching his hold from your right leg to your left one, “I want to, sweetheart. Just let me help, ” he removes the other heel with the same tantalizing tenderness he used for the first one. Putting them to the side where they won’t get in the way.

The relief you feel is immediate.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.”

A moment passes before he speaks, his voice quiet with an underlying devotion, “You don’t get the hold you have on me, do you?’’ His right hand dances along the outside of your thigh while his left plays with the strap of your dress, twirling it between his fingers. The hand at your thigh traces patterns onto it. Trailing intricate swirls across the flesh, along your hips, ascending to your waist, and all the way up to the space between your breasts. The touch lingers there when you let out a soft sigh.

You honestly forget how to breathe.

“Say the word and I’m all yours, Y/n,” his voice is rough as his lips ghost against yours—seductively grazing against them. Going so far as licking his lips with an invigorating grin to really drive you crazy.

Bucky is waiting for you to make the deciding move. When you realize this, you throw all caution to the wind, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You waste no time in granting him access to deepen it. Bucky follows your lead ardently. His hands snake down your body to cup your ass and pull you impossibly close to him.

Your hands get lost in his hair, a groan rumbling through him at the way you tug at it. You two aren’t sweetly kissing, you're devouring each other. Yearning for the other all night leaves no more room for taking things slow or holding back. You’re both now giving in to what you want most—each other.

The heat between you intensifies until it crescendos to a boiling point. The aching between your legs imploring you to do something about it. You reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants, causing Bucky to let out a husky laugh.

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck.

“Bucky….I…” your words are cut off by a soft moan when Bucky’s left hand sneaks its way through the slit of your dress until he reaches the inside of your thighs. He massages the flesh there, his thumb brushing against the hem of your panties.

Your arousal pools impossibly more, and the lustful haze only increases at the way you feel his hardened cock straining against his pants—right against your hip.

“Mm? What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over those pretty noises you're making,” his every word drips with cockiness.

“You're insufferable.”

“That’s my girl.”

Bucky kisses your neck with more fervor. Sucking and nipping at the skin hard enough to leave marks. Your thighs involuntarily close together at the way he calls you his girl. He eases them back apart with his deliberate touches. Kneading the soft flesh in his hands as his breathing goes ragged along your neck, tickling your skin. He was on the brink of losing what little control he had left.

You suck in a sharp breath, losing what little semblance of control you had left the higher his touch gets. He only goes so far, barely brushing across your clothed cunt to give you a taste of what he can do if you just let him hear it. You were desperate for more and he knew it.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you manage to whimper out, hooking your fingers into his empty belt loops and yanking him towards you. Bucky lets out a low growl at the brief friction, his eyes darkening to an almost unrecognizable color. For a moment, his brain short circuits at your words, processing that you really said that to him accompanied by that alluring sound. He’s heard those sinful noises from you before, but never like this. Never with the assurance of more.

“Say it again.”

“Bucky, please just fuck me already.”

You don’t have to tell him another time. Bucky crashes his mouth onto yours with a new intensity, mumbling lustful promises into your mouth. How he wants you, how badly he aches to make you feel good, how he yearns for his pretty girl to lose herself with him, and so many more things that make you dizzy.

He moves to bunch up your dress, hiking it up your legs until it's bundled at your waist. His breathing strains at the sight—your black lacy panties luring him in—his muscles tensing at the growing need to be inside you. His left arm reaches down to hook his forearm under your knee and bring it up to his hip. You wrap that leg around him, steadying yourself on your other foot as you grind against each other. You can feel the way his cock aches to be freed and it causes you to arch deeper into him. Your moans mingle into one, the slight relief overwhelming you.

Bucky takes his free hand and splays it at the small of your back, offering strong support as your bodies continue to grind against one another. A chorus of moans and yearnful whines erupt from you both. All of the pining and hunger for one another amalgamates into one as you continue to rub against each other. You swallow each other’s sounds, tongues tangling carnally as neither of you leaves any room for air.

“Do you have—?”

“Back pocket. Wallet.”

Your lips barely disconnect at the brief exchange. You reach behind him, patting down his backside until you feel the outline of his wallet in his pocket. You take hold of it and bring it forward. Meanwhile, Bucky decides to leave wet kisses along the valley of your breasts. You can barely contain yourself and your soft moans as you pull out the condom. The wallet almost slips from your grasp as the attention to your breasts causes you to tremble.

You hold it tighter intending to put it back in his pocket when something catches your eye. In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

You love this picture. You have a copy of it taped to your bedroom mirror back home.

At your stillness, Bucky looks up to see what’s going on. When he notices you staring at the picture, he smiles fondly. " It's the only picture I had of us,” he utters softly, causing a warmth to spread throughout you. You gaze at him in tender awe, marveling at the fact that Bucky is real.

Why had you ever doubted he was anything but yours?

You kiss him this time with all the unspoken feelings you’ve bubbled up and kept inside. The wallet falls from your hands, but it's no matter as Bucky kicks it to the side with his foot, and shudders at the way your lips claim his. This goes beyond lust. Your heart beats with reason, and that reason is the man in front of you.

“Bucky, I want this. I want you. All of you,” you whisper passionately, your hands lowering to help him unbutton and unzip his pants, the foil neatly tucked between your fingers. A guttural moan leaves him when you push the layers of fabric down and free his cock, pumping it a few times to get a feel of it. His head falls to your shoulder, sighing softly in a near whine as you tear the foil open and roll the protection down his length. It twitches in your hands, his hips bucking at the contact.

His arms are preoccupied with keeping you close and steady, so you gently guide him to your center. Moving your panties to the side as he tantalizingly slides along your folds before he slowly enters you. Your mouth goes agape at the sensation while Bucky has to do everything to make sure he doesn’t cum right then and there.

This was so much better than what he had imagined in his dreams.

It's been too long since you’ve done this and the burn at the stretch causes you to cry out quietly. Bucky peppers your face with sweet kisses and whispers of devotion. Trying to do his best to comfort you as he lets you adjust inch by inch. The hand at the small of your back rubs circles into it with his thumb, your own hands shooting up to grip his biceps for support.

“I’m not gonna last if you tighten up like that sweetheart,” he hisses a groan at how tightly your walls envelop him. You’re really making it hard for him to not come undone in a short amount of time.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax for me.”

His gentle words are accompanied by thrusts that are slow with a deliberate purpose. He’s careful with his pace as he wants this to go at whatever speed you need. It takes a bit, but his soft kisses and comforting touches coax the burn away until you're left with the ardent ache of needing more.

“Faster, Bucky,” you plead breathily. He rests his forehead against yours.“Can you handle it, baby?” His question is full of loving concern, prioritizing your pleasure over everything.

“I can…fuck…please,” you assure him, your leg pulling him in tighter causing him to bottom out. Bucky curses and moans all in one. At your assurance, he picks up the pace of his hips, rocking them against you with a fiery velocity. The lewd sounds bouncing off the walls of the closet in waves.

He gives it to you exactly how you asked him to. That man would do anything for you—just say the word and its done.

Bucky is on cloud nine at the way you take him. The way your bodies mold and arch into one another’s like you can’t get enough. As if all you ever needed to consume to live was each other. When he goes to kiss you, you can barely kiss back as you’re too lost in the way he slams into you.

“Fuck, baby, if only you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous making those pretty expressions for me,” Bucky grunts out, drinking up the sight of your face. A string of mewls leaves your lips at the keen attention he keeps on you. Everything about you right now is a work of art in his eyes he wants framed and kept at his bedside. A constant reminder he’s the one who gets to make you look and feel so damn good.

“Don’t stop, please don't stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart.”

Your words egg him on to go harder, causing your back to press tightly against the wall. Hiking your leg just a tad bit higher to thrust into you at another angle. This was the best decision he ever made as he hits the perfect spot within you. One that leaves you clinging onto him desperately as your walls tighten on the brink of release.

It takes a few more fierce drives into you until your orgasm hits you and you're cumming with a feverish intensity. Moaning Bucky’s name in a euphoric mantra that’s music to his ears. It's what brings him over the edge and he stills at the force of his orgasm, his head collapsing into the dip of your neck as he releases into the condom.

“My girl. My sweet girl. You feel so good, baby,” Bucky softly whispers against your neck. Planting small kisses as both of you come down from your highs. Your arms wrap behind his neck to embrace him and keep him close to you. Bucky continues to mutter sweet praises along your skin, as your hands thread through his hair tenderly. Both of you steadying your breaths as you come back down to Earth.

If it weren't for Bucky holding your right leg up, it would've fallen from its position at his hip long ago. You’re even more grateful for it now as your body felt completely boneless. And when he pulls out, its the grip he has on your body that keeps your knees from buckling.

Bucky lifts his head so his gaze locks on yours. His blues are swimming with a vehemence that steals your breath and causes your pulse to race.

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s not hearing it, afraid you’ll want to go back to a place that would devastate him. “Wait, just hear me out. Everything I ever did was to get you to notice me. From the moment we met there was just something about you that kept pulling me in. And I knew—I just knew I had to get to know you. And then one thing led to another and I fell for you—hard. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. There's only you. It’s always been you. Give me a chance, let me prove it to you every day, that I’m yours. That I have been for a long time,” Bucky’s tone borders on pleading, you give his hands a light squeeze to ease the worry in his features.

“Bucky you have nothing to prove—”

“Y/n—”

This time you stop him by clamping a hand over his mouth.

“Bucky, you have nothing to prove because I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just fought it for so long out of fear that maybe you weren’t serious about me. But I can see now I was wrong. I’ve been yours for a long time too, Bucky. I just pretended I wasn’t—and I’m done fighting it. I’m done being in denial. I want to have something serious with you. I’m ready for it,” your heartfelt confession immediately melts away the tension in Bucky’s shoulders.

You wanting this as much as he did made him feel like he was on top of the world.

He mumbles something into your hand, the biggest grin on the other side of it. You laugh adoringly at the sight as you remove your hand to replace it with your mouth instead. Both of you sink into the kiss as a deeper devotion is exchanged.

“Whoever is seeking is horrible at it,” you remove yourself with a light giggle, taking a jab at whoever the seeker of the hide-and-seek game is. A game that was long forgotten by Bucky until you mentioned it.

Bucky smiles sheepishly, “About that…there's not actually a hide-and-seek game. And if there is they don't know we’re playing,” he confesses with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head at him, laughing in disbelief, “Bucky, then what were you and Steve whispering about?” Your curiosity is met with a boyish grin from Bucky, “I was just letting him know not to come looking for me. I wanted to get some alone time with you,” his hands find your hips again to give them a gentle squeeze.

Bucky is far from done with you yet.

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at his revelation. Of course, he’d come up with a way to get you all to himself. Can you blame him?

After a few more stolen kisses and lingering touches, you both start to compose yourselves. Adjusting your outfits and collecting your items from the ground. Thankfully, the guest room has its own bathroom where the two of you can clean up much better than in the small closet. Tousled hair, smeared makeup, and sweaty skin required a deeper attentiveness.

You both take your time in freshening up. The bathroom lighting does wonders to reveal every piece of evidence of your sexual encounter. You can now clearly see all the red marks that would eventually turn into hickeys that scattered your neck and chest. Bucky beams pleased at the markings he’s left as you scold him for making them so prominent.

Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He’d gladly make more in an instant.

By the end, all that's left is to get your heels on, which Bucky insists on helping you with. He offered to carry you for the rest of the party or even giving you his shoes, but you declined both options. You paid good money for these heels so whether you liked it or not, you were forcing yourself to wear them.

Bucky helps you up onto the expansive marble counter. Lowering down onto his knees in front of you to slide your heels back onto your feet. Nimble fingers work the straps into place, making sure they're not too tight at the ankles. When he looks up at you, a devilish grin appears on his face. That spark of desire is back in your eyes when you see how good he looks knelt between your legs. Your mind was reeling with ideas as the heat once again pranced across your skin. Bucky’s gaze bore into yours, almost as if he could read your mind. He can’t help but get turned on again.

You were in the same boat.

“You know, I have a big stats test on Monday. I could use an emergency tutoring session right about now,” his tone is laced with suggestion as his fingers trace along your ankle. You hum, “Hm? Do you? I think I could accommodate that.” Your reply gives Bucky the go to start kissing up your legs until he reaches your knees. He never breaks eye contact as he places a tender kiss on each one before standing up and giving that same attention to your mouth.

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Bucky mutters against your lips, the kiss a promise of the fun awaiting you for the rest of the night. Now that the lines were blurred beyond recognition, into something deeper, something real, you were both completely all in.

#smutty september fest 2024 #indulge with chuckles #18+ ❤️‍🔥#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky smut

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bodybaggage · 3 months ago

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Shadows and Crowns

John Constantine finds himself dealing with royalty

john constantine/danny phantom

---

The London night was dark and damp, as was typical, but something was off. John Constantine could feel it, a prickle on the back of his neck—a telltale sign that something eldritch was afoot. He lit another cigarette, letting the smoke drift lazily upward as he navigated the narrow alleyways with practiced ease. His trench coat fluttered in the cool breeze, and he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.

It didn’t take long.

A sharp chill in the air made him pause, and he squinted into the fog ahead. The magical wards he had set earlier had been triggered, a clear sign that something powerful—otherworldly—had entered his turf. But what appeared before him wasn’t what he expected.

At first, it was just a flicker of light, almost like a distant star. But then it grew, taking on shape and form until a figure hovered a few feet above the ground, wrapped in a swirling cloak of darkness and stardust. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his hair, a wild shock of white, floated around his head like a halo. His eyes glowed a vibrant, unnatural green, and his presence was something between awe-inspiring and terrifying. It was like staring into the cosmos itself—an eldritch being that seemed to draw the very night around it, bending reality with its mere existence.

John’s instincts screamed at him to run—this was no ordinary spirit, no run-of-the-mill ghost looking for a lost love or a wayward path to the afterlife. This was something far more ancient, far more powerful. Yet, his curiosity, the part of him that had always led him to the darkest corners of the magical world, kept him rooted to the spot.

“Bloody hell,” John muttered under his breath, taking another drag of his cigarette. “What the sodding hell are you?”

The figure tilted its head, the ethereal light of its eyes flickering with amusement. When it spoke, its voice was like a chorus, reverberating through the night air. “I could ask you the same, human.”

John’s eyes narrowed, not liking the sound of that. “Names, mate. I’m partial to knowin’ who—or what—I’m dealin’ with.”

The being seemed to consider this, the stars within its cloak twinkling brighter for a moment. Then, the dark shroud began to recede, revealing a figure beneath it. As the shadows peeled away, what remained was no less intimidating but far more defined.

He was tall, his body clad in armor that seemed to be forged from the cosmos itself—galaxies spun across the black metal, and constellations shimmered in the darkness. A flaming green crown rested atop his head, its fire dancing without heat, and a glowing green ring adorned his right hand, pulsating with power. The armor was intricately detailed, each piece enchanted with symbols John barely recognized but knew were ancient. Despite the regal appearance, there was something unnervingly beautiful about him—an otherworldly allure that tugged at the edges of John’s senses.

“Phantom,” the figure finally said, his voice still carrying that ethereal echo but now more grounded, more human. “King of the Infinite Realms.”

John’s cigarette nearly fell from his lips, but he caught himself just in time. “Infinite Realms, you say? Thought old Pariah Dark was still in charge of that bloody mess.”

Phantom’s expression darkened ever so slightly, the light of his eyes dimming. “Not anymore. I defeated him years ago. The Realms are under new rule now.”

John swore under his breath, stubbing out his cigarette on the damp pavement. The Infinite Realms were the stuff of nightmares—stories passed around in the magical underworld, tales of spirits and realms so dangerous that even the most seasoned sorcerers gave them a wide berth. Constantine himself had always steered clear of anything remotely connected to the place, and now here he was, face to face with its bloody king.

“Well, that’s just grand,” John muttered, more to himself than to Phantom. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. “So, what brings the King of Ghosts to my doorstep, eh? Don’t tell me you’ve come to add my soul to your collection.”

Phantom’s lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and John felt an odd flutter in his chest—damn, he was ethereal. “Not quite. I’m here on business. I believe you’re familiar with the Soul Shredder?”

John’s blood ran cold. Of course he knew the Soul Shredder, a cursed artifact from the darkest corners of the Realms. It was said to be wielded by Fright Knight, Pariah Dark’s former right hand—a spectral warrior of unparalleled power. Rumor had it that the sword had been lost during Pariah Dark’s defeat, its whereabouts unknown. That was until now, apparently.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” John admitted, his tone cautious. “But what’s it got to do with me?”

“It’s been stolen,” Phantom said, his expression turning serious. “And the one who took it has brought it to your world.”

Constantine swore again. “And you think I know somethin’ about it?”

Phantom’s gaze was piercing, though not unkind. “I think you’re one of the few in this world who knows how dangerous that sword can be. And I need it back before it causes irreparable damage.”

John’s mind raced, trying to piece together what little information he had. The Infinite Realms, a missing sword, and now its king standing in front of him, asking for help. This was way above his pay grade, and yet… something in Phantom’s presence, in the way he carried himself with a mix of regal authority and a hint of vulnerability, made John want to help.

Or maybe it was just that damn enchanting aura the ghost was giving off.

“All right,” John finally said, resigned. “I’ll help you track down your fancy sword. But once we find it, you take it and bugger off back to the Realms, got it?”

Phantom inclined his head slightly, a gesture of gratitude. “Agreed.”

Constantine turned, motioning for Phantom to follow. As they walked, John couldn’t help but glance sideways at the ghostly king, admiring the way his armor seemed to shimmer with an inner light, how the green flames of his crown flickered softly. The presence of the Ring of Rage caught John’s attention next, the glowing artifact known for its destructive power. Yet here it was, worn by a being who seemed to hold it with ease, as if it were merely a part of him.

“So,” John said after a moment, trying to keep his tone casual, “how’d you end up with all that fancy gear? That ring, in particular, looks like trouble.”

Phantom glanced at the ring, his expression unreadable. “It was a gift from the previous ruler. It comes with the territory.”

John whistled low. “You must’ve really done a number on old Pariah to earn that.”

Phantom’s gaze turned distant, as if remembering something far away. “It wasn’t easy,” he said quietly, the weight of his words heavy with the memory of that battle. “But it was necessary.”

John nodded, not pushing further. He understood that some battles left scars that were better left unspoken. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, trying to ignore the growing attraction he felt towards the ghostly king. It wasn’t just Phantom’s ethereal beauty—it was the way he carried himself, the way his presence filled the space around him with a mixture of power and calm. It was bloody distracting, to say the least.

“Right then,” John said, snapping himself back to reality. “Let’s find your bloody sword and get you back to your Realms, shall we?”

Phantom smirked, a faint glow of amusement returning to his eyes. “Lead the way, Constantine.”

As they moved deeper into the labyrinthine streets of London, the odd duo—one a jaded occult detective, the other a regal king from another dimension—began their search for the Nightmare Sword. Unbeknownst to John, this encounter with Phantom would change the course of his life, forcing him to confront powers beyond even his own reckoning. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand, and the enigmatic figure at his side who, for some reason, made him feel more alive than he had in years.

——

john when he’s confronted by a hot inter-dimensional ghost:

#dp x dc #dc x dp #Kingoftheinfiniterealms #dp x dc crossover #john constantine #danny phantom

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oreo-creampie · 11 months ago

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𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐝! 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy fluff, light angst, reader is giving birth, kento is worried about being a dad and supportive husband, you easily reassure him, twin baby girls, praise, kento is in awe of you as he should be, you're amazing, you breast feed the baby and kento bottle feeds the other baby

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: I love your works! Could you write kento fluff, him stressing out about becoming a dad for the first time and reader is just really chill about it all!! Please and thank you🙏🙏

Oreo: I’m sick with my period at the same damn time eating chicken noodle soup, my hubby has been spoiling me so much. Brought me some Christmas themed flowers, the cutest wreath that has the house smelling like pine. Then there was running me a warm bath, making my soup this man is the best. Giving that nanami energy, cause you know he would take such good care of you. I haven’t had to lift a finger, and nanami wouldn’t let you lift one either.

Your painful contractions, rushing to the hospital, and the epidural to ensure a painless birth. Tightly squeezing his hand, pushing out the first baby girl. It’s a blur that doesn't slow down till he hears the first beautiful cry.

Letting go of your hand long enough to cut the umbilical cord. Grasping your hand between his own, kissing the back. “You’re doing wonderful love, she’s healthy and adorable.” Kissing your cheek, weakly you smile momentarily. Gritting your jaw focusing on pushing out your second baby girl. You're sweaty and beautiful.

The second baby girl is louder, her cries quieting her minutes older sister. This time the nurse brings her close to you, offering you the back the handle. Kento gently guides your hand helping you cut the cord.

"After we clean them both of you can hold one of your beautiful little joys. So chonky, healthy with a powerful set of lungs already.” The doctor gently cleans and checks you over.

One of the nurses brings his eldest baby to him. “Congratulations on such healthy wonderful baby girls.” Gently cradling his eldest babygirl in his hands, swaddled in a soft blanket. Kento supports her hand and head with one hand. She’s so small yet chunky at the same time. Swaddled in a yellow blanket.

Her beautiful chunky face scrunched up in confusion that melts away at the sight of his face. More tears trickle down his face at the soft adoring warm love in his baby girl’s eyes. Lifting her small hand, he leads down helping her touch his cheek.

Kento’s eyes widen tears trickling down his face, dripping onto the girl he names “ He’s a dad to two amazing baby girls who he wants to give the world to along side his beautiful wife.

What if he fails to be a good father?

Grinning Docter Annie announces, “Wonderful there is no hemorrhaging, you’re bleeding normally. We will keep you overnight for observation and discharge you in the morning. When you need to go to the restroom press the call button for a nurse. You will need to eat soon and get plenty of rest.”

Two nurses on either side carefully lift you for the doctor to put a diaper on you. Laying you back down, raising the upper half of the bed for you to comfortably sit up.

You're the nurse lift your baby girl out of the bath, drying her off. “Can I try to calm her down?” Kento looks up at you in pure awe. You have always been an amazing woman. He’s lucky for you to be the mother of his children.

What if he fails to be a supportive husband?

The nurse softly smiles, “You should be able to skin-to-skin and settle her, maybe help her latch.” Lying your baby on your chest. Cradling her, resting her head on your chest. Her loud cries softening to whines.

Admiring your little girl with tired eyes and a soft smile. It's a different type of beautiful to see you cradling the delicate adorable life in your hands. It's wonderful sight like the one of other baby girl in his hands.

Warm, healthy, and finally here after nine months. Here to thrive, grow, and develop interests. Kento wants to be there for them, with you by his side, every step of the way.

Her whines quiet down when you help her latch. Letting her get mouthfuls of milk. Softly breathing, “Of course, our lil Hana is hungry after all that hard work.” Kento didn't think he could fall more in love with you until this moment.

"She will need to latch and get skin with mom soon but for now getting fed by dad and doing some bonding is good too." A nurse hands Kento a bottle of formula. "We will get the overnight room and some food ready for the mom ready." Remembering the various videos and books he nudges Himari's lips with the bottle.

It takes a moment for her to latch, once she does, she's taking large mouthfuls. Failing her hand in her attempt to grab Kento's. A feat she takes moments to accomplish. Her small warm hand on the back of his, the sleepy loving looking in her eyes. "Hana and Himari are perfect, thank you my love for working so hard bringing them into this world."

The nurse and doctor trickle out of the room, taking some of the equipment with them. Leaving Kento and You along with your newborns.

"My love I know that look in your eyes and tension in your jaw. We got each other, and I couldn't have a better man by my side to raise our babies and grow old with. You're going to be everything these girls need in a father and more, trust me darling." The confidence in your beautiful face, soothing voice and tired eyes easing the weight on his shoulders.

He takes a deep breath, shoving his worries aside. Reaffirming your comforting words, "We have each other, there isn't anything we can't do to give these girls a wonderful life, don't worry about me love relax and rest." Standing up, carefully leaning down making sure not to disturb Himari drinking, kiss you gently. "I'm so grateful to get the privilege to be your husband and father to these adorable girls."

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wandering-winchesters · 3 months ago

Text

Under the Stars

Summary: you share a quiet, intimate moment in the woods, where a simple hand-holding leads to a deeper connection under the starry night sky.

Word Count: 607

The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that settled over the world just before twilight gave way to night. The air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth as you and Dean Winchester walked side by side down a winding path through the woods. The only sounds were the soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant call of an owl somewhere deep in the forest.

You had been walking in companionable silence for a while, both lost in thought, when you felt Dean’s gaze on you. You turned your head to meet his eyes, and the intensity in them made your heart skip a beat. There was something unspoken in that look, something that made the moment feel charged with electricity.

“Can I hold your hand?” Dean’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure what your answer would be.

For a second, you didn’t respond, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his tone. This was the same Dean Winchester who had faced down monsters and demons without flinching, yet here he was, asking you something so simple, so human, with a kind of earnestness that made your heart ache.

Without a word, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. His grip was warm and firm, grounding you in that moment. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you standing there, connected by that simple touch.

Dean let out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding, and you saw a flicker of relief in his eyes, as if he had been afraid you might say no. He squeezed your hand gently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t a big smile, not the usual cocky grin you were used to seeing, but something softer, more genuine.

As you continued walking, hand in hand, the silence between you felt different—more intimate. Every step you took seemed to sync up, the rhythm of your footsteps matching perfectly, as if you were both moving to the same unspoken beat. The connection between you felt natural, like it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to be acknowledged.

The path eventually led to a clearing, where the trees opened up to reveal a stunning view of the night sky. The stars were out in full force, twinkling like tiny diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas. You both stopped, taking in the beauty of the scene, and you felt Dean’s hand tighten slightly around yours, as if he were anchoring himself in the moment.

“I don’t do this much,” Dean admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “The whole… letting someone in thing. But with you, it feels different. Feels right.”

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling with emotion. “It feels right to me too, Dean.”

He smiled at that, a real smile this time, full of warmth and something that looked an awful lot like hope. You both stood there for a while, just holding hands, staring up at the stars, and enjoying the peacefulness of the night. It was a simple thing, really, but in that simplicity, there was a kind of magic—proof that sometimes, the most powerful connections are forged in the quietest moments.

And as the night deepened, you knew that this was a moment you would both hold onto, a memory that would stay with you no matter where the road took you next. Because in that moment, under the vast expanse of the starry sky, you both found something you hadn’t even realized you were searching for—each other.

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shirefantasies · 7 months ago

Note

Hello. Could you do a slightly suggestive physical touch x reader thing like you did with the company but with the fellowship instead. If you don’t want to that’s okay. Thank youuuu

Sure 😊 Warnings: well duh 😜 but relatively minor as always

LoTR Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

Aragorn

✧ Gives the most amazing massages that have you begging him not to stop, especially when you are on the road.

✧ Catches your hand as it roams over his chest, taking it in his and pressing kisses to it.

✧ You slipped some tongue into the last kiss, so it is only fair for him to be doing the same, no?

✧ He knows you love sitting on his lap, yes, but still you are not expecting the way he takes hold of you and sweeps you up onto it with one swift motion…

✧ His hands may be rough, but gentle are they every time they brush and cup your cheeks, tracing their outline.

Legolas

✧ Does not always realize the effect he has. Swipes his thumb across your lips to keep you clean, brows raising and smile creeping onto his face at your resulting expression.

✧ Shivers at the way your nails ghost down his spine, dragging just enough for him to feel each point.

✧ Leans back to meet you in a kiss when you find yourself running your hands over his shoulders.

✧ As if to memorize your form or write it in the very stars, Legolas is slow, intent with his motions as he traces every dip and curve of your body, eyes awed and focused.

✧ Pulls you back from harm by your waist, but cannot resist capturing your lips when he sees the grateful shine of your eyes, so innocent and yet so amorous.

Boromir

✧ Knowing of your love for physical affection gives him so many opportunities to tease you, most of all indulging his love of surprising you from behind, arms winding about you and breath warm in your ear.

✧ When he picks you up and spins you around, his hand may just find its way to give your rear end a playful squeeze as you are lowered.

✧ Training is more fun with you around- suddenly Boromir has all the motivation in the world to do push-ups... on top of you, of course, finding a new spot to kiss each time he comes down.

✧ Playfully and of course lightly sits on you to pin you down, only offering your release in exchange for a kiss.

✧ Boromir indulges your love- if you take him by the side of his face and pepper it with kisses, he will tilt his head and take you for a more passionate one.

Gimli

✧ Spins word upon word of your beauty, yet his voice is stolen completely at the teasing kisses you sneak upon him.

✧ If you’re alone, he has been known to teasingly smack your arse. Just every now and again…

✧ Pulls you down suddenly, almost roughly, to meet his height, noses and foreheads brushing before Gimli is kissing you passionately.

✧ Makes it your problem when his hands get cold, sliding them up your top to startle you!

✧ Tough as he acts, he loves your predisposition to hold him as well, allowing him to nuzzle against your chest and place kisses against anything exposed there. Possibly a nip or two or three...

Frodo

✧ It sends shivers down your spine the way Frodo’s eyes track your every movement, the small action alone feeling a bit like a dare.

✧ A habit of his upon feeling emboldened is placing kisses from the back of your hand up your arm before finally giving your lips a peck.

✧ Of course you know the effect it has on him when you wrap your legs around him- why else would you keep doing it?

✧ You almost think he is about to protest when you tuck your joined hands into the folds of your clothing, but the shy smile Frodo gives you is encouragement enough.

✧ His whole body relaxes when you rub his back, doing anything in your power to comfort him from the ring’s weight, but at times the look in his eyes tells you he is seeking more than comfort…

Sam

✧ Little does he know his flustered expression when your hands roam only encourages you to continue…

✧ Flusters you back by unexpectedly kissing smears of food off your lips, his tongue swiping out to catch anything he’s missed.

✧ He's nearly always holding your hands, whether it's when you're walking or even sitting, then he rests your joined hands upon his lap, sometimes even pulling yours over to him.

✧ If he isn't holding your hand, then his is resting upon your knee or thigh, roaming ever so slightly especially if you are beneath cover of a table.

✧ Jokes that if you don't keep your hands off him, he'll have to feed you by hand, only to realize that's exactly what you want and give in.

Merry

✧ Comes undone at the way you run your hand down his chest, his breath hitching.

✧ Often walks or stands with a hand upon the small of your back, keeping protective but also the optimal position to give your rear end the occasional squeeze!

✧ Buries his face in your neck when you run your fingers through his hair, distracting you with all the kisses he places there.

✧ Comfortable enough to just reach a hand into your pocket for things, maybe keep it there for a bit, too.

✧ Watch out, he often turns pecks on the cheek into full kisses, turning and taking hold of your cheek at the last minute!

Pippin

✧ Grins wider than anything when you pull him into your chest, especially if the height difference is just the right amount.

✧ Takes you to a meadow where you can lay and laugh and roll around to your heart's content; naturally he ends up on top of you, straddling you and gulping as he glances down, tentatively smiling...

✧ Always happy to coat you with kisses- any inch of bare skin he is granted access to is fair game!

✧ Loves the way you keep your bodies casually intertwined, throwing your legs over his or snuggling into him when you lie together, tangling them completely.

✧ Yet another benefit of wearing a scarf? The way you yank him against your body or into kisses by it, always with great fire and fervor.

Faramir

✧ Develops a little habit of slipping his hands into your sleeves, stroking your arm or simply sharing your warmth in a small intertwined moment.

✧ Eyes you with surprise when you pull his head into your chest, but never shall you hear Faramir complain.

✧ His every touch is reverent, grateful at your trust in him and awed at the beautiful dream that is your body before him.

✧ You will know what touches of yours Faramir appreciates most not only by the hitching of his breath, but by the way his hand will capture yours and hold it where it has made its home.

✧ A flush rises to his cheeks when he is laying there sprawled upon his bed with a book and he feels the weight of your body draping atop his and a lazy kiss to his cheek.

Eomer

✧ Makes his home in the hollow between your shoulder and neck, resting his head and pressing his lips against the crook.

✧ Turns instantly to capture your lips passionately the moment you emerge at his side, breath warm upon the shell of his ear.

✧ If you wear a skirt, watch out for Eomer teasingly lifting up the hem with his foot when only he can see, running it up your leg for good measure.

✧ Wide-eyed the first time you tug on his hair as your lips meet, but the look quickly melts into a smirk.

✧ Given your habit of throwing your legs over Eomer’s lap, the marshal has grown used to the weight upon his body, taking the opportunity to show you a bit of love as he caresses your legs.

Eowyn

✧ The way you two teasingly shove and butt at each other sometimes melts seamlessly into makeouts. Neither of you are quite sure how, it just seems to happen.

✧ Relaxes visibly when you run your hand through her golden hair, sending you the most delicious look of pleasure as your hand combs through her tresses and roams to her neck.

✧ Swept up in it the joy of it all, sometimes you’ll catch Eowyn biting your lip gently as you kiss her.

✧ As you tend to walk with your arms linked, every now and again the fancy will take her to fun her hand up and down yours, bringing her nails gently down.

✧ Always tilts her head to give you greater access when you take to kissing her neck.

Haldir

✧ Shoots you the occasional warning look when your hands roam beneath the potential eye of others, but well aware are you that that is simply the manifestation of how flustered you make him. Not above retaliation, Haldir teases you endlessly in your later time away from those prying gazes when he has you all to himself.

✧ Learns your sweet spot, exactly the spot to kiss, and commits it forever to memory.

✧ One of his favorite things about you is the way you seem to seek him, him of all lucky people, for as much as he teases you he cannot deny he loves the way your hands are always darting toward him.

✧ Spreads his legs when he sits, inviting you to rest between them, your head falling against his chest in surrender to his presence.

✧ Having the cover of trees is truly a blessing, for then Haldir can take you on a 'quick patrol' and make out with you behind a massive trunk unseen.

Galadriel

✧ Smirks mischievously, blue eyes glinting, at the way your hand travels up and down her leg.

✧ Takes your hand sometimes only to draw it closer, bring it to a part of her body in silent, awaiting signal.

✧ Like liquid her body melts into yours when you drape your form atop her, feeling her give into you immediately.

✧ You may initiate the kiss, but with a deep chuckle the Lady of Lórien makes quick work of taking control, her tongue dominating yours.

✧ Great is her happiness upon your habitual reach for her arm to walk side by side with her, bringing her hand, wrist, up to your lips.

Elrond

✧ Never fails to show surprise when you yank him in for yet another kiss, hands falling to his chest. Likes to rest his hands over yours in such moments.

✧ Always helps you undress at the end of the day, motions slow and intent as he unlaces and works, eyes boring into yours.

✧ Presses lingering kisses to your bare shoulders.

✧ Always do his lips brush the shell of your ear when Lord Elrond leans in for a private message, especially if it is one to hold onto for the eventide.

✧ Smiles into every kiss you deepen, grip upon your back tightening as he grants you entry, his tongue welcoming yours into a dance.

Arwen

✧ Gets bolder with your encouragement, laying adjacent to you with her head upon your thighs, her favorite cushion of all.

✧ Leans down to place kisses upon them, sometimes traveling up and down as she goes.

✧ Looks up at you with a mix of love and challenge in her eyes when you hover over her lain form, teasing kiss after kiss from you with a single look.

✧ You can't help but let her run her hands down your chest, not when it brings such a smile of satisfaction to her face.

✧ Adoring the way your hands tend to wrap around her, Arwen nuzzles into your cheek, gently rubbing against yours as she enjoys the contact.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

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liveontelevision · 8 months ago

Text

Demon Barber | Lucifer X Reader

IT'S DONNNEEEE

FuCk i slaved away on this one but y'all wanted a novel, so here she is!

Content Warning: Smutsmutsmutsmut +18, a little bit of angst and fluff, and Lucifer and Reader being kind of shitty people

☆☆☆

Everybody knew how much of an icon Queen Lillith was. She immediately blew up any form of media when she started uplifting demonkind. As time went on and more sinners were sent to Hell, a ripple effect of styles and trends rang throughout the city. It was important to Lillith to stay up to date with them. She hated to admit it, but she couldn’t keep up. She decided to take the opportunity to bring a new face to her team. At that point, the Morningstar family had already hired a handful of imps to keep little things in line, but this was a position that needed the point of view of a sinner on the streets.

Lucky you, you were one of the first sinners to work personally with the most powerful couple in Hell! You weren't that different from anyone else, but you are a chronic people watcher. It was an important hobby that helped you keep up with what everyone was decorating themselves with. A perfect pair of eyes for adorning the most beautiful creatures in the realm in a modern fashion. You started your glamorous job a couple of thousands of years before the Hotel was built. Even with your immense age, you did a surprisingly good job at keeping an open mind and becoming knowledgeable in most cosmetic and costuming work. You managed to make it through every extermination and more in this career. The protection from being housed with royalty definitely had its benefits.

On your first day, you went through Lillith's already existing wardrobe, in awe at the quality and unique aesthetics that she had. Even with your praises on her gowns, she insisted she needed your knowledge of street style incorporated into her wardrobe. You definitely fit into the Pride ring of hell at that point. The queen of Hell needs your personal opinion on what she wears? That went straight to your head. You became the head of a team and were credited with dressing up Lillith in some of her most iconic outfits. It didn't exactly bring you any fame, you weren't advertised or really credited in any other form than writing. Sometimes, if Lillith was put in an outfit she really enjoyed and her makeup and hair lasted through an entire performance, she'd give a little shout-out. You didn't really mind, you loved doing what you did, and the sweet praises Lillith gave you sufficed your need for validation. It felt amazing to see her face plastered all over Pentagram City, and being able to say hey, I did that. The salary helped, too.

As time went on, you noticed how little Lucifer made public appearances. When he did they were exclusively with Lillith at his side. And of course, he looked.. He was definitely a handsome ruler, but he didn’t have a lot of variety in his wardrobe. And it wasn't exactly up to your or Lillith's standards. She would often suggest taking some styling tips from you, almost begging at times, but he would refuse every time. You did little things, steaming and restitching his wardrobe, doing some touch-up makeup for shoots, but his suit? It stayed the same almost every day.

One day, Lucifer suddenly had a change of heart. He looked disheartened but begrudgingly agreed to be dolled up for a shoot that was happening soon. You were almost as ecstatic as Lillith was, getting this chance.

"I want you to give it your all, dear. Maybe I can convince him to do some more in the future if all goes well..." She'd tell you in a hushed tone, the two of you standing in front of the double doors that led to your studio." Do what you do best!" She said cheerfully, her hand on the small of your back. She practically throws you into the room once it's open, leaving you alone with Lucifer. There was no music, none of your other artists had shown up yet, and the only thing you could hear was your breath shaking. You breathed in heavily, then put on your best customer service face as you exhaled. You played professionally at the beginning, but it's always easier having some personality and small talk when you're planning on being in close proximity to clients for so long.

"Your Majesty! I hope you're doing well today, I'm glad you decided to join us this time!" You spoke in your people-pleaser voice, trying to hide the nerves that suddenly washed over your body. "Why the change of heart?" You started questioning, in a desperate attempt to find some sense of small talk with the intimidating figure seated in front of you. As you spoke, you stepped in front of the vanity he was seated at, having to stretch by his crossed legs to lay out your supplies. "I'm doing fantastic. Obviously." He spoke in an aggravated tone. You sucked in your lips, unsure if you should laugh. Luckily he didn't need a response before answering your other question. "You've seen Lily, she can be quite convincing." He puffed out his chest in his seated position, insinuating something vulgar. Your eye twitched, trying your best to not let them roll.

That didn't stop your face from heating up, the image suddenly materializing in your head. You cleared your throat, turning your attention back to the array of makeup brushes and some colored powders you had picked out specifically for this shoot." She is a beauty, I agree." You felt the need to respond in some way before getting to work.

You loved doing your job. No matter who you worked on, you'd always focus on your technique before anything else, which helped calm you down while you delicately held Lucifer's jaw, twisting his head around to get a general idea of what you were working with. You examined a solid purple bruise that decorated his neck before he had the chance to stop you. "Oh! I just - ran into a doorknob. Yeeah.. I.. tripped." He rambled a pathetic excuse, learning away from your touch." Sure, let's go with that." You replied, finally rolling your eyes at his words. "But you said it yourself, the Queen is indeed quite convincing." You teased, twisting around and grabbing a brush. When you went to move behind his chair to start running a comb through his impossibly soft golden hair, you caught how red he had turned at your remark." Oh, it's okay, I'm just teasing. You know how long I've worked on Lillith, I've had to cover way worse." You added, genuinely thinking that would help calm him down. He let out a quiet groan of embarrassment, smacking his hand against his face.

It went silent for a while as you worked on his hair. You saw how it usually was put up, and you didn’t want to scare him with too drastic of a change, so you only added some subtle layers that left it a bit fluffier than normal. You’d stop every now and then, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking at your work in the mirror. He'd flinch at your touch each time, leaving you concerned at first, then just giving him a suck it up attitude for the rest of your session. You went on to do something that didn't need your full attention and looked over his shoulder to get a peek at his phone screen that he used as a buffer for the awkward silence. It displayed a little calendar, he swiped through each day mindlessly. "Looks like you have a packed schedule, huh? How's that been going?" He looked up and pulled his phone into his lap, a squint across his face. "It's fine, I'm handling it. It's my job after all, ya know. Important things." He didn't seem to want to get into too much detail, so you let out a nervous chuckle and agreed before immediately finding some music to play to cover your mistake. You were convinced he would fire you at that point. Or worse.

As you finished up, you viewed him from multiple angles, twisting him around in the chair. You leaned down a bit, your eyes at his level then reached both your hands out and took the pieces of hair that framed his face, curling them up a bit at his cheeks. You stepped back again and placed your hands on your hips, letting out a satisfied hum.

He definitely calmed down by the time his hair was done, leaving behind the crude jokes and little rude quips from before. Now onto the makeup. This was far more intimate, so you gave him a quick rundown as you rummaged through your things." Alright, you definitely don't need any makeup, since your skin is perfect, but there's a chance the cameras and the lighting could wash you out, so I'll just use a blurring effect with this pow - " you stopped talking when you saw his confusion." I'm.. I'm gonna doll you up. Basically.." You summarized it bluntly. It was clear to you how uncomfortable he was with being touched excessively, you did your best to accommodate. You applied some translucent powders to his skin, then brightened up the cute little red circles on his face, after mentally kicking yourself for thinking of them as cute. This is the king of Hell, knock it off. You cleaned up the heavy bags under his eyes, then noticed a tired purple hue to his eyelids. Going in with a lilac color, you emphasized them.

As you were gathering some other things, stepping back a bit, he turned his head to look at his appearance in the mirror. He was expecting some ridiculous and dramatic work, but he really just looked brighter. More alert, more alive. He shut one of his eyes to see the color you had added to his lids, "I.. like that.." He spoke quietly and sounded surprised as if he didn't want to admit that to you. You let out a little chuckle, the compliment completely going to your head, before passively scolding him for touching his face before you had finished. He let his hands fall back into his lap with a pout on his face. Adding any color to his eyes or lips required precision, so you were lifting up his face by his chin to do what you do best. You were honestly a little surprised about how well he handled the rest of the session. For someone who's refused any sort of cosmetics for literal centuries, he looked like he was enjoying the pampering.

You had only worked on Lillith before, and even if she was intimidatingly gorgeous, you adapted to being physically close to her. Going into a sort of auto-pilot mode, you held your breath, tracing out his best features. Pulling away to check on his full appearance again, you noticed that he seemed to be holding his breath as well. He finally let it out once you stepped away, his face already a little flushed. You didn't think too much about it, you were mainly annoyed that the composition of the makeup was being thrown off by this sudden blush.

"Well! Once wardrobe comes in, you'll be taken down to set. What do you think?" You stood behind his chair and spun him back around to face the mirror. He leaned in, making sure not to touch his face since you scolded him before. He moved his head around, even admiring the coverage of the hickey that Lillith so generously gifted him." Hm! I suppose this works. As long as Lillith likes it, that is." His voice wasn’t enthusiastic, but you recognized the satisfaction plastered across his face. He looked up to meet your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "She's right, you are good at what you do, I'll give you that." You gave a little nod and began to pack up your things. "I'm glad it's acceptable, your highness." You pulled up some finger quotes as you spoke the word acceptable. "You were really nice to work on actually, your hair looks great and your face is already near perfection, so I didn't need to do much. Plus, you sat very well." You spoke nonchalantly, compliments like that coming as second nature in this field.

You turned once more and bowed your head a bit before sending a smile his way. His eyes were wide, and it looked like he was struggling to stiffen a grin. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his fist and looking to the side. "G-Good.. Glad you enjoyed the.. Uh - Enjoyed it.." His voice muffled behind his hand. You didn't overthink his nervous reaction since you were in a hurry to get Lillith ready next. "Oh, for sure! I hope I see you around more often! I'm sure the shoot will be great." You chimed in, finally dipping out of the room as a crowd of imps barged in, finishing up his look.

The rest of the day was spent getting Lillith ready for the shoot, which took considerably longer than Lucifer's preparations. The whole time you chatted with her about how Lucifer did, calling her out on the damned bruise that you had to cover up, and general catch-up that had become routine at this point. Once everything was up and moving, you floated around the set fixing up some small details on both Lillith and Lucifer's look when needed. And of course, the shots they got were fantastic. You couldn't stop yourself from admiring your work once the posters and advertisements were distributed.

That was the first time you worked with Lucifer. Not much changed after, you became a little more popular around the staff; getting complimented on how you dressed him and answered some silly questions about what he was like. You did see him around more often, and you’d make small talk. After a few weeks, while working on Lillith, she brought up another shoot that was proposed for a big event coming up. "And get this! Lucifer asked me to put him in the shoot!" She was absolutely giddy to tell you the news. "Well, of course, he wants to be in the shoot, it's because I prettied him up so well!" You bragged in a joking tone, making Lillith let out a sultry chuckle. She placed her hand over yours, a sincere smile across her already-painted lips. "Thank you, dear. He needs the pampering sometimes." You blushed at the sudden contact and grinned in response.

---

Lucifer did in fact join that shoot. The process was about the same, but he seemed to engage in conversation more and asked more questions about what you were doing at each step. It warmed your heart to talk about your passions, you were unknowingly gushing about your interests every time he asked.

As the years went on, he joined more and more shoots, accompanied Lillith to more public appearances, and generally just wanted your opinions on his looks more often. It didn't take long for you two to become close. He'd ask for help on outfits, sometimes becoming a nervous wreck about what to wear on dates. With his wife. It was adorable the way he worried about how he looked after being with Lillith for so long and essentially running a new world together. He seemed to really enjoy having his hair and makeup done, occasionally making a fuss if you weren't the one to do it. You would scold him, talking about how he's wasting your time, and that you trained each of your stylists, so he has to trust them. He pouted the whole time.

Being around the power couple of the century unfortunately had its flaws. Like having to witness its downfall. Both of them became quieter a decade or two before Lillith's disappearance. Any time you'd try and tell a funny story about Lucifer to Lillith, she would change the topic almost immediately. On the opposite end, Lucifer wasn't supplying you with the same amount of jokes and puns as usual and reverted back to flinching at your touch. You couldn't ask about what was going on, that'd be rude.. Right?

"You know, Lillith was just talking about some sort of Gala for the Sins, are you going with her?" You had some hidden intentions by bringing this up while you were fixing Lucifer up for his day. "A Gala, huh? Haven't heard anything about that, so - I guess not!" He blurted out, clearly irritated. Shit. " Are.. Are you okay? Is something going on?" You leaned against the back of the vanity, stopping what you were doing to give him your full attention." Well, if you want to talk about it, that is.. Aaand as long as I won't get in trouble by asking." You shrugged and crossed your arms over your chest. That happened once or twice, but it was for little things; spoiling an anniversary gift one time, or accidentally getting an imp fired when you were venting about workplace struggles. "Yeah, of course it's okay! We're fine. It's fine. I'm fine! Stop asking so many questions!" He got increasingly aggressive as he spoke, you threw your hands up, stepping away and returning to the back of his chair. "Okay, okay! I believe you, jeez!" You responded to it as a joke, hoping you could recover.

You didn't talk about it after that, lifting his mood a bit by asking about his projects and other little things. As you finished up his hair, you noticed him closing his eyes and leaning his head into your hands as you ran your fingers through his hair to coat it with some kind of styling product. He'd fallen asleep in the past, so you didn't worry about it too much. You went on to work on his makeup. He asked you recently if you wouldn’t mind coming up with a more subtle everyday look for him. Apparently he just really liked your work. Or, he needed the pampering. Either way, you couldn't refuse.

He was loving the treatment today. He would hum every time you used your thumb to brush a speck off his cheek, and would start leaning forward when you stopped touching him. You pushed him back by his chest mindlessly, just needing him to sit back in his chair.

You then started to apply makeup to his eyes. Covering the bags underneath them became increasingly difficult throughout the years. You pulled him in like usual, your hand lightly leading his head up towards your face. When you paused at some point to evaluate whatever you were doing, he suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours, then flashing a quick peak at your bust that had been accentuated by your stance. He leaned back, a nervous look on his face.

"Um, hello?? I was kind of in the middle of something! That’s it. Tell me what’s wrong." You scoffed, confusion and irritation plastered across your face. He quickly dismissed it, letting you work again. He could feel your shallow breathing fan across his face as you went on. His breath was picking up, heart rate elevating as you kept this proximity. The leather on the armrests of his chair squeaked as he gripped his claws into the fabric.

After a while, you silently leaned back, only now noticing him falling apart. He leaned in slightly, dropping his jaw to let out a shaky breath. He would've hit your face if you hadn't stepped away. Possibly even met your lips.

"Uh – Your higness..?" You were oblivious, so you decided to question this behavior. He popped his eyes open and immediately leaned back into his chair." A-Are you done yet?" He squeaked out, examining the damage he had done to your chair with a nervous chuckle. "I'll uh.. I'll get you a new chair." He muttered, before looking into the mirror for just a moment. "Looks good to me! Excellent job as usual, my dear, I better get going, I have a meeting to get to so – " You watched in silent confusion, seeing him squirming and screwing up his words. He quickly stood up, not assessing how close he would be to you and how close your back was to the vanity. You stumbled backward, placing your hands on the vanity to keep yourself from falling any farther, and acting as a buffer between the counter and Lucifer. He tripped over your stumbling feet, his flailing arms landing beside yours. You were effectively trapped, his knee had bent between your legs while trying to find his balance.

A moment of silence. All you heard was the beating of your heart ringing in your ears. He looked down at you in a way that clouded your judgment. Neither of you said anything, but you fluttered your eyes shut subconsciously. He did the same, then cocked his head to the side and slowly lean into your face. He roped his arm around your waist, pulling you forward a bit, but not quite flush to his chest. Yet. You felt his shaky breath fanning over your lips, before snapping back into reality. "No! Nope - " You quickly broke free of his arms and began cleaning up your things, avoiding his gaze as it followed you frantically getting your things together. "You have a meeting, right? I just finished up, so you should be all good now! I'll just – I-I'll see you around! Have a good day, sir!" You quickly left the room, not letting him get a single word in. He reached out to you as you left as if that would suddenly draw you back towards him, but of course, it did nothing. "Well, shit." He let out bluntly, waiting for a moment in your own studio before b-lining it back to his office.

What the fuck was that?

You avoided Lucifer after the incident, and he seemed to respect that. He let one of your stylists do his daily pampering, knowing that stopping that routine would cause too much suspicion. He didn't enjoy it as much, but stopping altogether would make Lillith ask about it. Fuck. Lillith. A flood of emotions wash over you. In reality, you were closer to Lillith than her husband. You two gossiped and chatted on the daily. It was a struggle to face her after this, but what choice did you have?

She was completely silent during her last few sessions, so you drowned out your guilty thoughts with music. She disappeared a few years after that. You absolutely panicked. So did many of the staff members, but your sole concern was if it was your fault. You were quick to find Lucifer after the announcement was made, only to see him in your studio, running his hands across the rack of gowns that Lillith had left. "Lucifer. What happened? Where did she go? What did she say?" You rambled approaching him, but being careful not to get too close. "She didn't say anything. She left a half-assed note, and she's just.. Gone." He pulled a dress into his arms and gripped it tightly before letting it drop to the floor. He let out a vicious roar, throwing the rack to the side." How could she do this?! What about the kingdom? What about Charlie? Dammit.. What did I do?? We slept next to each other that night.. The same night she left… I-I could’ve stopped her, I should've - She just disappeared..!" He rambled on, quickly unraveling in front of you. You watched his tail and horns start to form, and you hesitantly gripped his shoulder. He finally stopped, taking a deep breath before turning to face you. He hadn't looked into your eyes since..

His horns shrunk back into his temples before he let his head fall onto your shoulder. You almost stepped away, but.. He needed this. And you needed answers. "Sir.. Was it because.. Did she leave because of me..?" You spoke softly, your breath a cool sensation against his heated skin. He quickly shot up, planting his hands on your shoulders and looking at you with a stern expression. "No! No, I promise it wasn't your fault. Fuck, none of that was your fault. She.. I-I'm not sure why she left, but that's not your burden to bear." He spoke calmly, a stark contrast to the raging mess he just displayed moments ago.

You two stood there for a while, his hands drifted down to hold your arms. What was he supposed to do now? He looked around the room for some kind of answer. Before he could realize what was happening, he was pulled into a tight embrace, his head just barely reaching the top of your shoulder. "It's gonna be okay.. I’ll be here, Lucifer. No matter what." It felt.. weird for a moment. This was the first time you'd gotten close to him this way. And actually, the first time you'd said his name without any sort of title. He let out another exhausted sigh, his hands snaking around your back and accepting the much-needed affection. As his head pressed against your collarbone, you stood there until he decided he’d had enough. You were there for a while.

It wasn't Lucifer's fault, but after that, you didn’t work much. There really wasn't a lot to do, without someone pushing public appearances and emphasizing the importance of image, you generally just mended and fixed up the staff's uniforms and Lucifer’s wardrobe. You were technically a stylist, but you've been doing this long enough that you could handle these jobs entirely by yourself. Actually, you did handle the job by yourself. Lucifer fired or sent most of the previously employed stylists away, along with most of the staff. About five years into Lillith's disappearance, the place had widdled down to a handful of workers. Some in the kitchen, basic housekeeping, a noisy secretary to answer some calls, and you. You started to question why he kept you around. You hated to admit that you still blamed yourself for Lillith leaving, but why else would she suddenly disappear? She was cold to you as soon as you kissed – almost kissed – Lucifer that day. You tried your hardest to avoid that thought process since you stuck around the mansion.

You were surprised to find out that Lucifer accepted an invitation to be on the cover of a magazine for Helluva Times. He hadn't needed makeup or hair done since Lillith left, and in reality, you barely saw him around. You were ashamed about how excited you were to see him again. Of course, it won't be the same as before, but you were looking forward to it nonetheless. You were taken to the studio where the shoot was being held since the one in the mansion was turned into more of a workspace for mending clothing. The studio was brightly lit and bustled with imps and some stylish sinners doing their part. You wondered if It was always like this, or if it was just because of Lucifer. You approached the vanity, the king of Hell seated in a movie set chair, with a golden star on the back, his name embroidered to the center. You were stopped in your tracks when you saw the dark circles that surrounded his eyes. Jesus, he was exhausted. You weren’t exactly surprised, more like distressed. Now that you think about it, Lillith really did a lot of heavy lifting when it came to keeping Hell in line.

"Your Highness." You gave him a little smile and nodded your head, beginning to display your usual setup on the vanity in front of him. "Heyyy! You..! Good to see you, Ahha.. ha.. h-how've you been..? How's... work been..?" He put on a fake smile and propped his head on his hand in a sad attempt to act casual. He switched to crossing his arms, unable to sit still and make eye contact with you at the same time. You didn't know how to react. The last time he was this nervous, he ended up pinning you to a table with his arms around you. You quickly got to work, trying to get the image of that day out of your head.

You go to comb his hair, recognizing that it's been a while since he let anyone tend to it; it was nearly grown to the bottom of his neck and wasn't exactly the cleanest. "Do you have wrinkle-free, clean, clothes every day?" You asked in response to his nervous ramblings from earlier. He nodded slowly," Then work is fine." You picked up on the sudden attitude you had, and it even surprised you. He quickly shut his mouth and started to spin the wedding band on his finger as a nervous fidget.

You had to put some effort in since he wasn't getting the same attention he used to. You gave his golden locks some much-needed attention, running a number of products through them and taking the time to restore it to its usual length. You found yourself peaking at his face every now and then, which he didn't notice. He was too indulgent to even keep his eyes open. You tried to stop yourself from looking at his relaxed expression, but you found yourself turning away only when he opened his eyes. You checked the clock, you definitely had some time for a more thorough session. You dug your fingers just a bit deeper into his hair, lightly running your nails across his scalp. In several swirling motions, you had him melting in your hands. You had to stop every now and then and push his head back up after it lulled to the side. It usually kept him alert for a moment, but it never lasted long. He let out a subtle hum every now and then, making you bite your lip in some attempt to keep whatever you were feeling at bay.

After you finished your little massage, you quickly finished up his hair, giving him a very-needed trim and styling it to its usual glory. You instinctively placed your hands on his shoulders once you finished and leaned in a bit to look at the results.

"So? What do you think? You needed a haircut, sir, you should… keep in touch.. If you need me, I'm here." A grin grew on your face and he couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of your smiling face. He turned his head to the left and the right, reaching up to touch his face delicately. He was less worried about messing it up and more worried about you scolding him for it. He let out a little huff and he opened his mouth, with no words coming out. It took him a moment." It's great, but uhh.. Could you do the – " He spun his fingers around his cheeks," you know, the.. Little loopy.. Bits..?"

God, what a cutie.

You let out a little chuckle and nodded, turning his chair to face you." My bad, how could I forget the loopy bits?" You teased, reaching out to either side of his head. Your hands lulled over his cheeks for some reason you wouldn’t explain. Finally, you untucked the bits of hair from behind his ears, pulling them forward and twirling them with your fingers. You placed your hands on your hips, still bent to be at his eye level.

"There. Ready for makeup, Lucifer?" Your words didn't come naturally, it took you a few seconds to debate whether or not to call him by his name. With his voice cracking in an attempt to respond, he just nodded, attempting to keep some dignity intact. You did your best to act professional, despite his lovely reactions. You started as you usually did, applying an easy base and highlighting his rosy cheeks. You never needed to do much to his face, and even after all this time, you still didn’t need to. Must be his angelic abilities, that his skin never really changes. You shrugged off the thought, getting ready to focus on his eyes. Instead of keeping his chin up, you took a light hold of his jaw, your fingers grazing his neck and your thumb placed dangerously close to the side of his lips. You both reacted to this new method, but you quickly went to work to prevent any more eye contact.

You took your time and it was clear neither of you cared to bring it up. He was past his call time, but when some poor stylist working for the news team came in to get him, Lucifer used his threatening status to give you both more time. After you finished covering the dark rings surrounding his eyes and prettying them up a bit, you mirrored your other hand and essentially cupped his cheeks. You did your best to make it look like it was for work purposes, but damn you were enjoying this. Such a beautiful creature in the palm of your hands, looking away because he was too embarrassed to meet your eyes." Look forward, please?" You spoke softly, lightly tapping his cheek to get him to follow your commands. He let out a huff, then finally prepared himself to look into your eyes. The noisy workers coming in and out of the room suddenly disappeared, the room going silent. He had your complete focus, and suddenly there was nothing more important than gazing into his red eyes. His hand moved to your wrist, holding one of your hands in place while he pressed his cheek against your palm. What a sight. You leaned in, not knowing what would happen, but also not really caring. Any chance to get close to –

"Alright your Highness, we're gonna need you on set in five." The harsh sounds of the room suddenly returned, a Hellhound making a more stern request to get this shoot over with. You quickly stood straight, taking up a brush and fixing up the small smudges you had created by holding him. "Rrright! Yup, pretty sure we're almost done, sooo... I'll be right there..! Thanks." He clenched his pointed teeth, as he thanked the brute, who walked off with a scoff. "Good golly – I'm their king! What gives that mutt the right to – " He stopped his rambling once he saw your sheer embarrassment. He took it as a sign that he went too far, that just maybe, he read you wrong.

He turned his head, looking back to his reflection and tracing his little curls with his fingers before letting out a satisfied hum. "Great work as always, my dear." He stood from the chair, stretching his stiff legs with a groan." I should uhm – I'm gonna get going, I have to.. Do the.. Thing – with the thing.." He walked backward towards the exit, pointing over his shoulder. "You mean go to set and get the shots? Hope everything goes okay, sir." You chuckled, going back to cleaning some things up. "Okay, well – oh! Thank you! Right, forgot that part. So, thanks..!" He just kept talking. Like he might never see you again once he left the room. "My pleasure, Lucifer." You hummed, still attending to your tasks. Oh, you should’ve seen the winded look on his face. He let out a wheezing chuckle, tripped over himself, then finally left the studio.

Once all your things were neatly tucked away, you were invited to the shoot. They had an extensive team of people behind the scenes, so you got the chance to just observe the process. They had him run through a number of poses, some regal, some more.. Provocative. Just for fun, they said. It made you cringe, it definitely wasn't his style. Finally deciding on a composition, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and he rested his thumb just below his chin, drawing your eye to his devilish smirk. How could someone who's been hurt as badly as he has, smile for the cover of a magazine?

You made some mental notes on his makeup and his hair, which they squished down with a comically oversized tophat. Trying to keep your mind purely professional became increasingly difficult when he kept looking over at you, his smile twitching every time. He must be tired. That’s clearly why he's acting this way.

"All right, we got it! Wrap it up, people!" An aggressive shout took you away from your phone screen, and you looked around at the rush of workers. You tried to catch anyone's attention to see if you could help with anything, but you never got anyone's attention. It was definitely a change of pace from your past experience, considering you were the lead on a team that really only dressed two people, even if they were royalty. By the time you got back to the studio, it was basically cleaned out, other than your little cart with all the supplies you brought from home. You assumed you were good to go straight home and find something to do other than feeling up the king of Hell; speak of the devil!

"Oh! I.. didn't know you were still here, I thought you left..?" A soft, and mildly raspy, voice came from the door, making you catch Lucifer's eyes in the reflection of the vanity you stood in front of. "No, I was enjoying the show." You leaned against the tabletop after turning to face him, a little smirk on your face. "You did good, by the way. The shots came out really well." You pulled up some of the shots that the company sent to your phone. "These are some very handsome photos.. You're welcome, by the way." You were gloating. He had walked forward to get a better look at your phone screen, squinting his eyes like he needed glasses, despite it being impossible for him to have poor vision. He scoffed at your comment, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well don't let it go straight to your head, dear, you didn't do all the work. I'm just naturally gorgeous, right? You used to say that all the time." He nodded his head to either side as he spoke like he was winning some argument.

"Well, I meant it and it's still true. So, don't let that get to your head." You responded like you were trying to one-up him. He immediately turned red. He can shoot his shots, but deflates at any quick or clever rebuttals." W-Well! I'll try not to.. T-thanks for being here. Not like, here, but like – helping with the shoot, and doing meee – my hair! Love my hair, came out great." Good job, Lucifer. You startled him by running your hands through his locks, attempting to fix up the mess they made by putting a heavy hat on him." Ugh, they ruined it.. It should be an easy fix, I guess... that stupid hat." You grumbled, running your hands along the sides of his head to smooth it out. He was biting his lip when you sent him a quick look." I-I like the hat..." He said weakly. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh, beginning to pull your hands away. Clawed hands took hold of your wrists, keeping them hovered on either side of his face. "You said... that you'd be there for me no matter what. Do you remember that..?" He relaxed his face, but his hands were shaking just a bit. You nodded slowly.” Well, I’m - I appreciate that.. And you.. I-I appreciate you..”

“If you still.. I don't know, it's been a few years since – but if you still wanted to.. Ugh, dammit..! I don't know how to – " He stuttered over his words, becoming visibly upset, something stopping him from speaking coherently. You couldn't assume he was talking about the little incident from years ago, but if it was still on your mind after all that time, maybe it was still on his. He stepped forward just a bit, his grasp still lightly holding your wrists, keeping him close to you. Waiting for you to respond to a question he never really asked, he gulped, then let out a breathy, fuck it. In one fell swoop, he released your hands and immediately pulled you into a tight embrace. This wasn't like before, this wasn't to console him. His hands were wrapped around your back and cradled the base of your neck, leaving no space between the two of you.

Your entire body tensed, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in was knocked out of you, and your arms were stuck with your hands pressed against his chest. He loosened his grasp as soon as he held you, but never actually let you go. His head had sunk into your shoulder, trying to hide some kind of adorable expression, you were sure. You had the opportunity to push him away, nothing was truly keeping you there. Physically, at least.

As you stood still, deciding what your next move would be, you'd feel him adjusting his head and turning it to plant his cheek on your collarbone, his breath hot against your chest. You knew he had to feel how hard and fast your heart was beating with how he was nuzzling into you. Focusing on one thing at a time, you tugged your arm out of his hold and lifted his face upwards, at least preventing him from being too close to your rapid heart rate. The next problem was your noses almost touching due to how close you were. His eyes were wide, full of some sort of desperation or fear, and a little bit of excitement. Your fingers still lightly hovered under his chin, and you could feel his pulse. Just as fast as yours, maybe even faster.

You felt him gulp, his face now heating up. Maybe the look in your eyes was too much for him to handle. You looked at the vanity that was just a few feet away. That should make him understand. Taking small steps backwards, which he didn’t understand, but also didn’t question, you kept moving until you felt the table hit your back. You leaned back slowly, forcing him to brace himself against the table to keep his balance. His eyes darted around as it clicked finally. You had put yourself in the same position that you were in years ago. His hands caged you in, and his knee sat between your legs for stability. You remembered it so clearly, you had no trouble bringing the two of you right back to where you left off. You took one of his arms and guided it to support you by the small of your back, then snaked your arms around his shoulders. Then, you closed your eyes and just waited. Just sitting there, anticipation bubbling in your stomach.

Before you knew it, he had softly pressed his lips against yours. You jumped at first, startled by something you were waiting so patiently for. You felt his lips pull away in response, but you were quick to pull his shoulders in, closing the gap again. He let out a little cry against your lips, as you pulled him even closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. He kept one hand at your back and sent the other to your outer thigh, slightly lifting your leg to sit against his hip. With a more secure hold on you, he leaned forward further, until you felt the back of your head hit the mirror with a light thump. "Mmph! Are you okay?" He pulled away for a moment to ask, which only upset you even more. You looked at him as if the answer was obvious, and fisted the collar of his shirt, pulling your lips back together. Clearly, you were fine.

Becoming intoxicated by your lips, he practically begged for a more intimate kiss. He placed a hand on your chin, pulling your mouth ajar with his thumb and quickly entering his tongue in your mouth. The sudden motion left you muttering incoherent praises onto his lips. He pulled away, leaving you in a daze. Once you regained your focus, you were able to reassess your situation. You had slid down the entirety of the vanity, your back fully against the cold material of the counter. One of his hands were propping himself up directly above you, the other still holding your leg, and keeping you from moving away as he pulled you impossibly closer. While letting you catch your breath, he sent a few kisses down your jaw and neck, making you grip his shoulders and hold your breath. He pulled himself away after pressing another quick peck on your lips. "Hey. Breathe. I'll take care of you, don't worry - " How dare he. How could he act so flustered when you did his hair and applied his makeup for literal centuries, then tell you to calm down? You scoffed and smashed your lips back against his, mainly to shut him up, but he wasn’t complaining.

He let out a little yelp against your lips, struggling to keep up with your sudden change of pace. Running your hands through his hair, ruining all the hard work you put into it, you lightly tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. A shakey sigh met your lips, as you took control of the situation, taking the opportunity to explore his mouth with your own tongue.

After this went on for what felt like forever, which you didn’t really mind, you pulled away to breathe. Looking up to him, your eyes explored the lipstick that messily covered his lips. You tipped his head upward by his chin forcing him to look at himself in the vanity's mirror. He let out a pathetic little wheeze, looking back down at you with a suddenly confident smirk." Beautiful work as always, my dear." He spoke flirtatiously, "You missed a spot, though." Dipping his head back downwards and indulging in your warm presence for as long as he could.

You were clawing at his back, untucking his shirt as you struggled to keep a hold of him. Both your legs had spread, making your hips flush against his. He kept you close, as he nipped and kissed across your collarbone, his sharp teeth grazing your skin without hesitation.

Sucking on the softest part of your neck, you let out a breathy moan and arched your back into his chest. The sudden motion sent friction to his lower half, making him release his teeth and suddenly bolt upwards. The reaction made you nervous, "I-I don't - I haven't.. It's been… Awhile.." He stammered out, putting an emphasis on the word awhile." I know, It's okay." He winced at your nonchalant remark, remembering how often you witnessed his last relationship essentially fall apart, as you went back to kissing his neck. He gently pulled himself away. "Nono, it's been awhile- awhile… I hadn't been close with.. anyone… for a couple.. Decades..?" He spoke nervously like he was embarrassed to admit it. You sat up for a moment, making him question whether or not he should've said anything." But.. It's only been five years, right?" You weren't sure if this was the best time to be getting into this, but these are answers you’ve been wanting for years.

"I don't know what happened, sweetheart, but we lost what we had long before any of this. I'm sorry if you thought.. I can't have you take on that burden.. Okay?" He cupped your face, shifting to a more tender approach. You tried piecing things together in your mind, which was still cloudy from the past few hours. Of course, that still doesn’t make what you two did right. Of course, you blamed yourself after all this time. He pulled you out of your thoughts, by tucking a bit of hair behind your ear and keeping his tender hold on your cheek. You couldn’t help but smile and nuzzle your face into his hand.

"We can stop if you want, love." Oh how you wanted to say stop. To say that you were terrible people for even feeling this way after all this time, while he was with his wife. Who also happened to be your employer. How scandalous. "No, I want this." You said without a hint of hesitation in your voice. It shocked him a bit, but he didn’t have much time to react before you leaned forward, unbuttoning his coat and pushing it off his shoulders. You pulled him in by his collar again, continuing to remove his vest, then opening his shirt, letting it hang open loosely, his white skin just barely peeking out. He shrugged comically, before going back to working on your neck, pulling at the hem of your blouse that had already fallen to your shoulders.

He ran his hands along your curves, eliciting a shiver down your spine. You reached your hands into his open shirt, your warm hands trailing across his even warmer chest. Your physical pleasure was subdued for a moment, absolutely in awe. "You have beautiful skin, Lucifer." Your voice was breathy, he lulled his head to the side, melting at your words and intimate touch. After a moment he let out a sweet chuckle and shrugged his top completely off. "So I've been told." Implying your constant praises from before, he puffed his chest out.

Oh, he was loving this. You sat up, your legs just at the edge of the countertop as you arched your back into him, closing the gap between your hips. You started by pressing a little kiss on his cheek, his face heating up even after all he's done to you. You then, moved your way down to work your lips across his neck and collarbone. Gently tracing his spine with one hand the other traveled downward as you pulled his hips into yours. Messaging his hip and continuously running your fingers along the center of his back, you sent him into sensory overload. You weren't surprised by the sudden bulge you felt hitting your center, in fact, you reveled how that confirmed you were doing a good job. You began sucking and biting on the skin, stopping to let out breathy mewls into his ear. The massaging of his hip turned into you pulling him in, then pushing him away slightly, only to viciously repeat the motion, forcing him to start grinding against you. Your hand on his back continued to trail up and down his spine, only you started to drag your nails across his skin as well, digging in a bit harder whenever you heard his voice hitch. You let your fingers slip into his pants every now and then, the cool sensation of your hands making him let out a little whimper.

"Your skin really is perfect, Lucifer. You are entirely beautiful. You're absolutely stunning, my king." You hummed into his ear, your skilled hands continuing to drive him crazy. He could barely keep up, his head falling back whenever you'd reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "K-Kiss me.." You heard him almost whisper, making you pull back for a moment to assess his stature. He had his hands on your hips, to keep you close, but also to keep him standing on his swaying feet. "I-I need you to.. kiss me.. Please.." He spoke in choppy sentences, he was too lost in his own pleasure to keep his head up, so you kept it forward by cradling the back of his head. When his head would start to droop too far forward, you gave his hair a light tug to remind him where he was. Did he need permission? You enjoyed the 180 he had made from the flirtatious tease just moments ago, humming in thought and tapping your chin like you were still deciding. Like you were considering not kissing him as passionately as he could handle.

He was lightly grinding his hard-on into you but still seemed patient enough to wait for your answer. "Well.. Since you said please." You finally said after far too long. He let out a sigh of relief as you inched towards him. You left your lips just over his, only letting him feel your heated breath against his lips. He shifted his stance but never moved towards you. You brushed your lips against his, not locking them together, just barely grazing them. He let out an impatient groan, his eyes clenched shut as you teased him so cruelly. Who knew this is what would bring tears to his eyes? You ran your hands up his chest, then dug your nails into him as you went back down. You finally met his lips, deciding he had enough after you wiped away a tear from his watering eyes. You don't know how he still managed to keep the kiss so tender after acting so desperate beforehand. You continuously wiped the tears off his face, keeping your hands on his face and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. As you pulled away, he followed your lips, disappointed in the sudden disconnect. He took the silence and the look on your face as a sign, that he needs to tell you what he wants.

He dropped to his knees, the warmth you had sitting between your legs was hit with the cool air of the room as he did. He kept his hands off of you and himself but fiddled with his thumbs to keep them busy in some way. He took in a deep breath, before speaking quickly," Can I taste you?" His voice was embarrassingly loud like he was just waiting and waiting to finally say it. It sort of shocked you, you assumed he’d be nervous after admitting he hadn't done this in a while. You pulled your legs together, finally feeling how wet you were becoming, but needing to commit to the bit. You crossed your ankles to furth prevent access. "I suppose so.. But what do you saay?" you reached down and tapped the tip of his nose, as you dragged out your words like you were speaking to a child. "Please..! I need to touch you, please.." He quickly replied, with no hesitation at all. "Good boy." That was it for you.

You realized you sealed your fate, as you felt him take a hold on your knees and pull them back apart gently. He moved forward until he could rest his head on your plush thigh, which he did for a while. He lifted your skirt up to your waist, then took a moment to appreciate the view. You were finally becoming a bit embarrassed, attempting to close your legs instinctively, but he pushed your legs farther apart, keeping a tight hold onto your thighs. When he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and innocent, as if he wasn’t keeping your legs apart and wiggling his hips to give some much-needed friction to his own growing problems.

He blinked, then looked back down, trailing his clawed finger across your wet underwear. You covered the sounds you were making with the back of your hand, still struggling to keep your legs open for him. He bent his finger and pressed it deeply into your still-clothed entrance. The sensation of the fabric digging into you made you groan, but that didn’t affect him at all. He licked his lips and began gathering spit in his mouth and he pushed your legs back in place, keeping them apart this time. Running his forked tongue across your panties, you squirmed under his touch. As he lapped at the fabric, the heat from his breath and the wetness he was coating you with caused you to fall back onto your forearms. "L-Lucifer - " You said weakly, quickly drawing his attention. "This is cruel." You pouted, continuing to let out a little whimper as he kept running two of his fingers across your underwear.

He cocked his head to the side as if he didn’t understand the damage he was doing. He was playing dumb." Oh? I'm sorry, love, how should I touch you then?" He was way too calm for your liking. He let one of his fingers just graze the hem, only touching a bit of your skin. You let out an annoyed groan, and move your underwear to the side, guiding the tip of his finger to your entrance. With your hand holding his wrist, you pushed his fingers inside of you, a strange sensation to say the least. It was embarrassing. He noticed your discomfort and finally dropped the act, sending you a sweet smile and kissing your thigh before starting to pump his fingers inside of you.

You let out a sultry moan, a mixture of relief and pure pleasure finally hitting you as you felt him add another finger without any real warning. You lulled your head back, not able to see his absolute focus on matching the rhythm of his fingers to the circling of your clit. Before you could fully comprehend, he pulled his hands away and back onto your thighs, delving into your center with a heated, open-mouthed kiss. Letting out a gasp, he delved into your folds, his tongue easily slipping from your entrance and back up to your clit. He lifted a hand to continue to slowly rub his thumb in small circles, so he could focus his tongue on thrusting in and out of your entreance with ease.

He showed no sign of faltering as you bucked into his face, desperate for more of him. Your hands moved to his hair, taking a tight hold as he hit right where he was supposed to. He scrunched his face, letting out a low growl as you yanked at his scalp, the vibrations startling you in a wonderful way. He only sped up when you started to babble about being close, letting your thighs tighten around his face as you finish into his lips. He continues his rapid pace, the adrenaline from being squeezed by your shaky legs taking over. You finally pulled his head away from you after the pleasure of overstimulation started to ache in your core. You sunk backward, your body twitching on occasion.

He planted a kiss on your thigh before rising back to his feet. He leaned into you, the fabric over his groin coated in your juices the longer he pressed in. He pecked your temple, looking at you, completely unphased." Too much? How did I do..?" He seemed genuinely interested in whether or not he did a good job." Y-you did.. Great.. It was g-good.. Felt good.." You gave a pathetic thumbs up as you caught your breath." W-what happened to the whole it's been a while thing? Fuck, Lucifer." You sat up finally seeing that he split the fabric of your underwear at some point to gain better access." Guess I've still got it." He said with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows at you. You couldn’t take him seriously. Your wetness and lipstick stained his mouth, the eyeliner you had applied had ran down his cheeks and rubbed under his eyes. Not to mention, he was covered in your marks. It's fine you can cover those, you thought. Even with his sudden burst of dominance, you took pride in the fact that this was all because of you. He was all yours.

☆☆☆

If you're curious, that one is pushing 10k words ;)

(Tagging some people who might appreciate it) @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @bat-boness @christineblood

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader smut #lucifer x you smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin fanfic #hazbin fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x you

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

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kinktober day seventeen: sex pollen kink

>>> god i love me some yuuta he is such a beautiful angel and deserves this! this started out as face-fucking kink but turned into this for storyline purposes LMFAOOO

>>> starring: yuuta okkotsu x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: sex pollen theme, pining, jealousy, face-fucking, oral (f!receiving) creampie, swallowing, doggy, headlock! oops!! >>> wc: 4.5k >>> event masterlist

you two make a dynamic duo. this was evident after he joined the school, drawn to you inexplicably. you were bubbly, funny, beautiful, and immensely talented, and you were the first person to smile at him. you became fast friends, and if he wasn’t sent out with toge, he was sent out on missions with you—where he quickly learned that your technique is beautifully complimentary to his own. you confused him though. you were incredibly pretty—non-sorcerers and classmates from jujutsu tech and her sister school approached you all the time, and you always politely turned them down. all sweet smiles and your caring voice humming out, “oh, thank you—i’m flattered, really, just—focused on working!”

you always were so kind, even if you had a good sense of sarcastic wit. yuuta got a taste of your spirited jokes and only grew more enamored with you, silently thanking the gods above for your gentle crushing of other men’s interests in you. but you never seemed too interested in him, hence why he was so confused when you glared at him and stomped away when he agreed to a date with maki zen’in during your third year. he didn’t realize that he was choosing something bigger at the time, deciding that if you weren’t into him he should try to move on—he should just focus on your friendship instead of all the boys throwing themselves at you and all the nights he spent wondering if you would give him a chance.

but things were never the same after that. you asked toge to take any mission you were sent on with yuuta, and you kept to yourself. panda was disappointed. he thought you would have fought for him, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself going after a man who didn’t want you back. you mostly stick to yourself, mingling with toge and some of your underclassmen when necessary. you run solo missions and spend your time in your room or training, all in an effort to avoid him entirely. you hated how weak the whole thing made you feel. you hated being jealous of maki, someone who had done nothing to you and had been a great friend; you hated being away from yuuta, but you knew it would be worse to stick around and pretend that you’re happy for him.

he didn’t know he’d lose you completely. god knows he wouldn’t have tried this if he thought it meant you would stop sitting next to him in class and start sparring with toge during training instead. he missed you. you used to sneak into his dorm a few nights a week to watch movies and lay your head on his shoulder. you used to hint at your favorite boba until he got it for you on missions in the city. you used to use your curse copying technique to boost his own, paired with the increase in cursed energy output powering his; fights don’t feel like they used to, especially without your arrogant smile as you two dismantle yet another assignment in record time. it was awful, and everyone could tell that he was miserable. that’s why yuuta and maki’s relationship didn’t last much longer after the school year ends. he celebrates his birthday wondering if he should call you—and you spend the day typing and deleting a ‘happy birthday i miss you’ text.

your final year of school starts, and you continue to debate with yourself over approaching him. it’s been months since you spoke, and you’re struggling to find the right words to say after all this time and distance. how could you explain yourself? ‘oh hey, sorry for dropping you, it was actually because you dated someone other than me.’ that’s hardly a convincing apology—and you don’t even know if he wants to see you. it had been a lonely several months without him, due to your own irrationality and instability, but still. you couldn’t bring yourself to stick around and yearn for him while he was in a relationship. now that he isn’t…things could be different. you decide to find him after you get settled into your dorm. you’re almost finished up, so you hurry out to grab the rest of your things.

yuuta can’t stop looking for you. it’s your final move in day, and he has to see you. he wants to make sure everything will be okay between the two of you. he knows what room you’ll claim he just has to make the walk from the boys’ building to the girls’. he’s nervous to see you, but he’s excited, too. it all made sense to him now. you did have feelings for him after all, and he stomped all over them whenever he started dating maki. he understands why you distanced yourself even if it hurt him beyond words. but everything could be fixed now, he could admit the truth with the extra boost of confidence that understanding your absence gave him. he could make the first move with the reassurance, he actually cracks a little smile at the thought of your reconnection and acting on the feelings he’s tried to ignore for so long.

then he sees you, and his smile spreads. he almost calls out your name, until he notices choso next to you, carrying what looks to be the remainder of your stuff towards your dorm. you seemed relaxed and cheerful, smiling softly and talking beside him as he nodded and gave the occasional grin to whatever you were saying. so this is what it felt like for you, then, huh? he supposed it was only a matter of time, every man you came across was charmed by you—and rightfully so. you must have finally decided to move on like he did, but it still feels like he’s been stabbed in the heart with a white hot blade. he’s standing on the sidewalk, rooted in place as choso opens the door for you even with the heavy stuff he’s carrying. you duck under his arm adorably, probably giggling out a thank you as you lead him to your bedroom. yuuta might be sick.

but he has no place to. he did this to you, worse—in front of your face. at least you have no idea that he’s watching you. even as his heart crumbles in his chest and he does an about face back towards the boys’ dorms, he tries to make himself smile. he’ll be happy for you. this is all his fault.

the rest of the day passes without you being able to find yuuta. you did run into choso while you were outside of your building. he and yuji were helping nobara out, but the former noticed you struggling to juggle all your things and offered to assist you too. you’ve worked with him before as well, so you didn’t think anything of it as you led him to your room to set everything down. you catch up with him for a bit and thank him for his help before you dismiss yourself in an effort to find your former best friend before curfew. it was a fruitless search. toge hadn’t seen him since he moved in, and panda still hadn’t arrived. he’d leave everything to the last minute. so with sadness settling in your gut, you return to your dorm and prepare for the first real day tomorrow.

it’s no surprise that the first day means missions for the fourth years. yaga gives a whole spiel on how you all are adults now and all grade one or special grade sorcerers at this point in time. so he partnered toge and maki for a mission in nagoya, panda got a solo mission here in tokyo, and then he sent you and yuuta on a mission in osaka.

his heart sank. there was no way he could get anyone to take his spot. he would be forced to walk alongside you and pretend he isn’t horribly depressed. you would mostly likely try to reconcile, and he missed you so horribly he would take you back in any vicinity. he wanted to fix things, to make things how they were supposed to be, and you’re supposed to be his girl. but what could he even do? maybe he would have you under his arm for this mission if he hadn’t been so brain dead. he can only blame himself, so yuuta extends the olive branch first.

he waits for you at the gates. you can see the hilt of his sword as you round the top of the hill, and you swallow hard. you couldn’t help but think he was still avoiding you after looking for him for the better part of a day yesterday, so what would you say to him now? his grayish blue eyes meet yours, and you smile simply from the warmth that builds in your chest at the sight of him. he mirrors your smile easily, and it turns out you two can pick up right where you left off like nothing had ever happened.

it’s relief. you were both so nervous that too much damage had been done. you wondered if the distance had grown so wide you couldn’t bridge the gap, and he could only think the same, but as soon as you joined his side, conversation flowed freely and laughter followed after. and even as the idea of you and choso nagged at his mind, he knew choso would never know you like he does. he would never fight alongside you so expertly, nor have all the history that the two of you have. if that’s all he’s got, then he can make it through this.

the mission itself was a bit more of a struggle, for once. you blamed it on the fact you hadn’t coordinated attacks in months, but this grade one cursed spirit had way too many abilities and tactics to use against the two of you. you have the ability to copy cursed spirits techniques after they touch you, but it seemed as if this spirit had several different styles. they were spreading what appeared to be a fertilizer of some sort over the ground and walls, you couldn’t get close enough to it to touch, and you weren’t sure that copying this technique was going to be very helpful.

“i’ll just boost your energy—we’ll have to fight the normal way.” you determine through a pant. none of your attacks had worked as planned so far. yuuta unsheaths his sword, chewing on the inside of his lip. he nods, seemingly analyzing the spirit and their dust to decide what he would do next. he surveys the abandoned ward of the hospital you were standing in, locating hiding spots.

“i’m going to sneak around, you try to keep it distracted?” he suggested, and you roll your eyes. it’s hardly a glorious plan, but you relent in it, letting him make the first moves would be more effective and decisive for the rest of the fight. he grins at your signature attitude, and jumps high into the sky. you chuckle at his showmanship, then run at the blob-looking cursed spirit with a whistle. you twirl your spear, watching as yuuta drops down in the dust behind it. his sword stabs through it a moment later, and you’re close enough to get your spear into the mix. at the impact, the spirit starts spitting out that powder, and you get a face full of it.

you sputter and wipe at your face, trying to get it out of your eyes as you stumble back. the spirit laughs, while yuuta digs his sword into their flesh and tries to soothe your worries.

“it’s harmless!” he calls out, yanking his sword out of its back and circling to the front to retrieve your spear. “just get it out—you’re okay!”

the spirit laughs again, the glob-like substance melting into a pile as yuuta stabs it again, this time with the intent to exorcize it. “hardly, little woman!” the beast calls out in an automated croak. “cum is the only cure, female—you will die!” it laughs wildly, turning into a liquid under the pressure of yuuta’s energy. his eyes widen as you make a strangled noise of disbelief.

you’re not sure if you’re blinking in shock or still recovering from its dust in your eyes, but you stumble back as it fully disappears. yuuta rushes to your side as soon as it’s over. you’re going to die? unless you…do something extremely lewd? he’s blushing deeply but it’s clearly out of concern for your life, of course. he’s disappointed in himself for letting you get affected. he imagined it had to get in the bloodstream to be effective since he was fine, but he could tell with one look at you that you were not.

your eyes were heavily lidded, lips parted in a perfect pout as you stood on wobbly legs. you were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and he could see your hands pulling at your uniform—and your inner battle to get yourself to stop. he walks towards you, concerned beyond belief. you would die if he didn’t help, and you do look so intoxicating like this…

“don’t come any closer—please.” you choke out, feeling around behind you to find a wall to back yourself against. your entire body coursed with uncontrollable heat and need, your pussy throbbing painfully. everything was intensified, your heaving chest, the smell of the man you’ve wanted for years, and the searing lust he looked at you with. you started to shake, and he knew he couldn’t obey your command. “i can’t control myself right now, please, oh my god–” you whine out as his warm and slightly callused hands cup your hot cheeks.

“you heard it…you’ll die..” he says softly, wide and concerned eyes searching yours. he wasn’t under the same pressure, but his heart was racing and his dick was hurting at the prospect of fucking his crush. his tongue darts out to wet his lips. he looks almost as nervous and needy as you do. “i just got you back—and i’m definitely not letting you die.”

you’re insatiable, the touch only made your brain fuzzy and scream out for more, your hands reach up for his forearms, whining weakly as the connection doesn’t satisfy you at all. “oh yuuta–it hurts so bad.” you pout, the look you give him is so pathetic he almost whines with you. “h-help me, please~”

he nods and smashes his lips on yours. you let out an animalistic grunt in relief, throwing your body at him and taking the kiss from heated to dangerous, your teeth gnashing and tongue poking at his bottom lip to get even closer. he can’t help but contemplate the words of the curse, they simply said cum was the cure. does that mean his or yours? and where? he doesn’t mind trying everywhere.

you pull back, but your arms stay around his neck, hands knitted in his soft locks. “my clothes–god it feels like i’m burning.” he gently pushes you off of him so he could help you find relief, popping the buttons on your top and letting out a shaky sigh at the sight of your breasts spilling over your bra. he snakes his hands around your back, slender fingers working quickly to unlatch the clasps. he does let out a little moan this time—your tits sag when your bra drops, and yuuta pushes all the fabric off your upper half and his hands knead at your chest instantly, causing you to wail and moan. he’s trying to be normal, but this is anything but. he’s spent many a night with his fist wrapped around his dick, thinking about the first time he would have you, but it never went like this. he’s hardly complaining though, you’re so sensitive and your noises are so pornographic he’s trying not to bust in his pants.

“i’m gonna start crying–” you sniffle, none of his touches were satisfying you like you needed, it was getting unbearable. you were burning up and your pretty eyes were filling with tears of needy frustration. he whimpers at the sight and hurriedly peels his own clothes off, shaking his head in worry.

“oh, don’t cry! i’m here—i’ll..i’ll make it better!” he nods, hooking his fingers under your skirt, shoving it to the perfect dip of your waist. he looks at your soaked panties, and his heart stops. he’s really going to do this, you aren’t even in your right mind—he can’t help but feel like he’s taking advantage of you.

“yuuta–please, i want you so bad, need you!” you cry out, crumbling to your knees before him. you paw at his pants, untying his belt and yanking at the sides of his pants hungrily. he gasps at your desire. he was perfectly happy to please you only, wanting to save you more than anything—maybe other than this, you looking up at him with your lip between your teeth as his dick springs free, slapping against his stomach and making you moan out before you grab him. “fuck my mouth, okay–i need your cum, you heard it.” you sigh, eyes hazy with need as you lean in and kitten lick his pink tip.

his hand flies to your head, and he shudders just from that. you admire the sight of him, long and leaning to one side, cutely trimmed and a leaky slit meant just for you. “hope you didn’t let maki touch you—wanna feel all of it down my throat.” you rub your thighs together, fingers blindly playing with yourself to keep you from going insane.

he blinks a bit at your profession of jealousy—and then he remembers choso. “aren’t you dating yuji’s brother?” he confronts, jutting himself forward a bit to see himself splayed along your perfect tongue. you huff at the accusation, brows furrowing as you shake your head.

“never date anyone but you—” you confess, speech starting to slur. you aren’t able to think as clearly, all you can crave is his dick in your mouth, so you swallow him up. your nose tickles the dark patch of hair above his base, pretty teary eyes batting up at him as you moan around his cock. you want him to be rough? okay. he’ll do that for you–your life is on the line after all. he slides his hands to your cheeks as you work your way along him, up and down at such a sensual pace he’s a moaning mess like he’s affected by the technique. his noises only cause more of your own, his weighty tip hitting the back of your throat and making you gag each time. he makes it worse when he decides to apply pressure, holding your head still and moving his hips instead. he fucks your face brutally, you didn’t think he had it in him. tears run down your face and gags and moans are all to be heard. he looks so good, brows set forward in focus and his pink lips parted to let his whimpers free. he tastes even better, and you think you cum when he does, his thick ropes hitting the same spot his dick was, but you swallow it all down anyway and lick your lips—waiting for more. he shudders, this was far too much for him to handle, he didn’t know how he could return to normal after this.

“let me see you now.” he blurts out, sitting on his knees like you. he crawls closer to you, easing you to lay back on the floor. you’re not too good for it, especially not if it meant yuuta was going to make you feel better. you were frantic with need, spreading your legs as soon as you felt his touch to them, he sees your soaked panties again, and his semi perks all the way back up again. “can i take them off?”

“fuck–please, yuuta, can’t take it anymore—put your mouth on me!” you call out his name so desperately he can’t help but wonder if you would be so slutty had someone else gone on this mission with you. the thought quickly disappears when he remembers your declaration, that you’d never wanted anyone but him, and he wants to ask if it’s true. surely he has time, you’re starting to look like pure sex and as bad as he wants to destroy you, he has to do so in good faith.

“did you mean it—that you wouldn’t date anyone but me?” he asks, peeling your sloppy underwear away from your drenched cunt. you nod quickly, the cold air making you shiver with anticipation. you buck your hips toward him a little, still nodding.

“why d’you think i stopped talkin’ to you? you chose her over me.” you pout, and he feels the guilt pang at his heart again as he picks your hips up off the floor, hooking his arms around your thighs.

“it was a mistake–i didn’t know you wanted me–”

“i love you—don’t just want you–need you, pleaseee we’ll talk later!” you squirm in his grip and he snaps into it. your words push him to new heights, you love him. you love him and you need him more than anything, and god he would make sure you never regretted it. his tongue parts your lips and he grows ravenous immediately at the taste of you. he sucks at it, wanting as much of you on his taste buds as he could get. you mewl and pant immediately, bucking into his face and moaning at the way his nose collides with your clit. you can’t reach him with the angle he holds your hips at, helpless and only able to play with your own chest as he devours you. he slides his tongue inside you, groaning at how tight you are. he knows you’re going to squeeze his cock like a vice. you cry out his name in response, and it drives him crazy. white hot need flows through his veins and it's not enough to hear you. he needs to feel you cum in his mouth, feel you buck and writhe in his arms just like this–it makes him feel like the man you need. and the more you call his name, the more he believes he is.

he tongue fucks you for a minute or two, just stroking your walls and tasting your insides. it makes you moan lowly, a purr almost, but when he slides his tongue up to your clit, your sounds turn higher, towards screams. it makes him feral, his teeth scrape against your hood and you lurch forward, whining to touch him. he makes out with your cunt, watching your face contort with pleasure.

“i’m gonna cum for you, oh–yuuta!” you warn in a broken wail, and he moans against you, waiting for you to coat him in your juice. your legs clench around his head, shaking and jerking as your release hits you in waves. he works you through it, licking two fingers in preparation to work you open, but you shake your head. “please, please fuck me, can’t wait anymore–.” you press your legs to his face again, the need almost worse now that you’ve cum once.

“it’s gonna hurt–” he winces, though the brain in his dick agrees with you wholeheartedly.

“it already hurts—please, please, if you care about me at all, just..please!” you sigh out, thrashing in his arms as you plead. how could he deny you when you talk like that, especially if it will make you think he doesn’t care about you.

“i care about you—i love you too, i–i’ll help you, i’m here.” he stammers around, lowering your legs to his hips. he angles his leaky cockhead against your hole, and your head falls back at the feeling and his confession. you nod, reaching for his hands that support your weight.

“good—then fuck me like you love me.” you pant, your body so glorious and splayed wide just for him. he’s in heaven, and he can’t fight off his need any longer—especially if this was what you wanted, what you were begging him for. he fits his tip past your tight hole, sinking his length deeper in fluid strokes. you moan wantonly, and the sounds make his body tingle. you’re walking sex, he’s always thought that, but seeing you underneath him only confirmed your perfection. you nod your encouragement, even thrusting your hips up to meet him, and the pressure makes his eyes roll back.

he fills you up like he was made to, squeezing between your walls and kissing your cervix once he’s in to the hilt. his fingers dig into your meaty hips, slamming your body down on him repeatedly until you’re both a mess of moans and sweat and heavy breathing. you squeeze down on him, mumbles of his name bless his ears and cause his dick to jump.

he turns you over, hoping you can still support yourself on all fours. you shake, but hold yourself up, arching your back for him to slip his cock back in without a struggle. he faces no resistance, your juices dribble down your thighs and all around him, gurgling and squelching once he’s nestled inside. you moan at the new angle, only intensified by him laying over your back and catching your neck in his arm, adding support for your pathetic frame. he’s got you in a headlock, his hips driving into your round ass, the sounds of his gentle grunting sing in your ear. you’re so close, backing into him like you’ll never have the chance to fuck again–which he can assure you would not be the case.

“yuuta–’m gonna cum ‘gain, gonna give yours to me?” you whine out, panting and struggling through your smooshed cheeks. he nods like you can see him, sweat dripping on your back. you massage him so well that he’s surprised he made it this long.

“yes, i have to make sure you’ll be okay.” he sighs, stilling as a loud moan rips from his throat as he floods your insides, noting that he would have to buy a pill to make sure this didn’t turn into a lasting problem at your young adult age. it feels so good though, he doesn’t know how he would ever fuck you differently. you shiver, squeezing all the seed out of his cock as you come down from your own high. you slump forward, his arm was the only thing keeping you from face planting on the ground. he rubs gentle circles into your bruising hips as he catches his breath.

“are you alright, does it feel better?” he quizzes, feeling himself go soft after several minutes of keeping you stuffed. “talk to me, i’m worried–”

“i’m great,” you giggle, feeling cum slide down your legs when he slips out of you, “better than ever. as long as that’s not a one time thing.”

he leans over your back again, turning your head for a sweet kiss to your lips. “no, no. definitely not. sneak into my room tonight and i’ll make sure of it.”

#kyleewritesjjk #kylee's kinktober event #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu #yuuta x reader #yuuta smut #yuuta x you

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oikasugayama · 11 months ago

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what about a bsd chart for falling in love?

i can't help falling in love with you

Dazai is prone to falling in love at first sight. He sees a pretty girl, or a handsome guy, and does everything in his power to get their attention. It's different when you come along, though. You fly under his radar for a while; it's not that you're not his type, it's that he doesn't realize it at first. As he gets to know you he realizes more and more how much he likes talking to you; how attractive he thinks you are; how much he relishes in your attention. You know his reputation and try to steer clear of his charms, but you're not entirely successful. You vow not to tell him, though, because you don't want to get your heart broken. That makes the surprise of his confession all the more potent. It's proper, it's sincere, and it's real.

Akutagawa is more surprised than you are when he confesses. Love isn't something he thought he'd have the pleasure of experiencing. His life has been difficult, its been deadly, and its been dark, but meeting Atsushi made him more thoughtful and less violent, and then when he met you he felt like he was experiencing something brand new. It was exciting. It was confusing. It was beautiful. You liked him as well, of course, but you vowed not to tell him because you didn't think he had romantic interests and you didn't want to make him pull away from the little friendship you had developed. His confession is a pleasant surprise.

Poe falls in love easily. All it takes is someone being nice to him and showing interest in his writing, and he's done for. For you to regularly read his stories and genuinely praise and critique them, and for you to enjoy spending time with him even if it's spent doing nothing--it means the world to him. He confesses to you via poetry. He writes you a lovely dramatic poem about a lonely man who meets a person who brightens his world. It's obvious it's about you--his nervousness and shaking hands gives it away. You're so excited. You liked him too, a lot, but weren't sure if you should tell him yet. You're glad he took the decision out of your hands.

Nikolai and Fyodor are similar when it comes to love. They are best friends, after all (according to Nikolai anyway). They have a philosophy that some think is... wrong or outdated, but it works for them when they want to get you. It goes like this: they see you, they want you, they get you. Literally. Either of them would lure you in and capture you. He'll explain his grand love for you, and even if you escape, he'll find you again and again. He'll wear you down until you love him or it kills you. Whichever comes first.

Sigma, having only recently become a person, doesn't know what extreme emotions feel like. When he starts to fall in love with you, he thinks he's sick or dying because of the way his heart rate increases, and the way he gets shaky and nervous when you come around. He thinks you may be using an ability on him. He doesn't confront you right away, because he really doesn't want to think you'd hurt him--he really, really likes you otherwise. You're so kind and thoughtful and helpful. You don't use him and leave him like others in his life. Once he finally realizes that he's in love with you, it weighs heavily on his mind and stays there. Should he tell you? Do you feel the same? He needs to think on it a while longer...

Oda falls in love with someone very sweet and gentle. The world is a disturbing place with awful things happening every day, and you aren't nearly as aware of that as he is, and he wants to keep it that way. He wants to protect you. To take care of you. To provide for you. He knows he wont be able to do these things without connecting you to the dark part of the world that he works in, so he refrains from confessing. It's the best way to keep you safe. When you confess to him, though, he doesn't have the self-restraint to deny you. He warns you of the dangers, but tells you he wants out, and he'll get out for you. He makes a plan and you're part of it.

Atsushi having had such a dark and violent childhood is a late bloomer when it comes to love. All the other kids in the orphanage were basically his siblings, and he went straight to the ADA after leaving there, so until you come along he's never really had a crush on any real life person. He's thought people were pretty, sure, but that feeling was nothing compared to how his heart races and his knees wobble and his mouth wont cooperate with his brain any time you're around. It becomes extremely obvious to everyone that he has feelings for you, including you after a certain point, and you just think he's so damn sweet. You ask him out finally when you realize he likely wont ever be brave enough to ask you first. He nearly faints he's so excited, and nervous, when you bring it up.

Junichiro falls for someone soft and sweet and nervous after his previous relationship ends. He liked dating people bolder than him, but after a certain point it became too exhausting keeping up with that type of person please for the love of god don't tell everyone you're his sister like Naomi did. When he starts to fall for you, he's very upfront. He tells you he thinks he's falling, and you tell him back. He says he'll keep you updated after he has more time to think about it, and you say the same. You end up spending more and more time together, slowly creating an orbit around the two of you, making a space in your lives for each other. It happens so gradually and so on-pace with one another that it feels completely natural being with him.

Bram may not be the first to fall in love, but he does tell you he intends to court you before you ever reveal your feelings to him. He thinks you're pretty, and he likes when you're around, and you seem to like coming around since you're with him a lot, so he very casually tells you he would like to court you and you very happily accept his offer. He very, very quickly realizes you're something precious and special when he starts thinking about you romantically, and not long after beginning to date he tells you his feelings are very deep. It's a shock but a definite win for you.

Tachihara definitely thinks you're hot and he can tell that you like him--those Hunting Dog instincts and modifications are pretty handy--but he doesn't consider his own feelings for a long time. He leads you on, in fact, giving you attention to make you fawn over him, and then he acts cool like nothing happened, brushing you off and not making plans with you. When you try to move on, stop giving him attention, try to find someone else who's interested in you, he notices, and he hates it. It occurs to him then that he's jealous and he realizes aw fuck, I've gotta tell them how I feel.

Mushitaro is so prim and proper and charismatic--it's hard not to fall for him. You're friends for a long time without thinking much of him, but eventually one day you just realize and it starts bugging you. You may try to distance yourself to see if the feelings will go away, but they wont. While you're distant he misses you desperately and starts to puzzle together his own feelings. Eventually he comes to your house and confesses on your doorstep, saying he misses you and he cares about you so much and he at least needs to know why you're ignoring him. It feels dramatic and straight out of a rom-com.

Ranpo, as I've said before, knows as soon as you do, maybe even sooner, that you have feelings for him. Yours definitely develop before his, but he picks up on it quickly and decides that he wants to date you to see where it goes, and he makes the decision to stay with you long-term after only a couple of dates. There's no confession on your part given that he just knows, but from him the confession is sweet while still being matter-of-fact. "I've fallen for you, as I knew I would. Let's keep dating until we're sick of each other, 'kay?"

Mori lives a double life and you have no idea. If you knew he was the head of the Port Mafia there's no fucking way in hell you ever would have talked to him or gotten to know him or fallen for him or confessed to him, but you didn't know that. To you, Mori was the handsome man in a doctor's coat who came into your store every week. He chatted with you more and more each time he came in, and finally you were brave enough to give him your number, to text him, to ask him out to coffee. He say yes every time, going along with it, and only after you'd been casually dating for some time did he tell you who he really is and well, fuck, you were just about to tell him you were in love with him, so you've both got bombs to drop tonight.

Chuuya plays it so cool that you don't assume he has any sort of romantic feeling for you, but your mind is completely hung up on him to the point of you thinking that you need to be rejected already so you can move on. You tell him as much when you confess, trying to play it off as a joke when you say "dude, I think you're really hot, can you reject me so I'll stop wondering if I have a chance?" He laughs, smirks, and says "I don't think I will, actually. I'll take you to dinner tonight instead." You're flustered, unsure if he means it or not, but oh boy does he. The date goes really well, actually, and he asks to see you again, and scolds you for thinking he was out of your league. "I'm just a guy, I'm not that special."

Kunikida may seem high-strung, and yeah, he is, but there's something about him that just does it for you. Maybe it's that he's so responsible, maybe it's that he's incredibly kind and thoughtful, or maybe it's everything. You don't know, it's hard to explain, and explain you must because when you try to confess to him he asks you why and what did he do to deserve your attention? He ponders your confession for a few hours in private before he reaches out to you. You expect to be rejected, but he accepts your offer, saying you were a shock and he's trying to have a few more unexpected experiences.

Fukuzawa likes you as a person but refuses to acknowledge you romantically given your age gap. You have to confess before he'll think about you in that way. It doesn't go smoothly--you're very quickly but politely turned down. It doesn't make your crush go away, though, and you notice that Fukuzawa seems a bit skiddish around you. When you finally get fed up and ask him why he's been acting weird ever since you asked him out, he admits that he's been thinking about you a lot and thinks that maybe he made a hasty, incorrect choice the last time you spoke about this...

Ango may not be the first to fall in love in your relationship, but once he's in love he's obsessed with you. It all starts like any office romance with a new transfer from another department. He's told you're talented and promising, but he doesn't believe it until you start actually lightening his work load and making his job easier. When you start casually calling him cute and flirting with him, he doesn't know what to think. It's unprofessional, but it's also exciting and he doesn't exactly dislike the attention. When you're off the clock and ask him out on a proper date, he says yes with only minimal hesitation. It's the best decision he's ever made.

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 months ago

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How I'm Looking At You, Part 4

Summary: What does Ari want?

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (F receiving), nosy people, misogynistic thoughts, aggressive Ari, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.7K

Series Masterlist

Eggs. Stupid eggs. And stupid Ari for distracting you from your reading. You are always reading. And Ari is always smiling at you through every bite he takes, and then turning his attention to his newspaper. He never turns the page, so you know he’s not even reading, it’s just pretending. You try, but he’s distracting. You take another bite of eggs, laying your book down, and Ari grins, “What is it, Darling?”

“Do you have nothing better to do than to watch me?”

His fork clinks on his plate, while he stares, that permanent grin on his face. A grin that says he knows something that you don’t know. And judging by what happened at the swimming hole, he knew a lot that you didn’t. “Actually, no. Nothing is more beautiful to stare at than the woman sitting at the table with me.”

Your body flares to life. Heat radiates from your core all the way down to your toes, and even up to your ears. Your entire body is on fire from a few simple words. He is of the devil, and you should fall to your knees and repent, but instead you find yourself wanting to be commanded to your knees just like the books. Have his bulge right in your face while he tells you to take him out. You want your fingers to study every bit of his body. Curiously discover the things that make him hard.

“Is everything okay?” No. Nothing is okay. Your body is betraying you. Your mind is supposed to be the most powerful thing, and yet it’s overpowered by the slick that pools in your core. You shake your head no. Lying is a sin, and you’re already sinning enough as it is. “Tell me, what’s wrong.”

“Do you get wet, too?”

“Are we talking about what you’ve been feeling between your thighs?” You glance down at the table, hands folding in your lap as you nod. “Darling, I know that the way that you have been raised has taught you feelings of the flesh is a sin, but it is natural. Can you at least look at me? Maybe we should get you some different books if it’s becoming too much.”

“But I like them,” you finally meet his gaze, and you refuse to back down. “I know nothing about,” choose your words carefully. You have noticed an animalistic need in Ari when you say the forbidden words. “Sex. I-I-I don’t know anything. I don’t know what’s happening to my body. I don’t know how to stop the things I’m feeling. I don’t know how to not imagine you and me with every one of these books. Except the ones with many men. That’s just confusing. But it’s always us.”

Ari’s arm that is carefully laying on the table tenses. He grips the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles bleach. Anger? Jealousy? Ari’s emotions can be confusing at times, “Who do you imagine the other men are?”

“None of the men here. They wouldn’t…three sounds like an awful lot.”

“Perhaps,” his body is still taut. The last thing he’d want to do is stifle your fantasies. Fantasies are normal. But he still has to figure out if it’s just that or something you might want to put into practice. “Three men. Three mouths. Three cocks. Your entire body could be stimulated all at the same time. You could have two sucking on your succulent tits, while another is feasting on your cunt.”

Heat blooms in your belly. An odd sound ripples out of your mouth, and he smirks. He’s never been a sharing type of man. But seeing you absolutely ravage, if that’s what you wanted, didn’t sound awful, “And then when you want the cocks inside of you, who is going to go where? You have three holes that can be filled all at once. They could have you writhing in so much pleasure that it’s almost agonizing.”

You shake your head no, eyes dropping to that stupid mark on the table. The table. There is one part of a book that really struck your mind. Being submissive for some of these women isn’t so bad. You understand fake from reality. But the men in those books worshiped them. Yes, they’re submissive, and sometimes bratty. But the undying devotion and love is palatable. It’s too quiet in your home, but you find yourself wanting to explore your body more than once.

“What — what would bending me over the table mean?” There is some language in the books that didn't truly make sense to you. But bending the woman over a table, a knee, the counter, the couch. Bending over is a regular theme, and you want to know what it is. You aren’t a child, and you caught Ari locking the door behind you as you came into the house. He didn’t want Jacob or the others to walk in, so you should take advantage of that.

He smiled as you took tentative steps up the stairs, and to your room. You wondered if he imagined what you had put on. Did he know if you chose something more sweet, or did you go more adventurous? Did he wonder if you put on one of the matching sets? Did he visualize what you had on under your modest dress? Ari has given you so many options of lingerie; you know he wants to see them on your body.

“Explain what you mean,” his voice is nearly hoarse. A vein on his neck pops out. Is this what it means to command him? You think it is. While he commands you on your innocence, you command him with his control. Is he breaking? There’s something powerful about knowing that you have this amount of control over him!

“In the books,” he nods once. There’s a part of him that has thought about reading these books, just so he knows what all you are learning. “They — the man is always bending her over something.”

“Why?”

“For various reasons,” does he really want you to explain all the reasons that they’re being bent over? Surely he knows. It’s this really weird sick fascination that he has to see you sweat, and say the most vulgar things. Filling his ego as much as his pants are filling.

“Hmm, and what reasons might those be. Try and be…explicit,” that same smirk curls the edges of his mouth. “I just want to learn where your pretty little head is.”

“Sometimes it’s for a spanking,” he nods his head. That grin permanently on his mouth now. “I don’t think I like that.”

“Me neither,” that’s a relief.

“Sometimes it’s,” closing your eyes, your words come out so fast and too loud, “so they can fuck her,” Ari pops his neck, a low growl rumbles in his chest. “But it’s also to,” deep breath. This is the one you’re really interested in because it isn’t so invasive. “Inspection.”

His chair scoots back quickly, and in two steps he’s by your side, and you gulp. “Do you need me to inspect you?” Licking your lips, you barely nod. Before there was water to separate you. Now Ari could look wherever he wanted. “Stand up, so I can bend you over this table, and see how wet I make you,” those are the words you have been quaking to hear Ari say.

Your chair gives an awful squeak as you push back. Standing in front of him, his size difference becomes even more apparent. His giant hand presses on your shoulder before he spins you around. Adding pressure, so you lean forward. Not stopping until your face is squished onto the cool wood.

“Darling, I’m going to lift your dress up. I want to see what color of panties you’re wearing today, okay?” You give a nod of your head as he lifts your arms to lay on the table. “Okay?”

“Okay,” the voice that comes out of your throat is weak. Pinched off and so desperate sounding. Your chest heaves as Ari squats down behind you. His meaty hands grab at the bottom of your dress, and he lifts it carefully. You swear he’s making the dress drag against your skin, so you know just how much he’s ascended.

He doesn’t stop until he bunches up the dress at your back. You struggle to try and get a good look at the face he’s making. You need to see his reaction to seeing you with nothing but lace separating you. He’s quiet. The house is even more quiet. All you hear is the deep breathing he’s doing. “Ari? Am,” the idea that you aren’t desirable for him stings in your chest. “Am I satisfactory?”

Ari clears his throat as his hand presses against your backside. The panties are simple, white, sheer lace with a bikini cut. Hiding nothing. He smooths his hand to each cheek before his middle finger slides down your split. Not stopping until his hand cups your weeping hot cunt, and you elicit the most delicious whimper.

“You’re perfect,” his voice whispers, rubbing over your pussy. “So perfect. What’s got you so wet?” He leans over your body, putting his lips on your bare back, and he peppers all the way down your spine. Stopping at the ribbon that replaces the elastic on your panties. “Is this for looks or practicality,” to be honest, not much is practical about this style of panties. Should the ribbon come untied, there wouldn’t be anything holding them on you.

His teeth attach to the ribbon, and he pulls. Loosening the ribbon, he drops to his knees, pulling the sheer fabric down. “Oh my. These sweet little things may be the most devious of all. Breathe, Darling,” he reminds you as heat flares in your center. Ari uses both hands to pull the lace down, and he spreads you open fully.

His blue eyes stare at your tight little entrance, licking at his lips. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathlessly answer. You just wish you could see him. See how he looks as he gazes at your body. The books talk about a man devouring the woman, but Ari is slow and calculated. His tongue barely sweeps over your velvety lips, and he does it again. And again. Each time getting closer. His cheeks press against your skin before he buries himself into your folds.

Laving up your juices while you are a mewling mess. Not even daring to move when the thick muscle of his tongue pierces inside of you, “Ari,” you push more into him, and this is where the word devour comes from. He eats from your cunt like he’s a man starving. Slurping, licking, and his mouth circles around your bundle of nerves, and you keen.

Nails dig into the table trying to stabilize yourself. If this is a sin, you’d gladly go straight to hell with his mouth on your body. Your moans fall in line with his own as pleasure rips through your body. “Ari,” you repeat again because it’s just nonsensical words.

“Ari,” his teeth scrape over your clit and you come undone. Slapping on the table, trying to right yourself, but his face stays glued to your core. “Mmm, oh god!”

He grunts, trying to plant himself deep inside of you, and a banging on the door reverberates through the house, and you try and push him off you, “Son of a bitch,” his voice is low, and he falls back on his ass, smiling as he stares up at your swollen pussy. “That’s a pretty sight.”

The knock on the door is louder as he rights himself. Pulling up your panties and tying them back on before too carefully for Jacob’s booming beating on the door, “Ari! Is everything okay, I heard — crying,” that is not at all what he heard. You weren’t crying. There might have been tears in your eyes, but you weren’t — you were crying out.

“Mother fucker is determined to ruin things,” he gives a quick kiss to your shoulder, his beard still damp from your juices. “Go to the sink. He doesn’t have to see your face,” what Ari wants to say is that your face is glistening with sweat, and your eyes are heavy lidded from pleasure.

“I’m always hiding my face in the sink,” Ari shrugs. He didn’t honestly care who knew that he was interested in you. But for your sake, it was best to keep things quiet. “I’m coming,” he mumbles under his breath, “I just had to make her come first.”

Ari slings open the door, and Jacob glances into the house. His eyes scan over everything until he sees you, picking up breakfast dishes. Too much food is on the plates. Ari’s hand wipes down his glistening beard, and he looks at Jacob. “What?”

“I’ve been knocking. And I heard — things,” Jacob looks back to you, and then his eyes sweep down Ari’s front. Straightening himself up, standing taller, and he looks away from the giant man in front of him.

“And as you can see, everything is fine. Shall we start our glorious day?” One where he had moved some seeds into the cellar, where they didn’t belong. Oops, looks like he’ll have to end this day early. And maybe ride into town and get more seeds. Dammit. What a waste of a day. Oh well, he can bring you along with him. Take you shopping if you want to.

Take you out to eat. Whatever your pretty heart desired. Drive out to the middle of nowhere, so he can let you sit in his lap, and discover what friction is. Whatever you could come up with. Maybe dance in the drifting sunlight. He got his fill. He just hopes you had yours.

He follows the now annoying as fuck man out into the field. He was having the best breakfast, only for some stupid man child to be bothering him. He knew what to do more than Ari did, why didn’t he just get started, and Ari could have joined later. That makes too much sense of course.

“So how does dating in the Amish community work?” Ari stares out into the horizon, squinting his eyes from the rising sun. This is a bit of a late start. There’s no telling what this stupid boy heard.

“Date? You mean courting?” Ari shrugs, grabbing some stupid hand tool. This way of living is a bit ridiculous. The work is not reducing his stress, but now he’s in a quandary. If he stopped, and told these boys to go back to their farm, then he couldn’t have you stay here. “You…you ask the father for permission. Sometimes it’s predetermined. But it’s expected. You got to further the Amish line.”

“Do you know how that’s done? Furthering an Amish line, that is,” the other two nameless boys smirk at him. One even giggles and motions towards the house. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re not Amish,” Jacob’s voice is hard and emotionless. “You can’t be with an Amish woman. Besides, she’s no good.”

“Excuse me?” Ari’s tool falls to the ground, and he squares up with the young boy. Anger prominent in his features. This dumbass insulted you, he’s sure of it, and he’ll make sure before he deals with it.

“She’s past her prime. She’s had several good Amish men that were interested, and still she acts as if she’s so much better off alone. Her parents were too old to be having children, and now their line is going to die off,” Ari’s chest puffs up, and he steps even closer to the young man. He was referring to you. Little bitch.

“You sound bitter. Would one of those men be you?” Of course he was one of your suitors. He should have known by the way Jacob was too aware of Ari’s interest. He was too aware of even yours. He had the ability to ruin you, if he wanted.

“No,” Jacob starts messing his tool in the dirt, and another boy laughs quietly. “You don’t get to come here and act like — like — well, you’re not even Amish. The more time she spends with you, she’s going to be nothing but a shunned whore.”

Ari’s nose scrunches, and he adjusts his pants legs before leaning in front of Jacob, but the boy keeps working. Pretending that Ari isn’t so close to him, but Jacob can feel his breath. “If you want to insult a woman, you better fucking look me in the eyes.”

Jacob’s cold dark green eyes turn to look at Ari. “Y-y-you don’t think we know what you’re doing? She — she isn’t even working like she’s supposed to be. I-I-I see her walking around upstairs, and closing the curtains. Y-y-you’re poisoning her mind. She chooses an Amish man, or she’s alone forever. If-if she lays down with the likes of you, she’s ruined. Sh-sh-she won’t be able to stay here. She’ll be used goods, and — and I’ll let everyone know,” what an ignorant thing to say. The boy was contradicting himself. According to him, you were already past your prime. So nobody wanted you, but now you’d be ruined?

Ari shoves at his shoulder. “Y-y-you can do what’s right, and leave her for…for an Amish man.”

“Men like you don’t even know how to treat a woman like her,” stupid ass had already called you nothing more than useless to an Amish man.

“I-I-I know…know what sex is. And — and how it’s done. You j-j-just leave her alone,” he is scared of Ari. His voice trembles as he speaks, and he couldn’t stop stuttering. Good.

Ari clicks his tongue. Looking over to the two boys, and they look away quickly. “You do sound a bit bitter. And I am being a good employer. But now you’ve pissed me off, you have insulted her more than you’ve praised her.”

“Women know th-their place.”

“You’re scared shitless, you know that? Tobin, Malachi?”

“That’s not their name.”

“Whatever the hell your name is. Do you hear this conversation? It didn’t happen. Just like nothing is happening between me and her,” Jacob glares up at Ari. “Do you have a problem?”

“No, but your dick did earlier,” Ari only lurches, he doesn’t touch the boy, but Jacob cowers, flinching away from him. He said the wrong thing.

“Boy, you get her in trouble, and I will gladly let people know what you and these two assholes talk about. You think these men want to know how you’re talking about fucking their daughters like they’re whores. You want to act like you’re so much better than her, and you talk, and spread your filthy lies about how many of these women you’ve ‘fucked’. Tell me, Jacob. Just how many women have you fucked? How many weren’t Amish? How many whores have you paid to suck your limp little dick?” Jacob spits on the ground by Ari’s feet.

“Your Amish cock isn’t too good for prostitutes are they? You don’t think I know what you dumbasses bring to my barn? Think before you fucking speak. And if you want to have her name on your filthy little mouth again, you better be saying it with respect,” Jacob spits again. “Do it one more time, you asshole.”

“You want to know why no Amish man will have her? She’s the community dump,” Ari places a foot behind Jacob’s feet, and pushes him down onto the ground. “She is. All of us have had her. You’re not special.”

“And you’re a goddamn liar. You’ve got nothing but a little whiskey dick. Hiding in my barn, while you pay for a woman to show you what sex is, while she’s at home with her parents. Say another fucking thing, and I will ruin you,” it’s a threat he has to make. Jacob knows too much. Well, he thinks he knows too much, and Ari won’t have your name tarnished in this community.

But Ari has actual evidence that could end them. He had to take precautions. Your reputation is on the line, and he won’t have it ruined. Especially if you choose to stay here. He could tell Jacob to leave, and he could run his dirty little mouth, and then the entire community would turn on you. He knew enough to know they wouldn’t question these young men. But you would be ostracized.

“N-n-not lying.”

“Alright. Go tell the elders. But remember. My barn has cameras,” the boys all look amongst themselves. “Cheap whores are never a good look for an upstanding Amish man like yourself. Jedidiah, aren’t you courting someone? Or are you just practicing to make sure you know how to handle a woman? You two can thank Jacob. I no longer work on this farm. But you do. I’ll sit and smoke on the porch while I watch you three work like jackasses. I don’t need this bullshit. And don’t you dare threaten me when you’re trembling like a leaf, boy. You want to threaten me, or her, you better stand up tall and on your fucking feet. You look me in the eyes, do you understand?”

He gives a nod, starting to return to his work, but Ari clears his throat, “Say, ‘yes sir,’” the other two boys gawk at Jacob, unsure of what else to do. “Go on, say it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Remember, you keep her name out of your mouth,” all of them respond with a ‘Yes, sir,’ and Ari nods. He walks back to the house before he sits in one of the rocking chairs. Kicking his feet up on the banister, and grabs out his cigarettes. That’s one way to get out of this backbreaking labor. The only back he wants to break is yours. And the only one he cares to protect is you.

——

You smile as you look at yourself in the mirror. Vanity is a sin, and yet, you couldn’t stop staring. You feel and look completely different. A glow radiates your skin and you feel flawless. Ari had touched you. He feasted on you, and was moaning and groaning like it was the best meal he’d ever eaten. Again, you were rudely interrupted.

Surely the English didn’t have to deal with a constant barrage of people trying to ruin everything. They were given privacy during intimate times. Jacob knew the jobs of the day, he was the one that told Ari what they were going to do. He could have started to work without Ari, so you know he came to the door to ruin it.

You have a feeling Jacob knew that something was going on. Jacob. He’s a little — asshole. The books said it, so can you. Yes, he’s an asshole. The more time you spent with Ari, and just how open he is to the world, you realize just about everyone here was an asshole. They are demeaning, and you were flowering. They just wanted you to be a shut in just like them. There was so much more out there, and you were stifled to believe that house work and being a wife and mother is all you were good for.

Even with sex. Yes, you can call it by its name. Sex and whatever pleasure Ari gave your body was natural. Sex is what made babies, and it was so much more than that. It was allowing another human into your body. It was trusting them, and becoming one with them. It was a separation in ways. You didn’t want others to look at your panties. That was just for Ari.

You didn’t want anyone but Ari to see and feel those parts of you. And my goodness, how you wanted him to feel you. Touch you. Be inside of you. Yearn for you the way you yearned for him. You couldn’t spend a day not thinking about the way he will feel over you. He would. You can tell by your relationship that’s where things are headed. And that’s what you wanted. Him. And all he has to offer you.

You’d be silly to think you hadn’t thought about a future though. You’d seen it in a few of the books, conquests. Is that what you were for Ari? Nothing more than a game. And where would that leave you if he left? Ari wasn’t meant for this world, and not that you think you are, but you don’t have the resources he does. You didn’t know anything about the English world. You couldn’t just leave and hope for the best.

Obviously it’s a fear. If you proceed in this, then what? Is this a game or some way for Ari to pass the time. He’s annoyingly been with many women. But did they feel like Ari was etching himself into their soul the way you did. You wanted to see him so badly, and that made it all the worse. You’d never tire of looking at him. Touching him. Why was he so huge and beautiful? Why can’t your hands paint over his skin?

Instead of worrying about your vanity, you’re going to put on a different pair of panties. The books say that the men love panties. He should get to keep these. You lean over, pulling the pretty lace off your legs before walking into his bedroom with a sly little grin. And then you see only the boys. There is no Ari.

Leaving the panties discarded on the bed, and not at all hidden like you wanted, you walk down the stairs. Your heart pounds in your chest as you open the front door, and Ari, leaning back with his feet kicked up on the banister, takes a long slow drag from his cigarette. “Hey, Darling.”

“Why aren’t you working?”

“That boy,” he points at Jacob using the hand that holds his cigarette, “pissed me off.”

“How?” Jacob won’t even look up at you. Him and the other two boys keep their heads down, looking at the dirt. “Ari, how did Jacob — make you angry?”

“He’s got a big mouth, and thinks his balls are big enough to drag the ground,” you didn’t understand what any of that meant. His mouth looked normal. His teeth were a bit crooked. “Have you ever had sex with Jacob?”

“What? No. No, Ari, I — no. Why would — no. Nononono,” he looks up at you with a serene smile, and reaches out for your hand. Squeezing it gently. “I wouldn’t. No. I hadn’t even — you’ve been…no.”

“I believe you.”

“Then why would you ask?”

He stares up at you, his smile is so warm and soft you want to hug him. You are so scared, and aren’t even sure why. You just know that you hadn’t even kissed anyone. Much less been intimate with them. “That jackass claimed he had. Along with others.”

Tears sting your eyes, as you shake your head. You know what they all say, and they are wrong. They are liars. “No,” you answer solidly as a tear escapes. “It’s — no.”

Ari looks out the field quickly before standing, “Darling, go in the house.”

“But I didn’t do anything. It’s a lie. Lying is a sin,” he stands in front of you, using his body to block the boys working in the field.

“I know you didn’t do anything. But I’m not going to give them the satisfaction that this hurts you. Get in the house,” his hand rests on your hip as he pushes you into the house. He kicks the door close, and pulls you into his chest. His arms wrap tightly around your body, and he holds you like he’s never held you before.

He caresses you gently, while you try and process what he told you. “It’s a sin. Lying,” you say leaning away from him. “Lying hurts people.”

“I didn’t believe him,” it didn’t matter if he didn’t. It didn’t matter that nobody believed them. Their lies never went to the elders. It was a cruel joke amongst the younger men and women. They didn’t have a choice on who they could marry, and somehow you did, so they hate you. They want to lie and say it’s because everyone has been inside of you. The community whore that wasn’t good enough to marry, just fuck.

“But some people do. If lying is a sin, and it hurts people,” your chest heaves as you put your feelings together. Trying to vocalize your fears. “I’m not hurting anyone with the way I feel about you. How is it a sin?” How is this pure adoration you feel for Ari a sin? It is beautiful!

“Fear can make people act irrationally. Especially with women. Women hold more power than most men ever want to admit.”

“What if I only want you?” his cerulean blue eyes move across your face before he starts to lean in. “Don’t kiss me; answer me. What if I just want you. And — whatever that brings me? I know if we continue, and we’re caught I’m ruined here. I know if we’re not caught, I can’t live without you. I don’t want to be here without you. And I don’t want to leave without you.”

He’s too quiet. It feels brutal, and it hurts to think that he just wants you while he’s here, and then will blow away with the wind. “You don’t mean that.”

There it is. He doesn’t want you past your little community. Whatever he is doing here, it won’t last. Grunting you push his arms off you. Looking around his living room, but you have nothing here. Starting to walk to the door, Ari jumps in front of you. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you answer with finality. “Figure…figure something else out.”

“What? Why?” How did he not understand that he admitted you were just a toy while he was here?

“I have no desire to be your little plaything, and then you leave me used and wanting more, and you won’t give it to me. Enjoy your hand,” you give his solid body a little push, but he holds firm. “Move.”

“No. Let me — there’s too much happening, and I can’t think.”

“Ha, welcome to the club,” he looks at you confused. You aren’t even talking like yourself. “The only thing I’ll miss are the books,” you spin on your heels, and still he jumps in front of you. Stopping you, again, “Stop it!”

“No. Just give me a minute.”

“You haven’t given me a minute since I started here. You have constantly invaded my brain to where I can’t think straight. All I ever think about is you! Your body, you inside of me, but mostly — just you!” And he wants a minute to sort through his feelings? No. He can be given the same amount of confusion you have been given.

“I said you didn’t mean that because I’m not good enough for you!” You glare up at him, he raises his voice. That is not at all what he meant. He meant that when he leaves he’ll forget you, and move onto another girl. Goodness that hurts! The thoughts of him with anyone else burns into your heart, and you — hate it.

“I’m not. I don’t know what you see in me,” you see the best man you’ve ever met. The only one that makes you feel weak and empowered.

“You’re perfect,” he snorts. “You are to me,” he is flawed, like all humans. But to you he is perfect. You woke up earlier just to get here sooner. You walked home with a smile on your face because you got to be around him. You hated Sundays now because you didn’t have him. You looked around the crowd of people, knowing he wouldn’t be there.

“Darling, I have been running through my mind what I’m going to do because I can’t make you choose between your life and me. And I can’t stop whatever this is. And I don’t want to, but I’m not going to be the reason that — you know what they’re going to say.”

“The things that Jacob has accused me of? What they have all accused me of? It’s never been taken to the elders because they know it’s not true. It’s them just gossiping because I’m not like them. Because I don’t want to be. I can’t go back to that life after having this,” it hadn’t been enough time, but it wouldn’t feel right with Ari not being here. Returning back to your boring mundane life. It was him you wanted, not this life or the outside world. Just him, and wherever he was.

“How about,” Ari starts to bargain. You say all these things now, and yet the one thing that he thought you would say, you didn’t. You’re still just learning. Still haven’t discovered your own self. He wouldn’t be the one to make that decision for you. To make you choose him over this life if it wasn’t love. There was no longevity in sexual relationships.

“How about we’re careful. And by the end of the harvest season, I’m leaving. If you still want to go, or if you want to change the course of this relationship, I will understand,” he’s giving you a choice that no man in your community ever would. Women didn’t have this luxury. They were told what to do, and they would just do it.

“Darling, it’s a different world out there, and I won’t be your mistake.”

“What if I wanted you to be?” He wasn’t a mistake, no matter how much he degraded himself.

“What if we slow down?”

“And what if it’s not enough time?” He smirks. Apparently surprised that you could keep up with your counter options.

“Then, after the harvest, you let me know, and I can stay longer,” you give him a smile that he returns. He is letting it all be up to you. You couldn’t ask for more. You didn’t have to rush into just sex. You could ask him for a date. A dance. A dinner. Something more romantic than wanting him inside of you. You could make it worth it.

“You promise?” You need to know. Need to know that he respects you enough to give you the option.

“I promise.”

And he does. Promises with every part of him. He didn’t want to live here, and didn’t want to live out there if you couldn’t be in his life.

“I promise.”

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