#day 20: scarf | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkrelish · 2 years 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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wholoveseggs · 16 days ago

Note

Can I request a one shot with the one and only Elijah? He and reader know each other for years but since she is human he never made a move. She overhears Klaus nagging Elijah about being smitten with her and she confronts him and he is obviously in denial, reader tells him to man up for once and he shows her how much men he is? With Consent of course. Would love reading something like this, you are my go to fix for my Elijah obsession

Snow Day

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A rare snowstorm blankets New Orleans, and the Mikaelsons revel in the icy chaos. But as Klaus pushes Elijah to confront his feelings for you, the heat between you two threatens to outshine the storm.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon!! This was partly inspired by Louisiana getting snow for the first time in over 20 years!!! (yikes the planet is on fire)~ ♡♡

6.2k words - Warnings: smutttt, rough sex (He just scoops you up and has his way with you), oral sex (f!receiving), praise kink, shamelessly using this fic to explore Elijah talking you through it (hot), tiny bit of angst, child Hope being adorable, snowball fights, Klaus being Klaus, magical snow forts and a hint of hot chocolate...

The world outside was unrecognizable. Snow blanketed the streets of New Orleans in a thick, pristine layer, muffling the usual lively sounds of the city. It was almost surreal, like waking up in a dream.

You rubbed your hands together for warmth as you stood at the window of the Mikaelson compound, marveling at the sight. The night before, a snowstorm had hit with an intensity no one had expected. It hadn't snowed in Louisiana since 2004. Now, with nearly ten inches of snow on the ground, you were effectively snowed in.

Not that you minded. The compound was warm and cozy, a fire crackling in pretty much every single room. Still, being cooped up had a way of making you restless, your thoughts wandering far too easily to things you shouldn’t dwell on—like your relationship with Elijah.

You had been friends with him for years, but something about the way he carried himself, the quiet strength he exuded, had always drawn you in, leaving you wanting more.

Lately, though, there had been a shift. His gaze lingered a little longer, his touches felt a little more intentional. You weren’t blind to it, but Elijah was a master of control. Whatever feelings he might have, he kept them locked away, hidden beneath his stoic demeanor.

It made you sad, the way he denied himself any sort of affection. He always pushed away those he loved the most, it was a bad habit he had yet to break.

With a sigh, you turned from the window and made your way upstairs. You had barely reached the top of the stairs when the sound of raised voices reached your ears.

You headed to the balcony, looking down into the courtyard where Hayley and Rebekah were wrangling Hope into a snow suit. A task that the two immortal creatures seemed to be struggling with, much to the little girl’s amusement.

"Can we go now?" Hope demanded, wiggling out of Rebekah's hold. "I want to make a snowman!"

"Soon," Hayley promised, pulling a large warm hat over her daughter's ears. "We have to finish bundling you up first."

"Let me," Elijah said, stepping in with his usual calm demeanor, crouching down in front of Hope.

The little girl huffed, but she stilled as Elijah gently adjusted her coat and scarf. "You must not rush, little one. Proper preparation will ensure you can enjoy the snow without discomfort," he said, his hands moving with care as he buttoned her coat and smoothed the scarf into place.

"Uncle ‘lijah, I can do it!" Hope protested, though there was no real frustration in her tone.

"I have no doubt," Elijah replied with a small smile, "but would it not be faster if I helped? The snow is waiting, after all."

Hope considered his words for a moment before nodding solemnly. "Okay, but only because I want to go faster."

"Of course," Elijah said, his voice soft with amusement. He worked quickly but carefully, ensuring everything was just right. Finally, he held up her mittens. "Now for the finishing touch."

"My hands are going to sweat," Hope muttered, wrinkling her nose as she reluctantly let him slip the mittens over her small hands.

"They’ll thank you once you’re outside," Elijah said, rising to his full height and brushing a stray curl from her face. "There. You’re ready."

Hope beamed up at him. "Thank you, Uncle ‘lijah!" she said, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"You're welcome, little one," Elijah replied, returning the embrace, the tenderness on his face making your heart ache.

Kol burst into the courtyard then, an excited grin on his face. He was wrapped up in a giant scarf, his coat buttoned all the way up, and his cheeks were rosy.

"Come on, Hope, hurry!" He urged. "I just finished building the best snow fort. It's big enough for the both of us. I know you like to hide in snow forts and scare people, right?"

Hope's eyes lit up, and she released Elijah, running toward Kol and latching onto his hand. "I love snow forts! Let's go, Uncle Kol!"

"That's my girl!" Kol said, leading her toward the doors. "We're going to have a ball, aren't we, Hope?"

"Yes!" Hope said, bouncing along beside him.

The rest of the family trailed behind, Hayley and Rebekah already discussing plans for getting some hot chocolate later.

"Well, look at you, being the best uncle," Klaus said, clapping Elijah on the back with a smile on his face. Although there was a tiny hint of jealousy in his tone.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his antics, heading down the stairs to join them.

"She makes it easy," Elijah said, a fond smile playing at his lips as he watched his family depart.

His gaze drifted to you, his smile growing a little as his eyes met yours. You felt your cheeks flush and averted your eyes, trying not to be so obvious.

"Are you joining us?" He asked, his voice smooth and rich like the expensive whiskey he often favored.

Klaus was pulling on his large coat and scarf, his expression smug as he watched the two of you. A familiar mischievous glint entered his eye, and you braced yourself for whatever he was about to say.

Instead, he didn't say a word, his expression shifting to something close to a smirk as he looked at his older brother. His silence was worse, and the air felt thick with anticipation.

"I don't know, I'm not a big fan of the cold," you said, glancing toward the door where the others had left.

"Oh, c'mon, just for a little while," Klaus cajoled, wrapping a scarf around his neck. "Elijah will miss you if you aren't there."

The heat rose in your cheeks and you cleared your throat, unable to come up with a response.

Elijah shot him a look, grabbing his own outerwear, a long, black, impeccably tailored wool coat and matching scarf. He looked like he belonged on a fashion runway, not traipsing through the snow.

"If the lady does not wish to join, she doesn't have to," he said, his voice level.

"It would be a shame to miss this rare beauty, wouldn't it?" Klaus asked, gesturing to the world outside.

"It's a blizzard," you deadpanned.

"In Louisiana." Klaus grinned. "It's the sort of thing you'll look back on and remember for centuries. And, besides, Hope would love to see you. Don't you want to make a snow angel with her?"

"Fine. But if I get hypothermia, I'm coming for you." You glared at him.

Klaus grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and sauntered out the door.

You pulled on your jacket and scarf, not quite as fashionable as Elijah's, and popped a beanie over your hair. You glanced at him, taking in his refined, handsome appearance.

"Thanks for waiting for me," you said softly, slipping your feet into your boots and tugging on your gloves.

"I don't mind," Elijah said. He gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

You nodded and led the way out of the compound. As soon as the cold air hit you, you shivered, a gust of wind biting through your layers.

"Are you alright?" Elijah asked, his brows furrowing.

"I'm fine," you insisted, even as another shiver coursed through your body. "Let's just get this over with."

"As you wish." He smiled.

You walked beside him, following the path the others had taken. It was quiet, the world blanketed in white. Tiny snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, dancing lazily around you. The street was empty, the storm keeping most people indoors.

You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and joyful conversation, and the image of Hope's excited smile came to mind. She was a delight, a true ray of sunshine in an often bleak world.

You glanced up at Elijah, admiring his profile. There was a softness in his features that was so rare. He looked peaceful. Little snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes, his cheeks pink from the cold.

You turned your gaze forward, feeling a familiar flutter in your chest. You had always found him attractive, but lately, it was becoming impossible to ignore.

Kol had indeed built an impressive fort, so impressive in fact, that there must have been a bit of magic involved. The snow sparkled unnaturally, as if dusted with tiny crystals, and the walls were impossibly smooth, their edges glowing faintly in the sunlight.

Hope was hiding inside, giggling madly as Rebekah crouched near the entrance, watching her with a wide smile on her face. Hayley and Klaus were sitting on the bench, chatting idly, while Kol was working on sculpting a large snowball.

Hope jumped out from behind the wall, throwing a snowball at Kol's back.

"Hope!" Kol cried, turning around as he grasped at his back dramatically.

The little girl laughed gleefully and disappeared behind the wall once again.

You smiled, watching the exchange. The sight was so normal, almost mundane. It was strange, seeing the Mikaelsons acting so human.

Hayley joined in on the snowball fight, scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at Kol. Her aim was true, and it hit him square in the chest.

"Oof," Kol groaned, clutching his chest. "I've been shot."

He toppled over into the snow, laying perfectly still.

Hope squealed, jumping up and running over to him. "Uncle Kol!"

Rebekah snorted, crossing her arms. "You've died. Again. Typical."

Kol cracked open one eye and smirked, grabbing Hope's legs and dragging her down with him.

"Nooo!" She shrieked, giggling wildly as she struggled to get away.

Elijah watched them, a fond smile playing at his lips. It was such a small thing, but it sent warmth rushing through you.

"It's good to see them having fun," he said, his voice quiet.

"Yeah," you agreed, your eyes still on him. "Are you having fun?"

He paused, considering the question. Then he knelt down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it. "I suppose so," he said, smiling up at you.

Your heart stuttered at the sight. His gaze was soft, affectionate, and you felt like you could get lost in those dark, soulful eyes.

Then he threw the snowball at you, the icy projectile hitting you square in the face.

The contact was so surprising, so unexpected, that it took a moment to process what had happened. When it finally sank in, you could only stare at him.

Elijah's eyes widened, his face the picture of innocence. "I'm sorry, did I hit you?"

You couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, you're going to pay for that, Mikaelson," you warned, crouching down and gathering snow into your hands.

Elijah's smile grew wider, a playful challenge in his eyes. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, my dear," he said, scooping up more snow.

You tossed your own snowball at him, aiming for his face.

He ducked, faster than humanly possible and the snowball sailed harmlessly past him.

"Hey! That's cheating!" You cried, gathering more snow.

"There are no rules in snowball fights, darling," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Klaus had joined the fray now, launching a barrage of snowballs at Elijah, while Hayley, Hope and Rebekah were targeting Kol.

You ducked and dodged, trying to avoid the flying snow, while attempting to take out Elijah.

His movements were quick, calculated, and it seemed like no matter how fast you moved, he was always one step ahead.

He was standing a few feet away, a playful grin on his face. It was the first time you'd ever seen him act so carefree, and it was infectious.

"C'mon, darling," he teased, "you'll have to do better than that."

You let out a huff, gathering more snow and shaping it into a tight ball. This time, you managed to hit him, the snow exploding against his shoulder.

"Impressive," he said, his tone light and teasing.

You couldn't stop the smile from forming on your lips, the thrill of the moment, the pure, unbridled joy in his eyes, filling you with an indescribable warmth.

Suddenly, a snowball hit you on the side of the head, sending ice crystals cascading down the front of your coat.

You yelped, swiping at the icy shards, and turned to see Kol grinning impishly. You grabbed a fistful of snow and hurled it at him, the missile landing with a satisfying thwack.

You joined in the fray, the sound of laughter and playful banter filling the air. You lost track of time, the snowy battle raging on.

Klaus wandered over to where Elijah was standing, a few feet from the others, watching the fight with a small smile on his face.

"This is nice," Klaus said, his eyes following Hope as she darted around.

"Yes, it is," Elijah agreed, his gaze fixed on you.

"She's quite a fighter, isn't she?" Klaus remarked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Indeed," Elijah murmured, his gaze never wavering.

Klaus watched him for a moment, then nudged him lightly. "I was talking about Hope. Who are you talking about?"

"Hm?" Elijah asked, finally tearing his gaze away.

Klaus smirked, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a low murmur. "Don't play coy with me, brother. We both know you're smitten."

Elijah's brow furrowed, his jaw clenching. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. The way you look at her, it's like she hung the stars," Klaus said, a teasing note in his voice.

"It's nothing," Elijah said, his expression closing off. "She's a friend. Nothing more."

"That's a lie and you know it," Klaus scoffed.

"Even if it were true," Elijah continued, his tone measured and controlled. "She deserves more than I can give her," he said, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice.

"Ohhh, so you are going with the martyr excuse this time? I should have guessed," Klaus said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Elijah looked like he wanted to say more, but you chose that moment to join them.

"Hey," you greeted, a flush on your cheeks. Your breath puffed out in little clouds, and a few strands of hair had escaped from your beanie, curling around your face. All Elijah wanted to do was brush them away, run his fingers along your jaw, feel the warmth of your skin.

Instead, he smiled politely, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah," you said, a little breathless. "This is so much fun. I can't remember the last time I played in the snow."

"Nor can I," Elijah admitted. He paused, seeming to think for a moment. "It is rather invigorating."

"It's freezing," you corrected, laughing softly.

"I'm sure Elijah will be more than happy to warm you up," Klaus teased, shooting his older brother a knowing look.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the suggestion, and you turned away, pretending to admire the scenery.

"Niklaus," Elijah hissed, glaring at him. "It's impolite to suggest such things."

Klaus shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. "But it's true right? Or have I read the situation incorrectly?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unable to come up with a response. You were afraid of what Elijah might say, or worse, not say.

"We are just friends," Elijah said, his jaw set.

You tried not to let his words sting, but you couldn't help the pang of disappointment that twisted in your gut.

"Ah, yes, friends," Klaus drawled, rolling his eyes. "I think the rest of us are going to the cafe down the street to get some hot chocolate, are you two joining?"

"I'm going to head back to the compound," you said quickly, before Elijah could speak.

Klaus raised a brow, looking at Elijah with a smirk.

"I'll accompany you," Elijah said, his voice smooth.

"No," you insisted, a little too sharply. You winced and cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I mean, no, that's okay. I don't want to keep you from having fun with the others. Besides, it's just a short walk. I'll be fine."

"Very well," Elijah conceded, his expression neutral.

Klaus shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.

The silence that settled between you was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words.

You wanted to ask him what he meant, if there was a chance, or if he was just playing nice. But the fear of rejection kept the words trapped in your throat. You quickly turned away, afraid he would see the emotion written plainly on your face.

"I'm going to head out," you said, taking a step toward the street. "Have fun, okay?"

Elijah watched you leave, a hint of sadness in his eyes. He should have said something, should have explained. Instead, he had let you go, his silence a cowardly choice.

When you reached the compound, you shed your outer layers and flopped onto the sofa in front of the fireplace in the library. A wave of longing crashed over you, a deep ache that couldn't be filled. The feeling was transforming into frustration and anger, a familiar bitterness creeping in.

The sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you sat up, seeing Elijah enter the room.

"I thought you were going to get hot chocolate," you said, forcing a small smile.

"I changed my mind," he replied, his voice soft.

You nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. The silence was almost deafening, the tension palpable.

"So, uh, I was thinking about heading home soon," you said, needing to fill the void. "Once the snow lets up."

"Of course," Elijah agreed, though he sounded a bit hesitant.

You swallowed thickly, glancing at him. "Thanks for having me," you added, your voice a bit hoarse.

"Anytime," he said, and there was a sincerity in his voice that made your heart flutter.

You gave him a small smile, the sadness creeping back in. This feeling of limbo was killing you, the not knowing.

"So, is there, uh, is there someone else?" You asked, unable to hold back any longer. Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes across the room. “Someone you're seeing?"

"No," Elijah replied, shaking his head.

"Oh, okay," you said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why do you ask?" He questioned, his tone carefully neutral.

You could have played it off, made a joke, deflected. But the weight of his gaze, the way he was looking at you, it was as if he could see into your very soul.

"You know why," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do I?" He asked, his brow furrowed.

"Don't," you snapped, frustrated with his cryptic behavior. “Just be honest with me, stop with the bullshit.”

Elijah’s features shifted, his carefully composed mask slipping for just a moment. A shadow passed over his face as he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though fighting an invisible force.

"It's not that simple," he said, his voice quiet as he approached you.

"Yes, it is," you countered.

"No," he said firmly. "You deserve someone who can give you what you want, someone who isn't... damaged. Someone who won't break your heart."

"I think that's for me to decide," you said, meeting his gaze.

"And what do you think I can give you?" He asked, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not asking you for anything, this isn't a transaction," you said, the frustration creeping back in. "All I want is to know if you feel the same,"

His dark eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a glimpse of hope. Then, the shutters fell, and his expression hardened.

"It doesn't matter," he said, turning away.

"No. Elijah. It does matter," you insisted, standing up and following him.

He didn't say a word, just kept walking towards the door.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, reaching out and touching his arm.

He flinched, but didn't pull away, and he slowly turned back to face you.

"Why are you trying to push me away?" You pressed, searching his face.

Elijah stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes. Anger, frustration, or perhaps longing. You couldn’t tell, but his inability to make a decision had your blood boiling.

"Just… stop," you said, letting go of his arm, the words sharper now as the emotions clawed their way up your throat.

"Stop what?" he asked, his voice clipped, as if daring you to elaborate.

"Stop being so self-sacrificing. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Just... man up and take what you want," you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and desperation.

Elijah’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He took a step closer, and you could feel the tension radiating off him like a storm about to break.

"You think this is easy for me?" he said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You think I enjoy pretending I don’t feel something for you?"

"Then why do it?" you shot back, standing your ground.

"Because I have to!" he barked, his composure cracking as he raised his voice. The sudden intensity made you flinch, you had never heard him yell before, but you refused to back down.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice just as loud now. "Why are you so determined to ruin this before it even starts?"

"You don’t understand," he said, his tone quieter but no less fierce. He turned his back to you, his hands gripping the edge of the mantel above the fireplace. "You deserve someone better than me. Someone who can give you a family, children, a happy life. Someone who doesn’t bring danger and destruction to everything they touch."

"Stop deciding what I deserve!" you shouted, your voice echoing in the room.

He turned on you then, his dark eyes blazing with anger. "And what happens when you wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted your life on a monster? What happens when you resent me for stealing the life you could have had?"

You took a step closer, your own anger boiling over. "You don’t get to make that choice for me! I know what I want, Elijah, and it’s you. If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging you to let me in!"

Elijah’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked almost stunned. But then his expression hardened again, his frustration returning.

"I am trying to protect you!" he shouted back, his voice shaking the room.

"From what?" you screamed, stepping right into his space.

"From me," he hissed, his voice raw and broken.

The confession hung in the air, thick and heavy. For a moment, neither of you said anything, your breaths coming fast and shallow as you stared at each other.

"You’re such a coward," you said finally, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness.

His eyes narrowed, his anger sparking again. "You think I’m a coward? You think I don’t want you?" he growled, stepping so close his shadow seemed to swallow you.

You stared up at him, defiant, despite the fear and excitement rushing through you.

"Do you have any idea what it’s like to want something so badly and know you can never have it?" he asked, his voice strained, as though the words were torn from him against his will.

"Yes. I'm looking at him," you retorted, your heart pounding.

Whatever control he'd been clinging to shattered, his walls crumbling as he took hold of your arm, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, feeling his body pressing into yours, the heat of his breath as it ghosted over your skin, the smell of leather and cologne mingled with something wild, primal.

Without saying a word he lifted you up, pinning you to the nearest wall, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss that stole your breath away.

You gripped the fabric of his suit, kissing him back just as fiercely, letting your hands explore along his chest, his shoulders. You were practically vibrating with want, your body humming with pent-up desire as you felt his arousal pressing against your thigh.

"You drive me insane," he murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at the tender spot just below your ear, causing you to moan in anticipation.

You were like a moth to a flame, and he was the hottest fire you'd ever known, searing into your soul, consuming you from the inside out. And the way he touched you, it was as though he were afraid he'd never be able to hold you like this again.

He carried you upstairs to his bedroom in a blur of wind and sound, moving so fast you could barely comprehend it. In that moment, you were reminded that he was more than just a man. He was an ancient creature of immense power, and he was about to unleash every bit of that power on your body.

The moment your back hit the mattress he was on you, his hands tearing away your clothes and tossing them carelessly aside. You tugged at his clothes in return, desperate to feel his skin on yours, your breath hitching as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin.

It wasn't gentle or sweet, it was wild, passionate, full of all the words that went unspoken for far too long. You couldn't get enough, you wanted to lose yourself in this moment, in him. You didn't care about anything else.

The weight of him as he covered you with his body, the way his muscles rippled under your fingertips, the sounds he made when he lost control. You didn't expect this side of him, the almost feral desire he was unleashing.

His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them up until your knees were pressed against your chest, exposing you to him completely. His cock pressed against your slick entrance, teasing you, the sensation drawing out a breathy moan.

"Is this what you want?” he groaned, the head of his cock pressing just a fraction inside.

You groaned in frustration, writhing against him, trying to get him to sink deeper.

He chuckled darkly, holding your hips still. "You need to learn to be patient, sweetheart," he drawled, his tone dark and seductive.

You whined, but you knew better than to push him, and you could see the gleam in his eyes. You felt a sharp smack to your thigh, causing you to yelp in surprise, the stinging pain giving way to a dull warmth that only intensified your need.

"Now be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I've always wanted to," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

The way his accent wrapped around each syllable had a shudder rolling through your body. He gripped your thighs tighter, the blunt head of his cock pressing into you slowly. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you cried out as he sank to the hilt.

"So pretty when you sing for me," he teased, nipping at your throat.

You couldn't even form a response, your brain short-circuiting as he pulled almost all the way out, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance. Then, in one swift stroke, he eased back inside you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss as he began to move inside you, each thrust hitting you in all the right places. His strokes were firm and deep, sending waves of pleasure washing over you, each thrust making you gasp for air.

It was everything you had hoped for, everything you'd been craving, and so much more. Your nails dug into the firm muscles of his chest, leaving half-moon marks on his pale skin.

"Do you know all the things I want to do to you?" he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sent a rush of heat through your core. You whimpered in response, unable to form words.

He let out a soft laugh, his hips moving at a maddening pace, as he teased, "All the places I've thought about having you," he whispered.

You could feel your release coiling deep within you, but he wouldn't let you come, keeping you on the edge. Your mind was clouded with need, and his words only added fuel to the fire.

"Like right here in my bed," he continued, "Or taking you against the window for anyone who might be watching. Or bent over the balcony railing, with my fingers buried inside your wet little pussy while your scream fills the night sky."

The thought alone had you clenching around him, the fantasy sending your body into a spiral of need and pleasure.

"Would you like that? Being my plaything?" he purred.

You let out a needy whine, your nails clawing down his back, drawing blood. You needed him to make good on his promises.

"I think you would," he teased, nipping at your neck, drawing more moans from you.

You bucked your hips, your legs wrapped around him as you tried to take control.

"So eager," he groaned as he released his hold on your thighs, gripping the headboard for leverage, and the new position allowed him to hit even deeper, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"You want it?" He taunted, his voice ragged as his strokes became more forceful.

You moaned incoherently, feeling yourself start to lose control, and Elijah laughed, his voice deep and husky as he said, "Then take it," as if challenging you to finally fall off the edge.

Your breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping you as your release finally crested over, and you came harder than you'd ever imagined. Your mind went completely blank, your vision blurred as the wave of euphoria crashed over you.

You were only vaguely aware of the sensation of his cock pulsing inside you, your name falling from his lips as he reached his own peak, spilling himself deep within you.

Your breathing was labored and shallow, your body humming with aftershocks as he began to kiss his way along your neck and down your collarbone, the feel of his lips ghosting over your skin drawing out soft whimpers.

His kisses grew more tender, the touch almost reverent as he murmured against your skin, "So perfect for me," his voice barely above a whisper, the words almost lost to the room.

He kept moving down your body, his lips brushing over every inch of bare skin as if memorizing it. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands tangling in his hair as you allowed yourself to just enjoy the sensation of him exploring you, worshipping you, like you were his religion, his salvation.

"'lijah," you said breathlessly, feeling him spread your thighs.

He didn't say a word as he lowered his head, his tongue finding your clit and lapping at you, drawing a loud cry from you as he cleaned up the mess he had made. You didn't have it in you to beg him to stop, his ministrations driving you to near-insanity, his tongue dragging through your slit.

He hummed softly, enjoying the sounds you were making. The way you squirmed, softly protesting as you felt yourself falling deeper under his spell.

"More," you whined, tugging at his hair.

He let out a deep laugh, and the vibration had your back arching as your climax rolled through you again, and your release flooded his tongue.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Elijah shifted, and you cracked an eye open, your body feeling boneless as you tried to get your bearings.

"Holy fuck," you said, your voice barely audible.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, and you sighed contentedly. The air was heavy with lingering tension, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Yet, as you lay tangled together, the heat of his body grounding you, the world outside seemed to melt away. For now, there was only this. The sense of finally being together.

"I didn't think you would be such a talker in bed," you said, breaking the silence.

You felt his body shake as he laughed again, a low, throaty sound that made you weak. You shifted, cuddling closer, your head on his chest as you traced circles on his bare skin.

"What?" You asked, playfully nipping at his collarbone. "You can't just say all that to me and expect me not to comment on it,"

"I was just stating facts, nothing more," he said, the smirk audible in his tone.

"Mhm," you teased. "Well, I hope you know I expect you to follow through,"

Elijah laughed softly, his arms tightening around you. "Is that so?" He asked, his voice deep and seductive. "In that case, you should get some rest. I have a very long list of things I want to do to you."

Your face flushed, and you laughed, trying to play it off. But deep down, you were hoping that list was never-ending.

"Don't think for a second I'll be satisfied with one round, I can keep you up for days if you let me," he teased, nipping your neck playfully.

The thought of him keeping you locked up in his bedroom for days, indulging your every fantasy and need, made you squirm in anticipation.

You sat up slightly, pushing on his chest so he was lying on his back, his arms still wrapped around you, pulling you along for the ride. You straddled him, kissing him slowly, savoring the feel of his lips on yours.

"We'll see who keeps who up," you teased, rolling your hips over his already growing cock.

He hummed in approval, his hands gripping your ass as you continued to move, slowly grinding against him. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed as you picked up the pace.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled your attention away, and you heard the voices of the rest of the family downstairs.

You felt your cheeks heat up and Elijah smirked, gripping your thighs as he sat up, pulling you closer and wrapping your legs around him. He kissed along your neck, whispering softly.

"We should probably join them before they get suspicious," he murmured.

You hummed in agreement, not really wanting to move but knowing he was right. You let him lift you up and set you down on the edge of the bed.

"We have a lot to talk about," you said, grabbing your clothes from the floor and beginning to get dressed.

"We do," Elijah agreed, watching you. "I can't promise this will be easy," he warned, "but I want to try, if you're willing."

You turned to face him, taking a step closer and helping him button up his shirt. You leaned in, kissing him softly.

"I want that more than anything," you said, resting your forehead against his, feeling like you could finally breathe again.

He smiled, the look of pure happiness on his face warming your heart. He kissed you once more, slow and tender, and you knew in that moment that nothing would ever feel as good as being loved by him.

By the time you both made it downstairs, the rest of the family had settled in the parlor, hot chocolate in hand. Hope was curled up beside Klaus, who was dramatically recounting his snowball victory to an unimpressed Hayley. "I was vastly outnumbered, of course," Klaus was saying, his tone full of mock gravitas. "But my superior tactics won the day."

"You were hit in the face three times," Hayley retorted, rolling her eyes as she sipped her drink. "By a seven-year-old."

"Details," Klaus muttered, waving a hand as if dismissing the thought. Beside him, Hope giggled, her cheeks still rosy from the cold.

Kol leaned lazily against the doorframe, cradling his mug and watching the exchange with a smirk. "Don’t worry, Nik. We’ll still tell our enemies that you have never been defeated," he quipped, earning a laugh from Rebekah, who was perched elegantly on the couch.

As you and Elijah entered the room, Rebekah's gaze immediately shifted to the two of you, her brow arching with curiosity. "Well, look who decided to join us," she said, a knowing edge in her voice. "Took you long enough. Don’t worry, we saved you some hot chocolate."

Elijah’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as he guided you toward the table, a move that did not go unnoticed by his siblings, who were all eyeing you with a mix of amusement and suspicion.

You glanced at Elijah, feeling your cheeks heat up. "We got… sidetracked," he said simply, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile.

Klaus snorted, but a deadly look from Elijah silenced the impending snarky remark. You helped yourself to a cup of hot chocolate, which tasted sinfully good, the heat and sweetness seeping through you as you settled on the couch next to Rebekah. Elijah sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee.

You snuggled close to him and felt him wrap his arms around you, pulling you in even closer as the family laughed and teased one another, enjoying this rare moment of peace and contentment. You smiled to yourself, letting yourself sink into the warmth and love of the moment, knowing that it wouldn't always be this easy but that you would fight for every minute of it.

341 notes · View notes

nana-au · 6 months ago

Note

could you write an inumaki smut where reader asks him to use his cursed speech on her>.< BTW I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH ITS SO GOOOOD

haii anon, ur wish is my command! i hope you like the direction i took with this! it starts out dramatic, but i thought it would be fun to have a backstory. sorry if it made it too long tho ;( thank you so much for the request and the compliment! all luv ♡♡♡

𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃

Toge Inumaki ♡

₊˚ପ⊹ summary: you survive an attack by a curse all thanks to your boyfriend, toge, but for some reason you can’t stop thinking about what else his cursed technique might be able to do.

₊˚ପ⊹ warnings: graphic violence, minor character death, angst/hurt/comfort, wet dream, f!receiving oral, f!masturbation, unprotected sex, semi-rough sex, stomach bulging, hitting your cervix, creampie

₊˚ପ⊹ a/n: toge is aged up to a young adult (around 20-24) with an established relationship to reader. toge communicates with reader via sign language. i’m a little hesitant to tag this as dom! toge but he gets pretty rough in this. also i gave him a long dick... lol.

₊˚ପ⊹ wc: 5.9k+

MDNI

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

Somehow, someway, you had gone your entire relationship with Toge having never experienced the other part of his life. The part he so desperately shielded you from, only ever vaguely explaining his line of work. The day that all changed, you couldn’t fathom the way things used to be. How you used to leave your house without a second thought and how you weren’t sick with concern when Toge was called away with work.

You remember it like it was yesterday.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

“You want?” he signed to you, eyes crinkling in a smile. Your cheeks flushed realizing you had stopped in the middle of the street to stare inside an arcade. You couldn’t help it when you saw a claw machine from where you two were walking. Your favorite Sanrio character sat pretty inside the glass and Toge, being your doting boyfriend, made it his mission to win it for you.

You two worked together to edge it closer and closer to the shallow drop built into the machine, but it sure wasn’t turning out to be an easy task. You patted him on the back, telling him it was okay if he couldn’t get it – that you loved him regardless for trying so hard. But you should have known better than to say that. He wasn’t going to stop until he had that stuffed animal in your arms, no matter how thin his wallet was starting to feel. Under his thick scarf his tongue stuck out in concentration, studying all sides of the machine before letting the arm down again. It latched, and you two stood still holding your breaths. The claw made its way over to the slot, weakly holding onto the tag of the plushie, swinging it side to side. The both of you leaned impossibly close, not believing what was in front of your eyes. The stuffed animal inched over the plastic edge, putting up resistance and shaking the claw. You gasped, eyes wide as you willed the claw to maintain its strength. Just as it made it over the edge, the claw released and the soft body of your new friend hit the bottom of the slot. You didn’t even have a moment to celebrate when the ground shook violently, screams piercing the air. Your head whipped towards the street, watching as people ran down the street frantically shoving each other while trying to get away from something you couldn’t see. It was mere seconds that you went from standing in front of the claw machine to feeling Inumaki’s strong hands pulling you into him. You met his wild eyes and if you weren’t terrified before, seeing the flash of fear in his face was enough to make your entire body shake. Being a regular human you were completely blind and deaf to the curse just a few yards up the street, screeching and gurgling as it tore through the crowd but from the look on his face you knew. You were terrified, and so was he.

He didn’t find it pertinent to explain in the moment but he had dealt with curses his entire life; he couldn’t feel fear in the face of even the strongest curse at this point, but the knowledge that you were so close to danger had bile burning the walls of his throat. He wasted almost no time dragging you to the back of the arcade and into the ‘employee’s only’ supply closet. If he wasn’t deeply opposed to using his cursed technique on the people he loved he would have commanded you to sit and stay until he came back for you. Instead he signed it, pleading with his eyes for you to listen. You nodded and he squeezed your hand before kissing your forehead. His silent promise he would be back soon.

When soon came and went you began to get antsy. A couple of patrons and employees hid along with you, all of you huddled together in fear as chaos tore through the commercial district. You didn’t dare consider coming out of hiding without Toge’s say-so, and you didn’t for quite some time. But time kept passing with no sign of him or the curse. Not that you could hear it anyways. You held your breath in anticipation, ears focused for any sign of danger. That was when you heard a voice. First it was a couple of faint whimpers that soon turned into desperate screams. The people hidden with you kept still, not daring to find the source of the sound. At first you ignored it, wanting to obey your boyfriend’s simple command meant to keep you safe – but it became too much for you. From her voice alone you could hear how much pain she was in and that being the only noise you heard in a while, it lulled you into a sense of security. Against your better judgment and against what Toge wanted, you got up, softly opening the door of the stuffy closet you were hidden in before crouching cautiously through the arcade. As you got closer to the street you began to shake again. The streets were almost unrecognizable. The decorations you saw not even an hour ago were strewn across the pavement, along with merchandise from various stores and trampled food from the vendors that lined the strip. You even noted how some buildings' entire structures were missing, leaving jagged craters where the pieces of stone once resided. You let out a huff, remembering why you came out in the first place, finally stepping out of the doorless entryway. You peered your head, trying to find the woman you were looking for, struggling to see anyone amongst the ruined street.

It took you a moment, but the sounds of her struggle got louder and louder until you noticed a hand peeking out from some rubble. You got on your knees immediately, clearing the debris around you until her face came into view.

“Oh thank god!” she cried out, relieved to see another human being. “Help me please! I’m stuck,” at her words you began to realize her figure was pinned beneath a large chunk of stone, just barely propped up by another equally large slab, keeping her torso from being completely flattened.

“It looks really heavy,” you responded, barely above a whisper, your nerves still on high alert. “I’ll try my best,” you promised her, not wanting to show how doomed the situation looked from your perspective. You weighed out the option of sitting with her while you waited for help. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you ended up seriously injuring her, but you didn’t want to just give up without trying. You got to work, bracing yourself before using all of your strength against the slab that currently kept her pinned to the ground. You struggled to get the chunk to even budge, a drop of sweat falling from your hairline. The woman began wailing from the realization that your attempt was futile, panic overwhelming her again.

“You can’t get it? Oh god… I’m gonna die here!” her words tore through the air and you leaned in close, trying to shush her.

“I’m trying my best!” you pleaded with her, “please ma’am,” you begged, still scared to speak too loudly. She couldn’t hear you under the loud noises of her own terror, her screeches echoing in the street. Your throat grew dry, desperately trying to plead with the woman to keep her voice down. “Please we have to be quiet,” you begged, tempted to cover her mouth with your palm to keep her voice down. Fat tears dropped on the pavement, her shrill cries only getting louder. “Pleas-” your final plea was interrupted by a wave of hot fluid covering your face. You barely closed your eyes in time before you were covered in the blood of the woman in front of you. Upon realizing the horror of what happened, you saw the creature in front of you; its muscular form shook from the force of its laugh, admiring what it had done. And what it did was jump on the stone, bringing it down onto her body and forcefully crushing her, causing a spray of her blood and guts to cover you and the surrounding area. Staring up at the ugly, bulging figure in front of you, you realized this is what a curse is. Its skin was an unnatural blue. Its eyes – no, single eye, was swollen; covering half of its face. Could you even consider that a face?

It was a creature that had to have been dredged up from the pits of hell and you shuddered at the realization your boyfriend saw this and worse on a daily basis. Tears welled up in your eyes. You were proud and grateful and terrified and about twelve other emotions as you considered the fact your boyfriend did everything he could to keep people like you from ever having to see a face that ugly.

Your vision became unfocused, your entire body frozen in fear as the hideous thing in front of you giggled to itself, blathering complete gibberish while its long arm reached out to you. You would have never assumed yourself to be one to freeze in a near death situation, but you did.

(Looking back you wonder if your body had accepted its fate before your brain did).

You began to understand that you weren’t going to be one of those innocent people Toge saved. The thought of it tore you from the inside, but it wasn’t enough to get your body to cooperate with your racing mind. You were going to die. Brutally and forcefully – and Toge was going to hate himself forever for it.

The curse’s hand covered your throat, its meaty hand squeezing your delicate neck before its movement was cut off abruptly by a booming, “EXPLODE!”

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

That night Toge cried as he cleaned the blood and goo from your figure. His sobs were almost devoid of sound and you weren’t in any state to register the tears that fell from his eyes; but he was as he scrubbed the gore from you. You were in complete shock after the events, hardly registering the warm bath water or the rough washcloth he held in his hand, swiping over the skin of your forehead for the hundredth time. Like he was desperately trying to remove the memory of what occurred from your mind.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

A month passed by and arguing became your new norm with Inumaki. Every time his phone rang indicating a new curse needed to be exercised, (and that happened often), you two went to war; with you begging him to get a new job, and him, insisting that was not an option for him. Your conclusion from the event was that you didn’t ever want him in a position as deadly as facing a curse again. While his conclusion from that day was there were so many yous out there that needed his protection. People were unknowingly counting on him to bring their loved ones home safe. He didn’t want anyone to experience what he almost had. It was pertinent that he save as many people as he could from the grief of losing someone so important.

You just didn’t understand why it had to be your boyfriend doing the saving. It was a selfish thought, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel guilty for thinking it.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

More months went by and the hurricane that was once your relationship had calmed again, and things were as normal as both of you could manage after that day. You two shared snacks while you played Mario Party, laughing together as you both tried your hardest to screw the other one over. Usually to the detriment of each other. After the third game you both managed to lose to the NPCs, silence washed over your living room. Neither of you wanted to acknowledge the fact that silences were no longer comfortable in your relationship.

“You ok?” he signed to you, his brows furrowing, indicating he wanted more than a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

You take a shaky breath, “I just can’t get it out of my mind..” you begin to trail off and he roughly shakes his head, like he was trying to rid the thought from his own brain. He hated talking about what happened, that being part of the reason silences just didn’t feel the same anymore because you just couldn’t not talk about it. He didn’t expect you to be okay already, but he also wasn’t okay. You two were on opposite sides of the spectrum. You needed the emotional release words brought but he started to suffocate the second those words were out in the air.

You ignore his nonverbal cues to stop, bulldozing through them. “No, Toge, I need to talk about it,” he is still begging you with his eyes to stop but you don’t acknowledge it. “Toge, I’m scared to leave the house!” you don’t realize how loud you are until his usual silence contrasts with your voice. You embrace your negative emotions, only getting louder, “I’m more scared watching you leave!”

“No. Don’t. I’m fine,” his eyes plead with you. You already know you have no reason to fear his safety, especially when compared to yours but your irrational anxiety doesn’t care.

“I’m scared you will leave one day and never come back,” and after you say that your bottom lip begins to quiver and your tears pool at the bottom of your eyes and he’s quick to pull you into his lap; stroking your hair and planting kisses on your temple. He desperately wants to tell you not to worry about him, but it’s hypocritical because he hasn’t let you so much as walk down the block without him. He can’t find the words to comfort you and he’s stuck with nothing else to do but hold you in his arms and wipe your tears as they fall. He pulls back from your embrace to look into your eyes. His eyebrows are drawn up in concern for you, his eyes locking onto yours. Even as you drown in your sadness you can’t help but smile meekly at your boyfriend. You love how expressive his face is and the fact you don’t even need sign language to know what he is thinking and feeling. His sharp jaw is clenched, mouth twitching as he focuses on trying to read your own features. You think what you love even more about his face being an open book is how handsome it is – and how you never want to go a day without seeing it. You lean in slowly, touching your lips to his softly and he responds by pulling you even closer, his palm flat on your upper back. He deepens it, eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your plush lips on his. And he’s not the only one thinking about how he never wants to go a day without your beautiful face.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

To say your sex life suffered after that incident would be an understatement. You couldn’t find it in you to even consider something as trivial as sex while you stewed in your emotional turmoil; but as more time passed and the more you recovered the more even the most simple of touches from your boyfriend drove you crazy. His bare knee bumping against yours on the couch as you two played video games together or his hand grazing yours while you two worked together to cook dinner in your kitchen – it all made you mad. You felt like a virgin all over again – it was becoming impossible to ignore the innocent things he did that drove you mad. The mere sight of him stretching, arms raised and mouth in a yawn, revealing the happy trail that sat between his defined v-line – it made you feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle for the first time. Even watching the way he ran his fingers through his hair, causing the light blonde tufts to stick up and frame his dreamy face in the morning was enough to spike a high grade fever in you.

It really should have been no surprise to you when you fell asleep one night, only to dream of his blonde tufts sticking out from between your thighs. His tongue languidly lapping at your folds, his eyes never leaving yours.

“F-fuck Toge,” you whimper, his flat muscle pressing deliciously against your clit. Your body shudders from pleasure, thighs threatening to squeeze his head but his strong arms hold them against the bed. His hips rut into the mattress, trying to relieve his aching cock as he sucked your pleasurable little nub, reeling at the cute noises you were making. “God it feels so good,” you sigh, unable to keep your hips still as he continued his attack. You can’t help but grab your tits, squeezing them roughly in your small hands as you run your thumbs over your hardened nipples – tweaking and pulling at them to enhance your pleasure. You forgot Toge was watching you, too caught up in your own little world – so when your hands go back down to grab your sheets you’re shocked to hear his rough voice.

“Keep teasing your nipples,” he begs. Your head lifts from the bed to see the spit and arousal that drips from his chin, his eyes drinking you in. You only have a moment to feel the shock of hearing his voice – realizing you had only ever heard it that day and through your dream state you recognize you don’t have an option not to obey him, hands reaching for your chest again. He goes back to what he was doing, using his flat tongue to lick a stripe from your entrance all the way to your clit before flicking the tip of it lightly against your clit. You’re squeezing your nipples, shaking with amplified lust realizing he’s the reason why you’re hands glued to your chest, working yourself up along with his mouth. “Answer me, does my tongue feel good?” and not a second passes before you tell him yes, your chest heaving and entrance clenching, never realizing how much you needed his voice while he’s making you feel this good. You’re still tweaking your nipples, body unconsciously waiting for him to tell you to stop and you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to be able to last when he asks you, “Does my good girl want me to tell her to come on my tongue?” your body alights with intoxicating arousal as you’re telling him yes. It comes out needy and more like a beg and his tongue between your folds becomes sloppy listening to you lose yourself to him. His lips form a seal around your nub, sucking harshly before going back to licking it, speeding up his movements. The entire time his eyes have not left yours but you were so lost in pleasure yours had begun to shut… and Inumaki thought that just won’t do. “Eyes on mine,” you barely have time to process his gruff voice before you obey him, opening your eyes to meet his, half lidded with lust. You bite your lower lip and he grunts into your sopping pussy, the vibration enough to make you want to roll your eyes back but they’re glued to his no matter what.

“I want to grab your hair,” you beg him, hands still working your sensitive nipples, causing you to wince as each pinch reaches deeper and deeper into your core. He pulls away from your lips, taking a moment to kiss the inside of your thigh before giving you permission.

“Go ahead, grab my hair,” your hand flies down to his head, fisting his blond locks and shoving his face into your pussy. He’s back to moaning into your plush lips at your needy actions, trying desperately to ease the pain from his hard on by massaging his hips against your soft mattress. Before long you’re shaking under his tongue and you were gonna come even without his command but dream Toge knew it was exactly what you needed. His lips detached from your sopping cunt, eyes droopy and chest heaving before he whispered, “Cum for me baby,” and your pleasure reached its peak. Fuck that. It reaches the peakest of peaks. You have never felt an orgasm as strong as you do right now. Your hips shake violently at his command, pleasure tearing its way through you, not leaving a single nerve untouched as you come hard. You’re practically crying, your dreamself not sure about the logistics of his technique, but it settles on you not being able to stop cumming unless he tells you to.

You wake up in your own sticky mess, your core still alight from the intensity of your dream while you desperately try to catch your breath.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

Thankfully you had woken up in bed alone, giving you ample time to clean up and throw the sheets in the wash. You spent your entire day off in a daze, doing your tasks on autopilot while being unable to stop thinking about the dream you had. You weren’t sure how you were going to be able to look Inumaki in the eyes once he got back from whatever mission he was called to while you slept – and you weren’t sure you would even be capable of ignoring the constant pulsing need once you finally saw his face. You would surely picture the one from your dream, eyes clouded with desire and mouth coated with your slick. You used your hand to fan yourself, your thoughts making you hot all over.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

It didn’t take long before you found yourself back in the bed the two of you share. The sheets now fresh and warm as they embraced your naked figure. You found it impossible to ignore the promising call of relief once you finished making the bed – giving in and stripping off your clothes, crawling into his spot. You started slowly, teasing the soft skin of your stomach. Trailing your fingers lightly up and down your taut belly, your muscles stiff with excitement. Your nipples hardened from the cool air and you brought one hand up to rub the peak, remembering the contents of your dream – causing you to sigh listlessly. While your one hand focused on your pebbled nipple your other drifted lower and lower until it reached your soft folds, already damp with your arousal. Your middle digit dipped into your entrance, spreading your slick around and teasing the velvety skin.

You took your time teasing your pussy, working yourself up and disappearing into your own world.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

Inumaki wasn’t sure where you had gone when he came back home later that day, slick with perspiration and muscles aching from a hard day of work. He began stripping off his dirt-caked clothes before making it to the bathroom, taking off the remainder of his clothes and stepping into the shower, letting the hot water run down his body. He scrubbed the dirt and sweat from his skin quickly, eager to get out and find out where you went. It was unusual for you not to be in the living room waiting for him and ever since that incident it made him anxious to not know where you were at all times — but he trusted if you left the house you would have told him. You must be somewhere inside.

It didn't take long for him to finish rinsing off the residual bubbles from his body before he grabbed his towel, quickly drying off and stepping out of the tub. He massaged the towel through his locks, shaking off the remaining water droplets hanging from his light blond strands before tying the towel around his waist. Without much thought, he decided to check your shared bedroom first.

He walked down the hall to the door of your shared bedroom, pushing open the cracked door before stopping dead in his tracks – mouth agape at the sight in front of him: Your naked body was splayed out on the plush covers of your bed, eyes closed, and eyebrows drawn up in concentration – fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. His mouth grew dry while he watched you touch yourself – still unaware of his presence. “Toge,” you whimpered out, “Want you to tell me to, mmm-!” your finger curled, grazing against the spongy spot of your pussy, “-tell me to play with my tits again,” you cry out. He almost chokes on air listening to your words, dick tenting in the towel around his waist. His mind races, trying to fathom what you had just said – struggling to focus through the sounds of your wet pussy filling the room.

“Do you really want me to say that?” he said aloud, his throat constricting from the unfamiliar feeling of using his voice around you. He had only ever communicated with you through sign language – far too scared to accidentally hurt you with his cursed technique. But here you were, squirming on the bed while you touched yourself to the thought of him telling you what to do – and it had been so long since he last got to feel your plush walls squeeze around his cock…

Your body jumped in surprise but you didn’t have the chance to do anything other than respond honestly to him, an urgent ‘yes’ quickly leaving your lips. “Toge, I didn’t realize you were home-” you start to explain yourself, embarrassed he caught you as you were wrapped up in your fantasy. You sit up, leaning against your elbows but he stops you by climbing onto the bed – pinning your body between his two arms.

He tries to consider everything he should say to you. If he was in any better of a state he would have stopped what was happening to talk about why it was so important for him to keep his mouth shut. It was pertinent he protected you from himself. As a regular human you had no clue what kind of responsibility he held with his cursed technique. He made a promise to himself that he would never talk outside of his missions. He was too scared to ever hurt someone – or to tell them to do something they couldn’t help but obey by the power of his words alone. It was important for you to realize this; it was also important for him to stop the filthy thoughts swirling around his own mind that made his dick twitch from under the towel. Guilt swirled in his stomach as he pictured exactly what he wanted to say to you – to make you do. If he was in any better of a state the guilt wouldn’t have been clouded by the intoxicating feeling of his need, telling him to do whatever it took to have you.

“Do you really want me to?” he says aloud again, giving you one more chance to think about it before he could no longer hold himself back. Your ‘yes’ was only louder this time, eyes pleading as you shook with anticipation. “Take my towel off,” he says, throat bobbing as he watched you immediately do as you were told. He shuddered at the cool air as it hit his wet tip, precum dripping down the long shaft. He contemplated his next words, debating if he should have you take his cock in your mouth or if he should skip to his favorite part. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and you had no choice but to obey. It was disgusting how much he was starting to enjoy this, your eyes lidded with want as you did what you were told. You would have done anything he asked even without his cursed technique – he knew this. That’s why while he felt guilty it wasn’t going to stop him from sticking two fingers into your mouth, massaging your tongue. “Suck my fingers, baby,” your mouth closed on his digits, sucking sweetly on his fingers while he continued to wiggle them around. His fingers began reaching deeper into your mouth – almost touching your throat causing you to gag a little. Regardless, you were still sucking on them with all you had and his hips bucked at the thought of his cock replacing his fingers. But with how sensitive he currently was he knew he wasn’t going to last very long – and your mouth wasn’t the place he wanted to cum in. His eyes wandered down to your cunt, lips slick with your arousal from when you had finger fucked yourself earlier – the skin a little red from your needy actions. Without much thought, he began to stroke his long cock with the hand that wasn’t currently in your mouth, his want growing watching you squirm. He took his fingers from your mouth, moving them down to your left nipple and massaging the bud between his two wet digits. “Are you ready for me?” he asked, not sure how much longer he could stand stroking himself to the sight of your naked body without slipping into your wet folds.

“God yes,” you cried, trying desperately to relieve yourself by grinding against nothing. His hand came down to your hip, using his other to line his cock up to your entrance. He dragged the tip against your folds, spreading your juices around the head of his cock before plunging in. You were incredibly tight even from your warm up, having not taken his length in months. He tried his best to stay still, letting you adjust to the burning stretch but you were so wet and so so so warm, it was hard for him to not bully his way in – he shook from the sheer idea of forcing you to take him as he wanted you to. His eyes were glued to his cock as half of him was buried in your folds, swallowing thickly as he pushed in more and more of himself. You hiccupped, slapping his forearm as a warning that it hurt and he stopped. His eyes met yours and they were just like your dream. Lidded in desire and mouth wet – now from his own spit from constantly licking his lips as he imagined himself tasting you. He hated having to rush things – wanting to do so much more with you but the thought of your pussy twitching on his tongue alone was enough to make him want to bust right then and there. He was swallowing roughly again, concentrating on the task at hand, pushing even deeper inside you. You just about took all of him, but you stopped him yet again and he snapped. Your pussy was sucking him in! Your pretty cunt wanted all of him and who was he to not give her what she wanted? “Take my cock,” he spoke, voice gruff and commanding. He slid the rest of the way in and you didn’t so much as blink, allowing him to fill you up.

“Too big Toge-” you whined, his tip pushing up against the base of your stomach causing you to squirm. His hand came down to feel himself inside you, pushing gently against the bulge.

“D’you feel how deep I am?”

“Yes-” you gasped, “You’re deep! Soo deep,” and he was impossibly deep. He didn’t acknowledge your words, head thrown back and mouth hung open as he started to move – dragging his length slowly out before bullying it back inside. Your ribbed walls squeezed his dick, encouraging him to continue his slow assault.

“Rub your clit f’me,” he choked out, wanting you to get yourself to open up more. To let him in just a little deeper. He knew you could.

You had no choice but to reach for your clit, feeling just below it how his cock was stretching your entrance wide open. You rubbed slow circles on it, gasping at the overwhelming feeling causing your walls to constrict against him. His arms came down to hold your thighs against the bed, wanting to get a good angle of his cock as it disappeared over and over again inside of you. He was in his own world at this point, savoring the way your cunt gripped his cock as you cried out from the stretch. He knew he could manage to go even deeper – if only he had you on your stomach. He pulled out suddenly, flipping you around and pushing your head into the pillows. His strong hands angled your hips upwards towards his own. His right arm slithered up your back before reaching the center, “Arch your back, baby…” you obey him and he’s squeezing your waist, “Good girl. So pretty when you do what you’re told,” he praises you. He’s lining his cock up again, pushing himself in deep without giving you a second to process it. Your soft cries were muffled by the pillows as he had his way with you; pussy being pounded from behind, his balls slapping against your clit as his nails dug into you. “Fuck,” he cursed, dragging out the syllables as the wet sounds of your pussy echoed off the bedroom walls. His thumb began to massage your sides where he held you, forgetting he could use his voice – becoming so pussy drunk he went back to his old way of letting you know he was about to cum. You started to squirm again, prepared to take his hot load while not far off from your own release. You could tell he was getting closer and closer. He began to whimper and his cock couldn’t help its occasional twitch as it pounded over and over again into your cervix. “C-cum with me, please,” he begged, unknowingly forcing you over the edge. He was far too lost to realize what he had done but it didn’t matter at that point as you two reached your peaks together. His cum coated your walls – rope after rope shooting into you, his cock pushing it deeper and deeper as he fucked you through your peak. You had a similarly blinding orgasm from your dream, squirming and bucking your hips, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cried out into the pillow. Your pussy clamped down hard on him, squeezing and releasing as you had no choice but to experience the best climax of your life. He leaned over your figure, brushing your hair off your back as he kissed your neck, your slick and his cum slipping out as his cock began to soften inside of you. You were still whining, unable to stop the intensity at which you were cumming. His hands ran soothing patterns on your back as you completely collapsed into the bed – twitching against the sheets until you finally felt it subsiding. Slowly but surely you came down, your chest heaving as Toge peppered you with kisses.

“That was okay. Right?” He asked you in sign language – going back to his preferred method of communication with you. You nodded, a smile working itself onto your face as you began to giggle.

“That was … incredible,” his eyes scrunched up, chuckling along with you, pulling you into his naked chest and holding you tight to him.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

It had been a long road before things had gone back to normal with Inumaki. Even so – not everything was the way it used to be, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. You two learned a lot from the aftermath of that day; including just how powerful his words could be.

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

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hear me out... spencer reid with hickeys I can imagine him getting all nervous and reader just gives him like 20 on his neck and he puts on a scarf and the next day Morgan tugs it off and l o s e s it poor thing WHAHHA

"That's... a new look." Morgan raises an eyebrow at Spencer's purple scarf with a confused half-smile on his face, like he's trying to be supportive for Spencer's sake but doesn't know how.

"I'm cold." Spencer blurts, avoiding the man's eyes and staring down at his paperwork. He's a behavior analyst, he'd pick his mannerisms out as shady if anyone else did it, but he can't seem to appear casual for the life of him.

"Okay..." Morgan sits cautiously at his desk, "Something eating you, pretty boy? I know we're not supposed to profile each other and all, but you seem tense."

"Nothing's wrong." Spencer dismisses in that same clipped, tight tone.

"Right," Morgan drawls, "Okay."

There's a moment of awkward silence in which Spencer scrawls in information on the form he's looking at, and Derek stares at him.

Then he tries making peace, "Here, uh, lemme help you with that."

"With what?" Spencer wants to glance up, but doesn't want to see any hidden amusement in his coworker's eyes, "I know how to fill this out."

"No, I mean-" Derek reaches over his desk, fingers outstretched towards Spencer's neck, "The- scarf."

Spencer jerks away like Morgan's touch will sear his skin, eyes wide and panicked, 'No!"

"Reid," Morgan drawls, hand still stiff in the air, "What's your problem, man?"

"I- It's nothing." Spencer huffs, "I'm getting coffee."

He stalks off to the kitchen, but Morgan isn't deterred.

"Pretty boy," He calls, rushing to join Reid at the counter, "Listen, usually when people show up with a giant scarf on and don't let anyone touch it, they're hiding a hickey."

"I'm not hiding a hickey," Spencer pours sugar into his coffee by the pound, nearly emptying the container as he stirs it in, "I'm going to file a workplace harassment complaint against you if you don't stop."

"Sensitive," Derek marvels, keeping the hand that's creeping towards the back of Spencer's neck out of the man's line of sight. Then, quicker than Spencer can stop him, he grabs hold of the purple cloth and yanks, revealing that Spencer was telling the truth.

He's not hiding a hickey, he's hiding twenty hickies. Fifty, maybe, Derek can't tell because they run into each other like someone had sucked him like a leech.

He doesn't care about being dramatic; his jaw drops.

"Holy shit!" Derek whoops, holding the scarf over his head and pushing against Spencer's chest when the man tries taking it back, "You're- Jesus, did Dracula get to you? Oh my god," He laughs, not even bothering to quiet down as Hotch stalks in, a stern frown on his face at the noise level.

"Give it back," Spencer manages to overpower Derek, only because the man is too busy jeering to use his full strength. Spencer wraps himself tight in the scarf once more, avoiding Hotch's eyes as he finishes stirring his coffee.

"I've gotta go break the news," Derek rushes out, headed straight for Penelope's lair, "Babygirl!"

The silence in the kitchenette of the BAU is stifling, and if Spencer weren't hiding an army of hickies so dark that they nearly painted him purple all over, he'd take off his scarf for some relief. He's silent as he finishes stirring his coffee, and tries to drown out Penelope's excited shriek.

Hotch makes quick work of the coffee pot, and stands beside Spencer to put minimal cream into the substance. Before he leaves, while Spencer is still sugaring up his concoction, he clears his throat.

"Congratulations," He murmurs as he claps Spencer on the back once, nearly ramming the man into the cupboards he's weakly clinging to, "I have an old turtleneck somewhere that I can bring you, if this is gonna be a regular thing."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

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sugurus-thoughts · 2 months ago

Text

01. A nonsense christmas

❅ pairing — president! Ryomen Sukuna x singer! reader

❅ summary — You're my wish list Lookin' at you got me thinking Christmas Snowflakes in my stomach when we're kissin' And when you're comin' down the chimney, ooh, it feels so good I need that Charles Dickens You'll be Santa Claus and I'll be Mrs.

❅ w/c — 10,85k

❅ warning — age gap (sukuna early 30's reader in her early 20's), based during 1930's, angst, fluff, smut, touching, MDNI, oral sex (giving), mentions of neglect.

❅ a/n — this fic was inspired by Marilyn Monroe and JFK back in the day. I truly don't know what happened between those two but I did watch the documentary series of Marilyn Monroe and honesty my heart truly goes out to her and I love her so much! And I hope you love this story as much as I wrote it. I wasn't excited writing this but as I wrote it it became much more comforting to me :') ❤️🍰

It begins with the snow—soft, relentless, blanketing the city like a promise of peace. You’ve always found winter in the capital to be impossibly beautiful, even as it presses its cold fingers against your skin. Tonight, though, the beauty of it all feels distant, eclipsed by the grandeur of the Presidential Residence looming before you.

You step out of the car, your heels clicking against the polished stone driveway, your breath curling like smoke in the icy air. The mansion rises like a beacon against the winter night, its windows spilling warm light into the darkness. The Christmas Gala. The most coveted event of the year. And you—the season’s brightest star—are here not as a guest, but as its entertainment.The crowd itself could not withstand your siren beauty as camera flashes surround you. With your white lace dress and faux scarf wrapped all around you—how could you have said no to a camera.

Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of evergreen and champagne. The towering Christmas tree, dripping with crystal ornaments and golden ribbons, commands the room’s attention, but not as much as the man standing beneath it. President Ryomen Sukuna. His name carries the weight of a nation, his presence magnetic even among the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits. He’s watching you, though you pretend not to notice, your practiced grace carrying you toward the stage.

The moment you step into the spotlight, the world falls silent. You don’t just sing; you command. Your voice weaves through the room, low and sultry, wrapping around the crowd like velvet. The President doesn’t look away—not once. You feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, burning through the layers of glamour you’ve wrapped around yourself.

“Sata baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Think of all the fun I've missed

Think of all the fella's that I haven't kissed

Next year I could be just as good

If you check off my Christmas list”

When the final note fades, applause erupts, but your eyes find his. He’s clapping slowly, deliberately, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. And in that instant, you know—this night is only the beginning.

After leaving the stage you navigate your way, through the buzzing crowd offering polite smiles and nods but keeping your distance.

You were used to this—all the praises, all the eyes but yet tonight it felt heavier than usual,as if all eyes were watching to see your next move.

Politicians, socialists and business tycoons—all these powerful leaders, greeting you with so much respect but yet, you could feel the lingering eyes of their partners. It was never easy to be a female with so much prominence but yet it hurt —it hurts to be hated by your own kind. We were supposed to support one another, to uplift one another but the cruelty of being a woman in this society was truly a burden.

You had to leave,the whispers among these people were too much to bear.

You slip into a quieter part of the residence—for some reason you found yourself in a cozy study filled with books and beautiful paintings . The soft hum of the party fades away and you take a moment to catch your breath, savoring the stillness in this moment.

You rarely had moments to yourself —your life was a whirlwind of rehearsals, performances, and endless scrutiny. Being an artist in a world where men dictated the rules was a challenge on its own, but being a woman in this world came with invisible chains. They didn't take you seriously, not really. To them you were a pretty face, perfect body, pleasant voice, a fleeting novelty. And yet your talent commanded rooms filled with the most powerful people in the country.

But it was just the men. Women didn't seem to like you either, much worse actually. You'd catch their sharp glances, their whispering behind raised champagne flutes. They saw you as a threat— a reminder of the rules they could never break, the freedom they did dare to take. It stung deeply, more than you can admit. You didn't want to compete,it was never what your nature —instead you wanted to be seen for more than glittering persona you wore on stage

The loneliness that came with that, was something that could not be turned away.It all settled into your chest like a cold ache. No matter how much applause you earned, how many invitations you received, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were performing for a world that would never truly embrace you.

The library is dimly lit, the polished wood floors creaking softly under your heels. You find yourself in a study, its walls lined with books that smell of leather and time. A fire crackles in the hearth, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cold edges of the gala.

You cross to the window, tracing a finger against the frosted glass. Outside, the snow continues to fall, silent and unyielding. For a moment, you feel like you can breathe again.

“Running away from your admirers?” The voice startles you, low and rich, with a hint of amusement. You turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, as if he owns not just the room but the very air you are breathing.

The President.

For a second, neither of you exchange words. Silence filled the room and the only sound that could be heard was the warmth of the fire crackles. His gaze, it feels so much heavier than the opulent chandelier in this room.

“You flatter me Mr President,” you finally managed, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

“But I'm not running. Just… catching my breath”.

“From the crowd or the applause?” he asked, stepping into the room, his polished shoes loud against the wooden floor.

“Both” you admit, leaning light against the wooden ledge. “It's a bit overwhelming, even for someone used to the spotlight”

A faint smile crosses his sharp features,his eyes never leaving yours. “ I imagine it would be. Though you make it seem effortless. You captivated them”.

“I'm sure that feeling you know well,” you counter, tilting your head slightly. “Captivating a room comes naturally to someone in your position”

His laugh is soft, almost modest, “Captivating and control are not the same thing. They listen to me because they have to. They listen to you because they want to.”

You hesitate, unsure if his words were a compliment or yet a challenge. “And which one are you Mr President?” you ask, your voice soft but laced with curiosity. “Do you want to listen, or do you have to?”

A smirk deepens as he moves around the study, looking at a few paintings. “That” he says is a very good question” his eyes caught yours, a glimmer of something unreadable expression.

You hold his gaze, feeling the weight of that moment—for the first time that evening you felt like you weren't performing —but unraveling.

His steps draw closer and closer —just close enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne —rich, warm and just utterly disarming. His gaze is unwavering, as though searching for something beneath your carefully composed exterior.

“I want to” he says, his voice low and deliberate, each word rolling off his tongue with quiet intensity.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a subtle l, almost wicked smiles,and for a moment the world outside the room feels very far.

“And not just your singing”

Irritation kicked in. You were so used to all of this. Men lusting over you, women glaring at you, finding ways to just get you in their bed. It was no surprise he was doing the same thing.

“Why do you sing?”, he asked softly.

The question caught you off guard. Never has any man nor woman asked you such a vulnerable question. For a moment you could not fathom his words, clearly you have never been seen or heard by anyone—can you be honest with yourself?. Your fingers graze the edge of the window ledge, seeking something solid to anchor yourself.

“I sing because it’s the only time I feel free,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m up there, it doesn’t matter what they think of me, what they expect. For a few minutes, it’s just me and the music. No judgments. No rules.”

You glance at him, half-expecting ridicule or a dismissive smile, but his expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on you like he’s hearing something rare and precious.

“And because,” you continue, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, “if I don’t, I feel like I’ll disappear.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but his gaze softens, losing its sharp, commanding edge. Slowly, he steps closer, his voice quiet and deliberate.

“You don’t have to disappear,” he says, as if it’s a promise meant only for you. “Not when the world is watching—and certainly not when I’m listening.”

His words catch you off guard, not because of their tenderness but because they feel... genuine. As if, for the first time, someone truly sees the weight you carry beneath the glamour.

“You’re not just a voice on a stage,” he continues, his tone firm yet gentle. “You’re so much more than they’ll ever understand.”

The way he says it, the way he looks at you, makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Mr President,” your tone exposing the faint glimmer of gratitude. For the first time, it felt like someone understood you, not Y/N for the star you are but for the Y/N who you are. “Thank you, I appreciate your kind words” you smile in his direction.

Your smile is contagious enough to draw a simple one from him. For a moment silence surrounds the both of you, the party that was long lost seems to fade away slowly.

“So, do you always have time to chase after the singer at your parties, Mr. President?” you ask, your voice dripping with charm as you rise gracefully from your seat. Slowly, you move through the library, feigning nonchalance, though his piercing gaze follows your every step.

“You know, Little Songbird, you never fail to surprise me,” he murmurs, his baritone voice rich with amusement. The nickname lingers in the air like a melody, and your steps falter for just a second. Songbird? Did he really just call you that?

You don’t dare look back, but his footsteps trail closely behind, deliberate and unhurried. The tension in the room sharpens as you realize the path you’ve chosen leads you to a dead end—a bookshelf towering before you with no opening in sight.

With a steadying breath, you turn at last, only to find him standing right in front of you, much closer than you’d anticipated. His presence feels overwhelming, his gaze holding yours like a quiet command. For a moment, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you, the warmth of his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.

“Mr President…” you whisper softly,your voice barely audible over the sounds of your own racing heartbeat. His gaze never wavers, dark and intense, ranking over your slightly trembling figure as if committing ever detail to memory.

He leans in, so close— the faint scent of bourbon—his breath brushes against your ear, the rich timbre of his voice low and deliberate.

“Some things, little songbird” he murmurs, each word dripping with meaning “are chasing —even for a president”

The air between you two feels impossibly charged, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. That is until the sharp clatter of heels against the wooden floor slices through the tension like a cold gust of wind.

“Ryomen” a clipped, feminine voice calls out,breaking the spell. Your turn instinctively to see her standing in the doorway—The First Lady, groomed in diamond and scandal. The papers have been relentless about her affairs, her icy aura, her calculated public appearance. Now she doesn't even spare you a glance, her eyes solely on him as if you don't exist. Of course what did you expect,in such a state.

“They need you for the announcement”, she says briskly, her tone more business than affection.

The president straightens, his expression slipped back into its stoic mask, though his gaze lingers on you for a fraction longer than it should. You take a step back suddenly feeling the weight of that moment, it's as if you didn't belong there. The tightening in your chest only made it worse.

Without another, you turn to slip past him, the faint brush of his fingers against yours—intentional or accidental—you knew neither, sending a shiver through you. You leave the room without saying goodbye, your exit as quiet as the storm building in your chest.

That night —on that cold invaded night, your thoughts were filled with the man that led this country. A man adored by his power, status—and wealth.He seemed to have the world in his grasp, yet for some reason, it felt as though he was also beginning to hold your heart in his hands.

It has been more than a week ever since that cold evening. For some reason, it hasn't crossed your mind—the way the president swept you off your feet—it was just a flush encounter to you, nothing more.

It was that time of year, where you could see the snow fall, hear children's laughter, see the smile upon elders and mostly give out to those in need.

The room hummed with warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the cold world outside. The children’s charity event was one of your favorite occasions—a rare moment where the glitz of your public persona faded into something far more meaningful. You loved working with children, their innocence and joy reminding you of a world untouched by judgment or pretense.

Dressed in a soft elegant gown, draped with a faux fur coat to cover your body from this weather. You knelt beside a small girl painting ornaments at one of the long tables. For some reason it brings back the memories of when you sat at this very table, painting but mostly single—you were truly the star back then, even now. Her giggles bring you back to reality, as she proudly displays her masterpiece, and you couldn't help but smile, feeling a rare lightness in your chest. For once you were known for “the voice” or “the star”. You were just…. you.

But the lightness didn't last long. You felt it before you saw him—that familiar commanding presence that seemed to shift the air in the room. Straightening, you glanced towards the entrance, and there he was. President Ryomen Sukuna, flanked by his wife, whose practiced smile seemed like the polished diamonds that hung around her throat.

Their arrival stole the attention of the room,applause ripping through the crowd as they made their way towards the stage. You tried focusing on the children but the warmth you felt moments ago slipped through your fingers like sand. And finally your eyes meet from across the room, everything else seems to fade slowly.

The moment your eyes locked, time seemed to slow, the loud chatter in the room fading into a distant murmur. He held your gaze for a beat longer than he should have, something unspoken passing between you. Then, just as quickly, he turned his attention back to the crowd, his expression neutral and composed as he greeted donors and officials.

You let out a shaky breath, turning back to the little girl, who was now adding glitter to her ornament. “You’ll need to let it dry,” you said softly, forcing a smile and focusing on her instead of the fluttering in your chest.

But you weren’t oblivious to him. Every move he made seemed to draw your attention, no matter how hard you tried to stay grounded. His wife, ever the picture of poise, clung to his arm as they mingled, though her wandering eyes and absent smiles told another story. The tabloids had been relentless about her rumored affairs, and seeing her up close, you wondered how much truth there really was to them.

A volunteer approached you, asking if you’d mind helping distribute gifts to the children. You agreed eagerly, relieved to have something to distract you. Carrying a box of wrapped toys, you moved to the front of the room, where several kids were eagerly waiting.

As you handed out the gifts, you felt his gaze on you again. This time, when you glanced over, he was watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. It wasn’t the gaze of a president assessing a performer. It was something else entirely—something deeper, more personal.

But before you could dwell on it, his wife stepped forward, taking his arm and guiding him toward the podium. The crowd hushed as he began his speech, his rich, commanding voice filling the room.

You tried to focus on his words, but your mind drifted. Was he thinking about the last time you saw each other? About the way you left without saying goodbye? And why, despite everything, did you feel drawn to him still?

After the speech, the president and his wife descended from the stage, moving toward the children’s area where you stood. You busied yourself with the toys, hoping to avoid any interaction, but fate, as always, had other plans.

As the President approached, you felt a strange mix of anticipation and nerves settle in your chest. He moved with an air of quiet authority, his presence commanding attention even in the lively atmosphere of the children’s charity event

When he finally reached you, his eyes softened, the faintest smile lingers upon his sharp features. “Miss Y/L/N”, he greeted, his voice formal, though there was something in his tone —something just for you.

You offer a polite smile with your hands clasped together in front of you. “Mr President”, your voice steady but you weren't sure if the tightness in your chest gave away any form of tension between the two of you.

But before the moment could stretch into anything more, his wife stepped forward, her perfectly painted smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Oh it's you” she said, her tone light but laced with thinly veiled condescension.

Your eyes widened, and a plastering smile forms across your now—nervous state.

The awkward silence between the two of you, so loud, you could hear a pin drop. You finally protest to speak but her remark caught you off guard “Performers always seem so undressed these days and at a charitable event how amusing, don't you think Sukuna dear?”.

Your plastered smile was quickly faltered for the briefest moment, though you quickly masked it with a polite laugh, pretending her words hadn't stung. Your gaze flicked to the President, searching for any hint of reaction. But Sukuna, ever composed, simply raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he regarded his wife with an unreadable expression.

“I suppose it depends on one’s perspective,” he finally said, his tone neutral but carrying an edge that made her smile tighten ever so slightly.

You tried to find your footing, clearing your throat as you turned back to the children. “The little ones seem to enjoy the event,” you said lightly, kneeling to hand a gift to a boy beaming up at you. “That’s what truly matters, doesn’t it?”

The First Lady hummed in response, a sound that wasn’t quite agreement but wasn’t outright dismissal either. Her cold, appraising gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention back to her husband. “You’re needed for the press conference soon, darling,” she said, slipping her arm through his with a practiced ease that was as much for the cameras as it was for control.

Sukuna hesitated, his eyes lingering on you for just a fraction too long. “I’ll be there shortly,” he replied, his voice firm yet calm.

She frowned, clearly displeased but unwilling to argue in public. With a sharp nod, she turned and began walking toward the stage, her heels clicking against the polished floor

The tension between you and Sukuna hung in the air as you stood, brushing invisible dust from your gown. “She's… lovely” you said your tone clear but yet a hint of sarcasm slipped through.

But reality crept back in, and with it, the reminder of who he was—and who you weren’t. “Well, Mr. President,” you said, offering a polite nod. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

You turned and walked away, your heart heavier with every step, knowing you’d left more unsaid than you’d ever dare admit.

“Let’s take it from the top. We need your vocals in check,” Yuji said, gesturing toward the sheet music spread out on the stand.

You nodded, stepping up to the microphone. The melody began to fill the room, soft and slow, but your mind wandered. Two days. It had been two days since the charity event, and the weight of the First Lady’s scornful words still lingered. Doubt crept into your thoughts, whispering cruel questions: Were you too much? Did you belong in spaces like these, surrounded by powerful people who seemed to thrive on tearing others down?

“Miss Y/L/N?” Yuji’s voice broke through your reverie.

You blinked, realizing the music had stopped. “I’m sorry, Yuji. My mind is elsewhere.”

He gave you a small, understanding smile. “Let’s call it a night. You’ve done enough for today.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you noticed it was nearing midnight. “You’re right. Thank you, Yuji.”

He waved you off as you gathered your coat. “I’ll lock up. Go get some rest.”

The chill of the winter night greeted you as you stepped outside. A short car ride later, you arrived at your hotel, its warm, dimly lit lobby offering a momentary reprieve from the biting cold.

Once in your room, you slipped out of your coat and shoes, collapsing onto the chaise by the window. The city lights twinkled faintly below, but your thoughts were elsewhere—on him. You didn’t want to admit it, but his gaze from across the room during the charity event still lingered in your mind.

The shrill ring of the telephone startled you from your thoughts. You hesitated, staring at the black rotary phone on the side table. Who could be calling at this hour? Slowly, you picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, and then that unmistakable voice came through, rich and smooth, sending a jolt through you. “Little Songbird.”

Your breath caught,you knew that nickname. “Mr. President?”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, his tone softer than you’d ever heard it.

You glanced at the clock—it was well past midnight. “It’s late,” you murmured, unable to mask the mixture of surprise and curiosity in your voice.

“I know,” he admitted, his voice lowering. “But I couldn’t wait any longer.”

The silence that follows through, was suppressed by the faint falling of snow,people wandering outside the hotel at this very late hour.

“How did you know where I was?”, your voice barely above a whisper,as you lay in bed.

“I'm the president, you know?” he murmured but you could hear the smirk underneath his baritone voice.

For some reason, you could not respond. You merely sat there in silence, trying to understand the situation.

“Since you are the President, I'll let you do your work. I'm sure you have loads of work to attend to” with sarcasm dripping from your tone

But before you could put down the receiver, you heard him whisper.

“May I hear your new record…will you sing it for me?”

The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the faint sound of snowflakes brushing against the window. You clutched the receiver tighter, your pulse quickening at his bold request.

“You want me to sing for you?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes,” he replied simply, his tone low and steady. “But not now. I want to hear it properly, away from prying eyes and ears.”

You hesitated, unsure where this was going, and yet unable to resist the pull in his voice. “And where exactly would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “There’s a lodge I keep outside the city—quiet, secluded. It’s where I go when I need to… escape.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the weight of his words settled. “You’re asking me to meet you there?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Tomorrow evening. No staff, no cameras, no interruptions. Just you and me.”

You bit your lip, torn between intrigue and the dangerous implications of what he was suggesting. “Mr. President… do you realize what you’re asking?”

“I do,” he said firmly. “But I can’t seem to stop myself.”

The line went quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your breathing. “I’ll send a car for you,” he added softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable warmth. “If you decide to come.”

And with that, the line went dead, leaving you alone in the stillness of your room, grappling with a decision that could change everything.

❅❅❅

Standing like a king awaiting his queen’s arrival, the soft glow of the lantern behind him casting shadows that danced across his sharp features. In his black, loose-fitted pants and a weathered brown trench coat, he seemed worlds apart from the image of power he carried in the city. Here, he wasn’t the President; he was just… Ryomen Sukuna.

“You came,” he whispered, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

“Well it was the President's request, how could I possibly say no? ” Your voice matched his tone, soft and intimate, laced with a teasing edge. But your eyes—your eyes never left his.

He stepped closer, the crunch of snow beneath his boots the only sound breaking the stillness. The biting cold nipped at your skin, but his presence seemed to radiate warmth, pulling you in like the embers of a dying fire.

“I didn’t think you would,” he admitted, his hand brushing lightly against yours, testing the waters.

“Neither did I,” you replied honestly, your breath forming small clouds in the frosty air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you seemed to pause, the snow falling in gentle whispers as you stood there, suspended in time. His hand finally closed over yours, his touch firm yet hesitant, as if afraid you might pull away.

“Come”, he said softly, leading you to the lodge.

The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the wintry night outside. A fire crackled in the stone heart, filling the room with a golden glow. It was simple l, rustic even, a world away from the luxurious Ness you associated with him. At that moment it felt so… perfect.

He gestured for you to sit near the fire,and you did, feeling the heat seep into your chilled skin. He poured two glasses of red wine, the essence of the luxurious wine reached your nose as he handed you one before settling into the chair opposite from yours.

“You're different here,” you said after a moment of studying him.

“How so?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass.

“You're not the man I saw standing beside his wife two days ago,” you admitted. “Here you seem… freer”.

He chuckled, his tone rich and vibrant enough to fill the silence in this room. “Perhaps, it's because for once, I can be myself”

For a moment you could only bear his vulnerability, your ache slightly at his confession.

His eyes burned into yours, the space between you charged with an intensity that made your heart race. But then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, he pulled back slightly, his expression softening.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said, his voice low, but the edges of a faint smile tugged at his lips.

You blinked, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “What is it?”

He stood, offering you his hand. Hesitant but intrigued, you placed your hand in his, letting him guide you toward the far end of the room. Your footsteps were soft against the wooden floor, the warmth of the fire fading as you moved closer to the shadows.

Then you saw it—a beautiful grand piano, polished to perfection, sitting in the corner of the lodge. Its elegance felt out of place in the rustic room, but it was breathtaking all the same.

You stopped, staring at it in disbelief. “Where did this…?”

“I had it brought here earlier today,” Sukuna admitted, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I thought… if you came, maybe you’d play. Maybe you’d sing.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, overwhelmed by the gesture. No one had ever done something like this for you—not with this much thought, this much care. “Sukuna…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I wanted you to feel… seen,” he said softly, his usual confidence tempered by vulnerability. “You said you’d sing for me, remember?”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you stepped toward the piano. Running your fingers over the keys, you pressed one lightly, the note echoing through the quiet room. Taking a deep breath, you sat down, your hands trembling slightly as they settled on the keys.

The first note you played was soft, uncertain, but as you continued, the music poured out of you, filling the space with something raw and beautiful. And then you sang—softly at first, but soon your voice swelled, carrying the emotions you couldn’t put into words.

When the last note faded into the stillness, you turned to find Sukuna standing right behind you, his gaze locked on yours.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he leaned down, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the piano, caging you in. His face was so close now, his breath warm against your skin.

“Sukuna… Mr President…” your eyes reverting away from his, trying to find a way to remove yourself from this situation.

“Say it”, he murmured his voice low, almost a growl. “Tell me, Little Songbird… tell me you don't feel it too. That this isn't tearing you apart the way it's tearing me apart”.

Your eyes met his burning ones for a moment. You could see the yearning, you could see the flames that were about to combust as if he was restraining himself from whatever chains were weighing them down.

You opened your mouth to speak but unfortunately no words were formed. You didn't need them. The way your hand reached out on its own was enough to speak, brushing against his jawline, said more than words ever could.

His head dipped for a moment, eyes closed as the softness of your hands stroked against the rough patches against his skin. He slowly leaned forward, and for a moment you thought he would kiss you but instead he stopped, his lips hovering just a breath away above yours, his eyes searching yours as if asking for permission.

Your heart pounding —he was so close you could feel the rhythm of his heart in sync with yours.

“This is reckless, Mr President…” you whisper softly barely audible over the sounds of beating hearts. He titled his head, giving just enough time to pull away if you wanted to.

“Do you believe that, Little Songbird? ”, his words cast a veil of questions against your chest. Did you? The truth was you didn't know. Or maybe want to admit you cared about the consequences anymore.

“I believe”, you whisper, lips so close you could feel the slightest touch, “you've already done something to me”

That is all it took,for Sukuna to close the distance between the two of you. His lips brushed against yours so softly at first, hesitant.

But his hand slid to cup your face, the kiss deepened, all tension, longing, and unspoken words between you spilling in that single, undeniable moment.

“Mr President” the soft mewl of your voice—saying his name like that sent him to heaven itself.

It seemed your bodies gravitated towards one another, so naturally—so perfect. His lips pressed against yours with a fervent need, and you melted into, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself in this moment. The kiss began slowly, searing burn, but soon it ignited into something wilder, something neither could suppress.

Sukuna's hands, strong and sure, slid to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all. A soft gasp escaped your lips, quickly swallowed but the intensity of his kiss as he guided you back. Your body met the surface of the piano behind you, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you.

The instrument groaned under the sudden shift, a discordant, jarring filling the room. You both froze for a moment, startled by the sound. Then his baritone voice filled the room with a chuckle,low and rich like velvet.

“Careful” he murmured against your lips, forehead resting against your for a brief moment. The corner of his mouth quivered into a smile, and you could help but laugh softly yourself,a flush creeping up your skin.

“Your piano might not survive, us, “ You whisper breathlessly, the teasing lilt in your voice only adding to the intimacy of the moment.

“Your piano Little Songbird” he responded with a smirk, the nickname causing you to blush tremendously. “Let it” before both his hands cupped your face, kissing you harder and much more desperate this time.

The piano hummed faintly beneath you as he deepened the kiss. His fingers explore every inch of your body.

The warm tense of the fire surrounding both of you, was only enough to fuel the intense passion you both had been burdening for the past few weeks. You could taste the red wine linger against his tongue, for no longer than a second his lips brushed against your ear. Fainting whispering “You smell wonderful you know that?” the words clearly left you speechless, he licked a long stripe beneath your year.

The mewl that escaped your lips, only made it worse—kissing you next feverishly enough for you to roam your hand all over his chest,trying to find something to grip upon.

Without hesitation, he removed his shirt exposing his exquisite upper body. You couldn’t hide your flush cheeks, you barely had the strength to move at this point.

His hand gripped your waist, firm but reverent, as though he couldn't decide whether to claim you entirely or simply admire you. The kiss deepened a dance of unspoken emotions, and as his fingers roam over the soft expensive fabric of your dress, a sharp sound tore through the air—a rip.

You gasped, pulling back to look at him, your chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. “Sukuna!”, you exclaimed, bewildered, glancing down at your now-ruined fabric hanging loosely around your waist.

He smirked, entirely unrepentant, his eyes darkened with desire. “I'll buy you another”, his voice low and filled with a teasing edge, "something even better." His gaze swept over you, taking in every curve, every detail of your now-exposed form, and he inhaled sharply.

For a moment, he said nothing, his fingers trailing delicately along your skin, reverent and slow, as if committing every inch of you to memory. "You're ... " His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw him speechless, utterly captivated. "Exquisite," he finally breathed, his tone rich with admiration, his eyes never leaving you.

You flushed under the weight of his gaze, a mixture of embarrassment and undeniable thrill coursing through you. "You tore my dress," you muttered, attempting to sound stern but failing as his lips brushed against your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

"And I'd do it again," he murmured, his hands tracing the curve of your back, pulling you closer. "You're a masterpiece, Little Songbird. How could I not be impressed?”

The words melted you, and before you could protest further, his lips claimed yours again, silencing any remaining resistance. The ruined dress was forgotten, the only thing that mattered now was the way his touch made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

The kisses were dark, lustful, exotic —his lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The ruined fabric slipped further, forgotten and discarded as his hands traced every curve with a touch that was both firm and reverent, as though he were exploring sacred ground.

"You're breathtaking," Sukuna whispered against your skin, his voice thick with awe and hunger. The smirk that usually adorned his face was gone, replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. He looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

The room went quiet for a bit, nothing but the faint breathing running of your lips.

“Sukuna…”, his lips traveled back to yours only to pick you and place you safely on his lap. Resting against the piano, a proud smirk plastered on his lips.

Slowly his hands made their way to your lacy underwear , kissing your neck soft enough.

“Do you know how maddening you are?”, his tone a mix of frustration and adoration. “You drive me insane Y/N”, and before you could utter a word his two fingers that were lined up against your entrance, finally found its home in your wet womanhood.

Your form lumped on top of his as you whispered his name, softly. Slowly his fingers started forming a rhythm, a groan escaped his lips, forehead resting against your shoulder—sucking it softly.

“You so wet, I can feel your waters dripping, Little Songbird” he murmurs mumbled against your skin. The stretch simply scratches pass his broad shoulders.

“Fuck, you like that don't you?” The question hung in the air, not knowing if it should be answered or not.

“Sukuna…I-” you whine, while his fingers go faster.

“You're making a mess, Little Songbird”, your skin damp, with sweat as you moved along with his pace. You couldn’t stop moving, your hips grinding against his fingers—a low chuckle escaped his lips.

“Mr President ” you gasp, your voice trembling as the pleasure builds to an unexpected peak—something you haven't felt in a while.

Your grip tightened, as his lips started sucking your boobs, the stimulation causing a slight blush against your cheeks

“Say it again”, as his fingers hit a certain part, driving you into ecstasy. You moaned his name again—satisfying his taste.

“Look at me, you hear me” you shook your head, only for him to grab your face—control was the only thing that mattered now.

Your eyes never left his as he kept fingers you, hard enough, you throw your head back at the pleasure.

“I'm close Mr President”you moan, your mouth hung open before you could even cum he pulled out his finger. You whine at the emptiness,enough to pull a smirk on those lips.

“A mess, you really made a mess” he said, looking at his fingers—but directly making you watch as he licked them off,like a starving lion.

“On your knees, now” he commanded gently, his voice smooth and inviting as she gracefully lowered herself before him. He smirked at her—he was enjoying this completely too much. He lower his head, enough to whisper in her ear “Now be a good girl a put that mouth to use”

His eyes never leave yours,offering him a soft smile. Your now trembling hand started to unbutton his pants —fingers hooked his pants and you slowly moved them down to his feet. You could see, his large member fully erect—you could see precum spewing from the top and to admit it he was big,bigger than you could ever imagine

Biting your lip, looking into his eyes as you gather enough silva in your mouth—slowly you part your lips enough to slide his thick member into your mouth. A low groan escaped his lips, his head flung back at the feeling. You slowly began to use your tongue, against his head,flicking your tongue just enough for his hand to grip your hair.

“Fuck, Little Songbird —yeah, you keep doing that”, with he a slight encouragement,you began to bob your head, slowly enough for him to tighten the hold on your hair. You kept your pace slow and steady enough, for him to savor every moment—the sudden urge to press you down further soon compelled and you could feel his leaking tip against the back of your throat.

“You look fucking beautiful like this—faster, fuck” you catch a glimpse of his euphoric state, the hair now clung to his sweaty forehead, slips slightly parted —heavy eyelids as they looked into yours.

You moved at the pace of this hand, sliding his big member against your throat, your free hand travelling to his balls as his hips bucked at the reaction. You sped up the pace, you could feel him throbbing against your throat, his thighs were shaking, and before you knew it he came—his hand gripped you hair tightly while gliding you down his staff and you could hear him say “Swallow it”, and you did every drop of cum, not leaving one a side.

All actions came to a stop, and in an instant Sukuna gripped your figure, almost throwing you on the piano.

“Mr President” you said against his lips—the roughness against your now sensitive skin only made it worse.

“You did well” a praise coming from his lips, leaning in he kissed you neck feverishly—his fingers gripped into your flesh, as if they were touching you for the first time in such a long time.

“I hope you're ready because I can't control myself anymore,” he said softly as he suddenly sucked your breast, squeezing the other soft flesh.

“I need you to bend over”, he panted against your breast. His hands reached out for yours to guide you in a position where you were bending slightly.

As you got on your knees, the continuation of his kisses didn't stop until he reached your core. Kissing it softly, as he slapped your cheek—enough to earn a moan from you. His hand moved to your hair, twisting it between his fingers gripping hard, you let out a soft whimper.

Slowly you could feel his thick member in your wet folds—pushing through you. Tossing his head back in pleasure as he filled you up,you could hear him curse beneath his breath.

The stretch was so much you could handle the way he was slightly pushing in and out of you. His eyes revert to your heels, seeing how stalking was still visible, as he hasn't seen them yet.

“You wore these damn stockings for me didn't you” he said as he kept pounding into you. You couldn’t answer, because the pleasure was truly too much for you to handle.

“Answer me Little Songbird,” a loud slap was heard and you moaned loudly enough,for him to smirk at your actions.

“Yes… yes Mr President”, you whisper but it only came out as a loud moan.

“How sweet of you… fuck your squeezing me so tight” he murmured, throwing his head back.

“Mr President I-” you whine, his one hand grabbing a handful of your ass, kneading the skin softly,as his member continued to push in you softly.

His hands released, hair ever so softly —both coming into contact with your hips gripping them tightly enough, controlling the rhythm of your hips as he continues his ministrations.

“Fuck you feel good, so fucking good”, his hand came into contact with you ass cheek once more,and you could breathe in the star you were in.

“Again,”you whine softly.

“Oh you like that, huh?”, a smirk invaded his lips and you felt the burning sensation of on cheek take over.

“I'm so close” you whimper, eyes closed , you could feel the knot in your stomach begin to form again. Looking back at Sukuna you could see a crease on his forehead, hair hung low, half lidded eyes and once again the stinging sensation against your cheek made everything so pleasurable.

“Me too, fuck” he grunted softly and his fingers made their way to your clit. You could fall apart now if you had to “Sukuna!” you exclaimed. You were gasping for air at this point, his thrusts became sloppy and you could feel him twitch inside you.

“I'm about to-” unable to finish your sentence you came, gripping against the frail dress that now laid on the piano. Your thighs shaking, not a minute longer you gasped at the feeling of his warm seed filling your womanhood. Your eyes revert to his hung open mouth. Sliding out of you, you felt his cum leak down your thigh.

His finger grazed up your thigh, scooping the remaining substance, without being told what to do he laced his fingers across your lips “Open up”, your parted, pressing the remaining substance in your mouth, and you sucked on them softly.

For a moment he could only smile, and he slowly embraced you and gave you a kiss.

❅

Later that evening you both lay on the carpet covered in blankets and the glow of the dying fire bathed the room in a soft, flickering light, casting shadows that seemed to dance around the two of you. The world outside felt distant and unreal, as if it had no claim on this moment. You lay against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, your breaths still uneven from the intensity of your time together. His arm draped over you protectively, holding you close as though letting you go was not an option.

“Are you warm enough?” Sukuna asked softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that sent a fresh wave of emotion through you.

You nodded, but instead of answering, you traced small patterns along the toned expanse of his chest, your fingers brushing over the faint scars etched into his skin. You couldn’t help but wonder about the stories they told, about the battles and burdens he carried—not just as the President, but as a man.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple.

You tilted your head to meet his gaze, the depth of his crimson eyes nearly undoing you. “That I’ve never seen you like this,” you admitted quietly. “Just… you.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And do you like what you see?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you rested your hand over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm. “I think I love what I see,” you whispered.

His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something deeper. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek with a gentleness that made your heart ache. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Maybe you should tell me.”

Sukuna’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time, filled with a warmth that felt entirely unlike the powerful, commanding man the world knew. “I would, but I’d need a lifetime to explain,” he murmured, his voice like velvet as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss so sweet, it made the air between you feel electric.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face. “Promise me,” he said, his voice low and serious. “No matter what happens, no matter what the world throws at us, you’ll never doubt how much I want you, Y/N. Not just here, not just now—but always.”

Your breath hitched, and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

For a long time, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the fire casting its golden glow over your entwined figures. And for a moment, it felt as though nothing else mattered—just you and Sukuna, and the fragile, beautiful connection you had built in the quiet of the night.

❅❅❅

The early morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the lodge, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The air was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the wind outside and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

You stirred awake, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you, and for a moment, the events of the night before felt like a dream. But then, the warmth of Sukuna’s arm draped over your waist brought it all back—the stolen moments, the shared confessions, the way he had looked at you as though you were his entire world.

Carefully, you turned your head to look at him. He lay beside you, his features softened in sleep. Gone was the commanding President, the man whose decisions could sway nations. Before you was simply Sukuna, vulnerable and at peace, a side of him few had ever seen.

Your eyes lingered on him, a mixture of wonder and guilt tightening in your chest. The memory of his words echoed in your mind—“I always want you, and you only.” It had felt like a promise, a declaration that should have brought you comfort, but now it left you with a heaviness you couldn’t shake.

Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you gathered the discarded pieces of your clothing and wrapped his trench coat around yourself. The room was cold, but it was nothing compared to the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside you.

As you stood by the window, staring out at the snow-covered landscape, the enormity of your situation began to sink in. He was the President, a man with responsibilities, a wife, and a public image to uphold. And you? You were the woman who sang for a living, who had somehow captured the attention of a man who could have anything—or anyone—he wanted.

You heard him stir behind you, the sound of the bed shifting as he sat up. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Sukuna’s voice, still heavy with sleep, broke the silence.

You turned to face him, your heart aching at the sight of his disheveled hair and the vulnerability in his eyes. “I have to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He stood, crossing the room in a few strides to stand before you. “Stay,” he said, his hand cupping your cheek. “Just stay.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced a small, sad smile. “You know I can’t.”

The weight of your words hung heavily between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if trying to anchor you to him.

“Just promise me one thing,” he murmured into your hair. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

You didn’t answer, not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t sure if you could. Instead, you pressed a kiss to his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace be your answer—for now.

A few months have passed and the two have been seeing each other regularly, it was as if you both were meant for one another. Each day played, like a movie—your smile was obvious and the papers could sense it too.

This morning was no different as you drank your coffee reading through the telegram that arrived on a quiet morning, the crisp paper trembling slightly in your hands as you read the words again and again. It was an offer—an invitation to join a renowned music conservatory in Italy, to live in a place where your voice could rise above judgment and scandal, to finally pursue your dreams on your own terms. A life of possibility stretched out before you, the kind of opportunity that felt almost too good to be true.

But the weight of it sank in just as quickly. Sukuna.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in the lodge, the familiar scent of cedar and smoke heavy in the air. Sukuna had been waiting for you, as he always did during these stolen moments. His warm smile greeted you when you walked in, but it faltered as soon as he saw the serious expression on your face.

“You look troubled, Little Songbird,” he said softly, concern etched into his features. “What’s on your mind?”

You took a deep breath, clutching the telegram tightly in your hand. “I received an offer today,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “From Italy. A conservatory there wants me to join them. It’s… everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

His face hardened in an instant, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something colder, sharper. “You’re leaving?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said quickly, though the words felt like a lie. “But I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Sukuna rose from his seat, his towering figure suddenly feeling more imposing than comforting. “There’s nothing to discuss. You’re not leaving,” he said firmly.

Your heart sank. “Sukuna, this is my chance—my chance to finally be something more. To be free.”

“Free?” His voice rose, and for the first time, you saw the storm brewing beneath his usually composed exterior. “You think you’ll find freedom away from here? Away from me?”

And there it was—the shift, the anger, the selfishness. You felt your emotions bubble to the surface as you stood your ground.

“Don’t you see? This isn’t about you!” you snapped, your voice rising to match his. “This is about me, my life, my dreams. For once, I’m choosing myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” he shot back, his voice a low growl. “You don’t just get to walk away from what we have.”

And then the fight spiraled—his refusal to let you go, your desperation to make him understand. The words were sharp, cutting deeper than either of you intended, until finally, the dam broke.

“You only want me when it’s convenient for you! Only for you!” you shouted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

The glass shattered against the wooden floor, and with it, so did the fragile balance you’d both been holding onto.Fury and pain poured out of you, a torrent you couldn’t stop as you turned away, pacing like a storm trapped within four walls. The wine glass in your hand slipped from your trembling grip, shattering against the wooden floor as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

“You can’t just keep me here like one of your laws,” you said, your voice breaking. “This isn’t love. It’s control”. Your eyes burned into his, searching for some sign of guilt, some flicker of remorse in his stoic expression. But he just stood there, watching you with that same maddening calm. “You’re so selfish, Mr. President. Just once, let me go. Let me… be happy.”

Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper now, as you clutched your coat like it was the only thing anchoring you to yourself.

“Would leaving really make you happy?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost fragile. It wasn’t the commanding tone of the President. No, this was something else—something raw and vulnerable. It was Sukuna.

The weight of his words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, the fight drained out of you, leaving only the exhaustion, the ache in your chest from holding it all in for so long. The silence between you was heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint sound of his boots against the floor.

He crossed the space between you slowly, cautiously, as though afraid you might shatter if he moved too quickly. When he reached you, his arms encircled your trembling form, pulling you close against his chest. And in that moment, something in you broke. The tears came harder, years of hurt and betrayal spilling out in heaving sobs.

He held you through it all, his strong arms steady as your body shook. It wasn’t the embrace of a man in power or a leader commanding control. It was Sukuna—just Sukuna—holding you as if his own heart was breaking with every tear you shed.

“You think I want you only when it’s convenient?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He gently cupped your tear-streaked face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were softer now, filled with something you hadn’t expected—pain, longing, love. “I always want you. Always. And only you. Don’t you see that?”

Your breath caught, his words sinking into the cracks of your fragile heart. You wanted to respond, to say something, but no words came. Instead, you leaned into him, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that spoke everything you couldn’t put into words.

It was soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the boundaries of this fragile truce. But as his arms tightened around you, the kiss deepened, filled with all the emotions neither of you dared to voice before. It was a moment of surrender, of giving in to the truth you’d both been too afraid to face.

The kiss deepened, unspoken promises lingering between you as his arms tightened around you like he was afraid you’d slip away. The world outside the walls of the lodge ceased to exist. It was just the two of you—two souls fighting against the tides of power, duty, and love.

That night, the fire in the hearth wasn’t the only thing that burned. His touch was tender yet desperate, his lips tracing paths along your skin as though memorizing every inch of you. It was a moment neither of you could deny or regret—a moment where love triumphed over logic, if only for a fleeting night.

❅❅❅

As dawn broke, you lay tangled together in the sheets, his steady breathing against your neck a reminder of the man you’d seen beneath the title. He wasn’t just the President; he was Sukuna, flawed, vulnerable, and so undeniably yours. But as the sunlight crept into the room, so did reality.

You slipped out of his embrace, careful not to wake him as you dressed. The telegram lay folded in your coat pocket, a constant weight on your heart. With one last glance at him, his peaceful face etched into your memory, you left the lodge.

❅❅❅

The streets of the city were abuzz with life, the morning sun casting its golden light over the bustling crowds. Your suitcase felt heavier with every step you took toward the station. It wasn’t just the weight of your belongings—it was the weight of leaving him behind, of choosing yourself over a love you knew could never be fully yours.

But just as the station came into view, the sound of a commotion drew your attention. A crowd had gathered, their voices rising in excitement. And then you saw him.

Sukuna.

Standing on the steps of the grand hall, his gaze scanned the crowd until it landed on you. Time seemed to stop as he began descending the steps, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around him. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people recognized their President, their leader stepping down into the throng like an ordinary man chasing what he loved.

He reached you, his chest heaving as though he had run through the entire city to find you. Without hesitation, he took your hand, his grip firm but not forceful.

“Everyone, listen,” he began, his voice steady but filled with unmistakable emotion. “This woman—she’s more than a singer, more than a performer. She’s the reason I wake up every morning. She’s the reason I want to be better, to be more. And I won’t let her go.”

The crowd gasped, whispers spreading like wildfire as his words echoed through the square. His public declaration was more than a profession of love—it was a challenge to the constraints that had kept you apart.

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, his gaze unwavering as he smiled softly at you. “You said I’m selfish,” he whispered, his voice just for you now. “And maybe I am. But I won’t let you leave without a fight.”

The world watched as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a simple gesture, yet it felt like a vow. You knew then that your life would never be the same, not with him willing to tear down everything to keep you by his side.

The weeks following Sukuna’s public declaration were nothing short of chaos. The scandal surrounding the President’s bold proclamation had shaken the nation. His advisors urged caution, political rivals pounced on the opportunity to criticize him, and the First Lady made no secret of her disdain.

But Sukuna was steadfast. For the first time in his presidency, he put himself—and his heart—first. The divorce was finalized in record time, quiet and swift, with the First Lady retreating from the public eye, taking her scandals with her.

Despite the chaos surrounding him, Sukuna remained unshaken, his resolve as strong as ever. The scandal didn’t matter. The criticism didn’t matter. What mattered was the woman he loved, and for the first time in his life, he had chosen something not for duty, not for the nation, but for himself.

The media frenzy eventually quieted, the public slowly coming to terms with the change. Some admired his bravery, calling his declaration an act of true love; others criticized his recklessness. But through it all, Sukuna stayed grounded because he had you.

One evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the city, he led you to the garden behind the presidential residence. The air was crisp, and the faint scent of blooming flowers filled the space. Fireflies danced in the twilight, their soft light reflecting in your eyes.

“I have something for you,” Sukuna said, his voice warm as his fingers laced with yours.

“What is it this time?” you teased, smiling up at him. He had taken to spoiling you recently, as if making up for lost time.

He led you to a secluded spot in the garden where a small table was set with candles and a single bouquet of your favorite flowers. Resting beside them was a box—small and unassuming, but enough to steal your breath away.

“Sukuna…” you whispered, your heart pounding.

He picked up the box, holding it delicately in his large hands as he dropped to one knee. The world seemed to stop, the moment stretching infinitely as his sharp, commanding eyes softened into something you’d only ever seen in private—a love so deep it overwhelmed you.

“I’ve spent my life fighting battles for power, for politics, for this nation. But the only battle I’ve truly wanted to win is the one for your heart,” he said, his voice steady yet brimming with emotion. “You’ve given me courage I never thought I had. And now, I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’ll always come first.”

He opened the box to reveal a ring—elegant, timeless, and perfect, just like him.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded, your voice breaking as you finally said, “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger, then rose to his feet, pulling you into his arms. The kiss that followed wasn’t like the others—it was softer, filled with hope, promise, and a future you both finally dared to believe in.

The wedding was a quiet affair, intimate and away from the public eye. Sukuna had insisted on it, saying that the world had already taken too much from you both, and this day was yours alone.

Months later, as you stood by his side on the balcony of the presidential residence, overlooking a sea of people cheering for their President and his new First Lady, you felt the weight of everything that had led to this moment.

“I told you I’d fight for you,” Sukuna whispered, his arm wrapping around your waist as he looked out at the crowd.

“And you won,” you said, smiling up at him.

“No,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We won.”

And as the cheers echoed through the city, you knew this wasn’t just the start of a new chapter. It was the beginning of a love story for the ages, one that no amount of politics, scandals, or critics could ever tarnish. You were his, and he was yours—forever.

❅ a/n —please just a reminder I was tired when I wrote then, which made me ramble a bit off and I pushed due to time as well :) I really hope you enjoy this. Deep down I feel like I put more effort into this, than the rest. I have never written anything for Sukuna and I just feel like this one took a lot effort and ideas but I had so much more idea—the time just caught up!!. But enjoy and if you seen any spelling mistakes just know I did not proofread this :') 🐈‍⬛

❅ taglist — @getobitchs, @coffee-and-geto, @emochosoluvr and @tsukuhoe 🍰🤍

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