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[squid--inc]

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[girlygguk]

CRAZY | JJK (Part 2)

summary you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook.

pairing ceo!jk x employee!(f)reader

rating 18+ minors dni; smut, fluff, angst

genre coworkers to lovers au, established relationship

word count 13.2k

chapter content [read part one for full character & story warnings pls.] jk & oc first encounter, jungkook lowkey goes a bit yandere in one two of the scenes 😭, jk punches another guy, love at first fuck lets b real, mention of oc's superior abusing their power (not jk), hyungwon appearance 🙄, heejin appearance 🙄, hobi appearance 🎉, bff jiminie appearance 🎉, time skips, jealous mcs, heated argument, jk lies but like... for the greater good? god idk

warnings dom jk, sub oc, pre established traffic light sw system and degradation consent, doggy, dirty talk, protected p in v sex, praise kink, um slight exhibition kink, rough sex, squirting...(on their first fucking encounter yeeeppp help me god)

a/n this is only 75% edited bc i honestly wasn't going to post it for a whilee as i'm working on some other things atm but i felt bad just watching her sit in my drafts all sad n semi finished 😢 alsoo if a bit of the smut dialogue looks a lil familiar... cough salsa.. its bc i was gonna completelyy change up the sexy scene 🥺 and so i used the smut as inspo for the salsa drabble so it didnt go to waste... bye im such a clown. okay thank u, enjoy, and pls lemme know what u think <3 mwah

crazy pt 1 | masterlist | join my taglist | banner credit

801 DAYS AGO

Your twelve-month contract as a temp Administrative Assistant at Jeon Corp was creeping to an end, and it was safe to say that you were fucking pissed.

You had put everything into this place—countless overtime shifts, moved into an overpriced house in the city near the firm so you were never late. You eat, sleep and breathe this fucking company. And what did you get for it? An almost certain rejection, apparently.

You were more than sure they'd offer you a permanent position. Your stats spoke for themselves. They were flawless. You’d single-handedly cleaned up the absolute fucking disaster left behind by the previous administrative assistant who bailed after Jeon Jun-seo’s passing—and that was not light work.

And by "bailed," you meant that they were part of the bloodbath that ensued when Jungkook took over and wiped out almost half the staff for incompetence.

The staff who remained still grumbled about it—loyalists, maybe, or just people too comfortable with the way things used to be. They hated him for it. He was ruthless, sure, but effective. Jeon Corp wasn't just successful; it was dominating. They went from merely hitting targets to blowing right past them. And that shift started with him.

Jungkook was good. Really fucking good.

He was young, driven, passionate, and not to mention—a sight for sore eyes. Even as someone who didn't like to openly praise men, you couldn't help but be impressed.

Still, you knew your fate wasn't in his hands directly. He wasn't going to be the one deciding whether your temp position would become permanent. He was the CEO—too high up to care about such things. And besides, you'd never even spoken to the guy. You spent most of your time on the twelfth floor, and he was always buried in work on the nineteenth.

Except for that one time.

Maybe three months ago? You had shared an elevator with him when you both arrived at work around the same time. For eleven floors, you stood silently beside him. Well, you were silent. He was on the phone, speaking in that low, gravelly tone that had a way of crawling under your skin. Being so close, you could hear the slight slip of a Busan accent when he spoke. He wasn't rude, just... intense.

Even while curses slipped from his lips to whoever was on the other end of the line, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was just his usual tone—whether he was speaking to a business partner, an enemy, a lover. Either way, you didn't think it was negative. It was just him.

You knew bits and pieces about the guy from what Jimin had shared—him being Jungkook’s assistant and all—but nothing too personal. Not that you needed to know. Though, admittedly, he had piqued your interest.

A month prior to that elevator ride, you’d caught a glimpse of something that had you squirming in your seat. From your office, you had glanced over to see him leading a meeting on your floor. His suit jacket had been tossed over the back of his chair, revealing the dirtiest, prettiest fucking sleeve you’d ever laid eyes on. His big, tattooed bicep flexed with each movement as he pointed at the projector screen.

The sight had you groaning, pushing your unfinished lunch aside and retreating to the bathroom.

You’d tried calling your boyfriend, hoping to pull him into some filthy phone sex, but he was too nervous to go through with it. In the end, you hung up frustrated, finishing yourself off in the stall, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

The elevator ride felt quicker than usual. You kept your eyes fixed on the LED screen, watching the numbers tick up, though you were more focused on the way his cologne filled the space, light but somehow intoxicating. By the time the doors slid open on your floor, his call had ended. You adjusted your bag, turning to him with a polite bow.

"Have a good day, seonsaengnim," you'd said, your voice soft as you smiled.

He didn’t say anything back, just looked at you for a second, his dark eyes sweeping over your face. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he gave you a subtle nod, and you walked off, feeling his gaze linger as you left.

And that was it.

You didn't see him again. Not in the lobby, not passing by in meetings, not even when your car and his were the last ones left in the parking lot after late shifts. It wasn't unusual; he was literally the CEO, always busy, always somewhere else. He didn't have time to notice you.

But you couldn’t help but think about it more than you’d like to admit.

If you'd known that you'd never cross paths with him again, never ride the same elevator, never exchange more than those few words before your temp contract ended—would you have done something different? Said something more?

Maybe you would've clicked a higher floor.

But here you were. No offer. No permanence. Just three job offers from other firms sitting in your inbox, waiting for your reply. Of course, you had a backup plan—you weren't that naive. But something about it stung anyway. You'd take one of those offers at the end of the week, move on, and maybe one day, you'd forget about Jeon Corp entirely.

Sigh.

You were really going to miss Jiminie, though.

“So... how's your shift going?”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping as you twisted the cap off your water bottle, taking a sip before tearing the lid off your salad. Your phone sat on your desk, Hyungwon's voice crackling through the speaker.

"It's going good, Hyungwon," you replied, voice tinged with sarcasm. "Same as every day."

A sad chuckle echoed through the receiver. "Oh, yeah? Well, we just got new printers at the firm, you know, the Lexmark MX8s? What about y—"

The forkful of salad that was halfway to your mouth dropped back into the bowl. "Hyungwon," you interrupted, incredulity dripping from your tone. "Did you really call me to talk about printers?"

"Well, I—no, I just—"

You sighed, reaching for your water again and setting your untouched lunch down. "Hyungwon, I hope you're okay, I really do. And I'm happy for you and your fancy printers," yours were two seasons ahead, "but this isn't helping. You're not going to feel better if—"

"I just miss you, Y/N," his voice cracked, and instantly, your appetite evaporated. You let out another deep sigh, rubbing your temples, as Hyungwon's next words came out shaky. "And I just want to know what I did wrong. We were doing so well. W-what did I do?"

"Hyungwon…" You picked up the phone, taking it off speaker as you leaned back in your chair, eyes focused on the ceiling. "You didn't do anything. You're a great guy, okay?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, his voice bitter and teary. "Girls don't break up with 'great guys' after an amazing year together out of the blue, Y/N."

Was it out of the blue? Had it been amazing?

"We've been over this," you sighed, adjusting the phone in your hand. "A hundred times in the last month. It's not about what you did. We just—"

"Weren't right for each other," he finished, his voice robotic, like he was reciting a script he'd memorized against his will. A sniffle followed as you heard him reach for tissues. "Just… wanted you to know I miss you. And… could I come by next week? Pick up my clothes?"

You took a long drink from your water bottle, feeling a headache forming. "I’ll leave it with reception. You can pick it up from the office—"

"No," he cut in, his voice tight with desperation. "Please, from your place. I just… I need to see you one more time."

You exhaled deeply, eyes unfocused as you stared out your floor-to-ceiling window. It had been a month since you ended things with Park Hyungwon—a month since you stuffed his clothes into a box and offered to drop them off. A month of excuses, a month of him putting it off, dragging out these unbearable phone calls, asking to see you in person, to talk.

You knew why he wanted to make the exchange in person. You weren't stupid. But lately, something about his calls had been giving you a bad feeling—a taste in your mouth that lingered long after you hung up. Hyungwon wasn't dangerous. He wouldn't hurt a fly. But he was... off. These calls always followed a pattern.

First, 1:15pm, right when you started your break, your phone would buzz. You'd glance down, see an incoming call from P.H, and immediately regret ever sharing your lunch schedule with him.

Then, he'd be kind. Sweet. Boring. Asking about your shift, your day, until something—something trivial—would break his composure. He'd start to crack, voice shaking, or worse, he'd burst into tears over something like… printers.

By the end of the call, there was always that weird shift. Not angry, not sad… something in between. A mix of emotions that left you unsettled, and you couldn't quite put your finger on why. You could feel the resentment beneath it all, though—like he definitely blamed you for the breakup, no matter how many times he asked what he could've done to keep you.

That was fine. You were used to people resenting you. You were top of your major, gorgeous, and a bit of a bitch. But hearing that tone in Hyungwon's voice? A human puppy dog you'd spent a year of your life with? It made your skin crawl in a way you couldn't shake.

And now, here he was, asking to see you again. For what? Closure? An emotional showdown? You didn't care. You just knew you had to end this, fast. Another call filled with sniffles and pleas, eating away at what little break time you had? You'd throw yourself out that fucking floor-to-ceiling window before you let that happen again.

"Fine," you sighed, glancing at your watch as you switched the phone to your other ear. "You can come over next week. I'll check my schedule."

"Really?" His voice immediately brightened, and you rolled your eyes. "Shivers! That sounds great! Just text me when—"

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. Shivers? SHIVERS?

"Break's over, Hyungwon," you interrupted, forcing a smile into your voice. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Y/N. I'll call you tomorrow."

The line went dead, and your fist clenched around the phone.

"God," you muttered to yourself, tossing it onto your desk with an exasperated sigh, "I'm changing my fucking break time."

"Should I come back later?"

You yelped at the sudden voice, spinning around in your chair to see your best friend standing in your office doorway, his signature Cheshire grin firmly in place.

"Jiminie!" you beamed, frustration melting away as you rushed over to pull him into a hug. "No, it's okay. It was just—"

"Hyungwon," Jimin finished for you with a knowing, apologetic nod. "You know, you could always just… not answer when he calls?"

You rolled your eyes, brushing a piece of blonde fringe from his face. "And have his suicide on my conscience? No thanks."

"He's a grown man. He can make his own decisions," Jimin shrugged, laughing when you widened your eyes in faux shock.

You shuffled back to your desk, stabbing a cherry tomato from your salad. "Aren't you supposed to be telling me to run back into his arms and admit I was wrong? Some sort of cousin code or something?" you quirked a brow teasingly, humming around the mouthful.

He laughed softly, adjusting the files in his hand. "I'd never tell you to go back to something you were clearly miserable in, Y/N. Even if he is my cousin."

You swallowed another bite, giving him an appreciative smile before finishing the rest of your water bottle. "That is why I love you, Park." You threw the rest of your papers into a folder and linked your arm with his. "And why I'm going to miss you so much." You pouted playfully.

Jimin rolled his eyes, guiding you out of your office. The usual hustle and bustle of level twelve filled the air as he snorted, "Don't say that. You're not going anywhere, Y/N."

"Mm, I beg to differ." You shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. "I haven't heard a word about permanency, and my contract ends in four days." With a dramatic sigh, you added, "Guess you'll just have to visit me at KimCo on your lunch breaks instead."

"First of all," Jimin smirked, "I wouldn't drive across town on my lunch break to visit anyone, even you." You squinted at him as he teased, "And second, yeah, it's shitty that you haven't heard anything about the promotion—"

"And unprofessional," you interjected, rolling your eyes. "And discourteous, and obnoxious, and plain fucking rude—"

He chuckled, cutting you off with a light shrug. "Yes, all of the above," he agreed as you both reached the elevators. Unlinking his arm from yours, he pressed the button to go up. "But… have you accepted the offer at KimCo yet?"

You frowned, glancing at the lit-up arrow pointing up. "No, not yet. I was going to tonight…" You trailed off, turning to him in confusion. "Jiminie, why are we going up? Our meeting's on level seven."

Jimin glanced down at the file in his hand before his mouth opened to respond, but the elevator dinged, catching your attention.

The doors slid open, and you were immediately hit with the faint scent of tobacco and Bvlgari. Your head turned slightly, seeking the source.

Jungkook stood inside, eyes focused on the phone in his hand, dressed in a perfectly pressed designer suit that somehow looked more sinfully casual on him than it had any right to.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from him and turning back to Jimin, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh yeah, uh, the meeting's been pushed back a bit," Jimin said, nodding to the elevator. "But you're needed upstairs for a moment."

You frowned, glancing down at the heavy folder in your hands as you stepped into the elevator. If the meeting was postponed, you wouldn't have dragged this big fucking thing around with you. You left some space between yourself and the CEO and Jimin happily slid in between, his usual smile bright and easy.

The doors closed, and silence settled over the small space. Jungkook was still looking at his phone. Jimin still hadn't pressed a button.

You frowned. "Jiminie, why haven't you clicked a floor?"

He turned toward you, feigning confusion as his eyes flicked toward the panel. "Oh, because it's already pressed." He shrugged, flashing a quick smile before turning forward again.

You stared harder at the panel. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jungkook's broad frame. His phone was tucked away now, but his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. He hadn't said a word.

"Level nineteen?" you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

Jimin nodded, offering you a simple smile.

The elevator crawled its way up slowly with a few more words exchanged between you and Jimin. Then, finally, the elevator dinged open at level nineteen, and the air shifted.

The sleek, pristine hallway stretched out before you, polished floors gleaming so bright that you could almost see your reflection in the tiles. You had only been here once before, for a department meeting with the CCO, Kim Namjoon.

Jimin politely bowed to his boss as you instinctively stepped back, allowing Jungkook to exit first. His gaze never wavered as he nodded in acknowledgment, his movements calm as he stepped out.

As you followed Jimin down the hall, you couldn't help but notice how eerily quiet everything was. The glass-paneled meeting rooms stood empty, the reception desk vacant. The last time you were here, the place had life, but now… nothing.

Jungkook disappeared into his office without a word while you and Jimin continued walking. Your confusion only deepened as you glanced through the glass panes into all the very empty meeting rooms.

Jimin slowed at the entryway to Jungkook's office.

"Jiminie, what's going on?" you asked, gently grabbing his arm. "Am I supposed to have a meeting with Jeon Jungkook-seonsaengnim? Why wasn't I informed? I need to know what's required—"

"Y/N," Jimin interrupted softly, his hand covering yours reassuringly. "I'll explain soon, okay? I know it's last minute, and I'm sorry for that. Let me just make sure everything is on track." He smiled at you before gesturing to the plush seats outside the office. "Take a seat. I won't be long."

You hesitated, but trusting your best friend, you nodded, setting your folder on the table before sitting down. Jimin gave you one last encouraging smile before disappearing inside Jungkook's office, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Your eyes darted around the hallway as you waited, the clean surroundings feeling almost too sterile, too perfect. The glass walls of Jungkook's office made it impossible not to glance inside. You caught a glimpse of him flipping through a file, his expression focused, detached. Jimin approached him, placing his own file down on the desk as the two exchanged quiet words.

Jimin greeted his boss again with a respectful bow. "Seonsaengnim," he smiled, placing the file in front of Jungkook.

Jungkook didn't look up from the papers he was thumbing through. "Is she waiting for me?"

"Yes, sir," Jimin replied, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. "You have about thirty minutes before the board meeting, so I thought now could be a good time for you to meet with Y/LN Y/N… The temp administrative assistant from level twelve? Her contract ends in—"

"Four days," Jungkook finished, finally closing the file in front of him. He reached for the one Jimin had brought, flipping it open. "Why hasn't her contract been extended? Her performance is strong, and she has streamlined operations in her department. Does she not wish to stay with the company?"

"She does, sir," Jimin nodded. "But I was informed by Namjoon-seonsaengnim's assistant that Lee Dohyun does not plan to extend her contract. He intends to let it end."

Jungkook's brow twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he flipped through the papers. "And why does Dohyun plan to do that? She's efficient, profitable. She cleaned up the mess the last administrative assistant left behind." His tone was clipped, irritation poorly masked.

Jimin shifted on his feet, the hint of hesitation visible in his posture. "I'm not entirely sure, sir. It's mostly hearsay, but…" he cleared his throat, glancing at Jungkook before continuing cautiously, "there's a rumor that she rejected one of Dohyun's advances a few months ago. Since then, word has flown around that he's been less than accommodating toward her."

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his fingers stopping their idle flipping as his gaze snapped back to Jimin. "So, he's punishing her for not entertaining him?"

Jimin's silence was enough of an answer.

Jungkook's jaw clenched, the tension in his shoulders building. He flipped the file shut, the subtle thud of the paper echoing in the quiet office.

"Why have you brought her to me, Jimin?" he asked, shooting a sharp look at his assistant. "There's a chain of command. At least six people between Dohyun and me."

"There are," Jimin acknowledged. "But some months ago, you mentioned noticing a significant increase in productivity and efficiency in Administration… You said the improvements could be attributed to the new assistant's work. I just thought considering her contract ends in four days, you'd want to meet her personally before she accepts another offer."

Jungkook leaned back against his desk, glancing at the glass door where you were sitting, your legs crossed, eyes absentmindedly focused on a strand of your hair. His gaze flicked over your tight black pencil skirt, the cream blouse that hugged your figure, the neat ponytail held in place by four bobby pins.

"She's very good," he admitted, eyes dropping back to the folder. "But I don't meddle in the hiring department. Tell Dohyun to reconsider his decision."

Jimin shifted slightly. "He's on leave for the rest of the week, sir."

Jungkook sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Then go to the next in command, Jimin. I'm not—"

"She's accepting an offer from another firm tonight, Jungkook," Jimin said quickly, catching himself. "Jungkook-seonsaengnim," he corrected. "Once she signs the contract with KimCo, there won't be time to make a counteroffer."

Jungkook went quiet; his eyes focused on the closed folder in front of him as Jimin pressed on. "Just five minutes, sir. That's all she needs."

Jungkook's eyes flicked up to meet Jimin's. He rolled his eyes, leaning back on his desk, arms crossing over his chest. "You're supposed to make my life easier, not harder, Park."

Jimin couldn't help but grin, looking over his shoulder to catch you glancing down at your Apple watch. He bit back a snicker when you rolled your eyes, clearly getting impatient.

"She'd be a big loss, seonsaengnim," Jimin said honestly as he turned back to his boss. "I believe I'm making your life easier. You live, eat, and breathe this company."

Jungkook groaned, closing his eyes briefly before nodding. "Send her in. Five minutes."

"Thank you, seonsaengnim." Jimin bowed, turning toward the door.

"Jimin," Jungkook called out, his assistant's hand freezing on the handle.

"Yes, sir?"

"Draft effective immediate termination papers for Lee Dohyun and put them on my desk when you leave for the night."

Jimin bit back a grin. "Yes, sir."

You straightened in your seat as soon as you saw Jimin approaching, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He looked like the cat that caught the canary, and you didn't trust it for a second.

"Y/N, this way, please—"

"No," you snapped, swatting his outstretched hand away. "Brief me."

There was no way you were walking into a meeting with the fucking CEO without any preparation. Was he fucking high?

Jimin chuckled softly, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Relax, Y/N. It'll only take a few minutes. Jungkook's not much of a talker…" He reached out again, and you batted his hand away once more.

He laughed again, then pouted, blinking at you with wide, innocent eyes. "Please, Y/N? Just trust me."

"God, you're a cunt," you muttered under your breath, shooting him a glare as you stood and smoothed your skirt. Reluctantly, you started toward the office.

"Unprofessional…" Jimin teased with a grin, snickering when you turned and mouthed 'get fucked' at him before stepping inside.

The glass doors clicked softly behind you as you entered the impeccably tidy office. "Seonsaengnim," you greeted with a bow. “Y/LN Y/N. It's nice to formally meet you."

Jungkook barely glanced up, his dark eyes sweeping over you for just a moment before he dropped them back down to the file on his desk.

His nod was curt, his voice low and indifferent. "Jeon Jungkook," he said, as if his name wasn't already plastered across every inch of this building.

When he gestured toward the seat in front of his desk, you sat down, crossing your legs as he settled back into his chair. His attention returned to the open file. "Your contract ends in four days."

"Yes, sir," you nodded, hands resting in your lap as you held back any trace of bitterness.

"Do you not wish to stay here?" His voice was steady as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

You blinked, a little surprised by the question. "No, sir. I do wish to stay. But I haven't heard anything from management regarding a permanent position."

"Who do you report to?" Jungkook asked, though you were sure he already knew the answer.

"Lee Dohyun-seonsaengnim."

He leaned back in his chair, drumming his tattooed fingers lightly against the desk as he skimmed the file. "Your work is impressive."

"Thank you, sir." You smiled softly, ignoring how those four simple words made your stomach flip. "That means a lot coming from you."

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer before he closed the file and set it aside. "Y/LN Y/N," he said, his voice calm, "Why do you think your contract hasn't been extended?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "I'm not entirely sure, seonsaengnim."

Jungkook hummed. "You've been here almost a year. Your work speaks for itself. Yet your contract hasn't been extended." His gaze locked on yours, and for a second, he almost looked genuinely interested. "Why?"

You inhaled slowly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. "I've heard rumors, sir. But I'm not one hundred percent certain."

An eyebrow arched, and Jungkook tilted his head slightly. "Let's say the rumors are true. Do you think personal reasons should outweigh performance?"

"No, sir," you answered steadily. "But I don't control the decisions."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with amusement. Whether he appreciated your honesty or just liked watching you squirm, you weren't sure. "Do you plan on accepting an offer from another company, Y/N?"

You gave a slight nod. "Yes, sir. My first choice is KimCo. They've offered me a permanent coordinator role in their administration department. I plan on sending my letter of acceptance tonight, after my shift."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes roaming over you lazily, but enough that it was impossible not to notice. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" he asked finally, his voice casual as he leaned back in his chair. "Or are you happy to go to KimCo?"

"I would prefer to stay, sir," you said, holding his gaze. "If Jeon Corp is willing to match the salary offer and I'm guaranteed a permanent position."

"What's the offer?"

"₩67m, sir."

Jungkook's expression didn't change. "We can do eighty."

"Wha—"

"I'll have your permanent administrative coordinator contract drafted by tonight and emailed to you. Will that work?"

It took you a second to process his words before you blinked in surprise. "Yes, sir," you replied, fighting to keep the smile tugging at your lips in check. "It would."

Jungkook leaned back further in his chair, his eyes flicking over you once more, lingering in a way that wasn't accidental. Then, with a simple nod, he closed the file in front of him. "Good. I'll expect your response by tomorrow morning."

You still don't really know how it happened.

Maybe it started when you stood to give him a polite bow before leaving his office, and he reached out for a handshake at the exact same moment. His cold hand accidentally brushed against the side of your inner breast through your blouse as you leaned forward, and suddenly, both of you froze.

Jungkook pulled his hand back sharply, his brows furrowing as he stared down at the file on his desk like it was the most interesting thing in the world, muttering a low apology, his usual confident tone suddenly gone.

It was... so cute.

Seeing the man who looked like he could ruin your life with just a snap of his fingers suddenly all shy and flustered as if he was more embarrassed than you were? Fucking adorable.

Maybe it was his instinct to avoid an HR complaint, to maintain professionalism in what could have been misconstrued as an inappropriate touch.

But you weren't going to misconstrue it. It was an accident.

And, honestly... you always were kind of a sucker for bad boys with soft eyes.

"Fucking goodddd!!!" you moaned, your voice barely coherent as your cheek pressed against the cold surface of his desk. Each relentless thrust from Jungkook had your body jiggling under him, your mind lost in a haze as his hips slammed into you without mercy. "S-so fucking b-biiiiig."

Your eyes rolled back, throat raw from the croaky whimpers that escaped between each ragged breath. His hand was firm on the back of your head, keeping you pinned down, helpless as he took you apart, piece by piece.

"I know, baby," he cooed, his voice laced with that condescending pout that only made you clench harder around him. "I know it's big, baby. But you can take it, can't you?"

His fingers tangled in your hair, brushing lightly over your flushed cheek in a teasing, mocking pat. Then, without warning, he pulled back and slammed into you harder, deeper, until you felt him hit that spot. That fucking spottt. Your breath caught in your throat as he didn't stop, didn't let up, just kept going, over and over and over.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, nails scraping into the polished wood of his desk until you felt the lacquer gathering beneath your fingernails. The loud, wet slaps of his hips against your ass echoed through the room, his heavy balls smacking into your swollen clit.

"'Course you can take it. 'Cause you're such a hard worker, hm? Such an overachiever, aren't you, baby." His voice dripped with dark amusement, each taunting word sending shivers down your spine. His hand pressed your head harder into the desk, the weight of him leaving you trembling, drool pooling on the wood beneath you as you gasped and whimpered, completely at his mercy.

"You can take it, Y/N. Know you can," he murmured, every word like a filthy promise, his gaze locked on the way your body was surrendering to him, giving him everything. He wasn’t going to stop until you broke. Until you were his.

"Color, baby." He growled into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He hummed in delight when he felt you swallow, your gasps feeding into his satisfaction.

"Green," you choked out, barely able to form the words. "Do anything to me. Green, fucking green to it all," you cried, voice raw as tears blurred your vision, and Jungkook groaned, teeth grazing the delicate skin of your throat in approval.

His grip tightened in your hair again, yanking you upright until your back was flush against his chest. "G-g-godddddd," you choked out, body trembling, tears threatening to spill as his thrusts grew quicker, more brutal, each one slamming harder and louder, drowning out everything else.

Your hands shot up, clawing desperately at the back of his neck as you tried to hold on, your body burning from the inside out as he destroyed you. His lips ghosted over the curve of your neck, teeth grazing your skin just as his hand slipped down your stomach, his fingers finding your swollen, slippery clit with ease.

Jungkook's pace became punishing, driving into you harder and faster, your body quivering under his touch. His lips brushed lazily over your neck, whispering filthy praise into your ear as his fingers circled your clit, sending a jolt through your entire body. The wet, sloppy sounds of his hips smacking into your ass filled the room, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

"F-fuck, Jungkook," you gasped, your voice cracking as his pace quickened even more at the sound of his name on your lips. "It's s-so… fuck…"

He groaned low in your ear, his hand fisting your hair tighter, yanking your head back as his hips crashed into you over and over. "So good, Y/N baby," he cooed, his voice dripping with lust. "You're doing so fucking well. Taking it so good."

The praise made your throat bob, your entire body teetering on the edge of collapse. You couldn't think of anything but him—full, Jungkook, full, Jungkook. It was all-consuming, the only thing that mattered.

You weren't just wet anymore—you were disgustingly soaked, your arousal dripping down your thighs, mixing with the sweat on your skin as he ruined you. You let out a sob as tears streaked down your cheeks, your mascara no doubt smeared beyond repair as your entire body burned with pleasure.

"Careful, baby," he hummed darkly, voice tinged with amusement. "Don't want anyone to hear you, huh. Coming to check if you're okay..."

Your eyes flicked toward the glass doors, your head lolling back into the crook of his neck as you realized the vulnerability of your position. Fucked out, skirt bunched up around your waist, tits spilling over your bra, completely on display and helpless in his arms—holy fuck. The idea of someone seeing you like this had your thighs pathetically trembling as you felt yourself get even wetter. Sicko.

"S-sir," you stammered, the words forced out between his relentless thrusts that threw your body forward. "Cl-close the blinds."

Jungkook's lips curled into a smile against your neck at the lack of conviction in your words. Fucking perfect. His breath was warm as he whispered, "Why would I want to do that?" His hand slid to your chin, his fingers gripping firmly as he forced your eyes to the glass. "Y'look so fucking pretty, Y/N. Who would want to hide all that?"

Humiliation mixed with need, making your core throb even harder. The reflection of your wrecked form stared back at you—trembling, sweaty, makeup running down your tear-streaked face.

Well, he wasn't wrong. You did look kind of pretty.

The thought of how many other women had been in this same position with him briefly slithered through your mind, but you whimpered, pushing it away.

"H-harder, Jungkook… please," you gasped, voice a broken plea. "P-please, baby?"

That was all it took. His low groan vibrated through you, his hands gripping your waist tight as he snapped his hips into you with a force that made the desk rattle beneath your hands. One hand cupped your breast, tugging harshly at your nipple, while the other slipped down to mercilessly slap at your clit over and over.

"Shit, shit, shit, shittttt!" you sobbed, your voice high and broken, pleasure tearing through your body.

"You're close, aren't you?" Jungkook rasped, his voice rough as his thrusts grew erratic, harder, faster. "Getting so fucking tight around me. Gonna come for me, aren't you, baby?"

Your mind was gone. You couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, owning you. "J-Jungkook..." you slurred, your head falling back against his chest, "please make me come, baby, pleasepleasepleaseeee."

Jungkook's arms tightened around your trembling body, and in one quick motion, he sat back in his office chair, pulling you down into his lap. You cried out as his hands hooked under the back of your knees, planting his feet on the ground and spreading your legs wide, completely open, and facing the see-through fucking doors.

He didn't give you a second to breathe before he started pounding into you again, his fat cock hitting so deep at the new angle that your body shook uncontrollably. You couldn't even hear your own cries—just the wet, obscene slapping of skin and Jungkook's gorgeous groans in your ear.

"Rub your fucking clit," he commanded, his voice thick with urgency. "Come. Now, Y/N. Fucking come."

Your hand flew to your clit, trembling fingers rubbing furiously, slipping because you were so fucking wet. "Jungkook," you gasped, voice breaking, tears pouring down your cheeks.

"No, baby, f-fuckkk, I'm sor—" You couldn't stop the sobs, your body convulsing as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you. "Jungkook, I'm—I'm so sorry, ahhhh fuckkk! I-I'm gonna squirt, oh my goddddd!"

"Fuck, yes," he growled, and just as your body started to seize up, his hand shot down, pressing hard on your lower belly and bladder, right where he was buried deep inside you. His hips didn't relent, pounding into you with the same brutal pace.

The pressure on your abdomen made everything inside you snap. Your scream tore through his office as your walls clamped down hard on him, your body shaking violently as your hand trembled, losing its grip on your clit. You came so hard that your hand slipped away entirely, but before the overwhelming release could fade, Jungkook's hand was there, replacing yours instantly. His fingers rubbed your swollen clit with intense pressure, refusing to let you stop.

"Fuckk, look at that fucking pussy, Y/N," he growled as he slapped your pulsing clit over and over. "Keep going, fuck, keep squirting on my fucking dick, baby, holy shittttt."

The filthy command tipped you over the edge again. The sensation was too much, and you started to gush even harder. Wetness sprayed everywhere, soaking his lap, drenching the desk. You were fucking gone.

"Holy fuck," Jungkook choked out at the sight of your cunt gushing out liquid, his hips jerking erratically as his body tensed beneath you. He came hard into the condom with a deep, broken groan, his grip on you tight as he rode out his release, still rubbing your clit with nasty, unrelenting strokes, making sure you didn't stop.

Your body convulsed violently, your legs shaking uncontrollably as he kept rubbing, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm until you were a trembling, sobbing mess. His big hand cupped over your warm pussy, feeling it throb beneath his palm as he slowed his thrusts, easing you through the last shudders of your release.

"My godddd," he growled, his voice raw with awe as he moved his hand and looked down at the mess you'd made. Your quivering pussy, glistening and red, his slacks drenched, the chair wet, and even some paperwork on the desk soaked through.

Fuck, he groaned internally. He's obsessed.

Your chest heaved as you slumped against him, completely spent, your head falling onto his shoulder. Jungkook’s hands glided up and down your trembling thighs, suppressing the smile tugging at his lips as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together.

"Well done," he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead before pressing a soft kiss there. You could still feel his heart racing against your skin as you tried to catch your breath.

"Seonsaengnim," you muttered, still panting, "I'm so sorry about your papers—"

"Shut up," Jungkook cut you off with a roll of his eyes, your sudden shift to formalities clearly grating on him. His hands continued their soothing path over your stomach, fingers brushing lightly over the soft skin before he gently adjusted your legs on his lap. His strong thighs kept your feet dangling above the floor, his touch softening as he patted your belly absentmindedly, his voice easing. "It’s alright."

You tried to gather yourself, your mind still spinning. "I haven't done that in a while," you mumbled into his neck, the words slipping out without thought. "God."

Jungkook swallowed hard, suppressing the mix of emotions rising in his chest. Pride at making you feel this way. Anger at knowing someone else had. His jaw clenched briefly before he cleared his throat, forcing a casual hum of acknowledgment. "Good."

He patted your belly a couple more times, as though resetting his focus. "You okay to get dressed?" he asked, his voice slipping into something nonchalant, though the grip on your thighs lingered a moment longer than necessary. "I've got a meeting soon."

You cleared your throat and nodded, feeling a little unsteady as you began to push yourself up from his lap. His hands helped guide you as you stood, and you winced slightly as he slipped out of you, leaving you feeling oddly empty. Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you ignored the sensation, letting your skirt fall back into place. You glanced around the room, searching for your panties.

You crouched down, looking under the chair, then the desk, even flipping through some of the papers on his desk, but there was no sign of them.

"Have you seen my…?" you trailed off, turning to look at him, feeling the confusion settle in as you noticed his casual indifference. Jungkook, now having disposed of the condom, zipped up his slacks with an air of calmness that seemed just a bit too casual for your liking.

You raised a brow, suspicion growing. His expression mirrored yours with a glint in his eyes.

"Where are they?" you asked, narrowing your gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he straightened his shirt. Then, he casually slipped his hands into his pockets, and that's when you caught the faintest flicker of black lace peeking out from one of them.

You scoffed, stepping toward him, but before you could snatch them back, Jungkook caught your hand. He snickered softly as he brought it to his lips, pressing a mocking kiss to your knuckles.

“01J09. Lock the door when you leave, Y/N." His tone was commanding but light as he slipped past you, grabbing his suit jacket as if nothing had happened. He gave you one last look before walking out of the room, leaving you standing in the middle of his messed-up office.

You slumped back into his chair with a huff, quickly adjusting your bra and buttoning your blouse. As you started to tidy the room, you found some disinfectant wipes in a cupboard and began cleaning the desk, trying to distract yourself.

The sound of the door opening behind you startled you, and you quickly turned, assuming Jungkook had returned. But when you locked eyes with your best friend smirking widely at the scene, your stomach dropped.

"You fucking slut!" Jimin shouted, closing the door behind him as he made his way toward you, cupping your face with both hands. His grin was bright, teasing, as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Holy shit! I'm mortified that I just walked past and saw my best friend getting railed by my boss… but I'm also so fucking happy! So, are you staying? Are you guys a thing? How did it happen? Holy fuck—"

"Jiminie," you whined, pulling his hands away and turning back to the desk to finish cleaning, "I'll tell you later. My legs hurt, and we need to get to the meeting—"

"The meeting's over," Jimin interrupted with a snicker, "it's been an hour."

"What the fuck?!" Panic washed over you as you turned to face him, eyes wide.

Jimin just shrugged, still wearing that smug smile. "It's fine, Y/N. I took notes; they're on our shared drive. It wasn't anything important. Definitely not as important as the 'meeting' you were in."

You snorted, tossing the used wipes into the bin and slipping your heels back on as you made your way toward the door, legs still shaky. "Jesus, Jimin, I can barely walk."

"I noticed," Jimin teased, his voice full of amusement. "Want me to carry you?"

"No thanks," you replied quickly, shuddering at the thought. "I'd rather crawl than have anyone see you carry me out of here."

"Are you at least going to the bathroom to fix your hair and makeup?" he asked, eyeing you critically. "You look like you were attacked by a swarm of wasps..."

You groaned. "Yes, Jiminie. I'm going to the bathroom. Now stop pestering me, or you'll be having movie night alone tomorrow."

His smirk softened into a playful smile. "Okay, okay. I'll wait for you in your office."

You waited for him to leave before entering the pin code to lock Jungkook's office door. After hearing the beep and confirming the door was secure, you turned to head toward the bathroom, only to find Jimin still blocking your path, brows furrowed and eyes wide.

"Jimin-ah, move—"

"He gave you the code to his office?" Jimin's voice was serious now, the lightheartedness from earlier gone.

You blinked at him, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. "Yes. Can you please move?"

Jimin didn't budge. His frown deepened as he processed the information. “Y/N… He doesn't just give the code to his office out. To anyone."

Your stomach twisted at his words. "Maybe he'll change it later. He said he had a meeting to go to—"

Jimin shook his head. "He hasn't changed that code since he took over. And… he just canceled his meetings for this afternoon. I thought it was because…"

The sinking feeling in your stomach grew worse. Of course, Jungkook lied and just wanted to leave. What was he supposed to do—sit there and cuddle you? Offer you aftercare? This wasn't new for him. You weren't special. Just another woman in a long line.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the bile rising in your throat. "Jiminie, can I… meet you downstairs? I need to go to the bathroom."

Jimin's expression softened instantly, his hand reaching out to brush some hair from your face before leaning in to kiss your forehead. "Okay, love. I'll get you some water and wait in your office."

You thanked him quietly before heading to the bathroom, locking the door before you leaned heavily against the sink. Staring at your reflection, you sighed at the sight. Your sleek ponytail was merely a distant memory, makeup smeared beyond repair. And there, on your neck, was a deep hickey blooming against your skin.

"Idiot," you muttered to yourself as you turned the tap on, starting to scrub your face clean in attempt to erase every trace of what just happened.

What was happening to you? You never let stuff like this get to you. You'd had more than your fair share of one-night stands, and you knew better than to let them mean anything. It was nothing to him, and it should've been nothing to you.

But god, it felt like so much more than nothing.

"Idiotttt," you muttered again, this time more frustrated. As you aggressively wiped away the mascara and dried tears, your eyes kept drifting back to the hickey. You sighed, knowing you had no makeup to cover it until you got back to your office.

With a huff, you walked toward the toilet and sat down, your hand grazing the mark on your neck while you peed. The memory of his lips still lingered fresh in your mind, and the longer you sat there, the more the reality of it all began to sink in.

Fuck, you groaned internally. You're obsessed.

Jungkook pulled the keys from the ignition, stepping out of his car and adjusting the collar of his suit jacket when it shifted out of place. The door clicked shut behind him as he locked the Mercedes, casually slipping his phone into his pocket—right next to your panties, still snug in the black fabric of his slacks.

When he reached the reception desk, a fake redhead sat behind it, focused on a stack of paperwork. She didn’t notice him at first, not until the sound of his footsteps caught her attention. The moment her eyes met his, Jungkook noticed the way she straightened in her seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh, hello,” she greeted, her voice sweet but dripping with an attempt at seduction. “Welcome to Jang Merriott. How can I be of service?”

Jungkook swallowed the grimace threatening to surface, but his lips curved into that fake, charming smile he’d perfected for work events. “Hi, darling.” His voice was smooth, just the right amount of warmth. “I’m here for a business meeting, but I’m so silly...” He leaned in slightly, watching her eyes widen. His voice dropped to a lower, more intimate tone. “I forgot which room it’s in. Think you could help me?”

His eyes flicked to her nametag—Cho Minju—and when he looked back, he could practically see her mind spinning. “I-I…” she stammered, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Do you have the name of the—”

“Lee Dohyun,” Jungkook answered easily, not missing the way she gulped when he added softly, “Thank you, baby.”

“L-Lee Dohyun,” she echoed nervously, typing the name into the system with shaky fingers. Then she paused, biting her lip. “I, um… I really shouldn’t if you aren’t—if you’re not on the guest list…”

“It would really help me out, Minju-yah,” Jungkook murmured, his voice taking on a softer, boyish edge. His brows furrowed just slightly as he leaned in a touch more, looking at her through his lashes. “If I’m late, Dohyun-seonsaengnim will kill me… I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Her wide eyes blinked up at him, her lip caught between her teeth. He could see the internal battle playing out in her head—protocol versus the hot guy in front of her. Predictably, protocol lost.

“Floor 13, room 304,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed.

“Thank you, baby,” Jungkook replied with a charming smile, slipping a hundred-dollar bill into her tip jar before walking toward the elevator. Minju’s breath caught again as he turned and walked toward the elevator, not looking back once.

As the elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, Jungkook’s facade dropped, and he let out a small, amused scoff. He thought that was going to cost him at least a couple grand.

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended. When the monotone voice announced floor 13, the doors slid open, revealing a quiet, plush carpeted hallway. Jungkook strode out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he made his way to room 304.

“Jungkook-seonsaengnim?” Dohyun’s voice cracked in surprise when he opened the door, eyes widening at the unexpected sight of his boss. “I’m on leave, sir, is everything oka—”

The words barely left his mouth before Jungkook’s fist connected sharply with the side of his jaw. The force of the blow sent Dohyun crashing to the ground, his head snapping back as he sprawled out, half-dangling outside the doorway. His feet splayed awkwardly on the floor, barely moving. Jungkook nudged his limp body inside with the toe of his polished shoe, stepping over him as he calmly closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“Everything’s fine, Dohyun.” Jungkook’s voice was casual, almost too calm, as he crouched down to level his gaze with the man on the floor. Dohyun was clutching his jaw, eyes wide with terror, blinking back tears as he struggled to sit up. Confusion mixed with fear spread across his face, trembling as he tried to find his words.

Jungkook tilted his head, a slow, cold smirk pulling at his lips. "Great, actually," he continued, the menace in his voice unmistakable. His eyes flickered over the man on the ground as if he were nothing more than something to be dealt with. “And it’ll be even better in a second.”

TODAY

The soft click of heels against tile echoed down the pristine hall of level nineteen. Jimin and Hobi were either side of you, all three of you deep in conversation about Jimin's latest epic love saga.

“And afterward, we went and got ice cream,” Jimin sighed, a dreamy smile spreading across his lips. “And he even paid for my cone. I think he’s the one.”

You and Hobi shared a knowing look before turning back to him. Hobi giggled, shaking his head, while you leaned your head on Jimin’s shoulder, smiling warmly. “I’m sure he is, honey. Was it at least a double scoop?”

Jimin beamed, nodding enthusiastically, but his excitement faltered the second he caught the teasing smirks plastered on your and Hobi’s faces. His expression morphed into a pout as he narrowed his eyes at the both of you.

"Whatever. Just because you—" Jimin shot a pointed look at Hobi, "—don’t sleep with anyone more than once because of your deep-rooted commitment issues, and you—" he turned his accusing gaze to you, "—have found the only person in Seoul as crazy and fucked up as you to spend the rest of your life with, doesn’t make Min Yoongi any less of a perfect prince."

Hoseok grunted, crossing his arms dramatically as you broke into laughter. "You're not wrong," you hummed with a shrug, right as Hobi muttered defensively, "I don't have commitment issues."

It was Hobi’s turn to receive knowing looks from both of you before he sighed, dramatically slowing his pace as you reached the entrance of the meeting room. "Whatever, you guys suck."

Snickering softly, the three of you stepped inside, bowing politely to the handful of executives already seated around the large meeting table. As usual, the three of you were early, but you noticed that a few others had already claimed their seats. Unfortunately, there weren’t three consecutive spots left for you all to sit together.

Your gaze immediately went to the head of the table, the seat reserved for the CEO, which was still empty. You knew Jungkook was in a meeting with Kim Namjoon that had run overtime, so their arrival was indefinitely delayed.

The seat closest to the CEO’s chair—Namjoon’s usual spot—was unoccupied, but the one on the opposite end, typically claimed by you, Jimin, or Hobi, was already taken. You felt your blood boil when you saw Heejin, the newly appointed temp head of Communications while Sana Minatozaki was on maternity leave, sitting there comfortably, scrolling through a document on her laptop.

Jimin caught your eye, noticing Heejin as well, and gestured toward the chair next to her, silently offering it to you. You just shook your head, flashing a small smile as if to say, no fucking thanks. He and Hobi settled into two seats beside each other, leaving you to scan the rest of the room for an available spot.

Your options weren’t great.

A middle seat between Hailey and Vernon—two relentless chatterboxes from levels three and four—caught your eye. You grimaced immediately at the thought of being dragged into their non-stop, ping-pong conversation about god knows what. They could probably talk about fucking office supplies for hours if given the chance.

Then your gaze shifted to the next option: a seat next to Kang Minho, the scruffy finance head. As expected, he was already twirling a cigar between his fingers, his eyes twitching in clear defiance of the new no-smoking rule in meetings. The urge to light it was practically vibrating off him.

You sighed.

That left the only bearable choice: a seat next to Oh Sehun, the head of Technology and Innovation. He was known to be quiet and professional, and most importantly, he's least likely to annoy you.

Resigned, you pulled the chair next to Sehun, placing your laptop and phone on the table in front of you. He glanced over with a polite smile, nodding in greeting. You returned the gesture, settling into your seat and immediately focusing on starting up your laptop.

The room settled into a quiet lull, with only a few hushed conversations breaking the silence. Most of the attendees were either finishing up side discussions or preparing for the meeting as they trickled in. As your laptop booted up, you instinctively picked up your phone, slipping it under the table. Your fingers moved quickly, opening the location app and tapping on Jungkook’s name. The pin was still loading when you heard a throat clear beside you.

Oh, here we fucking go.

“Y/N-ssi?”

You locked your phone and turned toward Sehun with a forced smile. "Yes, Sehun-ssi. How can I help?"

His smile widened slightly, a little shy. "Uh, I just wanted to say… congratulations. Your promotion to Head of Operations & Efficiency—it's no small feat. Not an easy title to earn or handle. But I've seen your work, and it's… admirable. Truly."

You almost frowned, caught off guard. That was… really sweet.

"Oh," you replied, your voice softening. "Thank you, Sehun-ssi, that’s very kind of you. I appreciate it a lot." You smiled genuinely this time. "And I’ve heard a lot about you, too. Running your department is also no easy task, and you do it well."

Sehun grinned, his head dipping slightly as his ears turned a bit red. "Ah, thank you so much," he murmured, looking humbled. "I’ve learned a lot from our CEO, Jungkook-seonsaengnim. He’s incredible. One day, I hope to have my own business and run it just like him."

You bit the inside of your lip, warmth swelling in your chest at the compliment to your man. "He is," you agreed softly, your smile a little more private this time. "And I’m sure you will."

Sehun’s lip was caught between his teeth as his eyes seemed to linger just below yours, but before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room, drawing your attention. You turned toward the entrance.

Jungkook and Namjoon strode into the room, their presence immediately commanding attention. Namjoon greeted the department heads with a dimply smile, but your eyes locked onto Jungkook. His gaze, however, wasn’t on you—it was unwaveringly fixed on Sehun’s reddened face. A flash of something dark crossed his features, and he didn’t spare you or anyone else a glance as he took his seat at the head of the table.

Straightening in your chair, you swallowed the scoff that rose in your throat. He didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention already on the file in front of him as he flipped through it silently. Namjoon’s eyes flickered over Jungkook’s hardened expression before realizing the CEO wouldn’t be opening the meeting. Clearing his throat, Namjoon stood up and took over.

"Good morning, everyone. Glad to see you all here," Namjoon greeted, flashing a bright, toothy smile. The room responded with polite murmurs. "We’ve got a full agenda today, so let’s start with—"

About thirty minutes into the meeting, you were still focused on your notes. Namjoon was wrapping up his discussion on a new marketing campaign strategy that had piqued your interest. You were typing up the last few points when Jungkook’s deep voice suddenly rang out. Your body reacted instantly, muscles relaxing after hearing him finally speak after what felt like hours of his silence.

"Sehun," Jungkook called out, his tone firm and commanding, and your head snapped up instinctively, surprised to find that Sehun had leaned over, perhaps about to whisper something to you while Namjoon was speaking.

"Did you have a question about the campaign strategy?" Jungkook’s voice was measured, but you felt the tension behind it.

Sehun jerked back, startled by the sudden attention. "Oh, I- no, sir, I was just—"

"Conversing with your colleague while your superior was in the middle of speaking," Jungkook finished for him, his dark gaze unwavering, pinning the tech head in place. "I'm sure I’d be more than capable of answering any questions you have regarding the project. Go ahead."

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order.

Sehun swallowed nervously, eyes flicking down to his laptop as if it held the answers. Then, foolishly, he glanced at you, probably hoping for some kind of lifeline. You could only offer him an apologetic look, knowing your boyfriend's ways.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched visibly, his irritation evident as he barked out, "Do you need her to speak for you?" His fist tightened on the table beside him, knuckles paling. "Are you that incompetent?"

Your gaze slowly shifted from Sehun, who was visibly shaken, to your boyfriend, who was fucking seething. You sighed softly, dropping your gaze back to your laptop, fingers resuming their typing with a small shake of your head.

And then his voice came again. A little softer, but still pissed. "Did you have something to add, Y/N?"

Your fingers froze mid-typing. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. You could feel every pair of eyes turning to you. Everyone knew about your relationship with Jungkook. It wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t exactly something you had announced over the firm intercom, either. Most of the department heads were aware and knew better than to draw attention to it, but there were still some, like poor Sehun, who hadn’t quite pieced it together yet.

When you looked up, Jungkook’s dark eyes were locked on you. From your peripheral, you saw Jimin and Hobi exchanging wide-eyed glances, while Heejin’s gaze flickered nervously between you and the CEO.

Every fiber in your bratty being wanted to fight back, make him repeat himself, ask him what the fuck he was trying to prove by putting you on the spot in front of a room full of department heads. But the professional in you won out, forcing you to bite your tongue.

You shook your head calmly. "No, sir." The silence was deafening. You turned to Namjoon, whose eyes were carefully trained on his papers. "My apologies, Namjoon-seongsaengnim," you said. "We didn’t mean to interrupt you. Please, continue."

Namjoon nodded appreciatively, sending you a brief smile before moving on. “Right, as I was saying…”

The meeting finally wrapped up, and everyone began packing up their things. Some were quicker than others to vacate the room, with Kang Minho leading the pack, cigar already halfway to his lips, lighter flicking in agitation.

You closed your laptop with a little more force than intended, irritation still simmering under your skin. Grabbing your jacket off the back of your chair, you stood, feeling Sehun shifting beside you, fumbling to gather his things. You could almost sense the apology hanging on the edge of his lips, and you sighed internally, praying he wouldn’t try and engage in conversation with you again.

Jimin and Hobi walked over, ready to leave, but your attention was drawn to Heejin’s voice as she spoke to Jungkook. Your movements slowed as you listened.

“Thank you for such a great meeting, seonsaengnim,” she said sweetly, her fingers tapping the edge of her laptop.

You clenched your jaw slightly, the inside of your cheek caught between your teeth. Namjoon had handled ninety percent of the presentation—what the fuck was she even thanking him for?

“I actually had a few concerns for the Communications department that I was hoping to run by you—"

"Take them up with your superior," Jungkook replied, not even bothering to glance her way as he slipped his phone into his pocket and made his way toward the door.

Heejin smiled, clearly undeterred as she closed her laptop and followed after him. "But you are my superior," she giggled. Your brows furrowed as you turned to look at her follow after your man like a lost puppy. Your grip on your laptop tightened.

Jungkook sighed, forgetting she had even been promoted recently. Still, he didn’t glance at her. “Make an appointment with one of my assistants, Heejin,” he said, his voice dripping with impatience. “I have somewhere to be. Excuse me, please.”

Excuse me, please? You rolled your eyes. Why doesn't he just tell her to get on her knees and get to work?

Heejin nodded, still all smiles as she left the room, laptop clutched to her chest. You gathered your things and fell into step with Jimin and Hobi. Jungkook paused near the end of the table, his gaze boring into you, but you ignored the stare, slipping between your friends as you headed out.

“Y/N-ssi,” Sehun’s voice cut through the air as he jogged to catch up with the three of you.

You sucked your teeth, glancing down at your watch. Fifteen minutes until your production conference. Enough time to grab something to eat since you’d skipped breakfast—thanks to Jungkook’s insistence on christening yet another room in your new house this morning. The laundry room, this time. And as it turns out, sex on top of a dryer was a lot better and less uncomfortable than you’d expected.

Jimin took your laptop from your hands, giving you a soft smile. "I’ll drop this off at your office. Hobi and I are heading that way."

You nodded in thanks, turning back to Sehun, only to catch Jungkook’s eyes glaring at you from behind the tech leader’s frame. His brows were furrowed, a silent question written all over his face—what the fuck are you doing?

Ignoring your fuming boyfriend, you refocused on Sehun. "You alright?" you asked.

Sehun nodded quickly. "Yeah, I just—" He started to say more but stopped abruptly, his body stiffening as if he could feel Jungkook's glare on the back of his neck. Turning, he blinked, clearly startled to see the CEO still there. "Oh—hi, sir. Once again, I’m so sorry about—"

"It’s okay, Sehun-ssi," you cut him off, drawing his attention back to you. "I need to grab something to eat. Is this important?"

Sehun shifted nervously. "Ah, well... it can wait." His ears were going red again. "How much time do you have? Did you want to stop by the cafe on level 10 before your conference? I was heading there anyway—"

At that, Jungkook’s head snapped up, his gaze zeroing in as he pushed himself off the table. You stepped around Sehun, positioning yourself between him and your clearly furious boyfriend.

"No, thank you, Sehun. I’ll catch you later, okay?" You kept your tone light, ignoring the fact that you had definitely not told him that you were on your way to a conference.

Sehun, still a bit confused, turned slightly to see what had you moving so quickly. And that’s when he saw it—Jungkook’s dark, cold glare burning holes through him. Before Sehun could stutter another word, Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to you, noting the goosebumps on your arms. He grabbed the jacket from your hands and silently made you slip your arms into it.

That’s when the realization hit Sehun like a fucking brick.

His face went ghostly pale, and you could visibly see him swallow nervously. "Oh my god… are you—are you two—"

You nodded simply, sliding your arms into the jacket as Jungkook remained silently brooding behind you.

"I—I am so—sir, I’m so sorry! I would never—"

"Sehun-ssi, it’s fine." You gave him a polite, almost bored smile. "Let's talk later."

Sehun barely managed a shaky nod before he bolted, red-faced and flustered, out of the room.

"You’re such a jealous psycho," you muttered under your breath, turning to face Jungkook, who was still fuming quietly. You puckered your lips for a kiss.

Jungkook just glared, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before leaning down to give you a quick, soft peck. You frowned, leaning in for another, but he pulled back, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Why’d you sit there?" he asked, glancing down at your jacket, noticing you hadn’t done up the top two buttons. When he reached to fasten them, you smacked his hand away, refusing to let him make you look like a nun.

"Because your girlfriend was in my usual seat," you shot back, poking him in the stomach before turning on your heel and heading toward the door.

"And I’m the jealous one?" he muttered, flicking the lights off as he followed behind you.

"Yes," you hummed, walking down the now-empty hall, clear of all the departmental seniors and visitors.

You reached the elevator when Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his head resting comfortably in the crook of your neck. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek as you reached out to press the down arrow.

"That poor boy almost pissed himself because of you."

"I felt like I was very soft on him," Jungkook shrugged, taking a deep inhale of your honey scented skin before pressing a kiss to your neck and standing upright. His hands slipped under your jacket to rest on your belly over your blouse, his fingers grazing your skin gently. "Could’ve been a lot worse."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t resist the urge to look up at his adorable pout. You puckered your lips again, and this time, he gave in, leaning down for a proper kiss. Spinning in his arms, his hands fell naturally to rest on your ass as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

A soft moan escaped your lips when his tongue slid between them, licking into your mouth in the way only he could. It felt like only milliseconds before the elevator dinged, snapping you back to reality. You reluctantly pulled away, biting his lip gently before spinning around to face the opening doors.

The elevator revealed Kim Namjoon, standing there with his head tilted, eyebrow raised. "Jungkook-ah, the board is waiting. Answer your fuckin' phone, man," the CCO huffed, gesturing for you both to step inside with a hurried wave of his hand.

You smiled at Namjoon and walked into the elevator, Jungkook right behind you. His hand found its way back to your belly, rubbing absentmindedly as you hit the button for level 12.

Namjoon scrolled through something on his phone, snickering. "What time are you planning on getting there tonight, Kook? The RSVP says 6, but they don’t start serving drinks until 8, so I'll be there around 9," he chuckled.

Your ears perked up at the mention of the event. You fiddled with Jungkook’s tattooed fingers on your stomach, glancing up at him as you waited for him to respond.

"For what?" Jungkook asked, not looking up from his phone.

You almost frowned at his response. He already told you he had a sponsorship function tonight. Jungkook never forgets things like that.

Namjoon barely glanced up. "That promo celebration for the girl taking over for Sana-ssi?" He explained, locking his phone and leaning back. "Shit, I forgot if we need to bring gifts. I'll check with my assistant—"

You didn’t hear anything after that. Everything faded, the muffled sounds of the elevator blending together like white noise. Jungkook’s hand stiffened against your stomach, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

He hadn’t gotten his schedule mixed up. He knew damn well what event Namjoon was referring to. The "sponsorship function" was actually a celebration for that dirty slut from level 7, and that dirty slut from level 7 had gotten a permanent promotion, which would bring her even closer when fucking working with him.

The elevator doors slid open, and without a second thought, you shoved Jungkook’s hand off you and stormed out.

"Baby," Jungkook was immediately on your tail, ignoring Namjoon’s confused calls from behind.

"Wh— Jungkook-ah? What the fuck? Where are you going?"

"Baby, wait." Jungkook's voice was tense as he caught up to you, but when his hand reached out to grab your arm, you shoved it off aggressively.

"I’m so fucking serious right now, don’t touch me, Jungkook." You spat, whipping around to face him. He just shook his head, trying to step closer, but you put your hand up, keeping him at a distance. "I’m not fucking kidding—"

"Baby, listen to me—" he tried, his voice urgent.

"Get the fuck away from me," you snapped, digging into your pocket for your phone, your fingers trembling as you scrolled through your contacts. "God, you know I fucking hate it when you lie, and you just—" You groaned, your fist tightening around your phone as you shoved his hands off you once again.

"Who are you texting?" Jungkook frowned, trying to get a look at your phone over your shoulder.

"None of your fucking business," you spat, stepping out of his reach.

"Y/N, don't. If you're not going to let me explain—"

"My mom," you snapped sarcastically, your fingers flying across the screen as you started typing. "They finally adapted technology so you can get cell reception six feet underground now. It's great."

Jungkook scoffed, clearly unamused, but he continued following closely behind you as you started walking again. "If you can lie to me, then I can fucking lie to you, right?" you added mockingly.

He tried to grab your phone, but you dodged him, sending the message just in time. His jaw tightened when he saw the screen. "Like hell you’re sleeping at Jimin’s tonight, are you fucking crazy?"

"Well, I’m not staying in a house with a fucking liar, that’s for sure," you shot back, your tone sharp as you moved further away from him.

"You’re not staying at Jimin’s," he repeated firmly, his voice absolute.

His certainty made you laugh bitterly. "I’m staying at Jimin’s or I’m staying at Hyungwon’s. You fucking choose."

Jungkook’s fists clenched at his sides, his face hardening in disbelief. "Why the fuck would you say that, Y/N?"

"I don't have anywhere to go, Jungkook!" Your voice rose, frustration and pain bubbling to the surface. You could feel eyes on you from the staff scattered around the floor, but you didn’t care. "You are my home. I don’t have anywhere else to fucking—"

Jungkook’s expression softened when your voice broke, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He stepped closer, his hands slipping under your jacket, palms smoothing down your hips. "Then don't fucking go, baby. Just don’t go anywhere, please. Don’t go to Jimin’s." He begged.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the warmth of his hands, the familiar comfort of his body close to yours. His face rested in the crook of your neck, and despite your anger, you found yourself leaning into him slightly, knowing full well that getting to your conference on time now was just a lost cause.

"Tell me why you lied then," you mumbled, your voice quieter, your sniffles betraying you.

Jungkook pulled back, his thumbs swiping gently under your eyes, wiping the tears away before they could fully form. His fingers brushed under your nose as he wiped away the dribble there. "Because I knew it would upset you. We’ve been doing so well in our new place, baby—I didn’t want anything to ruin it." His voice was soft, almost pleading. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was only going to make an appearance and come home straight away."

You studied his face, your own expression softening despite the anger still bubbling inside you. You understood him, you really did. But you still hated when he lied. "Then why didn’t you just ask me to go with you?" Your voice wavered, doubt creeping in despite yourself. "Did you... not want to be seen with me?"

You didn’t even know where the self-doubt was coming from. Jungkook loved you. He loved letting people know you were his. He didn’t care who was around when he kissed you or rested a hand on your body, claiming you without shame. But something about Heejin… She got under your skin in a way that you couldn’t describe. Maybe it was because she’d been here longer, known him longer. She was going to be in meetings with him now—department head meetings, one-on-one meetings. The thought alone made you feel sick.

Jungkook sighed, his hands cupping your cheeks, and pressed two quick, soft kisses on your lips. "Don’t say dumb shit like that," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. "I wanted to have a joint office, but you said that was unprofessional or whatever." He rolled his eyes, giving you a little smirk.

You blinked, hugging your arms around yourself, stepping back a little. "Then why?" Your voice was quieter now, laced with the confusion and hurt you couldn’t hide. "Why didn’t you want me to go? I’ve gone with you to plenty of functions."

Jungkook hesitated, and you felt the tension settle back into the air between you. His silence weighed heavy, and that familiar twist of anxiety and anger began to gnaw at you again.

"It’s because of Hyungwon, isn’t it?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer. "You didn’t want me to go because people from his firm are going to be there, and he could be too, right?"

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening slightly as he averted your gaze. He didn’t need to say anything. His silence confirmed everything.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head. Not only did he keep you away from a party celebrating the one woman you couldn’t stand the most when it came to him, but he also made sure you didn’t go because of the one man he had a problem with the most when it came to you was attending.

"Fucking hypocrite," you muttered, stepping further back from him, your stomach turning in disgust.

"Baby, it’s not like that—" he started, his tone filled with urgency.

"Then what is it like, Jungkook?" Your voice rose again, frustration spilling out as you threw your hands up. "You didn’t tell me about the party because you knew it would piss me off that it’s for Heejin. But you also didn’t want me to go because there was a chance Hyungwon could be there! So, what? I can’t go because you have a problem, but I’m supposed to sit at home and wait for you like a fucking housewife while you go to a party for a bitch that you know I can’t stand? How the fuck does that make sense?"

Jungkook’s face was a mixture of guilt and frustration. He took a step toward you, but you held up your hand again, stopping him in his tracks.

"God, can you just go away?" you spat, your voice trembling slightly as you felt the tears begin to well up again. Shaking your head, you started to walk away.

"Baby," Jungkook grunted, his frustration growing as he followed you.

"No, Jungkook. I need space. Seriously." You didn’t even turn around, your voice sharp as you neared your office.

"We don’t do space. That’s not how we work," he argued, right behind you.

"Well, maybe we need to start doing space," you snapped, reaching for the door handle.

Before you could pull the door open, Jungkook grabbed your wrist, spinning you around to face him. His eyes were intense, wild, like he was barely keeping himself together. "If you keep walking away from me, I'm going to follow you into that conference room and make you sit in my fucking lap during your entire presentation."

The seriousness in his voice made you want to roll your eyes, but you kept your expression blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer, but he didn’t stop. "I can’t have you two in the same room, Y/N." His voice was low, almost dangerous, as if just saying Hyungwon’s name triggered something in him.

You just blinked, still silent.

“If I see him anywhere near you, I’ll kill him.” Jungkook said it simply, like it was just another fact. “I wouldn’t regret it. But they probably won’t let you stay in my cell with me, would they, baby?” His brows furrowed, head tilting as he asked, like he was genuinely curious to know the answer.

a/n i cut it here because the rest is nawttt edited at all and very rough 😬 but any takers on a part 3 ??!!?! just give me 6 months and it's all yours xx

[mcfarlandandsonflooring]

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[pinkrelish]

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.”

[sturniolosiphone]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖Mentions drinking⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

divider by: @bernardsbendystraws

“ooh fuck baby, gotta be careful,” matt chuckles, grabbing your arm to steady you while you try to conquer the stairs. “mmm, sorry drunk,” you hiccup, grabbing for the doorknob but missing.

“it’s okay...I got it; you just stay there.” he grabs your shoulders, moving you slightly to the side, ensuring you are not near the steps before opening the door and leading you into the apartment. you stumble into the apartment, drop your purse on the floor, head to the freezer, and grab an entire tub of ice cream. matt laughs, shaking his head and grabbing your bag off the floor before placing it on the table.

“you know i told you four glasses of wine at dinner would get you drunk.” he gives you a warm smile and grabs two spoons. you fumble with the ice cream, and he takes the tub out of your hands, taking the lid off. “and you said you’d be fine.” he takes a spoonful of ice cream and places it on his tongue.

“i am fine! i’m very fine,” you giggle, taking a spoonful for yourself.

“you’re fine. still, you’re swaying back and forth and getting ice cream all over your pretty little face.” he raises his eyebrows, smirking at you.

“i love mint chocolate chip.” you give him a big toothy smile, chocolate melted on the corners of your mouth. he uses his thumb to wipe the chocolate off your face.

“you’re missing your mouth a lot for someone who claims to love it,” he chuckles. “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? you’re already going to have a headache from all the wine, and you probably shouldn’t be eating ice cream so late little girl,” he winks, reaching around to give your ass a light pat. you pout, but allow him to put the ice cream in the freezer and throw the spoons into the sink.

you both head to his bathroom, and you groan. “need to wash my face, but i don’t wannnaaa” you whine.

“baby, you’re going to kill me in the morning if you find out I let you go to bed without washing your face. i’ll help you, okay?” he reaches for the headband you always put on before washing your face and slips it on you. he turns on the water and tells you to lean over, but not before checking the water temp with his hand. he gently wets your face, applies your face wash to his palms, and massages the soap into your skin.

you close your eyes at the sensation and sway a little bit. matt puts his leg behind you to attempt to stabilize you. “sooo drunk,” he teases. matt finishes washing your face and wipes you with a towel. he sits on the side of the bathtub and grabs your moisturizer. he squirts some into his palms and swipes it onto your face. he rubs the moisturizer on your face, kissing the tip of your nose as he does so. “you’re so pretty,” he whispers when he’s done. “you ready for bed, my drunk girl?”

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife #10 : Snack Time

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Momma bird hungry for all the snacks in the world. Takes some time and frustration before Joel figures out the exact kind of snack you really want.

Warnings: Pregnant reader, Angry!Joel, oral M!receiving, face fucking, throat bulge, throat-pie, dumbification, junk food binge, eating meat, bossy reader as always

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel didn’t know he married the Hungry Hungry Hippo, Galactus the planet devourer, Garfield the tabby cat.

You’re on your phone texting while cuddling Joel. He’s more interested in the movie than you are, but that doesn’t stop him from tracing his finger along your arm, occasionally kissing the top of your head and nuzzling his nose. He loves the scent of your shampoo after a wash, damp and cold against his warm chest. Sometimes you protest how closely he wants to cuddle you, all smushed up on the couch. Your body temp skyrocketed with the baby changing everything. But since he’s keep the AC on full blast, your warm heavy body keeps him from being a popsicle.

The landlines chimes in from the kitchen.

He rolls his eyes. Of course, something to interrupt the comfort that took 40 minutes for you to settle into. "I'll get it,” He grumbles quickly and hoists himself up off the couch. He wants to make whoever the fuck is calling at such a late hour a quick convo. If it’s fucking Tommy needing bailed out again, he thinks begrudgingly, I’ll just hang up on him. 

He clears his throat and answers: “Hello, Miller Residents.”

"Can you get me a bowl of Cap'n crunch while you're up?"

He glances back over at you sitting up on the couch, your cell to your ear as you wave at him. you point to your belly mouthing I T S  F O R  T H E  B A B Y.

It’s for the baby, my ass. You’ve been a hungry hungry hippo who’s been snacking like crazy and ignoring the doctor’s warnings. 

But cranky Momma is way worse than a scolding doctor. 

He grits his teeth and slams the receiver a little too hard down on the desk.

You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, a clash of a bowl on the counter  and the jingle of overly processed cereal filling it up. 

He walks back into the living room. You’ve taken up the whole couch now, with no inclination to move over to let him back on.

You shove a fist into the bowl and pop a bunch of the crunchy orange squares into your mouth “f’anks” you mumble, eyes not once making contact with him as you stare ahead and much away. Crumbs fall onto your chest and down to the floor and sofa, as if Joel hadn’t just cleaned all of it this morning.

.

The next night, Joel's cooking some steaks. You weren’t really a meat-crazed person, having maybe one or two helpings of poultry or occasionally red beef a week, but normally ,you could go without it for a few meals without thinking about it. 

Pregnant momma? She was a fucking carnivore. He had barely set the sizzling steak down before you snatch one onto your plate. He turns around to slice into one, checking its temp before serving, only to see it was a bit too red and bloodied on the inside.

"Oh babe I gotta cook these a little longer; they're too rare--"

You were hacking away and tearing a large chunks of the red, near pulsing meat, juices pouring out your lips, a vampire gorged on a fat blood sucking meal. Despite its tenderness, you chew endlessly and stare off into the table like a Llama enjoying its food on the field. 

"Maybe...we should—slow down a bit,” he suggests with uncertainty. His fork and knife frozen in midair, still in each hand. He hasn’t shifted view or blinked, but clear worry (and maybe a tad bit of fear) stretch across his face.

"Uighgrrfmggmmdeeofxsw,” you reply with gargled cow remains sloshing in your wide open trap. 

 “Right. That."

You swallow what’s left. Joel’s does a double take: your steak is somehow gone, juice licked clean off the plate in front of you.

“Can I have yours???"

He had only sliced 4 cuts  for himself so far. But the hungry look in your pupils, licking your lips while watching his dinner, it’s clear you’ve answered for him. He sadly sets his cutlery down and slides his plate to you. 

Its even more interesting when you douse it in salt and throw a slab of butter on top of it, watching it melt before slicing a big chunk off.

"You gotta watch the salt intake—“

“—Can you make chicken? I want chicken now.”

“N-no,” he shakes his head, whiplash from the conversation. Maybe you’ve gone def AND blind AND lost your taste buds. “I made steak. You've had 2 steaks now. Why do you need chicken?”

“That second one was for the baby. The chicken is for me.”

“What about the fist one?”

“….We split that.”

“Awfully hungry baby,” he says with a dead tone, straight faced as he eats the one roll left in the basket that hasn’t been devoured by you. 

“Well she’s yours, isn’t she?” 

-

You wipe your face with a napkin, a fried chicken leg and wing now securely packed tight in your tum tum along with the famished baby.

"What's for dessert?" You chime eagerly.

Joel turns to wash the dishes, hiding his smirk. He’s got you now, no surprise cravings will catch him short on this one: He boasts proudly, “I bought you apple pie--"

"I want cupcakes. Whip cream icing. Chocolate.”

His grin quickly deflates into a frown. “No.” He says sternly, a little aggravated. “I bought you pie—“

"Did I say I want pie? L I S T E N,” you snap, slapping your palms together with each syllable. 

He puts his foot down with tense sudsy hands going to his hips. “No. I'm not going out again.”

You raise your eyebrows threateningly. One look.

30 minutes later Joel is shuffling into the house with a pack of 12 cupcakes he bought at the bakery.

-

You’ve managed to prop yourself up on the couch after some heaving. “Ha! The baby is making me workout get strong! Obviously that’s why I’m so hungry.” You shrug it off. “Oh! I want raw cookie dough.”

Joel was on his phone the entire time, but the second you said I want, his brain queued in and he quickly retorts, “No.”

He goes back to replaying the voicemail he missed, settled and focused on the opposite couch.

Of course he Doesn't realize you’ve somehow lumbered up past him and now waddling back with 4 chunks of raw cookies in your hand, popping them in your mouth one at a time.

His eyes dark up to watch you, transfixed on the screen as you bend your knees, hardly paying attention to the way you’re about to fall on the couch. He has half the mind to help, but what’s one lesson you need to learn the hard way?

Regretfully, you bounce down successfully and pull your legs up.

And then, as you dust your hands off from the chocolate stains melted on your palms, Joel’s lips part in a o as you reach behind you and pulling an entire gallon container of animal crackers. 

"Babe"

"Wha?” You don’t turn around to look at him, still shoveling them into your mouth. “Yuu wan wan?"

"You need to stop eating every damn thing in the house.”

You gasp incredulously, your hand over your heart in painful offense. “The baby is very hungry! She's related to you and that belly.”

He only remembers to stop himself from reminding you that your belly is much bigger than his now. 

"The baby—“ (that was the new thing now: the baby  this baby that. The baby is why I need this shirt in blue and green. The baby is why I need the ice cream layered horizontally not stacked vertically. The baby —)

"No. Not the baby,” he snaps. “You."

You start to cry. "I thought I AM your baby!!!" 

He gives you a “seriously” look and you stop the fake tears.

“So how about it?”

“I don’t want you getting salmonella.”

“ugh fine. You can bake them I guess.”

He’s about to protest the idea of any dough going into your body, cooked or raw, but knows its going to be a lost cause.

Joel makes you a platter of Assorted cookies: chocolate chip, fudge, triple chocolate, sugar, and oatmeal raisin.

You clap your hands as he carefully places the little plate atop your bump. Humored by the custom “mini” table you’ve got going on now. Maybe his baby doesn’t like her head being used as a countertop, but with the way you close your eyes and moan after biting into the chocolate chip, babygirl must be pleased too.

He goes to the bathroom quickly and then comes back only to glare down at you. You've taken exactly one bite out of every single cookie, leaving crescent shapes for him to scathe.

Every cookie, except oatmeal raisin. You clearly did take a bite ,but spit it out and put the lump back near the undesirable #1 cookie.

“These mine?” Joel asks bemused.

You nod happily. You felt very proud to have enough control and leave him some this time! 

-

It’s about 9:30 pm. You're acting drunk and woozy even tho you're just a new level of tired and achy

"Woopppoooooo!!! Paaartttaaayyy!" You shout with fists in the air, drinking down a shot glass of sugar water. 

“Alright party Momma. It’s bedtime.” 

"Ppfffttt! No old man! Dont steal my fun.”

Joel stands over the couch, blocking your view from the TV, his hands on his hips. “You're being difficult "

“YoU’rE bEiNg DifFicUlT,” you mock and wave him off. "Oop I need to pee. Help me up.”

Joel” grabs both your grabby hands and hoists you up to your feet. “Now up the stairs, you.”

You waddle towards the stairwell, one hand cupping your lower back. Joel is right at your heel. you up at the treaturous journey ahead, all 8 steps to the top floor. Cracking your neck side to side, you wave your arms over to the handrail and begin: “Left foot. Right foot. Left. Fuck. Fuck stairs. Who invented stairs. Left foot…”

Joel’s so sleepy that he nearly falls forward. And he knows you would not take too kindly to him ramming his face into your ass as you battle your worst enemy.

Finally to the top, you scurry over like a penguin to the bathroom. He fears the long night ahead, with all the sugar swirling in your system undoubtedly going to keep him up.

He rubs his wears eyes. Startled when a moment later you’re right next to him by your side of the bed, patiently waiting for him to help you up.

"Get in the covers,” he hums with exhaustion.

But you don’t move. “No"

"Now.”

"I want an orange.”

"No. You—you just had your snack."

"That was the baby's snack. I want MY snack”.

Dear Christ almighty, bless me with a boy next time so that I have a fighting chance against her and mini her. “If I get you an orange, will you go to bed?" He asks irritably, his voice enunciating each word to ensure the contract that he’s making with you right now is solidified on both ends of the bargain.

You think it over before nodding with a little innocent beam. 

You crawl into the covers just as Joel descends the stairs once again. It takes the entire time for him to grab some oranges, a peeler, and paper towel just for you to rotate your middle and sit your ass in bed.

You sit up against the headboard and clap your hands, so excited when he reappears with the goods. He puts the towel on your mini-table bump and plops one orange atop.

Joel sighs and begins to walk towards his side of the bed, but is haunted when you clear your throat for his attention.

“Yes?”

"Peel it.”

He tries not to visibly roll his eyes before he's opening the round orange with his large fingers and clubbed nails. Everything smells like nectarine now.

Picky as can be, you peel off the extra dried white veiny bits and suck on each pod of the orange.

You expect a sweet simpleness to squirt on your tongue, but instead, a sour, bitter, unripe taste floods your mouth. “Ugh these are gross, now I want—“

Joel closes his wardrobe drawer, his shirt off and only halfway down to his boxers. “NO. NO means fucking NO. I’M TIRED. YOU’RE TIRED. WE'RE GOING TO BED. NOW,” he barks sternly into the mirror. His shoulders huffing from such aggression without being able to look at you.

You throw the covers off, orange skin and slices flying everywhere.

“Fuck you! I want ice cream! I want bananas and steak and potatoes and tacos and—!" 

-

He bares his teeth in a snarl, deep angered eyes casting downward with each poignant rut. “You're so annoying, so goddamn spoiled,” he grunts. His huge hands are wrapped around the top of your head and  cupping your jaw and bulging cheek, keeping you in place as he pushes his length into your mouth over and over again. “You’re gonna do shit when I tell you, the first time I say—shit—fuck there we go—gonna listen—unnggghhfff—listen ta me from now on. Just be my good little silent. Slutty. Pregnant. Wife.”

Your teary eyes are fixed upward at his imposing figure. Feeling each time his tip nudges the back of your throat has you gagging but you can’t pull away to breathe—not that you want to.

“You get—what I give ya—and you be grateful bout it.”

You gargle a moan in agreement. His balls slap against your chin with brutal punches. by this time tomorrow, there will be Joel-finger prints bruising your face and neck.

You love it. You love it when Joel forces you out of the hormonal phase of bossing him around, the endless need to want more and more, no end in sight to your greedy gluttonous desires, until he’s blowing up and blowing off steam using you instead. And it becomes very clear to you how much you just really wanted him this whole time. 

“That’s it—that’s it—you were hungry for my cock weren’t ya? Yeahhhh. Just begging me all night for it. Wanted all that meat for dinner, huh? Couldn’t just come out n’ say it? Your little brain didn’t know what ya truly needed. S’okay, Momma. I’m takin’ care of ya, aren’t I?”

The gluglugglug sounds mixed with strained pitchy whines echo in the master bedroom.

You grip his thighs with your hands to steady yourself, allowing him to abuse your throat. Maybe your knees hurt. Maybe the baby is settling uncomfortably against your lower back, and maybe it’s going to be really difficult to get up from this position in a few minutes. But each thick throb of his length filling your mouth over and over again, the spit slick strings dropping from your lips to your swollen tits, and the dent in your throat from his cock stretching to accomodate his size has your swollen pussy dripping into the carpet for more, more, more. 

It’s been at least a week since Joel drained himself. No wonder he’s been so on edge with each demand. Usually marveling how cute you are, but tonight he was at him limit. You were about to get a hefty, Joel Miller sized load filling your belly, and it’s going to be better than any cookie, steak, or orange in the entire world.

He feels the way your lips suction tighter. Your eyes are leaking tears, and he smirks as he brushes his thumb over to collect it. Briefly bringing it to his tongue and sucking on the salty taste before holding your head in place. 

“Shhh-shhhhhhhh. You gonna take it? Shit—shit—fuck yeah you are. Gonna fuckin take what I give ya, that’s right. My sweet wife. Bossing me around. Shit. Love when ya get like this. Known I’m gonna wreck that ass or that pussy or that mouth—all belongs to me. Fuck—fuck—fuuckk—“

His mouth drops into an o, brows drawn tightly together as slams his pulsing member balls deep into your mouth one final time. You choke, eyes wide as the tip of his cock breaches the deepest part of your throat, your nose suffocated by his pubic hairs and the fat of his lower belly surrounding your cheeks. His balls twitch against your lower lip, and you feel it coming. The travel of his seed from his sack, up his shaft along your tongue—a generous spurt of cum finally shooting from his tip and down your throat. You gag with each fat load that he pumps down your esophagus, too much to swallow at once yet having no other choice but to gulp it down quickly. Your face feels hot. He’s cumming endlessly, your mind blanking and eyes feeling blurry.

“Take it, take it, take it, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

You nod just a little, hugging your arms around his thick thighs tighter. He grins, humming “That’s my good fucking wife, and throws his head as the last of his pleasure makes its way safely from his sated balls to your full womb.

Joel pulls you off his length gently. You sputter out cum and saliva onto his feet, sucking in air through your lungs like a newborn. 

Joel gets to one knee, his thumb pressed gently under your chin so you look directly at him. He’s got such softness in his eyes again, the ones that just switch on a dime the second he’s satisfied his aggress out on you. 

You’re completely wrecked: snot spit connecting to your nostrils and swollen lips, cheeks warm and eyes puffy and hazy with exhaustion and tears.

“That—mmffffgg!—was—definitely—my—snack,” you rasp with a hoarse voice. A lazy grin spread across your face only briefly as you continue to suck air.

Joel shakes his head before planting a long kiss atop your forehead. his hands glide along your body, and just in time as your knees give way and you’re falling into him. 

If you had half the mind right now, you’d curse him out for scooping you up and carrying you to bed like his once youthful bride, too concerned with the size and weight of your new body putting unnecessary stress on his aging knees and back. But Joel doesn’t protest once. Just watches you with loving eyes as he settles you into the soft bed. His tongue dips to your chest and breasts, kissing and sucking away any remnants of his rough face fucking. His cum, your spit, and fuvk it, even the little snot specks—all of it he cleans up before coming up to your lips. He kisses you softly with gentle pecks, enough to ensure you can still catch your breath. He sucks your lower lip into your mouth before wiping his own with his thumb. You’re calmer now, sated and drifting so close to sleep.

Joel clambers into bed next to you, wrapping his arm under your head and swaddling you close. You instinctively roll into his embrace. Kissing his peck and rubbing your face against him dreamily with soft breaths. “Tha hit ther spert juss rite. Ur da bess, Jol.”

“I know. So are you.” He waits for a reply, but nothing comes from you. “Are you goin’ into a food coma, baby?”

Your gentle snores answer him, along with the drool now pooling on his peck.

He chuckles and pulls your head into his face, inhaling your scent. Strong, secure, graceful hands caress your big belly. Your very very full belly, the one that he’s not going to envy when it gives you a the tummy ache tomorrow from stuffing it with so much junk food tonight. 

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

[withahappyrefrain]

Drowning in the Light Part 1

Summary: Once excited about your job as a lounge singer, now you can barely get through it, thanks to your less than charming boyfriend. Can a blue eyed bodyguard pull you out of a horrible situation? Or are you both doomed by the life you chose?

Warning: extensive reference to domestic abuse (not by Bob), language, guns, mob bodyguard Bob AU (yes he comes with a warning you'll see)

***

Sharp pain seared throughout your body, starting at your legs, bruised from kicks, up to your shoulders, sore from being shoved against a wall. Then your head, God, your head. You must have hit something when you got knocked down. 

The throbbing pain surrounding your right eye was familiar. From past experience, you knew it would be bruised, no need to look in the mirror. But the sharp, stinging pain near your scalp was new. Gently, you placed your fingers on the area, feeling something wet. 

Blood. 

You should get up, take care of yourself, try to leave before the man responsible for it all comes back. But instead, all you could do was curl into a ball. 

It wasn't always like this. 

For as long as you could remember, you wanted to sing. Selling out Madison Square Garden wasn't your end goal. No, you were content to land a job where you could sing at the same place every night. No more wedding gigs that took up your entire weekend. No more supplementing your income with that lousy waitressing job. Plus, the owner was sweet on you. 

At first. 

Slowly, you sat yourself up, thankful the pain in your arms from a few days ago has subsided. It wasn't fun wearing long sleeves in late spring, but you didn't have the time to cover it up with makeup. No, you were now far too busy helping run the club, despite making almost no money from it. After all, who was going to restock the bar? Clearly not the owner. Nor would he clean up the room he just destroyed.  Chairs had been knocked over. A now broken bottle of Bourbon had clearly been smashed against the wall, the scent burning your nostrils. 

But no sign of the man who was the cause of all this. 

Looking back, the red flags were obvious, but at the time, they were easy to ignore. You were living your dream and had found someone who supported it. That was all you wanted since moving away from your family to pursue your ambitions. 

So what if he got a little jealous when you spoke to male patrons? It was easy to calm him down and besides, you quickly learned to be on the lookout for him. When he suggested you stop interacting with your family, it seemed to come with good intentions. They had never supported your dreams and their phone calls always ended with an offer to pay for graduate school, scoffing at the possibility you were truly happy. 

In retrospect, it’s possible they saw the red flags you were blind to. 

Moving in together was a no brainer. It meant you could quit your temp office job that you did only to make ends meet. It also made sense why you were giving part of your paycheck to him, to help cover household expenses. 

You were now lucky if you could stash away a few dollars from your nightly tips before he got to it. 

Running a club was stressful, especially one where clients did seedy business. They never harmed you or other patrons, unless provoked (by someone who had too much liquid courage and not enough wits about them). He started off just yelling, which then turned into shoving, which had now turned into you lying on the floor of your dressing room, surrounded by destruction. 

So you didn't get up right away. Your eyes remained closed as you attempted to block out the sounds of an argument on the first floor. Your so-called "boyfriend" was probably giving some bullshit excuse as to why he was unable to pay someone on time. 

Again. 

Tonight, you had interrupted to offer a much better reason as to why he couldn't pay a vendor on time. You even got an extension, something the club desperately needed. Can’t run a place like this without alcohol, after all. 

But that wasn't good enough. You made him look incompetent, stupid. Like he couldn't manage his own lounge. It was the truth, one that everyone could see, but making it known was a sin. You knew it would be bad with the way he grabbed your wrist, practically dragging you back to your dressing room, ignoring the stares of onlookers. 

This was a new low for him. Funny how he kept surprising you, even a year later. 

Sounds of men talking downstairs were muffled, probably one of the many seedy customers who stayed past closing to discuss less than legal matters. They were loud tonight and you'd probably have to clean up whatever mess they were making. After all, your boyfriend was far too busy to help. 

But first you had to clean up yourself. Standing up was painful, your knees throbbing from being pushed onto the hard wooden floor earlier. If things kept the way they were going, you would need a walking cane before you turned forty. 

There was no way in hell you could put up with this for much longer. You wanted to leave, it was escaping that was the problem. The other night acts felt pity for you, but they also had to make ends meet. Assistance came with a risk, whether it was losing a huge chunk of their income or worse, facing his wrath. Same with the bartenders, the bottle girls. Looking the other way was much safer. Besides, you weren’t the first they’ve seen in this situation. Won’t be the last either. 

The broken mirror encapsulated the damage done to your body. Your tights were now torn, a sleeve ripped, revealing the constellation of healing bruises on your arm. The skin around your right eye was swollen, no doubt turning into a blackened bruise by tomorrow. Some of the blood near your scalp had begun to dry. That would be a pain to hide. Applying makeup would run the risk of infection. Perhaps you could come up with a believable excuse, should Bob ask. 

Bobby. 

The thought of the blue eyed man brought a sense of warmth to your body. How such a kind man ended up working as the bodyguard of a gang was a mystery, how he kept that kindness even moreso. His boss Maverick had been a repeat customer for several months now. Where they went, Bob followed. He always made sure to comment on how well you did up on stage, even sneaking you a tip. Bob had the sweetest smile you ever saw; pink lips forming into a thin, slightly lopsided grin, the corners of his eyes subtly creasing. He didn't smile during his shifts, just with you. 

His beautiful smile entered your mind quite often. It was the nicest thing you’d see all day. Yes, you were in a relationship, but it’s not like you were in love with the guy. No, if you had a choice, it would be Bob, the man who always spoke respectfully to you, always asked how you were doing, always genuine. 

But you didn’t deserve a guy like Bob Floyd. Before, you hoped for luck. That you’d finally win this time and be happy. Be loved. 

What a fucking joke. 

Wetness began to form around your eyes. Looking up, your reflection revealed eyes brimming with tears. A year ago, you rarely cried. Now it happens almost every day. You had become numb to it, barely registering as you grabbed a tissue, trying not to physically wince as you blotted the open wound. 

It was time to fix yourself. Stuff it all down and go out and sing. Just like you did every other night. 

**

Bob Floyd had always been quiet. Truth was, he preferred to mind his own business and not get in anyone’s way. Ironic, considering his job. 

He didn’t want to do this. But when his father died and left Bob, his mother, and his four other penniless, his sixteen year old self knew something needed to change. Temporary, he had told himself, it would be temporary. Enough to get his family back on their feet. Besides, it was more de-escalating situations rather than causing them. Usually his stern voice and presence was enough to deter folks, meaning the amount of times he had to resort to violence was rare. 

It was supposed to be a temporary job. 

But he was good at it. He got promotions, more money, more stability for his family. He was able to send his mother back to school, giving his family a better life. When Iceman retired, Bob was kept on for the new generation due to his valuable knowledge and established connections. 

Jake called him a stealth pilot. Quietly lurking, observing. Taking mental notes to share later, keeping track of every detail. It was how Bob realized what was going on with the lounge singer. 

Bob had been going to the club with Jake and the rest of the crew for almost a year now. Maverick wanted to keep a low profile, so he sent the latest recruits who had proven themselves. The first sign was how the light had steadily left your eyes, even when you were singing. When Bob first met you, you were like a ray of sunshine, eyes bright, smile radiant. 

Then came the tense arguments with the owner. Bob could never hear them but he could tell from your face afterwards it wasn't a two way street. 

Bob didn't hate most people. But he fucking hated Beau Simpson. 

It was obvious he didn't treat you well. Bob noticed how prevalent bruises had become on your arms, how often you ‘bumped into something' to explain a black eye. No person could be that clumsy. 

So when Simpson had come up short on payment again, Bob didn't show mercy. 

“Isn't this the fifth time he's been late? Why don’t we go down and talk to him?” Bob suggested to Jake. 

Jake, always eager to please Maverick (and annoy Bradley) was more than happy to take him, Javy, Mickey, and Natasha over. They were a well oiled machine; Bob would find and corner him, Jake would ask the questions directly to the traitor, Javy and Mickey were there for muscle while Nat was getting the real answers from others and looking into their systems if need be. 

The coward made eye contact with Bob and then swiftly turned around, no doubt attempting to avoid him. What a fucking joke. Bob hated this was the guy you were tangled up with. 

So yeah, maybe he should have used his voice before putting his hands on Simpson. A saying his mother always told him and his siblings, her school teacher career showing. 

She also still thought Bob worked in construction. 

Bob couldn't lie, it felt good to slam him against the wall. Make him feel a tenth of the pain he caused you. It would never be enough, not unless he saw Simpson six feet under. 

But when he came into the doorway of your dressing room, the rage disappeared. It was gone the moment he saw you hunched over the vanity, applying makeup despite the steam of tears on your face. 

"Dove?"  

As soon as you turned your head, he made way to the vanity, carefully stepping over broken glass and knocked down chairs.  

Bob knelt down, his hands near yours, but not quite touching. You couldn't even look him in the eyes. Normally his special nickname would bring a smile to your face, but you were too ashamed of how he found you. 

What a fucking pathetic site. 

"Dove," he repeated, his voice now soft, barely above a whisper, "Who did this to you?" 

He knows the answer and has for months now. It's the confirmation he needs. But it's also the hope that maybe with your confirmation, he could help you begin to heal. 

The name was on the tip of your tongue. But that would mean admitting it. Not just that he hurt you. But the fact that you had become some pathetic singer who was stuck with an obvious piece of shit. This wasn't supposed to happen. When you first started working here, it was full of excitement. 

It was easy for your mind to think of Bob when you were with your partner. It was easy to think of those surprisingly soft blue eyes. In bed, you did your best to pretend it was his hands touching your body. It was an escape. A fantasy you indulged in as a desperate  attempt to not think about your current situation. 

Like he would want to be with you! You were a liability. You didn't deserve him. 

That didn't stop your heart from fluttering when you felt his fingers gently cup your face, tilting your head up to look at him. His fingers were calloused. You knew what his hands were capable of, having witnessed him sling punches, like they were nothing. 

But Bob Floyd’s touch was soft. You could feel them on your face, but he refrained from adding pressure. And gentle, oh so gentle. He avoided the bruise that was forming near your right eye. The way his thumb gently stroked your mascara stained cheek was comforting. 

Soft. Gentle. Comforting. 

When was the last time you felt any of that from someone touching you? It was a foreign concept, one you so desperately chased that you were willing to ignore the bright, beaming red flags and run head first into danger. 

By all means, he should be seen as a danger. A huge scarlet flag. His 'job' required him to oversee and commit violent, illegal acts. He didn't hide it. And with those expensive suits, rings, and those dark eyes, he looked almost like the Devil, ready to trick you into signing your soul away. 

But he wasn't like that. At least, not to you. A sweet smile, reserved only for a selective few. Eyes that pierced through your soul. His presence brought an ease to you. 

He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours. A battle of emotions was going through his eyes. Rage. Anger. Concern. It felt nice for someone to be concerned about you. 

"Did Simpson do this to you?” He asked, voice barely above a  whisper. 

When you nodded, it felt like a weight being lifted off your chest. Finally, someone else knew. 

Bob’s jaw tensed as he nodded his head in understanding, "And was he responsible for all the other injuries you've had?" 

He did notice. Why he was paying attention to you, some lowly singer, was beyond your comprehension. 

You nodded your head, tears filling your eyes, "It's…..it's all been him, Bobby." 

He nodded, the tension in his jaw remaining. He wanted to say so much, but knew what was most important: you. Your safety. 

"Let's get you cleaned up Dove," He said softly, standing up. He stuck out his hand, clearly gesturing for you to take it. 

It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. His large hand felt like a peace offering, a shining lighthouse in the midst of the dark, bleary night. But taking it meant Bob would now be involved. You didn't want that, couldn't have that. If he found out….sure, Bob could take care of himself. But you would feel guilty if anything were to happen to him. Besides, what would happen to you? What if Simpson found out? The beating would probably send you to the emergency room. Even worse, it probably meant you wouldn't get to see Bob anymore. 

You needed that lopsided smile and kind eyes to get through the nights. The thought of not seeing them scared the shit out of you. 

"You need a first aid kit, not concealer," Bob explained, sensing your hesitation. 

So sensible. But you didn't have time for any of that. Shaking your head, you turned back to the vanity, “I have to go on soon.” 

“We shut down the place. Need Simpson to explain why he's gone two months without paying us.” 

When you still didn't move, Bob’s hands trailed down your face, landing on your shoulders. He kneeled down, looking into your eyes, “Can I help you? Please?” 

"Bob, it's not worth it. I don't…if he finds out…” The very thought of what could happen made your eyes brim with tears.  

You were right to be hesitant. Bob wished he could scoop you up into his arms and take you far away from this place. For now, first aid would have to be done and he needed you to see that. 

“Dove, I can make sure he never touches you again, if that's what you want.” God, he hoped you wanted that, “But getting cleaned up is the bare minimum of what you need. And the least I can do after not saying anything earlier.”

So he had noticed all the bruises you tried to cover up. How the light in your eyes only came back when you were up on stage singing or talking to him. He noticed how quickly that light drained from your eyes, how fear replaced it at the sight of Simpson. Bob should have said something earlier, instead of waiting so long.

Never again. 

You didn’t know this at the time. But something, deep in the back of your mind- call it hope or wishful thinking-told you he meant it. 

So you took his hand. He could see you limping and placed an arm around your waist, allowing you to put your weight on him. Sage flooded your nostrils, his scent comforting. Bob led you to  the couch in the Manager's office, walking away to find the first aid kit. It was quiet, but not in an awkward way. You enjoyed it, to be truthful. So much of your life was loud, violent, chaotic. To sit in peace was refreshing. Though you couldn't help but look at the door, the thought of anyone being able to come in at the back of your mind. 

“He's not going to come up. Mickey and Javy are currently holding him down while he answers Jake,” Bob commented, not even bothering to look up from the first aid kit. 

How did he know? The question was soon replaced by another one, “Why aren't you down there with them?” 

Bob made his way to the couch, gently laying the kit on the coffee table, rummaging as he picked up sanitation wipes. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” He confessed, the tops of his cheeks turning a dusty pink. The admission made your heart flutter. Despite his job requiring a cold, hardened demeanor, a kindness shone through. 

You witnessed it the first time Bob met you. Oh, you had seen him beforehand. It was hard not to miss the tall handsome man with the piercing blue eyes, clad in a well fitted suit. The top of his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver chain that reflected against the lights. 

God, he was so attractive. Still is. It was your first day on the job and the last thing you wanted to do was ruffle one of the patrons. Beau had warned you that they would leave you alone as long as you did the same. 

Looking back, you wondered if his advice had other intentions, more self serving ones that out of kindness. You tried to follow his advice, situating yourself near the bathroom while waiting for your cue. Once the previous act waves goodbye, you knew it was time to move. But God, you were so nervous that day! So nervous that you were too busy inspecting your dress for any possible wrinkles instead of looking up. 

Your head ran into a firm chest, large hands quickly stabilized your body. When you looked up, you found yourself face to face with Bob Floyd. 

Instead of a scowl, there was a small smile on his face as he asked, “You alright ma'am?” 

You had been smitten ever since. Keeping a distance made sense, he didn’t deserve you. Which is why you brushed it off as just a silly crush and looked elsewhere for affection. 

“Whatcha thinking about Dove?” Bob asked before gingerly applying the sanitizing wipes to your forehead. 

“The day we met. You were so sweet, making sure that I was okay and wishing me good luck,” you spoke fondly of the memory, sharing a smile with him, “I think about that day often.” 

“I do too,” he confessed, making your heart flutter once again. It made you want to explain, want to tell him everything that had happened. 

“I....it's all been going on for a year. It wasn't bad at first. Like yeah, he would yell at me, but he'd apologize afterwards. At first he’d just grip my shoulders real hard. Then he'd shove me out of the way. But he would still apologize to me afterwards. Sometimes he'd even get me flowers. I knew business was rough, so I convinced myself it wasn't personal,” you paused, “I must sound so fucking dumb.” 

“No. There's nothing wrong with wanting to see the best in someone,” Bob mumbled as he shifted through the first aid kit, finding the right size gauze, "Doesn't make you dumb."

“That's what I kept telling myself when it got worse. Over time, he’d stopped apologizing. Made me feel bad, like it was my fault. And I knew it wasn't, but I didn't want to set him off again. By the time I realized it wasn't going to get better, it was too late. Did you know you need ID to enter those shelters? Can't get in if you don't have it. I've been trying to save up what I can to get a ride back to my hometown, but it's been six months and I don't even have half of what I need,” your cheeks felt wet, no doubt being stained by tears. 

“He takes your earnings too?” Bob asked, trying to contain his anger by clutching a rag in his hand. 

You nodded, “I can only take a little here and there, so he won't notice. I didn't want him to find out and…..” 

A sob escaped your chest. Once it was released, you couldn't stop. Given how often you cried, it shouldn't feel any different. 

But then a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around you, gently pulling you into a broad chest. Resting your head in the crook of Bob’s neck, you felt a sense of safety for the first time in who knows how long. A soft pair of lips gently pressed against your temple, a thumb caressing your cheek. 

“We can make sure he never touches you again. And we will,” Bob murmured against your skin. 

“How?” you sniffled, “I have a contract and it’s legally binding, I can’t leave.”

He shook his head, “We can take care of that.” Your hands found his, fingers skimming over his long digits, tracing over each ring, every crevice and line. It was comforting, helping you slow down your breathing. 

Bob continued, “Natasha found out he's been running this place dry on purpose to commit  fraud. He doesn't have enough to pay us back, so Jake is gonna make him sign over the place to Maverick.” 

You had heard whispers about Bob’s boss. Apparently he wasn't a fan of Simpson anyways. Not a shocker, the man didn't even try to be pleasant. 

Looking up at Bob, your faces were now inches apart. You could see flecks of gray in his stubble and at his temples. Faded freckles were scattered across his face, like stars in the night. Sandy brown hair that curled at the ends. A button nose that accentuated his pink lips. Did he have freckles else along his body?

“Whatcha looking at Dove?" He asked, a small smile creeping across his face. 

“Just admiring how handsome you are, Bobby." The words left your mouth before your brain could process them. 

You expected him to push you away, to shrug it off.  Instead, his cheeks turned a bright red as he ducked his head into the crook of your neck. You figured that Bob heard it all the time. Besides, he was just being nice, done because he felt bad for you. 

You certainly didn't expect him to become flustered, unable to form a coherent response. His soft lips pressed a kiss against your collarbone. You could feel his smile burn into your skin, like sunshine. When you grabbed his hand, Bob intertwined his fingers with yours.  

Perhaps you weren't the only one who craved affection, for gentle touches.

“You're too sweet for me, Dove.” His breath was hot on your skin, sending a spark of electricity up your spine. 

There was always an unspoken tension between you two. So many maybes. Maybe he should have spoken out sooner. Maybe you should have tried going for Bob rather than settling like always. 

“I feel the same way about you,” it felt good to finally admit it, like a weight leaving your shoulders. For a brief moment, you forgot the circumstances of the situation. For once, it felt normal, as if you two were simply friends who met through work. 

Bob gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before sitting up straight. He studied your face, taking in every mark and line, everything that made you you. Bob also took in the bruise forming around your right eye. 

“We need to ice that eye. I'll be right back okay?” After receiving a nod, he untangled himself from your body, much to his dismay and yours. But he wasn't doing it because you repulsed him, no. Rather, he wanted to take care of you. 

"So will Maverick be the new owner of this place?" You asked, eyes glued to Bob as he moved about in the room. 

"More or less. Though he's still looking for a partner. Someone who can be at the club and help run things," He looked back at you, "Someone who has been working here for a while and was already unofficially running the place." 

You knew damn well who he was referring to. Your lips tightened as a pang of panic peaked through your brain at Bob Floyd’s proposal. Was that why he was doing all this? So he makes a business deal? 

He must have sensed this, as he quickly came back to the couch, bag of ice in hand, "If you want to. If you want to keep on singing here, you can. I also don't blame ya if you want to get the hell outta here." 

Choices. You had multiple choices to choose from. When was the last time that had happened? 

"What are you going to do to him?" It was haunting your mind. Was it worth staying here if you would always have to look over your shoulder? 

Bob leaned in, his hand gently touching your knee, avoiding the bruises, "Whatever you want us to do." 

Whatever? 

"If you want me to put him six feet under, I'll do it," He elaborated, "If you want me to scare him off, make sure he never comes within twenty feet of ya, I can do that too." 

More choices. It was your problem, you should have a say in how it was solved. 

"It's up to you Dove," He said, his thumb softly stroking your knee. 

You liked his touch. You wanted more of it. He was so gentle. 

"I want…..I want him gone Bobby. I want to never worry about whether he'll show his face again," You revealed. The idea of it being a threat, always looming in the shadows, was terrifying. How could one expect you to sleep soundly at night? 

Bob nodded his head. He leaned in and gingerly pressed the bag of ice to the corner of your eye. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as he saw you wince, “It's going to hurt a little, but the cooling will help with the bruising.” 

“It would be nice to sing again and actually enjoy it. You think Maverick can actually turn this place around?” You placed your hand on his wrist. Bob wanted nothing more than to take yours and kiss your soft skin. 

That would be taking it too far. Yes, ironic, considering he already kissed your temple and collarbone. Was a collarbone kiss more intimate than a wrist kiss? Or was it the other way around? 

“Bobby?” A soft, sweet giggle fell from your lips upon seeing how his brows knitted together when he was in deep concentration. 

“Sorry Dove, what did you say?” Bob asked sheepishly. He didn't know what was worse, confessing he was distracted by your beauty or that he was thinking about kissing your body. 

“Do you think Maverick will turn this place around? Not trying to doubt your boss, but if it's just seen as a way to get back at Simpson….I don't know if I'd want to stay.” 

Bob’s heart sank. If you wanted to walk out of this place, he'd burned your contract in a heartbeat. He couldn't blame you for desiring it either. But selfishly, he wanted you to stay. He wanted to hear your voice, see your smile, and speak without having to walk on eggshells in case a certain someone was listening. 

“I think he will. He’ll probably give the place to either Jake or Bradley, either one of them will do a good job just to piss off the other,” Bob chuckled, “Besides, he doesn't want the transfer to be a big deal, so I don't see him firing folks, other than those that are loyal to Simpson. Which isn't that many. Maybe three?” Bob scratched his head, trying to think of the actual number. 

You snorted, “Three's a pretty generous number.” 

When Bob Floyd laughs, the corners of his eyes creased and he threw his head back. It was the sweetest discovery. It was also the first time you truly laughed, full belly, that day. Probably the first time in weeks. Lightness flooded your body, despite the bruises and cuts that currently marked it. 

“And if Maverick owns it, I'll be here more. I can make sure you're safe. If that's what you want!” Bob added the last part quickly. You had just gotten out of a relationship from hell, one that involved controlling behavior. The last thing he wanted was for you to think similarly of him. 

Your lips stretched into a smile, “I'd like that…to see you more. Whenever you came to visit, it was always the highlight of my day.” 

Bob couldn't help but beam, his heart fluttering at a pace that should be medically concerning, “I felt the same about you Dove.” 

Upon receiving a bright smile from you,  Bob removed the bag of ice from your face, fingers delicately skimming over the bruised skin. It was as good as it was going to get. He would be happy to help you ice it later, if that's what you wanted. Bob would give you the world if he could. 

Gathering all the courage he had (ironic considering he's killed people before), he leaned in, allowing his lips to press against your cheek. This time, it wasn't stained with tears or smudged makeup. A refreshing change that Bob hoped he could help keep. 

You leaned into his touch, fingers finding purchase in the lapels of his black jacket. Looking up, your noses brushed, his lips inches away from yours, if that. 

You could stay like this forever. In his arms, you felt safe. You felt like you could joke and laugh and be yourself. 

Knowing how soft his lips were made you wonder how they’d feel against your own. It wasn't the first time this thought flashed through your brain. But it was the first time you were close enough to find out. 

Simpson will be gone, Bob would make sure of that. There wasn’t anyone to fear, you could just lean in and-

A loud knock interrupted the sweet moment. Fear swept through your body as you buried your face into Bob’s chest. 

He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before telling you to get in the corner, right behind the mini fridge.  You did as you were told, crouching down to make yourself invisible to whoever walked through the door. 

In your position you could see Bob, pulling out the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants. He quickly cocked it as he moved swiftly towards the door. It was locked but that didn’t deter people here. 

“Floyd, you in there?” A familiar voice rang out on the other side. Relief flooded your body at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was a rare sight, working more behind the scenes. It must be pretty bad if they brought her in. 

But Bob remained silent, back pressed to the wall, gun in hand. He couldn’t take any risks. Not when it came to your safety. The way he effortlessly demonstrated his care made you wish that Natasha had waited twenty seconds before knocking. 

“The rodeo is all cleared,” Nat said. At the sound of their code word, Bob let out a sigh of relief. With his gun still in one hand (just in case), he opened the door, revealing the dark haired woman, who also had a matching gun in hand. 

“We finally got him to sign over the place. Now we’re figuring out what to do with him. Got any ideas?” She asked with a smirk. 

Bob turned to your direction, as you were now standing by the couch, “I think that’s her decision. She had to bear the brunt of him after all.”

Natasha peered over, taking in your bruises and cuts. She nodded, to silently show her understanding, “What would you like?”

You had a choice. What even was the right thing in this scenario? Was it letting someone live, despite all their wrongdoings? Or was it preventing him from hurting anyone else? The blood wouldn’t be on your hands, literally. But you still played a part. 

“I….I want him gone. To not be able to come back to this place and hurt people. You guys know how to do that better than I do.” 

You saw them nodding to each other. They had probably made a decision. It was obvious what was going to happen, but you didn't say it out loud. Does that relieve you of some responsibility? 

Maybe. Probably not. But it made you feel better inside. 

“You wanna come atch?” Natasha asked, motioning to you and Bob. 

Seeing you shake your head, Bob mimicked, “I'll stay up here with her. Make sure she's all cleaned up.” 

You sat down on the couch, waiting for Natasha to leave. It warmed your heart that Bob chose to stay with you. Maybe he also felt it too, that spark of kismet that circuited back and forth. 

Bob kneeled down in front of you, eyes and hands inspecting your arms and your legs. His gentle touch left goosebumps along your skin. You shifted to the edge of the couch, clearly to help him inspect the rest of your wounds. 

No other reason. 

“I gotta clean up this scrape, don't want it to get infected.” A lovely gesture, considering you didn't make enough money to qualify for health insurance. 

You nodded your head. His large hand placed itself on the back of your leg, the other gently pressing a wipe against the cut. 

“You'll hear a gunshot pretty soon,” he warned, not wanting you to be alarmed. You nodded, bracing yourself for the imminent noise. 

Except you didn't hear a gunshot. You heard several voices arguing. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” 

“Get him!” 

“Get the gun!” 

Then, you heard a gunshot. 

“God dammit,” Bob cursed under his breath. His eyes darted to the door that Natasha left a hair open. 

He moved quickly, not even waiting for you to stand up. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other underneath your thighs and picked you up. He carried you to the closest, gently sitting you down in the dark space. 

“I’ll be right back, Dove. But I need you to stay here. I'm going to lock the other door, but don't open it to anyone. Even if you hear my voice, don't open it unless I use the rodeo, okay?” His voice was hushed, his ocean eyes piercing your soul. 

He was leaving. A fight had broken out when they tried to off Cyclone. Started by either him or his two loyal goons. Bob was going to leave you. 

He might not come back. 

“No,” your voice shook like a leaf in the wind, “Please- don't leave me!” 

His fingers stroked your cheeks in an attempt to bring comfort, “I’ll be back, okay? But I gotta go in order to protect you. I don’t want him or one of those goons to find ya.”

In the distance, a familiar voice yelled out your name. A voice that made your blood turn to ice. 

Bob was operating off of adrenaline, off of the primal need to protect you. Desire was coursing through him as well. Your tears were for him, not because he brought you pain but rather you cared so much for him that the thought of him not returning tugged on your heart strings. He wanted to wait, to make sure you were ready and then take you out on a nice date. 

The nice Italian place that was secretly a front for Slider’s real business. Despite being a front, it made some of the best penne alla vodka in town. 

But a nice date wasn't at the forefront of Bob’s mind currently. Rather, it was your lips and how they were quivering, how soft they looked. 

His mama would smack him upside the head if she could see him now, kissing a girl he hadn’t taken out on a date yet. 

She would also smack the shit out of him for lying about his job all these years. 

Bob was too lost in the softness of your lips. Your hands found their way into his soft hair, gripping the strands to deepen the kiss. His lips were so soft, his hands gentle as they cupped your jawline, as though he didn’t want to apply additional pressure, as though he didn’t want to cause you any harm. 

You truly believed that was his intent. 

The kiss seemed to go on forever, but simultaneously not long enough. Sounds of heavy footsteps and yelling in the hallway caused him to break away. Your hands remained on the lapels of his jacket, silently begging him. 

Please. Don't go. Stay with me. Please. 

“I'll be back, okay Dove?” he whispered before pressing a quick kiss to your lips once more. He removed your hands from the lapels, silently standing up. Bob paused for a brief moment, for what you hoped (in vain) was him considering staying. Instead, he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders. 

You wanted to shout, but that would be deadly. All you could do was watch Bob close the door, listen to the sound of his gun cocking and then a second door closing. 

Left in the dark. Alone. Bringing your knees up to your chest, you tried rocking yourself back and forth, silently willing the tears building up to go away. 

They still fell. 

[witchygagirlwrites]

Antonio Dawson x Reader

Antonio is sick of seeing how Kelly drags your heart around

Companion piece to Never Thought

“She’s replacing Shay! There is no way possible I am ever going to like her!” That was the first thing Antonio ever heard about you from Gabby. He knew there was a new paramedic coming in after Shay’s death. Fifty one had gone through a few temps and none of them had really been a good fit, apparently Boden had found one he thought would work. “Give her a chance” he’d told his sister. He understood the gap of losing a partner, a friend but she very well couldn’t ride solo the rest of her career also.

One week later Gabby had a smile on her face when she was talking about the fact that someone had gotten aggressive with her on a call and you’d kept a smile on your face as you’d tripped the guy down the doorsteps then with all the sincerity in the world had told him “Oh no sir. It appears you’ve hurt yourself. Do you need to be checked out as well”  “What happened to never liking her?” he teased and Gabby shrugged “She’s not what I expected honestly. I think she’s gonna fit in” 

You were at fifty one for exactly one month the first time Antonio met you. Adam had caught a round to his vest but considering the bruising already spreading under it Voight wanted him ran to Med to make sure it wasn’t a collapsed lung like Kevin had happened once. When the ambulance pulled up Gabby hopped out and you followed. You were in work mode but still smiled up at him as Gabby said “Oh yeah, this one is my brother” “Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you” he had to remind himself it wasn’t polite or professional to stare at the pretty paramedic, especially considering it was his sister’s partner and his partner was currently her patient.

“Nice to meet you too” he replied and you winked at him “See ya around Dawson” before you and Gabby loaded Adam in the rig and rolled off. Yeah, maybe he was hooked from then but it was too soon after his divorce and you weren’t even settled yet.

The longer you worked with Gabby the more her talking about you shifted from sounding like shop talk to her talking about her friend. It also meant he started getting to know you better.  You were smart as hell, damn near fearless and didn’t hesitate to run into danger even when you were scared if someone else was at risk. You had a weird sense of humor, loved strong coffee and sang along with Gabby to damn near every song on the radio. 

He watched you heal his sister’s heart as you worked your way into his. He couldn’t admit anything of course. You were his friend and sometimes that was even better because he got to see every side of you. 

You would show up in tow with Gabby, half drunk and giggly. You’d pop up to help wrangle his kids when he had them for the weekend and when he worked late a time or two he’d come in to you, Gabby and the kids all asleep in his living room floor in a blanket fort despite the fact that the kids were tiptoeing into their teens.

When intelligence would work a scene with CFD he’d find him having to catch not only his sister with her temper but you as well a time or two. You’d hold your tongue but if Gabby ever jumped? You were swinging without a second thought to back her up.

When you called him because there was a guy that wouldn’t leave you alone he took it upon himself to find the guy. He started coming by to follow you home every night just to make sure you got in your apartment ok. Then one night the guy was dumb enough to be waiting in the parking garage of your complex. He’d ended up cracking the guy’s cheek in two places and got him arrested.

He found himself falling for you but by the time he fully realized that it was too late. You were with Kelly Severide.

“Kelly isn’t treating her right” Antonio cut his eyes up at Gabby. “I know Severide wouldn’t ever lay his hands on a woman so what are we talking here?” she shrugged “He won’t commit to her. He flirts with other women constantly. He does everything shy of physically cheating then sweet talks his way with false promises back into her bed, using her heart against her” 

“What do you want me to do? If I say something and she stays with him, I’m the asshole trying to break them up” Antonio told her and she smiled slightly “Maybe, just maybe if she was faced with the fact that she has much better options available she’d kick his ass to the curb”

He shook his head “I am not telling her I have feelings for her” “Come on, don’t be a coward!” she teased and he shook his head “I’m not that kind of man” she crossed her arms, glaring at him “But you are the kind to see the woman you’ve been head over heels for get her heart dragged through the mud by some playboy while you’re sitting here wanting her and would treat her right?”

“And if she ever figures out he’s an idiot I’ll be right here” he replied and she threw up her hands in frustration “You are both idiots!”

Antonio walked into Mollys with intentions to just have a beer, hang out for a little while then head home. That was until he spotted you with his sister and her husband. He headed for the three of you “There’s my favorite paramedic” 

His sister turned first so he grinned “Oh, you’re here too Gabby” and she shook her head then you cut your eyes back at him “Hey Antonio” he smiled but when he met your eyes he knew something was wrong  “Cariño, what is wrong?” “Nothing” you answered a little too fast. He looked towards Gabby who looked across the bar so he followed her line of sight to see Kelly sitting close enough to some brunette they looked like they were on the verge of fucking right there in the bar. He felt anger flicker to life in him. He’d been holding back from you, biting his tongue for that? “Isn’t he dating you?” he asked, looking back at you and felt his heart crumple just a bit when you dropped your eyes to not look at him or Gabby “We’re not really dating” Gabby cursed under her breath but without meaning to he found himself laughing a bit “Good” 

Your eyes flew up to his “Good?” he nodded then cut his eyes at Gabby, letting her know he was taking her advice finally. She grabbed Matt’s hand and told you “Holler if you need me babe” then the two of them walked off.

You watched them then looked back at him “What?” he felt a smile slip onto his face “If you’re not really dating Severide then it shouldn’t really be an issue if I tell you I am so tired of seeing that man steal your smile” “Huh?” you asked, confusion plain on your face and god you looked fucking adorable. He nodded to the stool Gabby had been sitting on “Can I sit?” 

You nodded so he sat down, resting his hand next to yours on the bar and letting one finger trace over your knuckles gently “Gabby has told me a couple things. Don’t get mad at her, it’s just because she cares about you” and god knows his sister did. She fucking loved you. You nodded slowly, your eyes following the trail of his fingers before asking “What has she told you?” your voice was so small compared to normal he found himself lowering his own voice as he responded  “How Kelly has been dragging your heart through the mud”

You finally brought your eyes up to meet his and he smiled “You deserve much better than that. If he won’t commit to you, if he won’t see that there is a gorgeous amazing woman right here then he doesn’t deserve your attention and damn sure doesn’t deserve your heart. I’m not going to ask you out tonight because I’m not the type of man to take advantage of a bad situation but if you decided you’ve had enough and want someone that would want you and only you, I’d love to take you out sometime when you’re ready”

For a few heartbeats he was nervous he’d fucked up a friendship until you smiled “Will you walk me home?” he nodded “Of course” then stood to offer you his hand. You shivered as you stood so he looked around for your jacket “You didn’t bring a jacket?” You shook your head “I forgot one”  He slipped his jacket off and motioned for you to turn around “You don’t have to” you said and that alone, the fact that giving you his jacket when you were in a short sleeve and could see he was in a long sleeve was making you get all flustered made him want to knock Severide flat on his ass.

“I know” he told you and you finally turned to let him help you slip the jacket onto your arms. He had to admit, seeing you in it..you looked gorgeous in it.

“Now, come on. I’ll let my sister know I’m taking her partner home then if it sounds good I’d like to take you and Gabby out for breakfast tomorrow” you smiled “I’d like that”

_____________________

You and Antonio had just made it outside when he heard Kelly call your name and braced himself for a fight. He stepped to the side, letting you say whatever you felt the need to Kelly. This was your ballgame. “What Kelly?” you asked and Kelly looked between you and him “I look up to see you leaving the bar with him”

Ok that implication alone pissed Antonio off. “She asked me to walk her home” he spoke up and Kelly had the nerve to wave a hand dismissively towards him “Wasn’t talking to you” “You know what Severide” he took a step with every intention to see rather or not he could put the fireman flat on his ass but you slid between them at the last moment, a hand on both of their chests. “We are not doing this! Kelly repeat what you just said”

Kelly looked from your hand that was on his chest to your hand that was on Antonio’s “I looked up to see you leaving the bar with him” you nodded “You looked up because I was there for a good twenty minutes or more. The entire time you were so far wrapped up in another woman you never noticed me”

“We were just talking” Kelly defended and it took everything in Antonio to not laugh in the other man’s face. That was no damn excuse. You cut your eyes at Antonio “Give us a minute please?” so he nodded and took a few steps away but could still hear you as you said “Kelly do you think you could ever love me? Commit to just me fully?” he wanted to interrupt and tell you he could. He could easily see himself falling for you and just one word and he would be one hundred percent yours but he kept his mouth closed. 

After a long moment of silence stretched out you nodded “That’s what I thought. Now Antonio is going to walk me home and you’re free and clear to go in there and do more than talk with the gorgeous brunette ok?”  “Baby” Kelly finally managed and you sighed “Tell me you’ll stop flirting with other women..stop taking it so far that you do everything shy of physically cheating and mean it and I’ll come in the bar with you” “I can try to change” Kelly whispered and you shook your head “If you really wanted to there would be no effort required” 

Antonio found himself being so damn proud of you just for standing up for yourself. You never had to give him a chance. Just being able to witness you finally seeing your worth meant everything. You turned around to him and held out your hand “Dawson, walk me home?” he slipped his hand into yours and the two of you left Kelly standing on the sidewalk.

That following morning when Antonio pulled up to your apartment to pick you up to have breakfast with him and Gabby he saw something he hadn’t seen in a long time when you came out to his truck. You had a genuine smile on your face.

You slid into the passenger seat, cutting your eyes at him “Good morning” he nodded “Morning” when he pulled out onto the road you started messing with the radio dials and before long was humming along with the song. “Go ahead” he told you and a grin split your face before you started singing along and he found himself joining in.  You were so damn beautiful and looked relaxed for the first time in too damn long.

_______________________

It took a couple weeks before you were ready. Antonio was patient, he’d waited this long wasn’t like he was going anywhere now. You called him one day after you got off shift and asked if you two could grab dinner at the place down from your apartment complex. He’d agreed because why the hell wouldn’t he?

When he pulled into the parking lot you were standing next to your car and smiled when you saw him. The moment he stepped out of his truck you walked up to him and pulled him into a kiss. He froze at first, the moment having caught him off guard but the shock quickly wore off. He had you in his arms, finally. He was kissing you. His hands went to your hips, pulling you closer as he took control of the kiss, rolling his tongue against yours, a light noise leaving you that was nothing shy of heavenly. When the two of you started to pull apart you laughed lightly “Does that offer still stand of wanting me and only me?”

He nodded, forehead pressed to yours “Of course Cariño” and you smiled “I’d like to be yours now Antonio” “Good because I’ve been yours for some time mi amor”

The day Antonio figured out just how deeply in love he was with you was when he got a call you and Gabby were in med. Apparently some stupid son of a bitch had run your rig off the road. He was outside of a house preparing to go in but one look at Voight and he nodded “Get to your girls”

He wanted to check on his sister of course but seeing the line of staples on your head, it filled him with fear and anger. “Baby” he cooed, coming to sit next to you on the bed and you curled up on his chest “I’m ok. We’re ok” he nodded “You two scared the hell out of me” and you cut your eyes up at him when you realized he was in full gear “Did you leave a raid?” he nodded “Of course. I get a call my sister and the woman I love is hurt, nothing is stopping me from getting to you”

The smile you gave him made his heart threaten to burst out of his chest “I love you Antonio. So damn much” he pulled you against his chest “I love you too” that weekend he got Gabby to go shopping with him. Who better to help pick out an engagement ring than your best friend? 

[enchantedflameandflower]

Billy Butcher fic! 18+

-Her breath caught in her throat and she had to swallow. The way he looked, standing over her, dark and tall and brooding and wanting, his gaze sweeping across her form as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it away…

“Butcher,” she reached for him, her gaze roaming over his chest, and he kneeled on the bed next to her. 

Glimmer 35/?

(You don’t need to have read previous chapters to enjoy this smut!)

Tag List: @2dead2function @secretdreamlandmentality

Thank you for all the love! You're all the best! This takes place during season 3 episode 6 (Herogasm) right before he tells Hughie it's not his blood ;) Oi, Oi! I recommend the watch!

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter (34)

~*~*~

Chapter 35

As Butcher slammed his car door shut he eyed the doorman at the posh uptown high rise warily from across the street. First test, he reckoned.

One last time, he tried to talk himself out of this…but no. This was the best way to get the information they needed. Or at least the quickest way. He didn’t have time for anything else, he needed that address now. 

And yeah it had nothing to do with the way he saw her face every night when he closed his eyes.

Butcher strode across the street, holding his breath as the doorman caught his eye, but the old man nodded, grinning. “Long time no see, Butcher,” he barked out in his rough Brooklyn accent. 

“Aye,” Butcher gave him his most charming smile, white teeth gleaming. “Well I -“

“That fuckin’ virus goin’ round really knocked me on my ass for a couple weeks,” the doorman continued. “Hope the temporary guy didn’t give you no trouble.”

“Oh, uh aye,” Butcher winked, changing tracks smooth as silk. “S’all good mate. Good to see ya back,” he clapped him on the shoulder. 

The man opened the door for Butcher and he nodded in thanks before he made his way across the lobby to the elevator. He punched in the nine digit code that gave Addison access to the top floors and gave a huff of relief when the doors slid open without a beat. Was he surprised? He wasn’t sure… Addison had always kept him on his toes.

The next test was the code for her door. He’d made damn sure when she moved in it always automatically locked no matter what. It was near unbreakable plus it had its own long code to get in. 

He pressed the numbers quickly; she would know it was him as soon as she heard the first beep. The door opened and he slipped in letting it close and lock again automatically behind him. 

Last test. She didn’t kill him immediately the second he closed her door. But she gave a beleaguered sigh from where she was standing in the kitchen. Fuck, did women take a class to learn how to do that all in the same way?

“What the fuck do you want, Butcher?” she muttered without turning around. 

Well could be worse, he thought shrugging to himself, so he went for it. “Need a favor, love.”

Addison paused in the middle of chopping a cucumber, seemed to freeze completely, and for a moment he wondered if she was actually contemplating throwing that knife in her hand at him. Maybe he shoulda taken a hit of that temp V before he came…

“Addi. It’s important. I’ve not got much time,” he argued when she still didn’t answer. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She growled under her breath. “Why the fuck would I help you and don’t ‘love’ me.”

He still hadn’t seen her face, but he could see her clearly in his mind. Blue-grey eyes flaring, her cheeks flushed pink... “Cuz you can’t resist doin’ the right thing, can ya?” he answered with a knowing smirk.

“The right thing?” Finally Addison spun around to glare at him, her eyes shining steel, just like he’d imagined. “Are you high?” she huffed. “Are you on that shit right now?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m not. Pinky promise ya. And this is for Ryan. Would ya ever forgive yourself if something happened to him?”

Addison took a breath and closed her eyes, turning back to the counter but he knew he had her.

“I thought you didn’t give a fuck about him anymore,” she muttered.

“Aye, well, I know you still do, dontcha.”

Addison scoffed, shaking her head. “I fucking hate you sometimes, Butcher.”

He grinned and spread his hands wide. “Well join the club, sunshine. We meet on Tuesday nights.”

“We?” she muttered, as she scooped a handful of cut veggies and dumped them into a bowl. “You go to the ‘We Hate Butcher’ meetings, do you?” 

“I’m the fuckin’ President, sunshine.”

Addison rolled her eyes and turned around again, still brandishing the knife, which Butcher eyed warily. 

“What is it? What do you need so badly.”

Fuck she was gorgeous when she was mad. But he shoved the thought away and swallowed, focusing on the task at hand. “Need an address. The twins.” He made the motion of an explosion with his hands and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“What for?”

“Just a simple deal with a… colleague , lo -“ he stopped himself just in time. 

Addison shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. You’re working with Soldier Boy, aren’t you? Are you insane? Did you miss the part when he blew up midtown? You look like a lunatic or worse helping him -"

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks ‘bout me. This ain’t just about revenge anymore and you know it. Homelander could kill half the country before the sun went down. That don’t compare to one building, which was an accident by the way. And half the country now…now that includes Ryan. And you. And…and this baby. And it ain’t fuckin’ right.”

He saw when her face changed and he knew he was manipulating her ruthlessly, but the fact was that it was true, too, and she knew it. 

“This is our best chance right now and I won’t let it go to waste.”

She sighed. “Explain what the fuck happened in midtown?”

Butcher shook his head. “It weren’t on purpose, whatever happened it was an accident. Look I’m not sayin’ the guy is an angel but this is our shot.”

Addison took another breath and blew it out and he knew he had gotten through to her. 

“Fine,” Addison said. “If you’re really sure this is the only way.”

“Too fuckin’ right I am.”

“I’ll get the address. But only because Tommy is a fucking piece of shit and I’ve been trying to get something solid on him for years,” she paused, looking at him. “But I want a favor in return.”

Butcher took a step closer, the corner of his mouth lifting in his most pleased smirk. He couldn’t help himself. She looked like his favorite desert and he was a starving man. “And what might that be?”

******

Addison eyed him for a moment, teetering somewhere between so fucking turned on she couldn’t stand it and irritated out of her mind… the smug, rugged, handsome asshole. And fuck if she didn’t miss him so much it hurt like an iron fist to the face. She had broke it off and she wasn’t changing her mind, but it wasn’t her fault she was going absolutely crazy….

“I wanna fuck.” She had to bite back a smirk of her own at the way his eyes lit up and then he grinned, dimple and all, the fucking bastard.

“Miss me that much, eh?” he teased.

“Listen,” she huffed. “My hormones are going crazy, and that is your fucking fault by the way,” she pointed the knife at him, “and the vibrator just isn’t doing the job.”

“You could always find a new lad to play with, can’t ya?”

Addison lifted her chin, just a fraction of an inch. “No.” She couldn’t. He was the father of her child, and to her…to her, no one else mattered. Not like that. So even if there was ever a time she didn’t want him, she didn’t want anyone else either. 

She turned back to the kitchen counter, chopping again before her expression could give anything away to him. Not that he didn’t already know but fuck. She wasn’t going to show it.

She heard him though, she heard him step up behind her and then his big, strong hand was sliding over her hip, and oh the things those fingers could do…

Butcher paused for a moment as if he was testing her, then, “Deal,” he husked and he spun her around. His hazel eyes were dark with emotion and she almost sighed dreamily with relief when he let his guard down and she saw that he wanted her too, that it wasn’t just her, that his words before had been just as hollow and false as she knew they were. As hers were.

Addison threw her arms around his shoulders at the same time he pulled her hard against him and captured her mouth with his. 

He groaned against her lips and she held on tighter. 

“Fuck, love,” he gasped when he finally pulled away to breathe, and that’s when she realized she had sliced into her arm with the knife, her blood smearing across his neck. 

“Shit, sorry…” she mumbled stepping back, chagrined. She tossed the knife in the sink and wiped off the blood on her forearm to make sure the cut had healed, and when she saw it had, she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward her bedroom. She couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Fuckin’ mental,” he muttered dragging his knuckles over the blood on his neck but she turned to kiss him again to shut him up, fusing her mouth to his, and then he was scooping her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way. 

He coaxed her mouth open and his tongue swept over hers, playing and teasing. She broke away just as he reached the bed, her breath heavy and nodded toward her desk. “I’ll start a search really quick,” she breathed.

“Ah…almost forgot about that…” he grinned.

He set her down next to her desk and she leaned down, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she entered in a lengthy password and set up a scan for the information he wanted. When it was set, he swept her off her feet again and laid her down across the bed. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she had to swallow. The way he looked, standing over her, dark and tall and brooding and wanting, his gaze sweeping across her form as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it away…

“Butcher,” she reached for him, her gaze roaming over his chest, and he kneeled on the bed next to her. 

He helped her push her t-shirt over her head, and rumbled when he saw she had nothing on beneath, then pressed her back down to the bed and started a line of hot kisses down between her breasts, nipping and licking on his way. She bit her lip when he paused at her stomach and brushed his mouth just below her belly button and she knew, she knew he was thinking about what they had now, what was theirs, and she wished he would come to terms with it… But then he hooked his fingers in her shorts and tugged them down her long legs along with her underwear until she was naked beneath him and she felt like she was catching on fire. 

He kissed her knee then rubbed his chin over the top of her thigh and her entire body shuddered in response. 

“Butcher, fuck, please,” she begged before she could stop herself and she felt him smirk against her leg.

Impatient and eager, she moved, with his hands helping, until he could settle between her legs, his broad shoulders pushing her knees apart. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured and then he dipped his head to slip his tongue inside of her. When he gave a gruff moan, and flicked his tongue lazily over her clit before stroking his tongue inside of her again she realized this wasn’t going to be a quick ‘get her warmed up then move on to the main event.’ No he seemed quite happy right there….

“Ohhh…” she whimpered, desperate and needy and eager. Almost as eager as he seemed to be.

Butcher swirled his tongue around her swollen bud and pressed his palms roughly against her legs, urging her to open wider for him. His skin was hot where it touched her and his beard tickled along her inner thighs. She slid one hand into his hair while she gripped the pillow with the other. 

“So good…” she whimpered. He knew. He knew every inch of her. Shifting again, he moved so he could slide his fingertips along her folds and then he teased two fingers just an inch inside of her, rumbling at how slick she was for him. His tongue kept up its lazy patterns over her swollen clit and when he felt her climb to the next precipice, he pressed his fingers all the way inside of her. 

Addison cried out as pleasure flooded through her body. Nothing could compare to this, to him. She lifted her hips eagerly, taking his fingers deeper and pushing against his tongue and he groaned in response, a pleased rumble of pride and approval. 

So perfectly, he began to pump his fingers inside of her and he caught her clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it then sucking hard. Addison was already so turned on she felt like it would only take another second to explode, and she was ready, but then he slowed, teasing her. 

“This all for me, sunshine?” he rumbled, his fingers gliding easily though her wetness, looking up along the length of her body with dark eyes. 

“Yes,” she moaned; writhing against him; begging for more. “Just you. Please…”

“Good girl, so sweet…” he ran the tip of his tongue across his lush lower lip. “I can give ya what ya need.”

“Please Butcher,” she whimpered, tugging on his hair. 

He groaned and dipped his head back to her core, using his tongue and his mouth and his hand to hold her down and in the next moment she was clenching hard around his long fingers, crying out as her climax crashed through her, trembling and shaking with each wave of pleasure, one after another, a pure, all encompassing release. 

When she’d had enough, Billy shifted slowly, wiping his forearm across his mouth and pushing himself up from the bed. 

He glanced up at Addison, flush and still trying to catch her breath, but she could see the hint of uncertainty in his eyes so she reached for him. “C’mere…” He lifted his hand and she grabbed it, tugging, her eyes still alight with want. 

“Hang about,” he murmured gruffly, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes, then pulling himself over her on the bed. 

“Wait,” she breathed out, pressing her palm to his chest and holding him back. “Have you been sleeping around?”

“Oi, I wouldn’t say around,” he answered indignantly, making a face. “It were a mistake -“

Addison reached over to the table next to the bed, yanking the drawer open and pulling out a condom. “I don’t want to know, just -“ She pushed the small package into his palm. 

“Where were this two months ago?” he asked, holding the foil package up between his fingers.

“Fuck you,” she rolled her eyes, but her need overrode any irritation. “And hurry up.”

He grinned and sat back on his heels, tearing the package open and rolled the latex down over his thick cock while she watched. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip and he smirked at her, dimple and all. 

“Shut up,” she muttered but she reached for him, pulling him close again, until their mouths met in a searing kiss. 

But when he pulled back again, his eyes were serious. “Are ya sure this is what you want, Addi?”

“Yesssss,” she groaned, nodding, and he moved without another seconds hesitation, nestling his hips between her thighs. She could sense him going slower as his belly pressed to hers. How long would it be before her belly curved up, how long before…

…but they both let it pass. 

"So fuckin’ gorgeous," he murmured low and smoky as he reached down and dragged his tip over her still throbbing clit.

Addison lifted her hips impatiently and it made him slide in an inch, groaning as he did. “More,” she whimpered. He caught his breath and pressed the rest of the way inside of her, filling her completely, deeply with one slow thrust.

She squeezed her body around his length and watched as his eyes went even darker. 

“Fuck ya feel good, princess.”

“Don’t - oh!” she whimpered as he pulled back and pushed inside of her again. “… call me that….”

He didn’t reply but he didn’t call her that again either. He started a rhythm, each thrust slow and measured and making her squirm beneath his weight.

Addison whimpered and moaned, sliding her palms over his muscled back, letting her short fingernails bite into his hot skin. He let out a deep groan, but continued his thrusts, precise and steady. 

Her entire body shuddered when he hit that perfect spot inside of her and her hips bucked up, taking him deeper. She bit her lip, but already she was teetering on the edge and desperate for him to take her over. 

“Please, yes, please…” she cried, wrapping her legs around his hips. 

“Does my girl wanna come for me again?” he husked, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. 

“Yes…” she gasped. 

He slid his hand between them, circling his thumb against her clit and she shifted to make more room. “That’s my good girl,” he rumbled. “Come nice and hard for me.”

She cried out and gasped again, beyond words now and after a few more smooth thrusts and slippery circles of his thumb she was climaxing, whimpering helplessly, throbbing around his cock and clenching hard. He followed just after with a gruff, deep moan and the sound sent her soaring again, a new sob of pleasure escaping her lips. 

He pressed his face to the curve of her neck, his arms pulling her to him as they rode out the waves together and Addison gave a long purr of sated joy, all of her body releasing the tension of the last few weeks at once. 

The two of them stayed that way for what felt like hours, him wrapped around her so tight it was almost difficult to breathe but she didn’t care. It felt like heaven. 

Eventually he moved and lifted his head from where it was buried against her neck, a few strands of her hair sticking to his damp skin. 

“Ya alright?” he asked, voice gruff.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed, and nodded. 

He moved, slow to let go of her, lingering just a little, but sitting up all the same. 

“I’d hate to be accused of bein’ unromantic but I’m on a bit of a schedule, sunshine.”

Addison nodded sleepily and Butcher stood, carefully removing the condom and tying it off before getting rid of it. Addison sat up at the edge of the bed, trying to work up the strength to get up but before she could, Billy swung her up in his arms again, and carried her to the bathroom.  

When she was done, he carried her back to the bed and she laughed softly as he tucked her in, pulling the thick comforter up to her chin as she snuggled into the blankets.

He lifted the towel he’d brought out to wipe at her blood that was dried on his neck but she made a soft sound and he turned to look at her, pausing. 

“Don’t,” she said in a quiet voice with a mischievous smile. “Leave it. Cuz you’re mine.”

“You’re stark ravin.’”

“You like it.”

He shook his head, but his expression was soft as he started to gather his clothes. 

“Billy,” she murmured as he tugged his pants back on, buckling his belt.  

It was the first time she’d used his first name since he’d been there.

“Do you really think you have a chance of taking out Homelander.”

“Aye. I have to try. For Ryan.”

“I know. And Becca. And the baby.”

He took a step back toward her. “And you.”

She nodded minutely. “I’m with you then.”

He was quiet for a moment before he looked away. “I best go.”

“Get my laptop.”

She tapped at the keys, and felt him watching her as her eyes scanned the results. “Vermont,” she said, turning the laptop to show him the address. 

He reached for a pen off her nightstand and scrawled the address on a scrap of paper before stuffing it into his pocket. “Thanks, Addi,” he murmured.

She nodded, but she was already drifting off again, turning to snuggle her face into the pillow next to her when she remembered she had been making dinner. “Will you bring me the chips from the cupboard before you go though…” she mumbled. 

“Thought you were making a salad?"

“Mmmm. D’nt want that… And a can of seltzer. And the gummy bears.”

Billy gave a low chuckle. “Oi, anything for you, sunshine."

His voice was soft, and it was honestly the most relaxed she’d felt in weeks. Maybe everything would be okay. 

Addison fell sound asleep, hugging a pillow to her chest, before he came back to leave her snacks on the bedside table.

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think! One word, a few words, many words, an emoji, all comments are good! Let me know what you want to see, anything!

Chapter 36

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can't catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: Hope yall like this one!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Everyone knows to keep their head down when Mr. Hansen walks through the department. As often as he already has a gripe in his belly, he is just as likely to be looking for a victim to accost. You keep your head down as you sense him trawling the bullpen, his figure a speck at the corner of your eye.

You keep an ear pricked, call it paranoia, but you've witnessed the sort of suffering he can rain down on the unexpecting. You browse the spreadsheet, carefully inputting numbers cell by cell. You withhold a sigh, not wanting to give away any clue of your existence.

"Kendra," he leans on the blonde's desk, his other hand on his hip, "pretty name…"

She thanks him. The new girl is always his favourite novelty. It's these moments that make you even more thankful for the obscurity that comes with age. And more disgusted by the unchanging behaviour of creepy men.

"There's this conference next month, good experience for a temp," he offers, "what about it, sweetheart?"

If it was any other man, you might clear your throat to let him know you can hear him. To remind him of professionalism. Too dangerous. You feel a twinge of pain at letting the twentysomething flounder against his undeniable proposal.

"Far away so… we'd have to fly out," he continues and you shift in your chair unthinkingly. You can't help it, you've been there, you've had to smile and fawn, to pretend your skin isn't crawling. "...pack something pretty."

Your elbow hits your pen and it rolls off the edge of your desk. You wheel back to grab and dare a peek over at Mr. Hansen in his predatory posturing. His eyes are drawn to you and he squints as he rolls his tongue behind his lower lip. Shit.

You sit up quickly, repressing a groan at the pang in your lower back, and roll up to your desk. You cradle your face, hiding behind your hand as you scroll and pretend to be enraptured by your screen. You doubt you're enough to distract him from the beautiful blonde.

"They got room service up in Gaines," he continues, "think about it."

He taps two fingers on her desk as he pushes off. You expect him to strut back to his office but continues his walk of the floor. You shrink down and curl your shoulders, looking at your cold coffee in desperation. A good excuse to get away from your desk but you can already hear him rebuking you for getting up just for another cup.

You click to the next sheet in the file as he nears. You stiffen as he comes behind you, holding your breath as you wait for him to pass. You feel him pause and hear the subtle scuff of his sole. You nearly jump as he puts his hands on your shoulders.

He leans in, his overpriced cologne tickling at the migraine in the back of your brain. You select a cell and pull up a report for comparison. He watches you work without a word, hands firmly on your cardigan.

He shoves away suddenly and claps his hand as he twists on his heel.

"Alright team, back to work," he demands as if the whole floor must be rapt by his presence, "no fucking around."

You let out a breath of relief. You glance over at Kendra as she gives a cringe at his back. You want to commiserate but you'd hate to make her feel more awkward.

You wait until you're certain Hansen is in his office and take your half-finished coffee to the kitchen. You rinse it out and dry it before placing it on the tray of the machine. You put a pod in and select the size, standing back with crossed arms to watch it brew.

You hear someone behind you but don't look over. The shadow approaches the fridge and pulls it open, taking out a container seemingly at random. You turn your head and blanch at Mr. Hansen as he cracks the communal carton of milk meant for coffee and drinks directly from it. You try not to show your disgust.

"Morning," he swipes the back of his hand across his mustache, "want some?"

He offers the carton as you grab your mug and shake your head, "no, thank you, sir."

"On a diet? Keeping the dairy low?" He wonders before taking another gulp then looks at the label. "Ugh, who the fuck ordered skim?" 

You muster an awkward smile. You've never been good at office politics, you don't pander, you just mind your business and so your work. A good day is when no one bothers you.

He puts the carton back without closing it. You retreat slowly, realising he's between you and the door. You try to sidle past as he reaches into the fridge again. He steps back, nearly into your path and examines the tupperware. You stop short as you recognise the worn teal lid; it's your leftovers from the night before, your name clearly labelled on the top.

"Huh," he peels back the lid and smells the chili, "smells delish…" he dips his fingers to your shock and sucks it off shamelessly, "hell of a cook." He says, a tinge of red in his mustache.

"Uh, thanks, I should–"

"You should?" He arches a brow, "you should… keep your nose out of my conversations and focus on your own work, right?"

"I don't know what you mean–"

"I saw you. Squirming like a caterpillar," he snaps the lid back into place and tosses the whole container on the bin beside the fridge, "look, I know at your age, there’s not much excitement but it doesn't mean you needa eavesdrop on matters that don't concern you."

"I didn't–"

"I get it, you're jealous, your ass blew up after the kids and your husband hasn't looked at you in years–"

"Sir," you say affronted but more stung by the accuracy, "please, I wasn't–"

"Oh, yes, you weren't listening because you have a deadline," he steps closer and wraps his hand around your mug. He wiggles it free of your grasp and you let him, "I moved the budget review to tomorrow morning so…" he pauses and swigs the coffee while snapping his fingers with his other hand, "snap, snap on those expense reports."

You stand, stunned and shamed. He spins nonchalantly and strides out, still sipping your fresh coffee. You let your head fall back and groan. Not only are you out the extra caffeine boost but you have to call the babysitter.

🗄️

You don't mourn your lunch as you likely wouldn't have the time to eat. You spend it outside, below the awning of the building as rain pours over the edge. You have your phone in hand and a needling in your skull. This sort of weather always gives you a headache.

On the fifth try, Pete picks up and you swallow a sigh, "hey," you say abruptly, checking your watch.

"Hey, what's up? I had to leave a meeting," he hisses low, out of breath.

"I'm sorry, I just need to know what time you're expecting to be home. The sitter can only stay until seven but I have to stay late–"

"Late? Honey, you know I can't guarantee I'll be there. I'm working my ass off tryna get this thing off the ground. Grinding–"

"I know, I know, but we could use the overtime and… I don't really have a choice."

"Can't you do tomorrow?"

"Pete, it's one night–"

"One night? It's a call I'm not making–"

"Please," you beg, "we need the money, you know we do."

He puffs and blows a raspberry, "shoulda told that sitter to stick around…" he grumbles.

"We can't even afford to pay her for the extra," you mutter.

"I fucking know–"

"Don't swear at me," you warn, "if you hadn't bought that damn corvette–"

"Not doing this again. I'll be home at seven. Happy?"

You roll your eyes, "yeah," you lie. Happy, no, that's not something you feel anymore.

"Pete," a female voice purrs and he hushes them.

"Got it, Anita," he clears his throat, "tell them I'm on my way back."

"Sorry to keep you," you chew your lip, "I'll let you go."

"Sure," he scoffs.

"See ya tonight," you soften your tone, "love ya."

Click. The call ends and you're left dangling. You pull your phone away and look at the screen. No point in using up the last of your break, you might as well just go back to your desk.

🗄️

Your vision glosses as you stare at the messily painted portrait of a house and tree. The sitter sent a picture of Simone's latest artwork and tugs on your impatience to get out of there. You wish you could be there to pick up your kids and hear all about their day. 

Most times you spend the hours after work cooking, cleaning, and trying to rein them in. You're not fun like Emma, their sitter, you're always the voice of reason, the strict ruler of discipline. You send back a heart and black the screen.

Another person packs up for the day, once more tightening the chain that attaches you to your desk. You lean forward, your head pulsing as the brim of your vision blurs. The advil did nothing against your migraine.

You hold your forehead as you squint at the numbers. This is going to take forever. Pushing a budget meeting up one week surely is a personal attack. You need to work on your poker face, you can't do this again. You're too old and tired.

You yawn and fight to keep your eyes open. Maybe Pete can do bath time. You almost snort at that. Right, and hippos are bright pink and friendly.

You shake your head and lean back, trying to stretch out the kinks. You hear the elevator. Eventually you'll get there. 

You look around, realising the desolation of your predicament. Not too many people left, at least not those without offices. You roll each ankle, arches achy just from your low heels.

Your phone buzzes and you ignore it. It's six-thirty. You let it go to voicemail and save your file for good measure.

You think of having another coffee but that will only make your head throb and your night sleepless. Well, more than usual. 

Your cell starts to jitter again. You're agitated as you snatch it up. It's 7:03. Emma's number greets you in blaring white digits. Dammit, you already know what's going on.

You answer, saving again as you wheel the chair back and reach into the drawer to fish out your purse. You keep the phone to your ear as you say 'hi' and struggle to get your jacket on. Pete!

"Hi, um, I'm still waiting for someone to show up–"

"I'm so sorry, Em," you shut off the monitor without bothering to boot down, "Pete said he'd be there. I'm on my way now."

You step around your chair, nearly tripping over it and push it in behind you. You rush across the office in a clomping gait, half-running as you weigh coming in at 4am and convincing security to let you up early. You continue to apologise to Emma as you promise to be home as soon as you can.

You hang up and dial Pete. As you near the elevator, his voicemail plays and you sneer, hitting end and dialing out again. You poke the down button several times and wait for an answer.

"Pick up!" You growl to no one.

"All done for the night?" A lilting taunt brings you around to face Mr. Hansen as he runs a small comb through his mustache, "you work fast."

"Mr. Hansen, I… I have an emergency–"

"Ah, so you're not done," he tuts, "I figured you'd be used to working fast. I'm sure the old man only last about five seconds, huh?"

"Sir," you bite back your offence, "my kids–"

"Aw, mommy's running late for supper. Let me guess, the dead beat can't even boil water."

You want to shriek. Can this man not shut up? This day just won't end and it's really all his fault. You're welling up and about to explode.

"Please," you utter.

"Oh, come on, you got exactly what you wanted, didn't you? Kids, a husband, the whole nine yards," he tucks the comb into his front pocket, "didn't anyone ever tell you they stop fucking you once you pop at a couple watermelons?"

You gulp. What is happening? Your throat tightens up and your eyes glaze. It shouldn't bother you, he's a gross old pervert but what are you? A bitter and sad old woman.

"You're not going to cry, are you? A strong working lady like yourself? Nah, you can hold it in, for the kids. You got a daughter don't ya, you wouldn't want her to see you break–"

You take a step towards him and stop yourself, palm itching to smack him. You raise your chin and bat your lashes. 

"I'll finish the reports at home. I need to go take care of me kids," you fight to keep your voice steady.

"That's the thing about you moms, always the martyr, always looking for special treatment cause you let a guy drop a load indoors," he sneers, "and you're just gonna raise a couple of brats to go off and live the same boring lives."

"Stop," you croak.

"If you're gonna cry, just do it," he goads, "huh, maybe it's menopause kicking in early? All that stress–"

"Good night, Mr. Hansen," you say curtly and face the elevator just as the doors slide apart, "I'll have the numbers done. I promise."

"Oh, I know you will," he snickers, "but you still owe me. For being such an understanding boss, you know?"

You turn around and grimace in confusion. Owe him? He winks and smirks back, "say hi to the kiddos for me."

The doors shut and you close your eyes, hanging your head in defeat. You're going to be up all night, less than ready for the review and certainly unprepared for Mr. Hansen. You can only hope by then he finds a new target.

[43501]

Enormous detailed list of Near headcanons.

Basically canon / extrapolations from canon:

A pro at spatial visualization, excellent at translating 3D images from his mind/memory to reality. Sculpts and carves all sorts of things. If there's anything that definitively proves his inhuman IQ, it's that he can use Blender without breaking a sweat (we see this in the A-Kira story).

Particular about his hair, always wanted to just leave it alone and let it grow out naturally.

Immaculate handwriting.

Autistic. Should this be in the below category? This is basically unanimously agreed on, right?

Purely headcanon / not based on anything in particular / wishful thinking:

His past: He was at another institution before being discovered and brought to Wammy's House. His memory of this is hazy, and his memory of early childhood life before that is completely non-existent. He has no idea who his birth parents are and has no desire to know.

His present: Throughout his adult life he vacillated on his feelings about taking up L's mantle. Growing up he felt like it was his only option, feeling himself unfit for a regular life with a regular job. But he never felt he was as good as the original L. Goes about his duties in a rather passionless way. Never got over Mello's death and probably never will.

Not insomniac, but an erratic sleeper. Schedule doesn't really conform to a typical 24-hour cycle. He sleeps when he feels the need and this can occur any time. Will often just fall asleep on the floor, but does have a bed (it more resembles a nest of blankets/pillows).

Diet is unremarkable (compared to say, L or Mello) but he under-eats. Has never cooked a single thing for himself, exclusively orders food or has his staff bring things to him. Not a picky eater (I mean... HTR13 suggests he ended up eating the New Year's mochi, he was playing with those things on the floor).

Owns and wears clothes other than plain pajamas (mostly t-shirts, sweatpants) but everything is comfort-first, slightly loose and made from breathable natural materials. Owns a long skirt, because sometimes that's the most comfortable for him. It earned some raised eyebrows and then a shrug when he instructed his staff to procure it.

Favorite season is winter, prefers a cooler room temp. Hates summer, has low tolerance for the heat.

Fascinated with the shinigami, wishes he could meet more of them than just Ryuk.

At his core, a sentimental and sensitive guy (after all, while he trashed most of the finger puppets he created at the end of the story, he kept the ones of himself and Mello and stored them somewhere safe). His expressions are muted and his emotional regulation is superhuman, so it's not evident to an outside observer.

Reads books for leisure sometimes but generally not a huge consumer of media. Very, very, very rarely watches any television/films and when he does, they're exclusively mecha-oriented or sci-fi (he probably likes Blade Runner and Ghost in the Shell).

Spends a lot of time on the internet, specifically on charged social media platforms like Twitter and 4chan. He reasons it's a broader part of his job, but he seems to just like observing people.

And about Mello specifically:

Feelings of kinship bordering on romantic, but he never got the chance to interrogate them. Only realized the extent of his affection some time after Mello's death. Has not felt like he has an intellectual equal in the world since Mello left it.

Has, at some points in the past, held completely ordinary, pleasant conversations with Mello. They are some of his better memories.

Believes that they would've been friends if they met in some environment other than Wammy's House/the L program. Feels a little bitter toward Wammy's over it, even though he recognizes they raised him and gave him access to a world-class education.

[charincharge]

I Don't Want To Wait, seventy-four

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: Well, babes, this is it. The final effing chapter of IDWTW. When I started writing this, almost exactly four years ago (chapter 1 posted on may 29, 2020!), I had no idea what it would become. I thought it was going to be vv casual prompt-based high school pining vignettes, simply to rewrite my own version of Dawson’s Creek – if you’ve ever wondered why it was called IDWTW, that’s why! It was a temp title that stuck! – but 375k+ words later… it’s become so much more. And that is because of YOU. Whether you have been here since 2020 or you joined along the way or you're finding this years after the face, I am infinitely grateful. I don’t know that I would have been able to pull through the last few years without your kindness and enthusiasm for these two idiots (and their friends and fam). I have loved telling this story, but mostly, I’m grateful that this journey introduced me to so many incredible humans and created a community of babes I will hold near and dear to my heart for literally ever (it’s true, I loved one of you so much that I drove across the country to meet her, and in a few short months she will be my WIFE!). This story brought so much good into my life, and I am hella proud to finally conclude it. From the incredible creators who made fanart, to the essays of comments on each chapter, to the back and forth of discussing consent, sexuality, and reproductive rights in my inbox, every gif, comment, reblog, message, ask, and interaction of any kind has been a joy. Thank you.

With all of that said, let’s wrap this mother up.

A soft glowing circle lit up the black beneath Aelin’s feet. Her stomach tightened as she rested on one leg and hitched to the side in a slow exhale. Her breath centered her as she pulled her pointed toes up her calf until it extended into a slow and steady develope. Just as she had barely met the apex of her leg’s vertical reach, she exhaled again and twirled to the floor. The music cascaded over her as she continued to move, her muscles moving on autopilot into seamless choreography. She had beaten out several far more senior company members for this solo and had practiced it so many times that it lived within her, sure to remain there for the rest of time.  With each of her graceful steps, the spotlight followed her and swathed her in its golden column, as if she were being beamed up into the sky above. With how much lift she got in her leaps, she felt like she was, too. Finally, the bass came in signaling the end of her solo and for the rest of the company to join her on stage, but even as the spot widened until it cast a bright haze across the floor, the floor remained empty.

Confused, she looked into the wings, but all she saw was blackness, not even the barely there violet glow of the stage manager’s lamp. She was grateful for her muscle memory, as her limbs continued their practiced movements as her brain whirled in confusion and panic. She was mid-twirl when the music came to an abrupt stop, and she had to put her entire energy into not tumbling over her own foot. When she finally regained her balance, she looked up and around in confusion. The audience, which she’d thought was packed, was emptied out, only one solitary figure remained. Even barely lit and in silhouette, Aelin would recognize her mother’s haughty posture and signature bouffant. Her slow, delicate clap was a stark contrast to the thrumming pulse of Aelin’s heart pounding against her rib cage.

“Mom?” she breathed, barely a whisper but it still echoed through the empty theater.

“A child bride,” Evalin replied with disgust.

Aelin’s brow shot up. “H-how did you—?”

Evalin cut her off. “You thought you could steal my wedding dress from my closet, and I wouldn’t know about it?”

Aelin looked down in confusion, but sure enough, her recital clothes had transformed into the ivory strapless column sheath she used to admire as a small girl. Rhoe had kept their wedding photo in his bedroom long after Evalin left, only removing the photo when a young Aelin commented with a wistful sigh that she’d never seen Rhoe smile the way he did in the black and white snapshot. The dress was stunning in its simplicity, all clean lines and structured satin.

Her hands pressed against the fabric, as if knowing this wasn’t right, but unsure of the how or why. A soft tinkling laugh drifted across the room, and Aelin’s eyes darted to the noise, hopeful that someone had come to save her from this bizarre encounter and nearly collapsed in relief when Rowan’s shock of icy hair appeared in the doorway.

He looked as handsome as ever in his lacrosse jersey, a wide grin on his face and a giant trophy in his hands. Her smile matched his, realizing that he must have come here straight from his championship. Winning his championship.

“Rowan!” she called out, but he didn’t look up. Instead, he offered his free arm to the source of the tinkling laughter. A beautiful woman accepted his bicep and wrapped both her manicured hands around his forearm possessively. He leaned down and brushed his lips against the top of her head in a gesture so familiar that it physically hurt Aelin to watch. “Rowan?” she called out again, this time much quieter.

Evalin’s cruel bark of laughter was the only response she received. “You offered him everything, and it still wasn’t enough. You’ll never leave this small town. You really are your father’s daughter.”

“No,” Aelin told her mom emphatically. “NO!”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“NO!” Aelin screamed again as unwitting tears streamed down her cheeks, hot under the persisting spotlight. “R-rowan!” she choked out, but he couldn’t hear her, too enraptured by the woman in his arms, eyes — and ears, apparently — only for her. “Rowan!” she sobbed. She went to leap off the stage, but she was caught mid-air, her back hitting something with such a force that it knocked the wind of her.

“Ace?” Rowan’s voice was in her ear, his hand rubbing at her back as she gasped for air. She cracked her eyes open and sagged as she realized that she was safely wrapped in Rowan’s firm embrace. “Whoa, you’re okay.” His voice was a reassuring balm to her heart, which felt bloody and bruised.

“I’m okay,” she forced out, though it came out so shaky that Rowan pulled back to peer into her eyes. She wanted to avert her gaze, hopeful that he wouldn’t be able to see the panic that was still coursing through her body, but the dark green of his irises calmed her, so she stared and focused and thought of things that reminded her of the deep shade of Rowan’s eyes. Emeralds. Yulemas garlands. The long row of lockers in their gym room. Grass and trees in the setting summer sun. The jade plant that Maeve claimed brought her good luck that sat on her kitchen counter. Moss. Green tea leaves. The fake snake he’d placed in her bed every prank week. That knocked her out of her tranquil stupor, and she couldn’t help but frown at him.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” he said, but continued to rub circles into the tense space between her shoulder blades. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Aelin shrugged. “It was weird.” She paused for a long while, trying to think of how to tell him about it. “My dance showcase went off the rails?”

Her admission had its intended effect. He squeezed her tightly and kissed the soft spot of skin behind her ear. “Well, that’s silly, brain,” he said, letting his kisses trail up to the side of her temple. “You already crushed your showcase.”

She grinned in response. It was true. She had crushed the showcase, and Rowan had been there just as she’d dreamed in his jersey and trophy in hand. They’d gone into double overtime, and he’d barely made it to her opening solo. With seconds to spare, he’d slid into a seat in the front row, so she’d be sure to see him cheering her on. But she’d known it the whole time. She could feel his gaze on her as she twirled across the stage. The end of that performance had been, well… not the same as her brain had rewritten it. But, Rowan was right. Her brain was being silly.

“Maybe it’s just acting out because someone kept me up all night,” she said, loving the way that Rowan’s ears still turned pink.

“It’s not my fault,” Rowan said, but his blush said otherwise.

“Sure it’s not,” she said with a lascivious smile.

To celebrate their final week of high school, Aelin and Rowan had planned a movie marathon on Maeve’s rooftop. It included a trifecta of essential graduation movies: Can’t Hardly Wait, Booksmart, and Grease. But what she hadn’t realized was that Rowan wouldn’t be able to help himself from singing along. And he knew what his singing voice did to Aelin’s libido. She couldn’t help herself. Somewhere in the middle of Greased Lightning, the movies were all but forgotten as the pair tangled themselves in each other.

Stretching his limbs to the sky, Rowan looked like a literal god. The early morning sun cast a glow across his stern brow and strong nose, making him look as chiseled as a marble statue.

“If you keep that up, I’m taking you right back to bed,” he said of her lusty gaze and hooded eyes. He poked her side, eliciting a loud squeal.

“Whatever,” she laughed. “It’s not like we have anywhere to be today.”

It was true. Today was the last Monday of the year. AKA, senior skip day. And she’d purposefully not committed to joining anyone’s plans, so she and Rowan could extend their marathon if they wanted to – she also had High School Musical 3, She’s All That, and Dazed & Confused lined up — or just laze around all day. But they had time. Considering where the sun was, it was still very, very early. She imagined Maeve would be in the midst of morning service and briefly considered heading downstairs to grab them some coffee and croissants, but instead she laid back onto the mattress and fluffed a pillow beneath her head. Rowan followed, nuzzling onto her chest. She stroked his hair, not wanting to separate herself from him with the tendrils of her dream still lingering in her consciousness.

“Last week of senior year,” he said. “In three days we’ll be high school graduates. How do you feel?”

“Terrified,” Aelin said, the word blurting out before she could filter it back. Damn that coffee-free brain.

She could feel Rowan tense slightly, but he let her early morning admission slide, and she was grateful for it. “Mm, me too,” he agreed. “The lacrosse boys signed up to do a car wash for community service day, and I’m worried I’m going to see things I can’t unsee,” he said with a shudder.

Aelin couldn’t help but snort. While today was a skip day, tomorrow was a service day. Each senior had to do some sort of community service in order to graduate. Ridiculous. Not like they hadn’t all passed their classes already. She supposed the sentiment was nice, but as someone who’d been volunteering with the hospital for the last two years, it felt a bit shallow. Unauthentic. Forced, if you will. And the athletic teams always used it as an excuse to strip down to their skivvies and wash horny housewives’ cars for an exorbitant amount of money. At least it was better than the Boy Toy auction Lorcan had told them they’d finally outlawed because of the gross raunch factor.

“Just tell them to use a sponge and that their junk isn’t for rubbing against dirty cars,” Aelin advised. Rowan groaned loudly.

“Great, now I can never close my eyes again,” he whined.

“Are the cheerleaders also doing the car wash?” Aelin asked, definitely not thinking about her dream at all. But Rowan was definitely not going to let that comment slide. His head popped up, and she found herself ensconced in his shadow as he peered down at her with an accusatory glare.

“I think a few of them are,” he said. “But… you remember that I’m about to marry you, right?”

“A lot of married people cheat, Rowan,” she said, pushing him off. She hadn’t meant to be so pouty about it, but she couldn’t get the image of his arms wrapped around that dream woman out of her mind.

Rowan looked rightfully hurt, the corners of his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed as he stared her down. “You cannot be serious.” He knocked at her temple. “This has gone beyond your brain being silly. We are so many years beyond this. Do you have amnesia?” He knocked again. “Helloooo, Aelin, are you in there? Have you been possessed by the ghost of your past self?”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, pushing his hand away, but he persisted.

“No,” he said, pulling his pants from last night on. He searched for his shirt briefly, but unable to find it, he simply turned toward Aelin in stoic silence, arms crossed over his bare chest and face looking discontent. “I’m not going to let you say shit like that, Ace. That’s…” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. To be fair, she was exasperating. “That’s hurtful. To me. I know you’re scared about the future, but I thought we established that I’m in this with you.”

Aelin scrambled to her feet. “We did.”

“So…?”

He stood there, tapping his fingers against his bicep which was curled protectively around his torso still. Not letting her in. Waiting.

But she couldn’t explain it to him. That lingering nagging feeling of insecurity and worry and failure. So instead, she apologized. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was good enough for now.

. . .

Instead of spending senior ditch day in bed, Aelin and Rowan joined their friends for a never ending picnic day in the park. Which wasn’t exactly what Aelin had wanted, but she had a feeling that she needed to loosen the reins on her panic, lest she piss him off even more. She had a feeling that maybe she’d loosened things too much, though, when she realized midway through her community service day that she hadn’t heard from Rowan in hours. She’d been helping the hospice section of the hospital, which was designated for those who needed round the clock medical care. Their rooms varied from being fully decked out with medical equipment and monitors to the one she was in, which simply had a low bed, a tv, and a chair. Not a monitor in sight. Had she not known the woman needed constant care and surveillance each time she rose from her chair to go to the bathroom, she would have thought she was in someone’s grandmother’s house. As the woman made her tenth trip to the bathroom, Aelin took out her phone. Just to peek. There was no text from Rowan, btu there was one from Dorian. It was a link to a TikTok with the side eye emoji, and she clicked it quickly.

She watched as washboard abs and pecs were drenched with soapy suds as they washed dirt-ridden cars. She bit her lip as Rowan came into view, his muscles rippling as he reached across the hood, his biceps flexing and unflexing with each wipe.

“Mmmmm,” Aelin’s elderly patient hummed appreciatively over her shoulder as she exited the bathroom and spotted the phone screen. She scrambled to put it back in her pocket, but her patient simply chuckled dryly as she snatched the phone into her wiry grasp. “A friend of yours?” she asked curiously, peering up from the screen where the video was replaying.

“Boyfriend,” Aelin admitted, her cheeks burning.

“Lucky girl,” the woman giggled, her hazel eyes alight with joy as she handed the phone back to Aelin where it made its way back into her pocket quickly. “What are you doing spending your time here with an old fuddy-duddy like me?” Aelin was about to protest, but the woman continued. “What’s his name?”

“Rowan,” she finally said as the woman wrapped herself in a thin blanket and tucked herself into her favorite upholstered rocking chair.

“Rowan,” she repeated back. “That’s a good name. A strong name. A reliable name.”

Aelin frowned. “Reliable?”

“Well, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Sturdy,” the woman continued. “In more ways than one. I can tell.”

Aelin gasped, chastising the woman for her forwardness but she simply laughed it off.

“You’re right,” she whispered, as if she were letting her in on a big secret.

“Go, get out of here,” the woman laughed.

“But I still have two more hours?” Aelin said of her unsigned sheet of volunteer paper, but the woman simply shook her head and beckoned for Aelin to come closer.

“I appreciate your service,” she rasped, “But I just want to nap, and it’d be a shame for you to watch me sleep for two hours. You’ll have the rest of your life to work,” she said signing and dating Aelin’s paper for two hours in the future. “You can fuck around for a few hours.”

Aelin gasped again at the profanity, but smiled regardless.

“Thanks,” she said, but the woman had already nodded off in her chair.

. . .

“Droooooool,” Lysandra laughed as she poked Aelin’s side and pulled her out of her skin-induced stupor.

“I—”

“Were staring?” Lys cackled, following Aelin’s eyeline to where Rowan was clad only in his old red lifeguard shorts. The backs of his thighs were exposed, the hem of the shorts riding up as he leaned down to clean the back bumper of a particularly dirty sedan. Unlike his teammates who were filming each other and tossing sponges back and forth, Rowan was focused on the task at hand, making sure that the car he was working on was well-cleaned. “I hate to interrupt your literal wet dream,” she continued, “But, I wanted to invite you to a party.”

Aelin grabbed the paper from Lysandra’s hands and looked down at it.

“You’re having a party?” Aelin asked, surprised by the idea of her sober friend having the graduation rager she’d always wanted to throw.

“It’s gonna have booze,” Lys said, “But… I will not be partaking.” She cleared her throat. “I know that this year is not at all what I imagined, but I finally feel like I’m okay, and I would feel like shit if I didn’t throw the graduation party of the century.” She flicked her brown curls over her shoulder. “Just because I’m sober doesn’t mean I can’t party.”

“Certainly not,” Aelin agreed. She looked at her friend who’d been through the wringer and spit out again and had come out seemingly unscathed and couldn’t help but wonder… “Hey, Lys?” she asked before her friend could move to the next person. Lysandra looked up, eyes curious. “Do your parents know you’re having this party?”

If Lysandra was surprised by the question, she didn’t show it. Instead, she half shook her head and half shrugged. “No.”

“Should I be worried about that?” she asked, but to that, Lys gave a hard head shake.

“No.”

“But you haven’t reconciled with them?” Aelin didn’t know why she was asking these questions, but at the same time, the answers seemed all too important.

“It’s hard to reconcile with someone who doesn’t care,” Lysandra finally said. “But, I will say that I’ve let it go.” She cleared her throat. “The needing them to care.” She smiled then, a small curve but Aelin saw it regardless. “I wanted them to care for so long,” she admitted. “For too long, probably. So I acted out. A lot. Willing them to pay attention, at the very least. But you can’t will someone to care, even your parents,” she laughed softly. “And I’ve been through enough therapy now that I’m starting to realize that as much as that hurts, it’s okay.” She paused. “I don’t need them to care. Because I care enough for all of us. And I realized there are a lot of people out there who care, too.” She paused, looking at Aelin, as if trying to cut through the bullshit and tell Aelin exactly what she wanted to hear, and in that moment… she did. “Does that make sense?”

Aelin nodded. “It does.”

Lysandra tapped the paper in her hands. “Immediately after graduation, and we’ll go all night. Bring your bathing suit,” she said.

“Will do,” Aelin laughed, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Lysandra’s words. Her friend had laid it out plainly for her. What she’d been afraid to admit all along. That she maybe really seriously actually needed to go to therapy. The wounds her mom had imparted on her psyche ran deeper than she knew how to deal with. If her dream was any indication, her mom still controlled some part of her identity, and she needed to release that. Because that had nothing to do with who she was as a human. Not at all.

After the dream, she had thought that maybe she needed to call her mom and let her hear her thoughts, but Lys was right in her assessment: it was impossible to control someone else’s feelings. Even your mom’s. Yes, she wanted her mom to love her and want the best for her, but truly, her mom barely knew her. All Evalin knew was propriety and etiquette and history. She didn’t know that her favorite color was green, like Rowan’s eyes. She didn’t know that her favorite food was Maeve’s chocolate cake. She didn’t know that she was thinking about a career in medicine and how much she loved helping people. And she certainly didn’t know that Aelin wanted at least five kids and to make sure that every single one of them felt loved and adored by both their parents. No. She couldn’t make Evalin care, or pay attention long enough to even try to care. And she had to let that go. It would take a lot of work, but she had to.

With that in mind, she called out Rowan’s name, followed by a whoop and a loud expletive. His answering blush and crooked finger, beckoning her to wrap herself in his half-naked embrace was all she needed to know that she’d been forgiven. But she knew she had to explain anyway. He let his teammates know that he would be back in a minute and let Aelin pull him away from the long line of cars still waiting to be washed.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, tilting her head upwards where he loomed over her. He softly kissed the top of her head, warming her even more than the mid-afternoon sun. “I could say I don’t what came over me yesterday, but… that’d be a lie,” Aelin continued.

He squeezed her side in response, not interrupting her but acknowledging that he was listening and waiting.

“Did you know that the morning of my sixteenth birthday I woke up and resolved that I would kiss you that year?” she asked, and he barked out a confused laugh.

“Um, what?”

“I was so determined to do it, too. And do you know why?” she asked as she let her hands trace small circles into the soft skin of his back.

“Because you knew you wanted to be with me forever and ever and that we’re perfect together and meant to be and we’re each other’s soul mates and other halves and one of us just needed to make a move?”

Aelin snorted loudly. “No,” she laughed, screwing up her face. “Not at all.”

Rowan’s forehead wrinkled as his brow transformed into a deep furrow. Clearly her words weren’t at all what he expected to hear. But, she knew she needed to get this out.

“When I thought about why I wanted to kiss you so badly, I realized that it was a test. If I kissed you and blew up our entire friendship, then I’d be right about everything I thought about myself. That you could never love me as much as I loved you. And so obviously you’d leave. Because everyone leaves.”

Rowan’s grasp tightened around her waist, locking her against his chest. “But I’m still here.”

“You are.” She paused, finally letting the words come to the surface. “I think…” She shook her head. That wasn’t the right start at all. “I know… that my mom deeply screwed me up.” She took another deep breath. “And watching you get recruited and this whole college limbo thing has made it so much worse. Because every day it feels like I’m just waiting for you to get up and realize that you’ve outgrown me. But you haven’t done anything to make me feel like that at all. And so, I’m really sorry. My issues are my own, and I’m going to work on them.”

“Thank you,” he said. “For the apology, and for letting me know what’s going on in there.” His fingers tucked under the hem of her shirt and matched the circles she was placing on his back. “I’ll try and remember all of that when you inevitably freak out again, but I look forward to proving you wrong every day for the rest of our lives. Because I’ve said it a few hundred times before, but I’ll keep saying it until you believe it: you’re stuck with me. Forever.”

“Forever,” she echoed back.

“Whitethorn,” a rough voice called out. “We need you back!”

In his absence, the line of cars had somehow grown impossibly longer. “Looks like you’ve got work to do,” she said, raising her brow.

“Will I see you later?” he asked, and Aelin couldn’t help but scoff.

“Oh, you thought I was leaving?” she laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to snag a prime spot for ogling and then maybe we can hop into the jeep when you’re finished.”

“Really?” he laughed. “Even smelling like sweat and sunscreen?”

“Ohhhhh yes,” she said, practically drooling as he let her hands climb up the ridges of his defined abs. “That’s even better.”

He responded with a deep kiss that set her body ablaze, tingling from head to toe, that was interrupted by more panicked calls from his teammates. After prying himself away, Aelin found a spot on a nearby bench, giving her the perfect view to fawn over half-naked and half-wet Rowan for the next few hours.

. . .

The next morning, Aelin was awoken much too early. She was pulled from her easy slumber with a dance remix of Pomp & Circumstance coming from her phone alarm. What the hell? As she slapped at the table next to her, attempting to turn off the too-loud music in vain, she felt her dad’s hand cover hers and lead it to the offending object.

“Congrats, graduate,” Rhoe’s warm voice lilted as he gently rubbed at her shoulder.

“Dadddd,” she groaned as she attempted to put her pillow over her head. Now that that music was off she could go back to sleep. Or so she thought. She should have known better than to play tug of war with a man who could bench press and carry three times her weight. Rhoe’s soft laughter was a stark contrast to the forceful way he wrenched the pillow away. She managed to keep it within her grasp, but Rhoe’s strength kept it locked at a significant distance from her face. She tried to pull it closer, but Rhoe wasn’t letting that happen. She guessed it was time to wake up, per Rhoe’s request.

Defeated, Aelin let her fingers drop from the pillow, and finally cracked an eye open. Behind her dad’s head was a swath of green and gold, and she focused she could see that nearly ever inch of the room had been filled with balloons.

“Happy last day of high school,” her dad said with a too-wide smile given the early hour. When she opened her other eye, his smile widened even further, showing off two deep dimples that she recognized from her own reflection.

“It’d be happier if I could sleep more,” Aelin grumbled, but it wasn’t with any real mirth. Hung on the outside of her closet door, Rhoe had steamed her deep emerald graduation robe.

“I have one more day left with my high school student, and I plan on making every second count,” Rhoe said, causing Aelin to smile in reply.

“Tyrant,” she laughed. But she was grateful.

After allowing her to get ready, the pair made their way to Maeve’s, where she’d saved a two top for them by the window. Within seconds of sitting, a large hazelnut coffee and platter of stuffed French toast and bacon appeared in front of her. Yes, being in a small town was sometimes annoying – but no matter where she and Rowan went in the world, she knew a plate of Maeve’s home cooking would be waiting for her when she came back.

She and Rhoe enjoyed a lazy brunch, ordering second and third cups of coffee.

“Fourth?” Rowan asked, coming around with the coffee pot.

“If I have any more coffee I’ll be peeing every twenty minutes for the rest of the day,” she laughed, shoving him away. Though he hadn’t been able to join them for their breakfast because he was helping train a new staff member for Maeve, he’d dropped a soft kiss on her cheek every time he’d passed by their table. Which. Was a perfect way to enjoy her day. They’d planned to have a celebratory brunch the four of them, since they’d all be going to Lysandra’s (family inclusive!) graduation party following their graduation ceremony, but having it just be Rhoe and Aelin felt right, too.  

“As if you don’t do that already,” Rhoe scoffed. “I’m half expecting you to hop off the graduation stage as soon as they hand you your degree to take a pee break.”

“Dad!” she said, cheeks blooming with redness. Yes, she had brought up peeing first, but she couldn’t believe her dad would talk about her like that in front of Rowan.

“Please,” Rowan laughed. “As if I don’t know about your tiny bladder.”

“You’re both the worst,” she grumbled. “Can we talk about something else besides my pee schedule?”

“Yes, I wanted to ask what you’re wearing under your gown today,” he said before his brain caught up to what he said. “Not in a sexy way!” he said, blush raging as Rhoe raised a pointed brow in his direction. It’d been a while since she saw Rowan look so flustered under Rhoe’s gaze, and she forgot how amusing it was. “So we can coordinate,” he finally said. “For photos.”

“Not in a sexy way,” Rhoe muttered to himself. Something akin to a wheeze came out of Rowan’s mouth as he tried to correct himself again, but Aelin thought it was time to put him out of his misery.

“You can wear whatever you want,” she said. “Because I’ll be wearing a white dress.”

Rowan’s widened eyes darted to Rhoe and then back to her, and she didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed with a nervous gulp.

“A white dress?” he croaked.

“Mhm,” she said. “So anything you wear will go with it.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Speaking of,” Rhoe said, clapping his hands loudly and breaking them from their joint reverie. “We should head out so you can start getting ready.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, knowing that her dad was teasing her about how long it took her to get ready, but as she glanced at the time she realized he wasn’t entirely wrong. They had been so caught up in their lengthy breakfast that it was now well after noon.

With a small kiss, she told Rowan she’d see him out on the lacrosse field in a few hours. Unfortunately, Galathynius and Whitethorn were annoyingly far apart in their grade lineup, so she wouldn’t see him for real until after the ceremony. But all he did was send her away with a smile and a kiss.

“Can’t wait,” he said.

. . .

Of course they were graduating on the hottest day of the year. Though the weather forecast had predicted partly sunny skies and balmy breezes, instead they received a cloudless sky, still and relentlessly hot beneath the beatific sun. The thick polyester robe in dark emerald green created a tent of heat around her, and she could feel every inch of her skin beading with sweat beneath it. She hoped when she took off the gown she still looked somewhat presentable, otherwise her hours of preparation would be for naught.

True to her dad’s prediction, Aelin had taken a while to get ready, shaving her legs thoroughly and straightening each strand of her long blonde locks. Of course, beneath her cap and combined with the thick humidity, her hair was beginning to show its natural wavy texture again. And she had a feeling that as soon as her cap was off, she’d be pulling her tresses into a giant pile on top of her head, pictures be damned. Luckily, she’d sprayed her face with a few layers of setting spray so no matter how much she sweat, her winged eyeliner and flawless complexion weren’t budging.

Beside her, Dorian swiped a bead of sweat that had fallen down his temple. Not even his mop of thick curls was enough to prevent the amounts of sweat from cascading down his cheeks and neck.

“If this speaker doesn’t hurry up, we’re going to boil alive,” he whispered as their graduation speaker drolled on. The man was supposed to be inspiring — he was an author turned executive, but his slow talking pace seemed to be getting slower with each word. Not only that, but each word seemed to be the same tone with no inflection, and Aelin was worried all of them were going to fall asleep before their names were called. Maybe she’d be more inclined to listen to his words of wisdom if the hundreds of them weren’t swimming in pools of their own sweat.

Somewhere in her musings, she heard a round of applause, signaling the end of the speech. Thank god.

The next speaker was their class valedictorian, slash Prom Queen. None other than Elide.

“On behalf of the Seniors, I’d like to take a moment to thank everyone who has been a part of our success,” she began. “The last four years have been filled with bumps in the road, and it hasn’t been easy. But our success is a direct result of everything you’ve given us. Your care and belief in us and faith when we doubted ourselves have been integral in our quest for knowledge. That includes our teachers, who taught us not only school lessons but lessons in life. Our parents and families, who have been there since the beginning. And the families we’ve created along the way.” She paused, searching for a face in the audience, smiling widely when she found her teal-haired girlfriend smiling back at her. “The bond that links us isn’t one of blood. It’s forged in joy and tears and friendship and respect,” Elide’s eyes found Aelin’s at that moment, and she couldn’t help but smile at her friend. “And no matter where this crazy life takes us beyond today, we will always take this place with us. Because home isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling, it’s a light in the darkness. It’s hope. And so, to the Orynth High senior class, I say, as we forge new paths for ourselves, may we never forget home.” She cleared her throat and smiled widely. “Let’s hold onto the memories and camaraderie and picture-perfect moments, for they made us who we are. Congratulations… we did it!”

The whole class whooped and hollered and clapped wildly, none more so than Manon, who beamed up at her girlfriend from the front row.

And just like that, it was time.

Aelin held her breath as Principal Havillard took the podium and started calling out their names. Her heart raced as her row stood, waiting to take the stage. Her nerves were momentarily squashed as Manon made a lewd gesture with her tongue between her fingers after accepting her diploma. She watched as Lysandra proudly plucked the degree and held it over her head. She knew her friend hadn’t been sure she’d be able to graduate, and it was a relief to hear her name.

Before she could process anything else, she was walking up the stairs and hearing her name being called out. “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”

She nearly tripped over her own feet at the chorus of shouting that came from the back of the chairs. She looked over at where Rhoe and Lorcan were shouting wildly and realized that they were accompanied by the entire fire squad. Aelin’s breath caught in her throat at the display of raucous hooting and hollering. These people who had known her since she was a child had come to cheer for her and see her graduate. She had not anticipated that at all. And she found herself completely overwhelmed.

Beside the squad, Maeve cheered, and on the other side of the chairs, down by the W’s, Chaol and Rowan stood and shouted with hands on either side of their mouths. A thrill of love and support rushed through her. She couldn’t believe how many people were here for her.

She grabbed the diploma from Principal Havillard’s hands and raised it into the air, causing the cheering to explode again. She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes, making a silly face in the direction of her family.

Elide’s words rang in her ears. Her family. The squad, her dad, Lorcan, Maeve, her friends, and of course, Rowan. That vast group was more support than most people got in their lifetime. She’d never forget that.

She made her way back to her seat, laughing as Dorian flipped off his father and then booked it away from him, cackling wildly. Always a troublemaker, that one. And finally, after what seemed like forever, it was Rowan’s turn.

“Rowan Eugene Whitethorn.”

Aelin shot up from her chair, screaming as loud as she could, and despite being many rows back, she could feel Rowan’s eyes lock with hers. His lopsided grin was just for her, and she felt a thrill of joy run up her spine at the look.

“I love you,” she mouthed to him, causing his grin to widen.

“And with that,” Principal Havillard concluded. “I give you the senior class. Congratulations, graduates!”

Aelin stood and joined in the cheering again, her voice starting to go hoarse with the efforts of her support. They did it.

. . .

“Congratulations, Fireheart,” Rhoe said, throwing his arms around Aelin. Despite the heat, she welcomed his embrace.

When he pulled back, she noticed a large bouquet of her favorite flowers in his hand. He held them out to her, the red and orange flowers flickering like a live fire beneath the late afternoon sun.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, suddenly feeling emotional.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, and she could tell that despite his dry cheeks, he’d been crying. “And I love you so much.”

She hugged him again, pulling him tight and not letting go for a long while. After they parted, Aelin was passed around for hugs to the entire squad, each one of them telling her a story of something she did when she was a small girl hanging out at the station, imbuing her with joyful memories.

Then it was Maeve’s turn, who didn’t hold back her tears at all. Fat blobs rolled down her face, and she didn’t both to move them away, seeing as they were coming in a steady stream.

“Oh, hon, I’m so proud of you,” she said as she practically squeezed the life out of Aelin. She was grateful she’d unzipped her graduation robe, otherwise she was sure she would have passed out from heat stroke by now.

“And what about me?” Rowan low voice interjected. Maeve burst into a fresh round of sobs as she pulled him close.

She blubbered into his shoulder about how proud she was of him, of both of them, of all their achievements and how grown up they were, and Aelin could feel her heart expanding. It felt like she was going to burst wide open.

By the time everyone had said their piece, the field had mostly emptied out. Aelin heard a soft ripple of groans as a few of the firefighters took out their pagers.

“Fire?” Aelin asked as she peeled the sweaty gown from her shoulders.

Rhoe shook his head. “Worse. Graduation pranks abound, apparently.”

Aelin laughed, understanding that her dad was probably in for a long night of nonsense work.

“So I shouldn’t expect you at Lysandra’s?”

Rhoe shook his head. “You don’t want your old man crashing anyway.” He narrowed his eyes at her, as if he was blinking back more tears and sniffed loudly. “Have fun. You deserve it.”

“I will,” Aelin said, hugging her dad one more time. As he left her with a wave, she looked around for Rowan, who was standing just a few feet away, talking with Maeve. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin.

“Hey, you” he said, offering his arm out to her with a wide smile. She leaned into his side and took a deep breath, letting her happiness flow through her.

A flash went off in their face, and Aelin knew that whatever moment Maeve had just captured that she’d be framing it.

“You ready?” she asked, and his smile widened.

“You headed to Lysandra’s?” Maeve asked, completely unaware of the real conversation happening between the two of them.

Rowan nodded. “Do you want to meet us there?” he asked Maeve, but she shook her head and waved them off. Apparently she had a big night of dinner service ahead of her, but she sent them off with a joint hug and another tearful smile.

And just like that, it was time.

. . .

 In the days, months, and years that followed, whenever Aelin was asked about her wedding, she would say that it went by so quickly that she couldn’t remember it, and that was mostly true.

From the time the pair entered city hall to when they exited, a total of maybe ten minutes had passed. There was no aisle to walk down, no verbose exchanging of vows, no romantic readings or passages, but it was perfect nonetheless.

Aelin clasped her bouquet of kingsflames in one hand and Rowan’s hand in another, letting her skirt swish as she swayed back and forth. She had no idea what words the city official said. All she remembered was the brightness in Rowan’s eyes as they stared down at her and the way he kissed her when they’d been pronounced husband and wife.

As they made their way back to his car, Aelin was giddy. They rolled the windows down, letting the cooler air whip through the jeep, a wild giggle bubbling up in her throat and fizzing like champagne with each second that passed. Delicious and lightheaded inducing.

They had done it. They’d actually gotten married.

She looked over at Rowan, who was already staring back at her, a soft dreamy smile on his face. She couldn’t help but grin wider at him, laughing again as his smile pressed against hers. She loved when they kissed like this – a smashing of two smiles that wasn’t quite a kiss at all.

The stress that they’d felt over the last however many weeks, months, years, wasn’t present at all in his posture. She glanced down at his hands poised on the steering wheel, his fingers curling around the black leather in a loose grasp and tapping along to some silent tune in his head. The late afternoon sun filtered through the window casting him in a glow that made him look like a bronzed god, and Aelin sighed happily. This man was all hers. Forever.

FOREVER.

She’d always known their lives would be intertwined, but to actually make it official was something else. The light turned green and the car lurched forward as he pressed on the gas and began driving again. But the adrenaline surging through her was too much. She couldn’t just sit in this passenger seat, she needed to do something.

“Pull over,” she said, eyes flashing at their surroundings.

“Huh?” Rowan’s head whipped toward hers, confused.

“Pull over!” she said again, louder this time. Verging on panic.  

Rowan’s relaxed posture immediately reversed, the thick corded muscles of his shoulders and neck tensing as he looked for a spot to pull over.

“There!” she said, her pulse racing wildly.

Up ahead was the empty parking lot of the library. Though it was usually sparse there, there was not a car in sight, and Rowan wasted no time swerving into the lot and putting his hands on Aelin’s shoulders, examining her up and down.

“Are you okay?” he asked, green eyes taking in every detail of her body as if searching for a gaping wound or sudden injury.

“I’m perfect,” she replied. And she was. She was elated. Running on adrenaline and joy.

To calm her suddenly worried boyfriend — no, husband — down, she placed her hands on both his cheeks and kissed his mouth in a soft, sweet kiss.

“Keep the car running,” she said, picking up Rowan’s phone where it was plugged into the car and adding a song to his Spotify queue.

“What are you doing, Ace?” Rowan sighed, exasperated with her antics. Panic was nowhere to be seen anymore in his posture, only annoyance. Which only made her smile wider. As the first notes of the song came onto the stereo, she cranked up the volume and hopped out of the car. She smiled up at the sky, swaying to the beat, basking in the first signs of sunset and pink tinged clouds overhead.

To his credit, Rowan didn’t ask any more questions. He simply followed her lead and exited the jeep.

“Husband,” Aelin said, offering out her hand. “May I have this dance?”

Rowan’s returning smile was so large she thought it might crack his whole face. Gods, he was gorgeous.

He pulled her close, swaying with her as their song played. “I can’t believe our first dance is to Dancing In The Moonlight,” he chuckled.

“We wouldn’t be us if it weren’t,” she said, leaning into his chest as his arms circled her waist and pulled her close.

And though the song was upbeat, they stayed embraced and tangled up in each other, slowly swaying, chest to chest, hearts beating in rapid tandem with the beat of the song. They were so wrapped up in each other that Aelin barely noticed the sun disappearing behind an ominously dark cloud until a large raindrop plopped onto her nose.

And another.

And another.

She thought they would run back into the car and seek shelter, but neither of them made a move. In fact, the rain just seemed to invigorate them. Rowan stared up at the sky and laughed, Aelin following right after him. He lifted his hand and spun her in a circle, both of them laughing with reckless abandon as Aelin’s skirt flared out around them. He spun her again and this time ended his flourish with a dip, kissing her deeply.

Time seemed to cease to exist as they danced. Under the raining sky they became a mess of water-drenched spinning, laughing, kissing, and singing.

The skies continued to pour, until they were both soaked through. But as the last notes of the song played, their little magic bubble disappeared.

Aelin looked at Rowan and then back at her white dress, which was now dripping.

“Omg I look like a drowned rat!” she shouted through the rain.

Rowan laughed, pulling her back into the jeep and grabbing a towel from his back seat to dry his own hair off before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“But a very cute rat,” he said, causing them both to burst into laughter once again as they took off toward their graduation party.

By the time they arrived at Lysandra’s, they were still water-logged, giggling messes. Lys gasped at their disheveled appearance, eyeing them up and down with a wary eye.

“Ummm, no,” she said.

“No?” Aelin laughed, feeling drunk on endorphins.

Lysandra’s wary eye morphed into a blinding smile at the pair of them. “Get out of here and go celebrate on your own,” she laughed. “And congratulations,” she whispered.

“For graduating…?” Aelin asked, and Lysandra couldn’t help but snort loudly.

“Babe, you’re wearing a white dress and a shit-eating grin.” She paused. “I’m happy for you.”

She embraced the pair of them. “Now get out of here before anyone sees you.”

Aelin and Rowan didn’t need any more prompting. Apparently they were not subtle enough to pull off seeing other people right now.

“Where to?” Aelin asked Rowan as they slid back into the car.

Rowan smiled back at her. “Anywhere we want.”

“Let’s go,” she said.

And with that, they hit the road. Overwhelmed from the day, Aelin promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat, letting the feel of the car lull her into a dreamless sleep.

. . .

“Aceeee,” Rowan whispered, pulling her from her slumber. It was completely dark outside and the pair were stopped at a gas station slash motel. “You gotta get out of the car and then you can go right back to sleep,” he said softly.

“I’m awake,” she mumbled through a wide yawn. “Where are we?”

Rowan chuckled as she practically poured out of the car into his arms. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she truly was until after they’d checked into the motel, which was surprisingly not seedy, and she was sitting back on the bed. Her dress wasn’t wet anymore, but it certainly wasn’t going to be comfortable to sleep in. She wished they’d thought to prepare better for this sudden excursion. Of course, Rowan had.

“I picked up some essentials at a rest stop,” Rowan said, as if reading her mind. He pulled out an oversized tee that read “Geck Yo Act Together,” with a large picture of a gecko on it and tossed it to her, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a little thing of mouthwash. He also pulled out giant sandwiches and chips and bottles of water and a Terrasen mountains tee for himself.

“Smart,” Aelin laughed, realizing the last time she ate was her (albeit giant) brunch, hours ago. “Is that where we are?” she asked, realizing she had no idea where they were.

“No,” he said, grinning softly. “I thought maybe we’d drive south. Explore for a while.”

“Is this our honeymoon?” Aelin laughed, looking around the small, dingy motel room. It wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined, but she also had never imagined getting married at eighteen.

“You told me you wanted to find the continent’s best chocolate piece of cake,” he said, and she couldn’t help but bark out a loud laugh.

“That could take weeks!”

“You got somewhere to be?” he asked, brow raised. And she loved the way his smile promised devious, devious things. And suddenly, she wasn’t so tired anymore.  

“I also got one more thing,” he said. She watched as he pulled a thick gold band out of his pocket, and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. He sat on the bed beside her and slid it onto her finger and her heart nearly stopped as he pulled another to slide onto his own. They were practically matching, except while a red stone sat in the middle of her ring, a dark green one that matched the shade of his eyes sat on his.

“Oh,” she said, her throat feeling remarkably dry. She tried to swallow, but it was too rough. A lump in her throat that wouldn’t abate. She tried again as she stared at the ring on her finger, her heart pounding as the red stone flickered in the dim motel room lighting. Why couldn’t she swallow?

“It’s just temporary,” Rowan rushed out, mistaking her silence as dislike. “The rest stop had a pawn shop, and I just knew we needed them, but they’re just for now…”

She cut him off with a swift and forceful kiss. “They’re perfect.”

“Hey, where’s my phone?” she asked. “I need to take a picture of this immediately.”

“I plugged it in,” he said, pointing to where he’d already set up a little charging station.

She picked it up, intending to take a picture of her ring, but an alert from literal hours ago disrupted that. She couldn’t believe it. An email in her inbox that read: Wendlyn University Admissions Update. Oh gods.

Without another word, she clicked into the email, heart pounding. Her eyes skimmed quickly, hoping to get the band-aid ripped off quickly, but she paused on the word CONGRATULATIONS.

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD!” she screamed, throwing the phone at Rowan. He picked up the phone and smiled widely, whooping and wrapping her into a bear hug so tight she couldn’t breathe.

“You did it,” he mumbled through kisses. “I knew you were going to do it.”

Unable to control themselves, their kisses increased, heating up wildly until his kisses seared through her, worshipping each inch of her skin. She was breathing hard as he peeled her out of her dress and pushed her onto the bed and continued to whisper adorations and plans of their future. How proud of her he was, and how he was never going to let her forget it. She shivered as he let his mouth skimmed against her, and she promised in that moment to never take him or his love for granted. This is why she didn’t need handwritten wedding vows — because they vowed to each other all the time with a simple kiss. And more than kisses. They brought each other to orgasm again and again, until they were both sweaty and spent and shaking with pleasure. They both poured every ounce of joy and relief into their intertwining bodies, finding their own perfect rhythm, until long after they should have gone to sleep. But neither wanted this magical day to end.

He was twirling the ring around her finger when Aelin remembered that she hadn’t taken a picture of it yet. She reached for her phone and started at a text from her dad, which just said: Checking in.

“Oh my god,” Aelin said again, bolting upright.

But Rowan just chuckled sleepily, reaching out with one of his hands to squeeze her bare backside. “Yeah, baby. Oh my god. You’re incredible.”

“NO, ROWAN,” she said smacking his shoulder. “What were we thinking? We got married! And then left home without telling anyone?” She actually couldn’t believe she had done that. What was she supposed to write back to her dad? “Rhoe is going to KILL ME,” she said, finally realizing what had occurred over the last twelve hours. “No, wait. He’s going to kill YOU! He’s going to arrest you for kidnapping his only daughter!”

At that Rowan really did laugh and pulled her back down into his embrace. “Ace, are you serious?” his laughter poured over her, silky smooth. “You think I would marry you and take you out of state without explicitly asking your father for permission and telling him our plans?”

Aelin’s eyes widened as she looked at Rowan with serious eyes. “He knew?”

Rowan kissed her shoulder and mumbled a soft, “Go to sleep. I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”

She paused. “You made a plan, but didn’t think to pack a bag for me?”

He chuckled again, pulling her tighter against his side. “I did pack a bag for you,” he said. ”I just forgot toothpaste and a nightshirt,” he said, his lips loosening as sleep threatened to take him over. “You didn’t need it, though.” And with that, he was asleep.

“I love you, too,” she replied, pushing his hair from his eyes and loving the way he smiled at her touch, even asleep. Unable to help herself, she laced her fingers through his and snapped a quick pic of their intertwined hands before sending it off to her dad. As she rested the phone down and closed her eyes, she felt ready for the next chapter. Except, it wasn’t really a chapter, she guessed. It was the rest of her life. A new book she was writing. She didn’t know what it would entail, but she knew that she couldn’t wait.

THE END

[drama-glob]

Between a Rock and a Hard Place (I'm Sorry)

Ozzie comes home after the “Mastermind” trial.

“Fizz?” Asmodeus cautiously called out again as he scanned the darkened room, only lit thanks to the TV in the corner that was currently playing a Lust game show. He had been expecting Fizzarolli to be enjoying lunch about now, so that’s why he thought the kitchen was the logical place to find him, but instead of his boyfriend, he saw a bowl of soggy cereal next to a deflated, room-temp latte with a crazy straw sticking out of it.

“Oh no,” Ozzie worriedly said to himself as he rapidly looked for any trace of the jester imp, knowing Fizz not eating was always a bad sign. His heels clicked on the hard floor as he took a peek under and around their two tables, but finding nothing once more. The Deadly Sin’s gaze then fell on the giant doors, prompting him to abandon the area and try elsewhere.

Ozzie’s heavy footsteps were muffled by the carpet as he soon reached the massive glass elevator tube in the center of the penthouse, where he proceeded to follow the outer ring until he hit the hallway that led to the bedroom. What do I say once I find him? ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem strong enough in this case and what if he doesn’t want to even talk, what then? …I guess I’ll just have to start from there and hope he’ll at least not turn me away. I can’t say I blame him though for being upset. I mean, if I were in his shoes and it was him or Bee, I-. The Embodiment of Lust shook his head as his thoughts spiraled, taking a deep breath in and out in an effort to calm himself despite his stomach twisting itself in knots. Don’t assume anything. Just go in there, see how he’s doing and let him know you love him, Ozzie told himself with determination as he neared his destination.

Here is the link on AO3:

@charsawdeath @enbydemirainbowbigfoot @pastaprincess @my-dark-lord @meandtheyeehaws

@cringebun @lagomorphlady @crucian-tador-hb @caspira-writes-fanfiction @nothoughtsjust-vibes These poor guys. ;_;

[woso-fan13]

Sicktember 2023: 8

Persistent Fever

Kiera wakes up to a cold bed, which is unusual when she can’t see any sun seeping through the shades yet. It wasn’t uncommon for Lucy to awake before her, but she was never up this early, especially not on an off day. 

The only times she was up this early was when you had regressed, and slept over in your nursery. You would usually wake up and begin babbling, and if they didn’t wake up with that sound from the baby monitor, your babbles would turn to cries. Whichever woman heard you first would be in charge of scooping you out of the crib and changing you before they settled you in between them in the big bed. There, your makeshift little family would snuggle and sleep for another hour or so. 

But the bed was cold enough that Kiera knew Lucy had been gone longer than a few minutes. She also noticed that the baby monitor was missing from the nightstand, which gave her a hint as to where everyone else may be. 

Taking a last minute in the comfortable bed, Kiera eventually slid out and walked to the nursery. She didn’t bother knocking on the half-shut door, pushing it open to see a half asleep Lucy rocking you in the chair. You seemed to be asleep, but Kiera could tell by looking at you that it wasn’t a deep, peaceful sleep. 

“Luce,” she says, walking over to stand near you, “is Y/N still not feeling well?”

You had had a bit of a fever the afternoon before, but your moms had hoped that an early night to bed would knock it out. Clearly, it had not. 

“She’s definitely sick,” Lucy says, “I heard her around three this morning, a fussy little thing. I checked her temp, and she was up at 39.2. I’ve given her medicine, a cool bath, a fever patch, but nothing even touched it. She’s still holding steady.”

“Poor thing,” Kiera coos quietly, using a finger to gently trace your lips, pouting even in your sleep, “she wouldn’t go back to sleep?”

“I don’t think she could get comfortable enough to sleep. She had a bottle, I bounced her, we read stories and sang lullabies. Little love was so knackered but she just couldn’t get to sleep. It was heartbreaking.”

Kiera simply frowns, wordlessly replying. The two women watch you for just a few moments before you start shifting, whimpering in your sleep. 

Your eyes flutter open, fever glazed and filled with tears. You shift to move closer to Lucy, becoming upset when you realize the only way you could possibly get closer was to crawl inside her skin. Sensing your distress, Kiera quickly grabs your attention. 

“Mummy,” you whimper pitifully, reaching out slightly to her. 

Kiera shushes you, pulling you up and into her arms. She rocks slightly, holding your fever warmed body close. 

“Shh, darling, Mummy’s got you. You’ll be alright.”

Lucy watches as Kiera whispers to you, rocking as she paces the nursery floor. She smoothly passes the changing table, not even pausing as she swipes the pacifier off of the top and slips it into your mouth. You suckle slightly, clearly miserable. 

“You try wrapping her yet?” Kiera asks. 

“Do you think it would be okay? Wouldn’t raise her temperature?”

Kiera barely pauses to consider before she shakes her head. Pulling open the top drawer in your changing unit, she pulls out a large, thin muslin blanket. She tosses that on top of the table before handing you to Lucy as she walks over. 

She prepares the blanket, making sure it’s flat. She takes you back into her arms, laying you in the correct position. Kiera takes the opportunity to change your diaper, admiring how Lucy goes to comfort you without thought. She leaves your pants off, beginning to tug at your shirt. Eventually, the two women have your pajamas removed and Kiera gets to work swaddling you in only your diaper. 

You calm relatively quickly once your limbs are restrained, your fussing transitioning into a quiet mixture of gurgles and babbles. Lucy ensures that your soother is still in place, using one of her pointer fingers to trace gently down the bridge of your nose. Your eyelids are getting heavier and take longer to open after each blink. 

The two women almost die of cuteness when you yawn slightly, your eyes pressing closed and your mouth opening around your pacifier. You make a sweet, sleepy sound when your roaming eyes land on your mums. 

“mamamam,” you mumble, seeing Lucy near your face. Your Mama picks you up and cradles you, settling in the rocking chair. One arm holds you close, that hand gently patting your thigh. The other hand continues tracing the bridge of your nose, lulling you closer to sleep. 

Your body hurt and you were somehow both hot and cold, but your Mama was hugging you tight as Mummy picked up the small mess that had been made overnight. You could barely lift your head because it was so heavy and you were so weak and tired, but your mums had been doing it for you. 

But still, the heat running through your body didn’t allow you to settle fully. It’s only when you feel yourself moving before being laid down that a restful sleep takes over. 

Right in the middle of Mummy and Mama’s big bed, you tried to sleep your fever off. 

[clarkeyhill]

Borders| George Clarke pt2

(Several parts)

Smut|Fluff

You'd started your makeup, working around the colours you were wearing, your eyes smoky and your lips coated in red. The wrap of your dress pulled you in like hourglass, your cherry hair draping down your back in loose curls. You were ready.

[outfit & hair for reference]

You pick out a plain black clutch and open your bedroom door, making your way out to the living room to find Chris and Arthur "boys?" You call out poking your head around the corner as they clamber around "you ready?" Chris replies "yeah how do I look?" You ask, taking a step into their gaze as they both smile "ah you look great" they both say in unison as you toss your hair over your shoulder "why thanks" you giggle.

"Did you text George the address" you ask Chris "yeah, he's on route he should get there just after us" he replies as you nod. You make your way out the flat to the bar, the London air sending a shiver up your spine from the breeze as you hurl a jacket over your back. You arrive at the bar after around a 10 minute walk, you head in to order the first drinks "4 Long Island ice teas please" you ask, ordering for the table as the boys find a space to sit. You grasp the four glasses as you shuffle over to the table, George was still yet to arrive.

You take a sip of your drink as you see George make his way through the crowd to you all "sorry I'm a little late" he says as he smiles at you all, just as he finishes his sentence his eyes match your gaze, the look behind his eyes filled with wonder "it's fine don't worry, we haven't been here long" you say sliding his glass over to him "first round was on me remember" you smile as he chuckles "thanks" he says taking a sip of his drink.

The night progresses and you decide to move to a club, you were eager to dance and properly let your hair down, the alcohol buzzing through you like an enabler for fun. You skip down the street in your heels "she's gonna break her neck" George says to Chris as he shakes his head "pretty sure she'd be more worried about the red bottomed heels than herself mate" he chuckles as they watch you turn into a drunken golden retriever in front of them. The city lights became a fog in your peripherals as you got to the club, you could hear the bass through the doors "one of you has to dance with me!" You say with a mischievous look "absolutely not" Chris shakes his head "pussy" you say as you throw him the middle finger, walking away in a huff inside.

Chris orders this round as you find a space on the dance floor to let your body feel the beat, the movements came naturally as your body moved with the tempo, feeling every beat in your bones. The boys stood and admired your confidence "she's really one of a kind" Arthur says chuckling "yeah she keeps me on my toes alright" Chris chuckles, George doesn't respond, instead his eyes are fixated on your moves, your effortless arches as your body sways, dancing to "boRdErSz" by Zayn, the music took over you. You hair a fuzzy mess in your face as you dance like nobody's watching, Chris catches George's gaze and nudges him "what did I say" he says with a stern look "sorry mate, she's just..amazing can't help but admire her confidence you know?" He plays it off as they head to a table near where you were dancing.

The part of the song approaches where the temp dies down, the slow trance washes over you as can sings the chorus (2:50 onwards so take it off, let's break down all of our walls) as your hands move around your body, feeling it heavily as they caress the sides of your figure, drawing attention to the curves and grace your body withheld. You feel eyes warming over you as the songs comes to an end, dancing with strangers wasn't all so bad at all, especially if your body felt that good after it. The soft pants came from your mouth as you giggle with a girl next to you "you're absolutely gorgeous" she says, as you send a soft smile "Thankyou, as are you" you say back as you shuffle over to the table, George's eyes locked on your physique as your strong walk becomes hypnotising to him "so where's my drink?" You say as you push the hair out of your face "you were busy, I'll go grab you one" Chris says going to get up "it's fine mate, I'll get this one" George says getting up, the whiff of his aftershave hit your nostrils as you take a seat next to them.

"Remember what I said about my friends are off limits" Chris advises "I know? I've not done nothing?" You say with a confused face "no, but George seems to be keen" he says cocking his head slightly "that's not my fault I'm hot" you say shrugging your shoulders as you look at George over at the bar, you decide to help him with the drinks.

"Hey" you say "uh,hey" he replies with a smile "thought I'd help you carry the drinks" you reply "ah thanks" he responds "no problem" you smile back, George pays as you wait for the drinks to be made "so, Chris says you look interested in me" you say with a raised brow "what a twat" he responds shaking his head "that means you are?" You reply with a smug look

"So what if I am? You're off limits we promised Chris we wouldn't" He replies with a curious grin

"Some rules are meant to be broken, especially if you're right on the border of them" you grin

-

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