#have yall read this fic? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

morphids · 3 months ago

Text

surrender to the sea, hange zoë

pairing: pirate captain!hange x noble!reader, they/them pronouns used for hange with afab anatomy for both

summary: your father’s shady business deals with a pirate crew lead to collateral damage.

warnings: kidnapping, pwp, explicit sexual content 18+, minors dni (consensual no dubcon here), poc friendly!! hange is a freak, r is SO down bad (same), r is dissatisfied w her life, tension, acc insane executions of gay panic, theres so much exposition before the smut im so sorry bear with me, cunnilingus, fingering, general filthiness — enjoy.

wc: 8.8k, sorry i cant stop yapping.

a.n : listen i tried to stop myself but im weak to my own devil thoughts ok hange worshippers wya

—

Jolting, you sat up in your bed, awakened from slumber by a whipping crash, followed by splintered glass cracking on the hardwood floors of your quarters.

Heart thumping in your ears from the shock, your head instinctively turned towards the shattered window, where the translucent fabric of the curtains were being dragged out with the cool night’s wind. Brows furrowing, your gaze turned to a small, thick object on the floor, illuminated by hints of moonlight, presumably the very cause of the shattering.

You felt an odd feeling, something in the wind warning you that you weren’t alone, you looked over your room, checking for anything out of order. There was nothing out of place, it wasn’t until your second skim over the room that you saw it. A shadow in the darkest corner, the corner where light barely hit it, something to do with the measurements of the architecture, you’d been told. It was there though, undeniably.

“Who are you?” You spoke, shakily, loud against the otherwise still atmosphere, your voice caused a small laugh to come from the unknown shadow.

“That’s your first question?” They spoke, an air of condescension about them.

“I should like to know the identity of the person who has broken into my quarters,” You steeled your voice, trying to portray an image of fearlessness though you were betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as they clutched onto the bedsheets for any hope of comfort, “May you at least come out from the shadows?” Your fear was definitely betrayed then, as the person stepped forward, the light now casting shadows over their features.

You looked them over, noticing a slight reflection from the glass in their spectacles, a black band covering one quarter of their face, obscuring the right eye. You shook, this was no person from court, maybe not even from this city. Their hardened features, accessories and strange attire placing them from somewhere else entirely. Who is this stranger? What business have they with you?

You find yourself lacking words, having been woken up in such a way was causing a lack of signals to be sent to and from the brain. You were just staring at them, stunned to silence.

“No more questions, huh?”

“I-I just, am confused,” You responded, blinking away tears that formed as you truly grasped the situation you were in, and anything that could happen from here.

“Well, let me explain then,” they shrugged, “You’re coming with me,”

You ogled, “Coming with you, where exactly?”

“As it turns out, daughters are the best way to get a man to pay up,” They chuckled, you didn’t like the implications of this, at all. What did this have to do with your father? Last you had spoken to him, he was furious at you, having been ‘disrespectful’ to one of the countless suitors he had tried arranging for you. You don’t know why he still bothered; every time each one of the suitors had travelled and began any attempts at courting you, you’d reject them.

“I hope you know I’m not going to marry you,” you’d said to one of them, once. You could almost laugh at the gears turning inside their heads as they looked at you as if you were an entity. You’d add in a couple of comments here and there about how their attempts were foolish and in vain, how they coat their dark intentions behind sweet words and promises. You could always see through them. Plus, it was hard to deny the entertainment you’d get from seeing their flustered faces, set on denying all accusations whilst having no actual defence, before huffing and wandering away, not before having words with your father about how they would never marry such a disobedient and insolent woman. Was this your father trying to teach you a lesson? No. That doesn’t feel right, they emphasised paying up. Pay for what? You wondered, had your father been up to something?

“Unfortunately, that makes you collateral,” they paused, looking down as they adjusted the sword that was clinging onto their side, sheathed away, for now. You hadn’t even noticed it before, shuddering as you realised you were completely defenceless. Not a weapon nearby you could use, even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to formulate an attack, regardless. “So, you’d better listen to what I say, and come with me,”

After a beat, with no response, they continued, “I will only ask nicely once, princess,” Sighing as one hand moved to their hip, the other remained on the hilt of their sword, “I’d prefer to do this cordially, if you wanna make it ugly, that’s your choice.”

You blinked, truly at a loss, what the fuck was happening?

“If I go with you, will you tell me what’s going on?” You hated the way that sounded on your tongue, so helpless and lost— a feeling you resented, pride dissipating and crumbling into a tiny speck.

“You have to come with me to find out,”

—

Wood creaked beneath your feet, steps hesitant as the stranger escorted you along the way, your vision totally blinded as they had wrapped a cloth around your eyes. Closing your senses from the rest of the world, all you could do was rely on the sounds of hectic chatter and sea waves, a salty scent around you.

You’d been walking for what felt like miles, but your manor wasn’t too far away from the sea, that stretched out to meet a vast ocean, the only connection between your country and any others. You knew you had been taken to the coast, based on the cries of seagulls and the humming water.

The stranger’s hand was placed on the lower of your back, guiding you, as well as deterring you from any sudden moves. You probably would’ve tried to run away from them, were it not for the clang of metal that was attached to the stranger’s hip.

“Can you at least tell me your name?”

“I think you’re confused on our roles here, sweetheart,” They chuckled, “You don’t get to order me around,” They added a slight push at your back, emphasising the fact that they hold all the cards, whilst you’re just leverage. That was the only part of this you understood.

Sighing, you sneered your lip. You were starting to get pissed off, this stranger completely disrupted your sleep, blindfolded you, is kidnapping you, and you still have no clue as to why. You needed answers.

Your steps came to a halt, when you felt the stranger press you forward to nudge you, you hardened your legs to the ground.

“I’m not continuing,” A pause, “You said you wanted to do this cordially, then tell me your name,”

The stranger sighed, you could almost hear the roll in their eyes, “Look, we’re almost here, okay?”

“Just a few more steps and then I’ll tell you,”

Another nudge at your back, along with a hand meeting yours, “Watch ya step,” They spoke, guiding you up what felt like a ramp, their hand leading you.

A door slammed behind you, the stranger removed their hands and disappeared for a short time before you felt them behind you again, fingers untying the knotted cloth. You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Were they going to kill you?

Your eyes felt slightly raw after being covered so tightly for that long, after you adjusted to the air and light around you, you could take in your surroundings.

The room was slightly dimmed, lighted only by a few oil lamps that burned away in their designated corners, you noticed countless jars on the shelves, preserving different sea creatures and other things you could not recognise. Notes and maps were scattered all over the floor and the desks, piles of books, rustic and handmade, but neat and organised— in its own way. This was the room of someone who studied and researched, you could recognise the frantic illustrations immediately, could feel the passion that lingered in the room.

The stranger moved in front of you, “You just gonna stare?” Your eyes took them in now, fully in vision this time, with no more shadows to hide behind, no more cloth. Their eyes were a soft, dark brown, layers of hair falling over the sides of their face, the tips rimmed with leftover structure from saltwater. Strong jawline and a strong nose, their glasses sat atop the bridge, leaning down slightly, the black band you noticed before still covering their eye. Their attire consisted of a loose black, long-sleeved shirt, a large slit down the chest area, not tied with the laces, allowing you to see the vast black strings with pendants that made up the necklaces wrapped around their neck. You recognised it as a shirt that was traditionally stitched for men, though they certainly looked much better in it than any man could. Loose black pants which emphasised their slender waist, with dark long boots, you could see scuffing on the edges of them from wear, the laces splitting from frequent tying. You let out a sigh, before speaking.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hange,”

“You’re not from this land,” You say, “You’re a person of the sea,”

Hange hummed, their hand meeting their hip once again.

“Are you going to kill me?”

They let out a laugh, one so inappropriate it almost made you feel stupid, “Sweetheart, if I was going to kill you, d’you think I’d have taken you here?”

“Well, it would’ve been foolish to kill me in my quarters,”

“Leverage needs to be alive to be worthwhile, that’s the whole point,” The way they spoke unnerved you, with their charismatic words and smug voice. Hints of a smirk tugging at their lips.

“Where is ‘here’, anyway?” You didn’t feel stable, the floor rocked up and down slightly, your stomach turning a little as you adjusted to the slight weightlessness of the structure. “We’re on water, I can hear the waves,”

“Don’t worry, we haven’t set sail yet,” They walked over to their desk, moving around some papers, studying its contents, “There’s still business to tend to before we do,” In other words, your father.

You watched them, the way their sword clung and clanked against the hardwood of the desk, their tall stature almost reaching the short ceiling of the cabin, hand splayed on the desk for stability. Hair tied up at the back, with strands spilling out of their tie.

“What’s my purpose here?” Your arms crossed over your stomach, fingers grabbing at the sleeves of loose fabric of your nightdress, feeling vulnerable.

“Your father’s in some trouble,” They chuckled, your heart sank, “He owes me,”

“For what?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions, princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” you replied, voice tensing. “Do not address me as such,” Hange’s lips tilted, noticing your misgivings, the tense shoulders and a quip in your upper lip. Distaste. Interesting.

“Your father’s trying to make you one. Queen Consort, as I’ve heard,” Your brows furrowed.

“I do not follow,”

Hange looked up from their pages, gazing right at you. You tried swallowing, throat dry, as they hoisted themselves off the desk and stepped closer.

“He commissioned us, my crew,” Hange spoke, “To track and retrieve the Marleyan jewel.”

“I thought that was legend, an ancient myth of a mystical jewel, passed down from stories.”

“Oh, it’s very real, my lady.” You sighed, at least they were addressing you properly this time.

“And a very dangerous job, at that.” You stared at Hange, looking for any hints that this was just an elaborate joke. None were found, though. They were serious.

“I lost two good men, almost the rest of my crew for that buffoon,” They sighed, a flash of anger in their eyes, rubbing the skin of their jaw, “We retrieved this jewel, and your father tried to rob me blind, I want compensation.”

“Why would he go to those lengths? I do not understand,”

“For you, princess.”

When you did not answer, Hange continued, “Apparently this was his golden opportunity, get the long-desired jewel to gift the King an offering for your hand to the prince. Establish power and riches, and a good suitor for his daughter.”

Your stomach churned, you knew your father was adamant on marrying you off, but this? This was something different, sinister. You knew Hange was telling the truth, the intricacies of the story fell into place too well to be a lie.

Your father was truly a despicable man, hungry for power, and uncaring of those he stepped on to get to his station. Now you were paying for his greed. You think back to your mother, wishing she had outlived him, maybe you would be different, now.

“He cost me two men, our stock and supplies,” Hange pressed, shaking their head, “I can’t have that.”

“So you take me for ransom?”

“If he is not willing to pay up, I’m taking it upon myself to make him. One way or another, he will pay.”

Tears rimmed the ducts of your eyes, you blinked them away, a futile attempt to not show weakness. You know what that meant, either in physical currency or emotional currency, even if he cared little for you, he’d be paying with the loss of a guaranteed seat. To a man like that, that’s punishment enough. You chewed the corner of your lip, nerves eating you up.

“I can’t believe he’d do this,” You could actually, it was more the disbelief of how quickly your situation had changed, “All to marry me off to a disgusting man, be done with me whilst he sits comfortably,”

“You don’t wish to marry a handsome prince? Live a life of wealth and comfort?” Hange looked amused, almost perplexed that this was against your wishes.

“I wish for nothing of the sort,” You sneered, “I crave a life of my own choosing.”

Hange’s features softened, feeling a tug of pity before shutting the feeling down. They almost related to you, almost. Before reiterating to themselves that you were the same as all the other rich nobles. Wealthy and comfortable in your ostentatious manors, with even more ostentatious dresses, whilst the rest of the population suffered, starved and fought for dregs of burnt bread and half pints of spoiled milk. You were no different. No different.

“Careful, my lady, or I’ll sail this ship with you in it,”

You let out a saddened laugh, “Better than what he was planning for me,” You snuck a glance at the circular port window, watching as people were busying themselves with tasks. Filling up crates of fruits, dried fish, barrels of wine and weapons. You mulled for a second, it could be worse, Hange could’ve killed you at the first meet, or even worse, your father successfully got his hands on the jewel, and shipped you off to live a life with a prince who couldn’t even fold his own clothes, or bathe himself. You could visualise your father sitting back, smug and content as he finally got what he always wanted. Abundant wealth and power.

“I do not wish to stay here.” You said, voice more confident than it had been the entire time. Hange looked up at you, surprise taking over their features, “You may demand whatever compensation you require from my father, but…”

“When you set sail, I wish to come with.”

—

Hange had left the captain’s cabin for quite some time, leaving you inside alone as you couldn’t be allowed on the deck yet, not trusted to not do anything stupid yet. They had to check on a few of the crewmates first. You were an interesting character to say the least, Hange could tell you were stubborn, though that’s normal for a high-born, accustomed to making demands and having them realised. It was easy to imagine you not mixing well at court, with your disregard for hierarchy and noble customs. They almost laughed at your conviction when you said you wished to board the ship, of your own accord. The most determined glaze over your features. That was an unexpected oversight, Hange didn’t expect you to go so willingly. A part of them was relieved, content they didn’t need to make it bloodier than it had to be. They have morals, after all. Hurting an innocent woman would provide no respect amongst their crew, not when the real fish was the father.

The crew’s respect and admiration for the captain of the ship was of utmost importance, they need a leader they could trust and admire, it was easy enough to have mutiny on your hands. The ship was passed down to Hange from their father, but the trust and good dynamic of a solid crew, you have to earn yourself. Hange had established that respect from one of their first expeditions, under their confident lead the ordeal had been speedy and efficient. Hange ordered the rewards to be split and distributed as was deemed fair. With multiple feats over harsh waters and perilous expeditions, Hange had consistently proved themselves as a strong leader, they ran a tight ship and their crew meant everything to them.

You sat there in your silly nightdress, ennui eating at your brain as you sat, wishing you could change into something else. Arms wrapped around your legs, looking around as you waited. Deciding to get up, you looked around the room, it was rather nice, for what it was.

You walked up to the shelves, sea oddities neatly placed preserved in jars, with linen labels pinned underneath. You noticed various species, octopi, starfish, eels, crabs and lobsters, and other creatures you had never seen before in your books. There were also drawn illustrations of the anatomy, their organs and bone structure— did Hange do all this?

Your eyes trailed around, landing on the maps and compasses discarded around the tables and floor, with coded markings and notes around certain landmarks, sketches of what you assumed to be distant lands. Looking in awe, wandering at all the things you had never heard of, let alone seen before. Hange must be so knowledgeable, so well-travelled, so.. free. All the things you wished you could be.

Running your fingers over the maps, you jumped back into propriety as the cabin door swung open, Hange’s footsteps filling the room. They looked at you, having noticed your sudden switch in demeanour.

“You inspecting my collection, my lady?” Their back was to you, hanging their outer coat on one of the nail pegs that had been hammered into the wall.

“I’m sorry, I..” You looked down, “I was just curious,”

“It’s alright, I’m quite fond of it myself,” They joined you, standing to your side and looking at where you had been caught touching the delicate papers.

“You did all of this?”

“Is that so surprising?” They chuckled, crossing their arms over their chest. “No,” You paused, “I have just never seen anything quite like this,”

“There are many wonders out in the world, I like to keep note of them,” “For plundering?” You joked, too late to bite it back before it slipped out.

They laughed, “Not everything is to be plundered, sometimes it’s enough to just take it in and observe,”

You looked up at them, there was something you couldn’t quite place about them, yet. They were unlike the pirates you had read about or heard bedtime stories of as a child.

“The world has many corners of beauty, they’re deserving of respect and admiration." Agreeing, you pointed at the display of jars, thinking back to your own research on botany, categorized and illustrated, frowning as you realised it was all left behind. All those hours spent bending your neck under candlelight wasted. “I have a similar collection, pressings of flowers and plants- a little like yours, illustrations and marked under their specifications: edible, toxic, healing,"

Hange looked at you, "Sounds wonderful," unexpecting to have anything in common with someone of your stature, and yet, here they were. "It's all in my quarters, so I doubt I shall see it again," You breathed out, trying to not make it seem like a loss. Hange's gaze turned towards the floor, feeling slightly culpable that they had taken that away from you.

Straightening their back up, they moved back to their satchel, opening it wide and grabbing some folded clothing, jars with some clear liquid, slightly cloudy. Moonshine, you noted. Easier to distil your own rather than paying double for liquor.

“This is for you,” They hummed, holding out their hand waiting for you to walk over and grab them.

“What is it?”

“Provisions,” They shrugged, “And some clothes, we don’t have a lot aboard, but you can have my cast-offs, they were going to be left at the port anyway.”

You looked at them like they had grown seven heads, not expecting sudden kindness from someone who kidnapped you only a few hours ago.

“This where you say ‘thank you, Hange’.” There was the smugness again, an impish look on their features, you rolled your eyes you stepped closer.

Grabbing the items from them, “Thank you, Hange,” You felt meek, under their heavy gaze as you said their name for the first time. It felt strange hearing it from your own mouth, “Any longer in that nightdress and I probably would’ve thrown myself overboard,”

They laughed, “Don’t think you’ll prefer my clothes any more, truthfully, but if you’re going to stay here for now, might as well blend in.”

“Anything is better than this,” You ran your fingers over the fabric.

“Get dressed, it’s mealtime soon,” “You’re letting me eat?”

They looked at you strangely, “I’m not letting a person on my ship starve, I’m not barbaric,” They stated as if it was obvious, it might’ve been, but not to you.

“Thank you,”

Nodding, Hange left you to get changed. Giving you privacy as they shut the door behind them, you waited a few seconds before undressing. You weren’t accustomed to wearing pants, nobility requiring you to wear frilly dresses that cut off your circulation and itched at your neck and wrists, you were rather excited to adorn some comfortable cloth, for once.

As you manoeuvred the loose shirt over your limbs, you noticed a lingering musk of salt and sandalwood? It was rather pleasant, you would normally make your own scented oils and perfumes from boiled flower petals, lavender and honeysuckle, plants native to your country. This scent was uncommon, usually gifted to you at court from wealthy travellers. You lifted the fabric closer to you, inhaling, it truly was divine. Is this what Hange smells like? You couldn't honestly say you hated it.

Slipping your legs through the pants, they were a bit over your standard size, you tucked the wide bottoms into your own boots. You were glad you opted for your hunting boots rather than your daily shoes. Not quite sure that you had put everything on properly, as the fit felt odd. Looking down, everything felt slightly too big and made you feel like a child in adult’s clothing. Frowning you tried tucking in the shirt, though that didn’t really seem to help either.

There was a knock at the cabin door, “Are ya decent?”

The concept made you chuckle, Hange treated you with a lot more respect and propriety than some of the men at court.

“Yes.”

“Never had to knock on my own door before,” Hange joked, letting themselves in, gazing over at you in your fresh clothes. Their smile dropped ever so slightly as their eyes travelled over your new attire. Hange's poet blouse hanging on you, you had, of course, actually tied the laces at the chest, you were a Lady after all. Kinda suits you, they thought, before shrugging it away to hidden corners.

"Does it look alright? It's a little big," "You complaining?" You flustered, not wanting to come across as ungrateful, "Not at all, I-" "I'm messing with you, may I?"

When you nodded, they walked up closer to you, eyes unreadable. You stiffened up, back a little straighter when they brought their hands to the bottom of the blouse. Watching their movements hesitantly, Hange did not make contact with your eyes, they were so close to you. Catching that hint of sandalwood again, almost intoxicating as you honed your vision onto their hands. Looking for anything else to concentrate on, it didn’t help much as Hange focused on undoing the bottom three catches, revealing your uncovered abdomen. They grabbed at the two, now separate hangs of the shirt, your breath hitching when their fingers delicately grazed your bare skin, a minute jerk of your stomach as Hange began tying the fabric together so it fit tighter around your waist. So that was the trick to it, then? You must admit, it was an improvement.

You let out a heavy breath when they were done, and finally stepped away. It was harder to breathe when Hange was that close, you will not let that happen again. Feeling far too clouded upon their proximity, perhaps you were allergic to the fragrance, you reasoned.

“Better?” Their voice lowered, awaiting your judgment,

“Much, thank you.”

—

Mealtime came quickly after, you hadn't expected it to be so busy, or so populated. How many people does it take to effectively run a vessel of this size? Hange led you to the upper deck, evidently the largest space aboard, where mealtimes commonly occurred. A large pot of warm meat stew was being led out by a small woman from the galley, placed upon the floor as the crew grabbed portions as they pleased. Hange passed you a ceramic dish, before ladling a couple spoonfuls into your plate.

Thanking them, you looked around, spotting barely any dining tables or chairs, mainly stools or planks of wood nailed together to form a bench, most taken up by the sailors, as others sat themselves in the grooves on the ship deck, some on the rim of the ship itself. You shall not risk that, you thought, still adjusting to the feeling of a rocking vessel.

“You’re probably used to something more polished, but this is how we eat here,” Hange shrugged, “Try to enjoy the stew, Sasha truly works wonders with very little,”

“Landing at port was a godsend, I used fresh meat this time,” The brunette who brought out the food spoke, overhearing the conversation, who you assumed was Sasha. You stilled, this time? What about every other time, you thought, shuddering. Well, no time to adjust like the present. Sticking the spoon into the stew, you took a mouthful, before looking up at Hange in wonder, eyes wide, “This is delicious,”.

“Thank Sasha, she keeps us all standing,” Hange joked, placing a hand upon Sasha’s shoulder.

“What do you normally eat?” You asked, directing your question over to Sasha,

“Usually what we can grab and preserve for a long time, dried meats, beans, your city has a lovely selection of fruits so we’ve stocked some of those, too!” She smiled at you, and you found that she had quite a comforting presence, feeling at ease, you hoped you could form a friendship with her.

Hange excused themselves, as they had something to attend to with someone called Levi. You watched them as they walked away, interacting with their crewmates, laughing with them over something you couldn’t hear. They definitely knew how to command attention, their entire being was self-assured, and confident in themselves and their abilities. Dragging your eyes away, back to Sasha, who watched you with a smile on her face.

“You’re not what I expected when Hange told us the plan,”

“I hope I haven’t disappointed,” you retorted, not really knowing how else one could respond to that. Sasha simply laughed, “It’s a great deal different, but not disappointing,”.

—

You had remained on the deck, the crew wanting to have a little friendly spar for morale. If this was the only entertainment you could get, you’d gladly take it. Having finally secured a spot on one of the benches, you watched as different spars played themselves out.

After a few, though, it was all starting to become a bit monotonous. Feeling your eyes glaze over, you were suddenly conscious of the fact that you hadn’t had a good nights rest since Hange took you, where would you even sleep tonight?

Your attention was redirected when a crewmember called out Hange’s name, challenging them to a spar. The newly formed crowd cheered as Hange made their way into the sparring space. A smirk on their lips as they vaunted, hand clasping their sword as it was unsheathed. Finally take a good look at it, it was a fine piece of metal, sleek and thin. The handle was adorned with intricate patterned etchings.

You took notice of how Hange handled the blade, slender fingers wrapped around the hilt as they pointed it towards the opponent. No shaking, no hesitation. A sturdy, stable grasp, with an arrogant side smile that captivated you, eyes glued on their movements as the opponent tried to disarm them, unsuccessfully. Hange was slightly more agile, their body flowed like liquid, vivacious as they fought. It seemed like they could almost foresee the man’s footing and which way he’d direct an attack. They must’ve sparred together many times. A few more attempts and Hange trapped his blade, lifting his own up and twisting their arm. His sword fell to the floor with a clang, reverberating against the wooden deck.

“Damn it, Captain!” The opponent yelled out, frustration in his voice as he thought he’d actually win this time, Hange only hung their head back and laughed, the strands of hair that edged down their face slipped back, exposing their jaw and neck. A gentle smile escaped your lips as you watched, they looked so liberated, so strong. Hange truly was an enigmatic figure, they carried themselves with authority that you can’t say you’d ever seen elsewhere. They were charismatic, magnetic, you could see that they truly had the admiration of their crew.

“You’ll have to try harder to beat me,” Hange teased, sheathing their sword, a mischievous glaze in their eyes as they landed on you. Your heart picked up, unable to pull your own gaze away from theirs, almost enchanted when you noticed the corner of their lips tilt up.

Breaking away from the contact, you felt your ears grow warm. Deciding to find the wooden deck the most interesting thing around you, until scuffed boots appeared in your line of vision. Looking up, Hange had stepped closer to you, placing their hand into a pocket of their pants.

“Time to retire, my lady?”

Fumbling, you flustered, “Where am I to sleep?” Members of the crew were scattered, some sleeping on the floor of the deck, some had set up rustic hammocks, whilst others continued to wander the floor.

“In my quarters,” Hange stated as if it was obvious, “Unless you’d prefer to sleep next to that lot,” They pointed at the others, crewmates who slept on their stools with their heads resting on their arms placed on the brim of the ship. The expression on Hange’s face made it clear that they were mocking you, perfectly aware of how you would not prefer that option.

“I fear my spine would crumble,” You jested, your lie blatant.

“Come,” They nudged their head towards the stern of the ship, where the Captain’s private quarters were. Hange’s comfortable room with all the fascinating oddities. You’d much prefer sleeping there, you thought.

Following, Hange led you back to their space, all things considered, you felt rather guarded there. Strangely safe and sound. Something tugged at your mind that Hange wouldn’t stand for anything to happen to you, not even for you specifically— Hange’s crew appeared quite companionable, you attributed that to their leader. You wondered how far those pleasantries extended, what acts of horror were allowed and which were not.

Closing the door behind them, Hange hung up their outer coat on its peg, rolling their shoulders as a minor stretch. Bringing their hands up to the back of their neck, rubbing the tender muscle atop their skin.

You stood, clutching your elbows under crossed arms. The silence in the cabin contrasted the raucous crew outside, some still sparring.

“Was that moonshine?” Your voice broke through the quiet, looking towards the jar of liquid Hange had brought you as 'provisions'. "No, it's grog," "Grog?" "Rum and water," Pulling a face, you continued.

"Is it good?" "Not really, but we don't drink it for its taste." Nodding, you picked up the jar, inspecting. "Did you make it?" Hange scoffed, smirking to themselves, their arms coming to cross over their chest, "It's far easier to steal from merchant ships, they're always overloaded with stock," "I see."

"I think I would like to try it," Hange raised their eyebrows at you, a playful look struck their features. "Oh?" They continued, "I brought it for you, thought you might need a little pick-me-up, have at it."

Uncorking the jar, the aroma of the liquor invaded your senses. "It smells strong," Hange nodded, watching with a devilish face as you brought the rim to your lips. After a gulp, you couldn't hold back a cough as the force of the harsh drink burned through your throat, your lips twisting and your eyebrows squeezing together. "That's revolting," "Yeah, it's pretty bad," Hange laughed, grabbing the jar from you and taking a bigger gulp for themselves, passing it back to you. Truly, you don't know what possessed you to take another sip, but it became easier to tolerate.

A few half hours passed, and you had placed yourself on Hange's wicker couch, your bed for the foreseeable. Arms wrapped around your legs which pressed to your chest. You were definitely feeling the effects of the liquor, tolerance much lower than Hange's, who sat on the floor beside the couch. Feeling far more relaxed, your tongue was a tad looser, speaking to and asking Hange questions you would've otherwise probably not asked. Truthfully, you were curious, there was a lot you wished to learn about them. When you first met Hange, you expected a lot of things, you didn't anticipate them being quite as respectful and honourable towards you as they were. There was more to them than what was seen on the surface, you wanted to see what lay deeper.

"But why? Why do you choose to live a life of piracy? Wouldn't it be far safer to live on land?" "Not everyone is lucky enough to be born atop riches, that's an irregular gift given only to a few," Hange spoke, their words thoughtful despite having drank even more than you, "Life at sea is more forgiving than the hardships on land." "Yes, but... there must be something else, even with the hardships at land?

"No offence, my lady," Pausing, "What would you know of hardship on land? My father worked his hardest, damn near broke his back, just to be cheated and stripped of his dignity by the greed of others." Looking down at your knees, a pull of guilt struck, knowing that it was because of people like you, and your father.

"This was his way of ensuring his own future, on his own terms and not under the boot of the wealthy who build their livelihoods on the backs of others." Hange sighed, taking another sip of grog, "At least on the sea, what you see is what you get, fight for what you want and share the rewards. It's not the most honest work, yes, but it's far more honest than those sitting in ivory towers clicking their fingers for anything they desire."

You watched as Hange spoke, their words were true, honest reflections of everything they stood for. Pirate or not, Hange had more substance than you'd ever encountered in anyone else in your life. More than those who coat their words with sugar, kissing up to their higher-ups all for a sliver of what they had.

Hange passed you the jar, and you swallowed another sip, barely tasting the alcohol by this point. This was the first you had heard of Hange's family. "I understand that," you hummed, "I've always thought it unfair, why others are seen as less based on menial things such as money. I suppose my father was my introduction to that, a part of me has always despised him."

"I wondered why you came with me so willingly, though if I had your father I would probably have been similar." Laughing, you nodded, "Truthfully, I have felt disillusioned from my life, perhaps I wanted something refreshing, a different way of being."

"Besides, you intrigued me, I find you fascinating," Your words slipped out, the grog having seriously impacted your inhibitions. Hange's eyes met yours, impish and deviant. The edge of their lip quipped up, delightfully amused. "Is that right, my lady?" They leaned their weight on their right hand that was pressed against the cabin floor, as their left remained hanging off the leg they had propped up. Your skin burned underneath their gaze, and you found that your tongue shattered. Unable to respond, all you could do was meet their half-lidded stare, thunder in your chest, as it lifted up and down. Shit. "I think that's enough grog for you, princess,"

Breaking contact, you pointed at Hange's shelves, to where their collection lay, clearing your throat before speaking. "Like your collection, it-it's fascinating, I wish I could've grabbed mine," You deflected, altering the matter, anything to stop the thunder in your chest and remember yourself. Anything to stop the blaze before it spread far beyond control.

"When we set sail, you can start a new collection." They softened, "One with all the new plants you'll see,"

—

You felt like shit the following morning. Head thumping with each movement, you could only sit on one of the benches with your hands holding up the weight. "Grog fever?" Sasha's teasing voice rang out through your ears, "Been there."

"This is awful," "First time?" "Obviously," You rubbed your eyes, as Sasha lightly patted you on the back, "You'll survive,"

Two presences joined you and Sasha at your bench, one was shorter with black hair, and the other stood upright, with scraggly blonde hair. "This is Levi, he's the First Mate, pretty much Hange's second in command," Sasha spoke, introducing you, "Don't mind him, he's a bit of an ass." "The other is Reiner, also a bit of an ass," She giggled, finding entertainment within herself.

Levi nodded at you, a silent greeting which you didn't mind as listening and speaking were already hard enough with the thumping in your head. Reiner looked at you, before pulling his hand out to meet yours. "Lovely to meet such a beautiful lady," He declared, eyes scouring down your body, "I'm looking forward to having you aboard," His words reeked with flirtation, his cold eyes geeking you out, discomfiting, not like the handsome brown ones you melted into yesterday.

Almost as if reading your mind, Hange appeared, they had left the ship this morning, as apparently, they had some errands to run. Hange set their hands on Reiner's shoulders, carrying an indistinct countenance. "Reiner, I have matters to discuss, come," They spoke, before walking a few steps ahead, waiting for him near the stern, arms crossed.

"Coming, captain," Reiner followed their lead, you kept glancing over to them as Sasha picked up chatter with Levi. You were straining your ears to catch snippets of their conversation, a little difficult over Sasha's voice in front of you, the little you could make out came from Hange: Not this one.

As you switched your attention back to the table, wondering what the hell that was about, you had just bypassed Sasha's looking towards you, her brows crinkling and face pulling into a look of recognition. Huh, she thought, how about that?

—

As the day passed, the time to set sail was nearing, planned for sometime within the next two days depending on supplies and readiness. Apprehension was harder to ignore, you thought about what your father was currently doing, and his reaction upon discovering you had not been in your chambers the following morning. Mulling, you cackled to yourself, clasping your hand over your mouth to mask the giggles as the gravity of what you had done struck you. Never did you imagine your life to end up in this way.

Hange entered their quarters, hanging up their coat, "What's so funny?" " "I just can't believe what I'm doing," your laughter settled down, breathing returning to standard as Hange placed themselves next to you on the wicker couch. "Yeah? You 'n me, both," They chuckled, pausing, "Hey, uh- I wanted to give you this,"

You studied them, catching a modest element of hesitation on Hange that you weren't familiar with seeing. Hange handed you a book, of beautifully bound brown leather, the spine stitching exposed with light-coloured thread. "What is this for?" "You left your notes behind, so this is for your new collection," You gaped at them, prompting Hange to continue, "For all the new plants you'll see and learn about,"

Wordless, you looked between Hange and the book in your hands, feeling the skin at your cheeks heating up. "Hange, this is- thank you, so much," Nodding, Hange steeled, standing themselves up, nearing the door before speaking, "The shantyman is going to play for a while, the crew loves him, so you don't wanna miss it," It was customary for ships to bring musicians. They'd sing songs and play tunes to boost morale amongst the crew, to carry them through the harrowing nights, and oftentimes even spread their hopes for some romance. You definitely wanted to witness it, Hange held the cabin door open for you as you both made your way to the deck.

The musician was doing his thing, leading the crew in song, banging a drum as melodies rang through the vessel. You noticed Sasha dancing with the crewmembers. It was a little overwhelming, the events you had attended at court were much milder and reserved than this, uppity, really. People would rarely dance, it was almost taboo. This was far distant from that, it was fun, delightful even—almost hedonistic in style.

You weren’t quite sure how to join yourself with them, the dances varying from person to person made it hard to fall into a step. Hange noticed your hesitance, before clasping your hand and pulling you towards them. Their hand resting upon your waist, drawing you tighter as they moved into a dance. The air in your lungs tripped over itself, shortening your breath. Stomach pressed against stomach.

Looking up at them, Hange donned a smug smile, higher up on one side of their mouth as it hung from their lips.

“Dance with me, princess,” Hange hummed, their voice lowered. There came the thunder in your chest again, the blaze was spreading.

“I’ve told you to not address me like that,” You whispered, the contention you planned on executing in your voice was nowhere near where you had planned. Instead, it was mild, for fear that would fumble over your own words, as your tongue shattered once again.

“I can’t help it,” They grinned, skimming over your flustered appearance. You don’t know what kind of sorcery Hange held, what alluring magnetism in their blood drew you to them. You felt yourself begin to melt into their tempting gaze, as you blinked.

“Careful, don’t look at me like that or I might begin to get the wrong idea,” Hange’s head sank towards your neck, your breath hitched. Their proximity was intoxicating, you found you couldn’t bear the weight of it. Pulling yourself away from Hange, you rushed to the cabin, pushing open the door and letting yourself inside.

Letting out a bulky breath, your face was burning up, body temperature way over standard as you rested your hands on Hange’s desk. Clamouring to compose yourself. Hange knocked at the door, before entering. Shutting your eyes, you remained still.

“You okay?” Ignoring them, you relented in your stance. The tension in the room increased, heart pulsing as you heard their footsteps reach close.

“I think I have fever,” You mumbled, Hange was right behind you now. You could feel their warmth reaching your back.

“Stand and face me, dear,” An assertive hand maintained at your waist, turning your body toward them Hange held down your gaze, keeping their hand in its place, squeezing. “This is no fever,”

Their free hand came to meet your jaw, thumb ghosting over the soft skin. Hange lowered their head towards you, their face so near, your sanity was in a thick haze, heavy and clouded. "I can see the dark in your eyes, my lady," Hange hummed, relishing in the glaze in your eyes, at the darkness pooling in your pupils as you glimmered up at them, eyes doe and lips plump from biting. The heat from their voice raised your skin, touring down your spine as an ache between your thighs pulsed.

Hange's lips brushed against the velvety flesh at the base of your neck, tentative. You shivered as you felt their lips leave delicate kisses, hand tightening around your waist. You shut your eyes, reeling in the sensation as Hange's igniting touch drew shaky breaths. Thighs clenched together as their lips reached the base of your ear, teeth tugging at the skin. You whimpered, as Hange's hands grabbed at the top of your thighs, just underneath the curve of your ass as they directed you to the top of the desk. Placing themselves between your thighs, before whispering, "Will you indulge me, dear?" With another kiss on your ear, you crumbled, arms wrapping around Hange's neck as your legs folded around their waist.

"Please, Hange, I can't bear it," You panted, core clenching around nothing, as desperation took over. Hange sighed, hearing their name fall from your lips as your body trembled was a sight to behold. Their lips finally landed on yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. Quivering hands grabbed at the back of their head, tightening around Hange's hair, trying to release the buildup of tension in your bones.

Lips broke apart, "Do you know what it does me seeing you wear my clothes?" Voice impassioned, almost hoarse. The hand at your hip moved to the catches at your shirt, reminiscent of the way they grazed your skin that day. Undoing the catches, your abdomen and breasts exposed, goosebumps forming from the sudden coolness of the air. Hange observed as your stomach jerked, smirking as they watched how your body responded. Hand slipping in between the open fabric, meeting the bare skin as you gasped before the shirt slid off your shoulders and onto the cabin floor.

Hange whined at your revealed skin and dishevelled state, the most disordered they had seen you. Their hand cupped your breast, watching as your lips parted and the sweetest cries escaped. Fingers stroking at your hardened nipples, as your pants were slowly being dragged down your legs. Your hips squirmed as Hange went on their knees, head just at the top of your shins. One hand still massaged your nipple whilst the other was around your ankle, holding your leg in place as they lapped their tongue up the skin, retaining steady eye contact. As their tongue reached your inner thigh, your head hung back, and you bit back choked whimpers, hips jolting with anticipation.

"Hange," you rasped, squeezing your thighs around their head, your nails coming to meet the top of the back, "Yes, my dear?" "Please," you pleaded, you had already come this far, you needed to feel it through, you could barely sit up, losing strength in your back. "Patience, sweetheart,"

Fingers left your breasts and made their way to the hem of your underwear. Hange bit their lip at the line of the dampness that had seeped through the thin fabric. "Fuck," they mumbled, tugging the material down where it remained hanging at your ankles, so dishevelled, so messy.

The tips of Hange’s slender fingers reached your dripping heat, arousal covering your thighs as they ghosted sensual touches over your warm slit, puffed and leaking. Thighs tensing as the feeling released itself as strangled whines. Hange was obsessed, exhilarated by the sweet sounds that left your dear lips.

“Fuck, Hange,” Hips rolling into their fingers, pressing closer for more touch, chasing the sensation as it came, "That feels fucking good," "Such rotten language," Hange taunted, the tip of their finger burying into your soaking entrance, stretching the silky walls, “Looks like I’ve been a bad influence,”

Leaving a few more kisses on your thigh, Hange stood back up to reconnect your lips, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip. The kiss successfully distracted you, as more fingers entered, slowly rocking into your flesh, as bliss overtook the initial sting. Hips began to tilt, grinding against the pressure. The sounds leaving you were indecent, vulgar, as Hange augmented the pace, rocking their fingers into you. Suddenly you were glad for the singing out in the deck, obscuring the noise within the cabin. Your head fell into their neck, whining as you could only sit there and take it. Fingers stuffing your swollen centre, pressing against the squishy barriers.

The muscles in your abdomen tensed, clenching around Hange's fingers as your hips buckled. "That's it, dear, you're taking it so, so well," Your eyebrows pinched together, voice escaping you, "Taking me like such a good girl,". Hange spoke, voice purring. That was the nail in the coffin; the honey in their words, the strain in their voice as you felt your release shattering through you. Hips convulsed as your arousal spilled all over Hange's fingers, grabbing their shoulders for support. A few more pumps and Hange removed their fingers, looking down at your clenching hole at the trickling cum, their hand completely drenched.

Hange kissed you, before you broke away and uttered words that led Hange to understand they could never have their fill, "More, please," you begged, voice breathy and whiny as you tightened your legs around their waist. Chuckling, endeared Hange responded, "My, my, dear, you're truly filthy."

Hange moved themselves down to your pussy, still swollen despite its release. With a quick glance back towards you, cheeks flustered and eyes black. Desire tensed your features as your chest heaved up and down, breasts exposed and legs spread, quaking. Such a heavenly sight.

A touch over your slit, Hange spat on your folds, the sight eliciting languid moans from you. It truly was filthy. Pussy clenching with desperation as it grazed you, spreading down your slit with the weight of gravity. Hange pressed their tongue against it, carelessly lapping up the cum that had been leaking out of you. Frenzied guttural groans liberated into your centre as they sucked, the vibrations left you reeling as your hand came to clasp your breast, kneading. Trailing over your own nipple, Hange was not about to accept that, slapping your hand away and rolling their fingers over the bud.

Overstimulation left you choking, tears spilling from your lids as Hange worked their warm tongue over your sensitive folds, drinking in the saltiness as one hand played with your nipple and the other ghosted over your opening. Thighs tightened around their head, cutting off Hange's air supply as you rutted your hips over their face, pushing yourself closer against their tongue. Nose nudging over your clit as their head bounced against you.

“Hange, fuck— I’m, mhm- I’m gonna cum, please let me come,” You babbled, stammering. Needy. You took them in, nose, chin and cheeks wet from your arousal, saliva running down; their eyebrows pulled together with determination and eyes rolling with indulgence, as if you were the tastiest meal they ever had. The taught restraint you had carried your entire life totally dissipated as you surrendered to Hange’s command over your body. Fingers filling into you, knuckles deep, rubbing over the squishy flesh. The added penetration forced out the second catharsis, sucking Hange in as you released over their face, tainting their glasses.

Resting your back on the desk, breaths heavy as you came down from whatever entity had possessed you. Panting. You covered your face with your hands, as your clandestine actions struck you. The drunken, indecent impropriety you fell into and enjoyed.

“No use being bashful now, my lady,” They teased, dragging away the hands that obscured your face. Grabbing your face, reconnecting your lips with gentle touches. Kisses so tender you couldn’t find it within yourself to see anything wrong.

How could something so honeyed be perverse?

—

um yeah, this is my application to hell…

#pirate hange bc im obssessed #also why is there barely any fics on hange like have yall seen them???#someone call the doctor cos i am SICK #lowkey an essay on my hatred towards rich people 😭#also ive been reading lots of sappho can u tell #lesbian #hange zoe x reader #hange aot #hanji zoe x reader #attack on titan fic #wlw smut #hange zoe fic #hange zoe #hanji zoe

233 notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 2 years ago

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR ELEVEN

in which a line is crossed, and a lie is told.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut, upside down does not exist, fingering, oral (m receiving, allusions to f receiving), p in v (be like eddie and r! use protection!), use of mean nicknames (slut), ass slapping, hair pulling, minors dni

→ wc: 7.5k+

→ a/n: the smut has arrived! shout out to @abibliophobiaa and @myosotisa my loves for helping me, but also horny hours in general haha. the pep talks were very much needed and very appreciated.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

11:00 ──────ㅇ─────────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

A drink. What you need is a drink.

The moment Robin and Steve brought up the small get together, you’d agreed instinctually. It had been a long month, hard and full of life throwing unexpected punches your way, and the only way you could think to soothe it was with terrible mixed drinks in your friend’s kitchen.

First, it had been the tire on your bike popping. Which in itself wasn’t a catastrophe, but you realized very quickly that going out and about around campus was nearly impossible on foot. You’d shown up to most classes late, not adjusting for the fact you were far slower when walking across campus than you were riding. And then it was your classes; the teachers were already upset as it was in your smaller classes regarding your perpetual tardiness, but to top it all off, every assignment seemed to not be enough. No matter what you submitted, what changes you made to essays sent back to you, it was becoming more impossible to maintain a resemblance of a respectable GPA. You’d nearly flunked a test in your humanities class, when you’d asked for a professor to go back a slide for notes they’d glared and refused the reasonable request. When you’d not understood a question on your literature homework and sent an email plenty of days in advance, the teacher only got back to you once the due date had passed.

And the dates. The terrible, terrible dates of the month.

There was the first guy, who had been kind enough. A simple meeting over coffee and by the time the lattes were cold, you knew there’d be no second date. That was fine. You could live with that.

The second guy had more potential. A first date in a bar was almost a red flag, but after a fun game of pool, you’d agreed to meet again. The second date was at a restaurant that you learned he’d taken his ex-girlfriend to; actually, you’d learned a bit too much about his ex-girlfriend that night. She was the only thing he could talk about, and when you’d later explained that over text for being your reason against a third date, he’d called you every crude name in the book.

And the final guy. A guy you’d really liked, that you’d been messaging back and forth since a month before. He was a busy guy, a bartender and full time student, and you understood – you really did. But he was charismatic and lured you in over the phone, and you hadn’t been so giddy for a date in a while. It felt like there were sparks, like he might be the one.

He didn’t show up. Last night, you’d sat like a fool at the restaurant you two agreed upon for two hours before realizing he wasn’t showing. Sipped your way through two ciders, even picked on an appetizer of fries, telling yourself he’d show up. He was just busy. He’d show up.

He never showed up. He didn’t even text you. The waiter had waived your bill for the night, but his look of pity only made your stomach twist worse.

Pathetic. You felt pathetic.

“We’re all getting together at my place tonight,” Steve had whispered to you during class that morning as you two were packing up things as the lecture ended, “Everyone’s just going to hang out, drink, let loose. You should come.”

And so you came, overly optimistic about the entire idea. You didn’t even think to ask if Eddie was going to be here – even he couldn’t dampen your excitement at a break after the month you’d had, even with his recent mean streak.

Mean. You’d never thought after that first night you’d be able to describe him that way. Cold, sure. Callous, perhaps. Indifferent, of course. But mean? Mean didn’t seem like something others saw Eddie as genuinely capable of. Steve always ranted about how good of a guy he was, Robin would tell fun stories of nights out with him and how much of a good time he was, Nancy considered the guy her best friend. You knew your new friends, and you didn’t take them as being the type to befriend someone so unkind.

But you didn’t see the good guy, the fun guy, the best friend. Whenever Eddie Munson was around you, his guard was up and his words were sharp. They cut through your unbridled disappointment with ease, reminding you that you were not his friend. You weren’t even sure if you were an acquaintance.

And sure, you took it too far at the diner. You could admit that, even before Robin scolded you. But to see him sitting with someone not from your friend group, to see him being so kind and endearing to someone new, had burned you with fury like no other. If he could treat some blonde he’d surely matched with on a dating app so sweetly, why couldn’t he afford you the same warmth? Someone he saw nearly weekly?

So you went for blood. Except, you were the only one wounded in the end, after the silent treatment you’d had to endure as you watched Eddie clench his jaw and pretend you didn’t exist.

“What are you drinking tonight?” Steve smiles when you enter his kitchen, brows still furrowed in careful thought over your miserable month, “I’m guessing something strong?”

“The strongest thing you’ve got, Harrington,” you reply, trying to shake back into excitement. It was going to be fun. You were going to drink with friends, partake in silly conversations no one would remember come morning, and you were going to have fun.

Steve holds up a bottle of vodka, a name brand you don’t care to acknowledge, along with a 2-liter of Coke, “Think this’ll work?”

You nod, and he pours. When he hands you the crystal cup reeking of overpoured alcohol, you take a sip and nod.

Oh, yeah. Two of these and I won’t even remember Mr. Stood-Me-Up.

“I heard about your date,” Steve means well, but the reminder is the exact opposite of what you want. You’re quick to glare at Robin, who throws her hands up in defense.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you quip, taking a larger second sip. If you weren’t trying to pace yourself, you’d probably chug the entire thing, “Not much to talk about, anyways. Got some free food and alcohol out of it, at least.”

“That’s good! I bet you dodged a bullet.”

I probably didn’t. “We can only hope.”

Steve pours himself a drink as well as Robin, and you can hear Nancy and Jonathan already chattering in the living room. No sign of Eddie so far. Maybe he wasn’t coming, and you’d finally caught a break.

“To forgetting the names of men who suck,” Steve chides as he raises his glass, and Robin mirrors him. You hesitate for a moment, a fraction of a second.

You were starting to believe it wasn’t them, it was you. You were the common denominator of all the terrible dates. Did sparks not fly with the Coffee Boy because you dampened the fuse? Was two-date-chump only talking to you about his exes because you didn’t provide anything interesting enough to take his mind off them? Surely, it had to be your fault that you were stood up the night before. Surely.

You pull from your pity party, and nimbly raise your glass. The rim hardly brushes that of your friends’ cups, but you all throw back your poisons of choice regardless. They don’t seem to notice the way you’ve begun to float within your head, the way you’re crashing through violent waves of pathetic self-hatred.

It was you. You’re the problem, and you’re the only one who can solve it. Eventually.

Robin is dramatically gagging on what you think might be redbull and vodka as Steve silently grimaces at his straight whiskey, clearing his throat before he says, “Okay, I know you don’t want to talk about last night, but Robin mentioned you’ve had a few dates this last month. Anything worth sharing? Any luck?”

There’s a snappy remark of clearly not on the tip of your tongue when the doorbell rings down the hall, and the three of you all turn your heads as Nancy calls out that she’s got it.

—

HOUR ELEVEN - 2:00 AM

Once Eddie starts kissing you, he can’t stop.

It isn’t soft, nor caring – the moment his hands meet the flesh of your hips, it’s bruising. He doesn’t even break for air as he fumbles with the knob blindly, giving a final twist of his keys before the door swings open behind you and the two of you stumble backwards into the sanctuary of his apartment. It’s all teeth, it’s all desperation, it’s the accumulation of a year of snide remarks and low-blow insults all coming to head as he kicks the door shut behind you and spins so that your back meets the wood.

Your hands are tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck and– oh God, when did you reach up and grab at his hair in the first place?

He groans at the force of your fist, and it suddenly doesn’t matter. You don’t care how they got there – you only care to keep them there.

He finally breaks the kiss, spit trailing between your lips as you both gasp out breaths, “You-” he dives back in, capturing your lips between his in a harsh and quick action before another break, “fucking-” another break, another gasp. He remains close enough that each harsh exhale flows right into your mouth, down your throat and into your lungs, “infuriate-” this time, he pauses, not moving back in for another kiss as his forehead is pressed hard against yours, eyes wide open and boring into yours, “me.”

The venom that laces the words don’t scare you. It’s all verbal aposematism, rehearsed and practiced hatred that bears no weight, not anymore. Not as his hips are digging into yours and another tug of his hair has him putty in your hands.

You know the dance well. You know the next step.

“Good.”

His next kiss is even more vicious, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip and making you whine into him, one hand finally unraveling from his curls to find purchase in fisting the leather of his jacket. There’s a fine line that neither of you are daring to cross, only toeing as teeth and tongues clash.

This time, when he pulls away, you’re the one chasing after him. You don’t care about breathing; you care about his lips on yours, sucking all the smoke and oxygen from your lungs.

He’s the one to finally cross the line. A hand comes up to your throat, not nearly as rough as it should be, as he keeps you in place with the back of your head pressed to his front door. A pleading mewl leaves your lips of its own accord.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t be so desperate.”

The line’s been crossed, the chords all snapping between you two. There are no invisible strings tying you to the man before you, the man that has you aching between your trembling thighs and erratic breaths. Only gravity.

“Me? Desperate?” your voice nearly fails you as you lean into his touch surrounding your throat, preening forward so that your lips brush his, “I’m not the one fucking off to porn magazines that look like you, pretty boy.”

You’re both on the same side of the line now as you watch his eyes darken. It’s a sensitive topic, a bruise you’ve chosen to prod out in the hopes that he’ll break at the same alarming rate as you.

You need him to fuck you. You need him to use you, to throw any caution or revelations to the wind. You want him to push you so far you can’t remember your own name, let alone all the emotions that travel the channels between you.

“Think you can do any better than my hand, baby?” he questions as he buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, breath and lips leaving a buzz along the skin he comes in contact with. His fingers tighten ever so slightly, and your head rushes with a weightless bliss.

Your pulse is against his thumb, drumming beneath the pressure of it as you reply, “Do you think you can do any better than mine?”

A dozen insinuations layer the words, and he catches every single one. Your lashes flutter into your eyesight, lids growing heavy as he lifts his face from your shoulder and looks at you wickedly, grin spreading treacherously.

“Are you trying to tell me you touch yourself to me?” he taunts, pressing closer, “You thinkin’ of me at night when you get lonely, all desperate and pathetic, wrapped up in your own sheets? Do you wish it was my fingers, and not yours?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. “In your dreams, Munson.”

“Of course,” he chuckles, “I thought that was a given. Don’t tell me you’re so dumb you’ve figured out I get myself off to your lookalikes, but not that I dream about you, sweetheart.”

The thought of it makes your stomach flutter, your thighs clench. He’s quick to shove his knee between your legs, letting you drop so that your crotch nearly brushes his thigh. But the distance remains and no relief from friction comes, he makes sure of it as his fingers finally lift slightly, letting the blood rush back to your head and into your cheeks.

“Is that what you were thinking about in the bathroom?”

His movements finally falter. You almost have the upperhand again, you almost have him back in your palms, back down to your height in cockiness.

You take his silence in stride, a smirk gracing your own face, “Oh, you were, weren’t you?” you pause, and drop a hand to his torso, nails raking over his shirt and making him suck in a sharp breath, “You thought I wouldn’t hear? You were being so awfully loud, y’know. Surprised you didn’t say my name.”

He breathes back to life, hand unwrapping from your throat to grip your chin, his thumb just barely making contact with your bottom lip as he tugs softly, “You would have fuckin’ liked that, wouldn’t you? As if I didn’t feel you get so hot and bothered by me on the bike,” it’s your turn to freeze, realizing your fears were valid, and he laughs lowly, “Oh, yeah, baby. I felt that. Hard to miss when you were clinging to me like I was your goddamn savior. What were you thinking about, hm? I bet you were thinkin’ about just that – me moaning for you, cumming for you. I bet it drove you fucking crazy, didn’t it?”

“What were you thinking about in the bathroom?” you whisper as his thumb presses harder into your lip, “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Your hand finally drops to its destination, cupping him through his sweatpants, wrapping around his girth.

He’s big. Bigger than you had expected, and he knows you’re shocked by the way you still once more, cocking his head at you with the utmost confidence.

He’s fucking lucky to be packing. It’d be a shame to be such an asshole and not have the ability to back up all his talk.

“You want me to be honest right now?” he asks, a thread of seriousness binding his words. You don’t hesitate to nod, even with his grip on your chin, “I was thinking about your mouth. Thinking about those pretty lips wrapped around my cock. I was thinking about you on your knees and those eyes looking up at me, all teary as I fucked your mouth.”

Your grip on him tightens, and you make the daring move to suck the tip of his thumb into your mouth, making eye contact as your tongue swirls around it.

“Fuck me,” he groans, throwing his head back, his grip immediately falling slack on your face. You see the opportunity and take it, surging forward to latch your lips onto his exposed neck. You start with light kisses, pressing them in rapid succession down the vein that lays poorly hidden by the stretched skin, pausing once you get closer to where the expanse meets his jaw.

“I’m trying to,” you taunt before sucking hard.

He moans loudly, echoing off the walls of his apartment, the hand still on your waist turning into an even more impossibly tight grip. The hand that once held your face has come up to tangle in your hair, gripping you by the roots and pulling you away just as the blood vessels on the surface have burst and bloomed in full shades of red and pink.

Your scalp burns as he pulls you to be face to face with him, eyes hard as you keep your hand on his clothed dick. You can feel him twitch as your palm at him, no longer caring about being desperate. You were desperate. You wanted him to give up the game, set aside the chase, and ruin you. You wanted his neighbors to hear as you chanted his name like a prayer, as every memory of every reason as to why you resented him fled your system with each thrust of his hips that could pin you to the wall.

“Is that what you want?” he’s no longer teasing you, his tone sounding as if he were asking for permission now rather than taunting you any further, “You want me to ruin you, sweetheart?”

The chase is nearing its end, and you nearly shatter with anticipation.

With one last trick up your sleeve, one last attempt to break him, you shrug as if you aren’t flushed and terribly flustered to the point of no return, “I guess. That’s one way to pass the time.”

When he breaks, it is sudden, and it is unkind. One moment, your break is aching from being pressed against wood, and your core is throbbing as you consider dropping to his thigh to find your own relief. The next, he’s throwing you around carelessly as his mouth slots to yours once more.

Just as it doesn’t matter how your hands found their way into his hair, it doesn’t matter how he pulls you from the door and navigates you to his couch. Your mind isn’t focused on where your body ends up, it’s focused on the feeling of his lips, chapped and pressing to yours eagerly. It’s focused on the way that the weight of his hands pressed tightly to your lower back feels. It’s focused on the overwhelming spice of his cologne, the smell of the night air still clinging to his cheek, the taste of his salt water as you dive under and let yourself begin to drown.

He’s consuming you, lungs and all. Limbs and all. Mind and all.

It’s a bad decision. This is going to be both of your downfalls, and you should stop before it goes too far.

You don’t stop it. Neither does he. All he does is throw you down to sit on his couch as he falls to his knees in front of you, bringing a palm to each knee and spreading your legs as he settles between them.

He’s the prettiest you’ve seen him yet. Even prettier than the first night. His lips are swollen pink, puffy and still lingering with your spit. Your mark on him, the first of many you need to leave, right along with the bruise on his neck. You wonder how hard you’d have to bite to bring blood tonight, you wonder which other spots on his neck would make him melt against you as you explored him fervently and left a whole collection of bruises that spell out your message very clearly – he’s mine for tonight.

His chest heaves as his eyes stare up into yours, hands gripping each of your knees. Even through the cotton, your skin is burning from his touch, your wildfire still thriving as you navigate this ocean he’s thrown the two of you into. A man-made river, more like it. It was made by his hand, it was created treacherously and with purpose against you, and yet you’re still here wading in it, also by his hand.

“Tell me to stop,” he begs, unexpected as his hands squeeze you, his eyes zeroing in on his palms as they travel up to your thighs, pulling you closer and making your back slide down the cushion from the position you’re seated in, “Tell me you hate me.”

For a second, you almost tell him you can’t. You can’t tell him to stop. Not as your leg lifts and his shoulder fits perfectly into the ditch of your knee, not as his hands creep further up to the band of the borrowed sweatpants. And once his fingers curl into the waist, knuckles pressing to your soft skin, you know you won’t.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, making his eyes shoot up to meet yours again, “I hate you, but don’t you fucking dare stop.”

Quickly, at an almost impossible rate of speed, he yanks the sweats down off of you. They’re tossed behind him into a pile on his living room floor, uncared for and quickly forgotten.

Once your skin is exposed to him, he’s planting messy kisses linearly up your shin, over your inner knee, until he reaches your thighs. Marks are left in his wake, shades of deep maroon fading lilac as he nips and sucks against them just as you had to his neck.

“Show me yours,” he mumbles into your skin, fingertips pressing indents as he openly mouths over the hickies left behind.

“What?”

“I showed you mine, now show me yours,” he insists with wild eyes, hair hardly contained by the bun that once contained the curls, “When you touch yourself, what do you think about?”

“You,” you sigh out as he presses another kiss to you, even higher up now, growing dangerously close to your cunt.

“What about me?” he pushes, staring up as he removes contact, “Use your words, baby.”

“I-” you can’t think clearly, mind muddled with smoke and the image of him there before you, on his knees, “I think about your fingers instead of mine. How thick they are, how they’d feel.”

His smile shows little satiation, “Go on.”

You’re so focused on getting the words out, you nearly don’t notice a hand loosening its grip on your thigh, inching up to your panties, playing with the lace edges.

“I think about how deep you’d go, how you’d curl your fingers just- fuck,” you cut off with a gasp when his fingers slide beneath cotton, brushing over your wet folds.

“Just fuck?” he mimics, pouting slightly, “Afraid I’ve never heard that one before. Might need you to demonstrate for me. How do I curl my fingers just fuck?”

“Fuck you,” you whine, writhing beneath his touch as your ankles lock behind his head.

“I’m trying to,” he pitches his voice to mock your own, and you regret ever saying the words to him. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head, “God, you want me to fuck you so bad, it’s making you stupid.”

His fingers stop teasing you as he finds your entrance, circling only the tip of his pointer finger to gather the slickness. Your hips buck, the desperation clawing its way through your entire body now, leaving ash and destruction in its path before Eddie brings an arm across your waist to hold you down to the couch firmly.

“Beg for it,” he commands, voice shooting straight into your chest, “Be a good girl and say please, yeah?”

His finger still circles your entrance, teasing but never quite pressing in, leaving you a whimpering mess. You begin to wonder if there will be any sign of how hard his forearm is pinned against you.

A battle of both your prides. He can feel you burning up now, he sees the flames dancing and he’s willing to play with them rather than give in to you.

You have to bite your lip to avoid letting the please on the tip of your tongue slip out for him. You’re still fighting him, still defying him.

“I have been far nicer to you than you deserve,” he continues his taunts, a grin growing when he catches the way you’re physically holding back, “We both know it, so just say it. Say the word, and I’ll keep playing nice.”

His finger breeches your entrance slightly, and you gasp, head thrown back immediately, “When have you ever been nice?”

He tsks, removing the tip of his finger, letting it glide up between your folds before it stops just short of your clit, “Oh, I’m always nice. You just never seem to notice.”

You think about it again. All the acts of kindness that went under the radar, all the times you’d buried in an effort to continue to harbor detestation for the man before you. He’s right – he probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s far more correct than you’d give him credit for at this moment.

“Please fuck me,” you whisper to the ceiling, before swallowing hard and leaning your chin back down, looking him in his eyes as you decide to give him more than he asked for, “Please ruin me.”

You’ve watched a mirage of emotions flush across his face on every possible occasion. Anger, distaste, aggression, laughter, annoyance. But you’ve never seen want quite like this grace his features.

“Gladly.”

His fingertip circles your clit, once, twice, three times, applying the perfect amount of pressure to have you crying out before he’s removing his forearm and nearly tearing your underwear to move it to the side and thrusting two fingers into your desperate cunt immediately.

You sob out and nearly double over, the sting and stretch making you keen as he wastes no time. You’ve said the magic word, you’ve played his game, and now, he’s returning the favor.

He’s playing nice. And, God, is nice quite the word to describe what he’s doing to you as he pumps his fingers into you, thrusting them in as deep as his knuckles allow before he curls them and brushes the spot that could make you scream with the right skill set.

He has the skill set. He notes your clenching on his fingers, and he curls again, with more intent this time.

Maybe the thin walls only apply to the inside of his apartment, if you’re lucky.

“Is this what you want?” he questions, leaning in so close to you that you feel his breath wash over you, “Is this what you meant by ruining you?”

You nod, finding it becoming increasingly harder to speak as you gasp, “Y- Oh, fuck. Yes. Ple- fuck. Please.”

He pauses, and you nearly scream out in frustration and protest before he rips your underwear off of you, dragging it down your legs and forcing your ankle to unlock from behind his head as he fights with the flimsy piece of cotton. You expect him to throw it, to let it join the sweats, but instead, he brings them to his face. He’s wolfish as he looks up at you, taking a deep breath in with the cotton pressed to his nose, not saying a word but watching you clench around nothing as he finally tosses the panties over his shoulder.

You see them catch on the coffee table, nowhere near the sweats.

“Smell so sweet, baby,” he coos, bringing his fingers back to you, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips, “I might just have to tast-”

A phone ringing cuts him off. The trill cuts through the silence, piercing both your ears, making you look at each other in fright.

“Don’t answer it,” the words burst out before you think them over. You don’t care about your friends right now. You don’t care about the bet.

You care about his fingers back inside you, curling and hitting that spot you’ve spent endless nights fighting to find without success. You care about getting his clothes off of him, of your eyes tracing over his skin and the ink you’ve yet to see. You care about his cock, springing to attention, before he’s sheathing it inside of you and bringing you both to utter bliss.

A phone call is at the bottom of your priorities right now. You just don’t care.

“It’s your phone,” he counters, glancing behind the two of you to where your phone is buried in the heap of black clothing, “I’m not answering it. But…”

“I’m not answering it, either.”

“If we don’t answer-”

“Eddie, I could fucking care less,” you sit up roughly, leaning in as close as you can in the compromising position, “We’re not answering it.”

The phone continues to ring, and he looks between you and it in clear confusion, “They’ll just keep calling-”

“Let them,” you insist, “If you don’t get your dick in me within the next minute, I’ll call this entire thing off,” you add on the last part as you reach out and your legs fall off his shoulders, hands replacing where your knees once rested as you bring his lips into yours.

Teeth, tongue, salt water, ash. It drowns out the final few rings as you continue to tug on Eddie feverishly, forcing him to rise from his position on the ground and kneel on the edge of the couch, a hand balancing him upright by gripping the back of the couch. Your kiss is all the convincing he needs.

“Fuck, fine, fine, I-” he cuts off, removing himself from you long enough to shrug off his leather jacket, to reach up and grab the collar of his shirt, yanking it over his head. The bun has officially unraveled to completion, curls flowing down over his collarbones and shoulders. You can’t keep your hands off him, fingertips immediately pressing into the exposed skin, “Just give me a second.”

He stands, and you whine, making him snicker as he kicks off the grey sweatpants.

“So impatient,” he teases, and you watch his face light up in delight as you can only bite your tongue in response. There’s something more there, something to be considered later. Later, when you aren’t aching for him. Later, when the moment of desperation has passed, when his waves retreat from your shores and you find yourself capable of breathing fresh air once more.

Later is not now.

The moment he’s down to just his boxers, you’re done waiting, doing as he had for you and dropping your knees to the carpet below.

“Hey, what are you doin-” he’s interrupted by you leaning forward, looking up at him intently as you kiss the tip of his dick through his boxers. Your lips come in contact with the wet spot clearly forming, and you can see the shiver roll down his spine, “Oh, fuck. What the Hell happened to me… me getting… me getting my dick in you…” He’s trailing off, unable to focus as your fingers slip beneath the waistband and tug down, his dick slapping against his exposed stomach.

“It still counts if you fuck my mouth,” is all you say as his boxers pool at his ankles, and you don’t even wait for him to step out of them.

Your phone is ringing again. You can feel the vibrations through the floor as you wrap a hand around his base, as you lean forward and place a proper kiss to his leaking tip, swirling your tongue in the precum.

This time, the two of you don’t argue about answering it. It’s hard to as your mouth is full of him, and his is full of curses.

“Jesus Christ, I- Fuck, right there,” he’s gasping as you wrap your lips around the tip fully, just as you’d done with his thumb, sucking gently and making his hand fly down to rest on the back of your head.

You bob down a few times, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper and deeper until your nose presses into the coarse hairs resting at the base. You pause, letting your nose press into him as you breathe deeply, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water, just as he described, and you take pride in the way he can’t even look at you now.

You pull back, letting him drop from your mouth, smiling widely, “Better than your hand, right?”

“Fuck off,” his hand rest at the back of your head grips the hair there, tangling up as he shoots you a glare.

“Say it’s better than your hand, and I’ll fuck you off,” you press, letting a hand travel to fondle his balls, pinching the skin delicately, watching his reaction roll through him like waves.

“I- Fucking obviously,” he hisses as you smile, leaning down and pressing kisses along the shaft, “God, of course your mouth is better than my fucking hand. Of course it fucking is.”

“It better be,” you goad before taking him back into your mouth. This time, you suck harder, and his grip on your hair is painful once more.

“Shit.”

He’s at a loss for words, devolving into guttural groans and babbling moans as you quicken your pace, determined now.

You wanted to ruin him. After a year of his bullshit, after suffering through every fight and every argument, every passive glare and every turbulent comment, you want to make them man standing over you crumble to pieces.

Except he wasn’t just crumbling, he was shattering. Splintering apart as his hips started to thrust to meet your mouth, as you choked around him and refused to let up, resorting to stuttering inhales through your nose as you pressed your face back to his pubes, swallowing accidentally and making him nearly scream.

“Shit. Shit- stop. I’m going to f-fucking cum, stop,” he’s pulling you off of him suddenly, gasping for breath, not letting you refuse and push him over the edge.

You’re smug as you lean onto your heels, wiping your mouth clean of the spit that strings from your bottom lip to his red tip with the back of your hand.

“I think I win,” you state plainly, as if you weren’t currently taking heaving breaths, desperate to catch your breath and have his hands back on you.

“Win? Wh- It’s not a fucking competition,” he scowls, raking a hand down over his face, chest flush.

“It is, and I fucking won.”

“Yeah? You think you won, baby?”He recovers quickly, you’ll give him that. He goes from a complete mess to a force to be reckoned with in an absolute instant, stepping out of his boxers and kicking them from his warpath before he reaches down to tug you to your feet, “In that case, if this is a competition, I think I deserve a second chance.”

You open your mouth to be a smart ass, to say something cruel or something mean, but he steps back before you have the chance.

The look of want has turned stormy, confident and eliciting. A hurricane beckoning to you as he snaps his fingers.

“Take your fucking shirt off, and get on the couch, all fours.”

“I-”

“Now.”

There’s no more fires, no more oceans, and no more petty arguments left in you. You listen to him.

You throw off the sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, as he goes to one of the tables beside the couch and opens a drawer roughly.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, unhooking your bra as well, fully naked and aware that his eyes weren’t on you yet, “You just keep fucking condoms in your living room?”

“Who said I was looking for fucking condoms?”

“Oh, my bad. I just assumed. Should have known you were getting me naked just to go searching for fucking Narnia in your drawers.”

You were wrong. He was looking at you, and you’re only made aware by the sharp slap across your bare ass at the comment. It makes you spin quickly, looking at him and his set jaw.

“Couch. All fours. Now.”

“You’re such a sore loser,” you snark, taking a few steps back, trying to ignore the way the sting on your backside has your clit throbbing.

“You have no idea, baby,” he says without a hint of joking, looking back down into the drawer and continuing to dig as you turn away from him again.

Despite feeling exposed, you do as you’re told – you get onto the couch on all fours as he requested, knees digging into a surprisingly soft cushion that surely hadn’t felt that way earlier in the night when you’d attempted to sleep on the piece of furniture. You don’t dare to glance back at him over your shoulder when the drawer finally slams shut, hearing his heavy breathing as he returns to you being enough to force you to shut your eyes and take in a sharp gasp.

“Still feeling like a winner?” his voice winds around you, nearly choking you as you feel a feathering fingertip trail across your lower back.

“Always,” you lie breathily, voice betraying you as it shakes.

You feel the couch dip from behind you, legs spreading as Eddie fits himself between your calves, one hand latching onto your hip.

“God, I can’t wait to fuck the brat out of you.”

Without warning, he’s lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in, taking all the breath from your lungs as you collapse down onto your elbows and your cheek brushes the cushion of the couch.

It burns, his cock forcing you to stretch and accommodate you, filling you at an unbelievable rate.

You knew he was fucking big, but you hadn’t considered the consequences until this moment, as he truly feels as if he’s just begun his ruining of you.

“Fu-” the curse is lost in your throat, a small gasp as you press yourself down even further into the couch, mind swimming.

“Oh, no,” he tuts, sounding completely unaffected until he leans down over you as he bottoms out. When he gets closer, you catch it – the hitch in his breath, the way he pauses before he can speak, “That won’t do, sweetheart.”

He brings a hand back to your throat, just as he had when you two first entered the apartment, when the fight for dominance first began. It’s more from the pressure of his forearm across your chest, but the pressure is still applied on both sides as he guides you to straighten up your body against him, making him hit new angles that have you hissing out.

“I said on all fours, not just waving your ass in the air like some slut,” you clench around him at his words, and he chuckles breathlessly, “You like that, don’t you? You like being my fucking slut.”

You can only moan in response as he slowly pulls back his hips, feeling every inch of him beginning to retreat from you at an agonizing pace.

“You’re pitiful,” he groans into your ear, pressing his thumb further against your throat, cutting off the circulation for only a moment. Just long enough to send a rush to your head, “You say you hate me, say you can’t fucking stand me, but get cock drunk just from me putting it in. I’m only getting started and you’re speechless.”

You can only continue your pathetic whimpers, reaching back to grasp onto him before he tuts once more.

“Pathetic, baby.”

He slams back in, letting you drop forward. This time, you keep yourself up on your hands, letting out more small gasps, all of the noises getting half stuck on your tongue.

“But you’re winning, right?” he taunts, accentuating each word with a thrust as he begins to pick up his pace, “You’re the winner here, right?”

You don’t answer him, nearly drooling when he reaches forward and grabs up your hair, curling it around his wrist carefully before he pulls. It hurts, it makes you clench down on him, it has you babbling out nonsense you’re completely unaware of.

Each time he snaps his hips forward, his skin collides with yours, ricocheting off the walls around the two of you. Your arms shake, but you stay steady, refusing to collapse beneath him and the euphoria that scathes you.

He pulls your hair harder this time, making you arch your back into him, “Tell me you hate me.”

You cry out, feeling him hit even deeper as his free hand forces your hips to meet every thrust.

“Say it, baby. Tell me just how much you hate me,” he huffs out, clearly barrelling as quickly to his own release as you are, “Say you hate my guts,” another sharp thrust, and his balls slap against you, catching your clit and making your knees shake, “Say you can’t stand me. Go ahead, baby, say it.”

“I hate you,” you weakly respond, eyes tearing up as you feel your gut twist. Your fire, your blooms, his ocean. He’s making good on his promise – he’s ruining you, and you’re reveling in the wake of it all. Embers char you from the inside out, and your brain fogs over in pleasure.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I m-mean it,” you gasp when he reaches around, chest pressing to your back, finger hovering over your clit, “Fuck, right there, please. I mean it. Please, please-”

“Say it again, like you really mean it this time, and I’ll let you cum.”

He stills, deep inside you, waiting with bated breath as his chin ghosts over the back of your shoulder. You stare straight ahead. If you glance down, you’d find your hands turned to fists, his ring still glittering on your finger.

He’s destroyed you. To unimaginable levels. You can’t comply with his request, not without becoming a liar, because it occurs to you that the man currently wrecking you is not a man you’re capable of hating. You hated the situation the two of you were in, you hated the year wasted, you hated the looming pressure of your friends awaiting a return call, you hated the words exchanged between the two of you with the intention of cutting deep. You hated many things surrounding him, but you didn’t hate him.

At Eddie’s core, he is still the man you first met. He’s finally drowned you, dragged you to the bottom of his ocean, and you can see that now. The man that first reeled you in at the bar never left, simply shrank away, hid himself away from you for some unknown reason that you hate. The man that dazzled you, enticed you, provided you with the opportunity of safety still exists.

“I hate you,” you grit out, fisting at the cover of the cushions, your entire body on edge. From him, from revelations, from a build of hate that had been misdirected for far too long.

“Good,” he gasps out, mouth falling open and against your skin, teeth grazing you, “Then this changes nothing.”

You don’t have time to ponder, or wonder why he didn’t mention the feeling being mutual. Once the words leave both of you, his finger connects with your clit, working an expert pattern that has you preening as his vigorous thrusting returns. It’s harsher than before, pain and pleasure blurring together as your scalp aches, your vines tighten, and your flames erupt.

Your vision whites out, and you don’t hear your screams of relief as much as you feel them. Your throat is hoarse, tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and the tension vanishes from your muscles.

Your arms collapse finally, and you don’t fight the way your cheek presses against rough fabric as his hips begin to stutter, his own ecstasy flooding over him before he’s crashing with you.

The two of you stay that way for a second, skin on skin, words lingering in the air, threatening to vanish. You don’t care – you match your breathing to his as he doesn’t pull out immediately.

A vibrating comes from the floor amongst the shared bliss, both of you too fucked out to move to go answer the phone. The money doesn’t matter anymore, not to you.

Everything aches. You come to realize just how rough the two of you had treated each other, pains ringing out from your throat, from your ass, from your abused cunt. Your knees are surely marked from the couch and floor alike, your scalp is screaming in relief without Eddie’s grip against it.

You don’t regret it. You don’t regret any of it, except a singular lie.

I hate you.

What a brilliant, foolish, laughable, bullshit attempt at a lie.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

#twenty four hours #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #very terrified because i feel like expectations are so high #please be kind i'm gonna have a PANIC ATTACK #i didn't read this back :) if you see mistakes don't @ me #let's hope for the best smut is between yall and god

2K notes · View notes