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l0ngschl0ngking · 1 year

Text

Work for it

Javier Peña x f!reader

summary: Javier wants you. Plain and simple. You don’t fall for his charm so easily

warnings: as always SMUT (m!masturbation, semi-public handjob, vaginal fingering, oral - f!receiving, protected p in v, biting, spitting, hair pulling, praise kink), cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, fluff and soft!Javi - because I can’t help myself

word count: 17k (holy moly guacamole - I am so fucking sorry)

A/N: This took me literally five days to finish (longer than I anticipated). Writing and then editing, re-reading it over and over again. But I had so much fun writing these two together. I love them.

You will never forget the day you met the infamous Javier Peña.

It was the first day at your new job - a new beginning for you, let’s say. Moving to a new country whose language you hardly spoke, having to accommodate to the new pace of things. That didn’t mean it was a bad thing though - you needed the change. After living in a small town for nearly all of your life where everyone knew everything about you, you were pretty glad when they accepted you as a secretary for DEA office in Colombia. It was…different. The people, the lifestyle they led. Nonetheless, change was good for you - you needed it.

What you didn’t need - or at least you thought so at the beginning - was having a smooth talker, devilish charmer and so-called "ladies' man" ogle you right as you entered the DEA building. His eyes watched every measured step you took as you held your head high when passing by him - not giving him the time of a day. You could see from the corner of your eye that he licked his lips and smoothed his thumb along the bottom one, his eyes trailing your figure.

He watched your smooth legs move effortlessly - light as if you were a butterfly slowly floating in the air, even in your heels. He could definitely make your legs wobble if you would let him, he thought as he licked his lips. Your green work skirt fitted you like a damn glove, your white blouse flowy - made to look professional yet efficient for you to not cook alive in that god-forsaken Colombian heat - highlighting your sun-kissed skin. He felt like a dog that was shown a proper peace of meat after days of starving. Oh, and starved he was.

He almost broke his neck when you disappeared around the corner and Steve threw him an unimpressed look from behind the folder he was going through before he heard Javier roughly exhale. The blond-haired agent tossed the thick folder filled with documents on the desk and leaned back on the uncomfortable office chair as he watched his partner seemingly lost in thought - he could guess what thoughts were occupying his mind right then. He scoffed and that seemed to pull Javier out of his trance, his dark eyes narrowed as he looked at his partner.

“What?” he grumbled. Javier’s eyes were challenging as he bored them into Steve’s baby blues as if saying “just say what you want to say.”

One thing Javier hated about Steve - and there were a lot of things that he didn’t like about him but if he was to pinpoint one it would have to be this - was how he unseemingly loved to call out Javier on his so-called “bullshit”. Even though often it was his private life - which frankly was none of his business. He loved to criticize and not be criticized in return - that he and Peña had in common even if he neither one of them would ever admit that.

“Don’t even think about it, Peña.” Steve muttered as he held eye contact with Javier - neither of them ready to back down.

Seconds passed. Maybe a minute even.

Javier was the first one to break it off as he glanced behind his shoulder, a sly grin spreading across his lips. He liked to play dirty - and pissing off his partner seemed plenty dirty play enough for him. And if you’d give in - as he was sure you would - and Steve would hear the pretty little cries of Javier’s name falling out of your lips? That seemed like a sweet victory to the dark-haired agent.

One thing about Javier was that when someone tells him can’t or shoudln’t do something - you know he will do exactly that. He turned to Steve once more.

“I don’t know what are you talking about.” Steve squinted his eyes and sighed - knowing damn well Javier was already planning on how to charm you in his mind.

“You know what I am talking about, Javier.”

His grin spread wider - his fingers quickly drumming on the wooden desk he was leaning his hands against. It was an old thing - folders that Javier should get through by tonight sitting on top of it. He had better things to do now. Paperwork could wait. Your perfume lingered in the office when you passed by, calling him to you like a damn siren song.

“Just trying to be friendly here, Murphy. Not that you know anything about it.”

“We both know that your definition of ‘friendly’ when it comes to women means ‘I want to spread-“

Before he could finish his sentence Javier was already one long leg out of the office making his way toward where you were seated at your desk. You were concentrated - your brows furrowed and the rim of your reading glasses falling from the bridge of your nose. You were not from here - Javier could tell. He noticed the mug filled with coffee on your desk that had “best sister ever” written on it in a thick cursive, the letters red and next to it a big heart.

The temperature in the office was hot - too hot even for Javi that was used to the Texan heat back from Laredo. His blue shirt damp from the sweat that dribbled down his back, his torso, his neck. The material of the shirt stuck to him. That wouldn’t be the last thing that would stick to him today. He was sure of that.

It seemed you came prepared though - the small fan on your desk felt like heaven on earth against your sweaty skin. He watched one droplet roll down from the side of your temple, slowly down to your jaw, your neck, falling into the juncture of it and rolling down between the valley of your breasts. He would gladly lick it from your skin if you’d let him. He would do much more than that to you if you’d let him.

“Can I help you with something?” His eyes teared away from your cleavage and met your gaze - your eyes narrowed in annoyance as you put your reading glasses down, the papers you were reading before he came laid now on your desk. He quickly scanned your features and yeah, you were definitely someone who’d he like to spend his night with. Or lunch break, or-

He ignored your question as he looked at your nails - one of his hands coming to inspect it closer but before he could you pulled your hands away - folding them across your chest. “I like the color. Brings out the color of your eyes.”

You quirked an eyebrow at that - leaning against the leather chair you looked him up and down quickly before leaning back towards him. Your elbows were prepped on the wooden desk and he leaned closer as well -his eyes quickly dipping to your cleavage once again.

“Listen here-“ A pause followed.

“Javi.” He offered.

“Javi.” You repeated. His name falling out of your mouth - the accent not quite right but he did not mind one bit. He found it endearing in a way. “Listen here, Javi. I don’t know what you think is going to happen but whatever it is just forget about it. Your southern charm won’t work on me. Been there, done that.”

He pulled away - taken back by your quick rejection, his eyebrows furrowing just a little. The crease on his brows showing and he took a quick breath to retort something, his tongue slipping out to lick his lower lip.

“And what did you think I thought was going to happen, mariposa?” The old leather chair creaked beneath your weight as you moved back in it slightly. An amused smirk pulled at your lips as you ignored the nickname he gave you - which in all honesty you didn’t know what it meant. You’d ask him another time. It seemed that you would be seeing this “Javi” a whole lot more than you thought.

You leaned closer to him and he did the same - as if the two of you were pulled by some magnetic force toward one another. It got hotter once his nose almost touched yours, his fingers with neatly trimmed nails gripping the edge of your desk. You slowly raised from your seat. You ignored it all - the way his eyes bored into yours, how you felt as if molten lava was in the pit of your stomach, how your hands clenched at your sides.

He smelled like cigarettes and coffee, and some kind of expensive cologne. The smell of him made your nose and insides burn - something about his presence made you feel like every cell in your body was on fire. That’s how the DEA agent made women feel most of the time - you didn’t know that back then.

Your voice dropped an octave lower as you whispered. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to say what I think you thought in a public setting. Especially in a working place.” An amused chuckle fell out of his lips as you seated yourself. Mirth danced in his eyes as he replied:

“Good thing I am inappropriate most of the time, mariposa.” Javier Peña was a bold man. He knew that and most of the people that were acquainted with him knew that. But you didn’t know who he was and he expected that you would scoff - tell him to fuck off. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t help the smirk that made its way onto your lips as you pretended to read the documents on your desk - your conversation ending with that.

He watched you for a few seconds, expecting that maybe you would say something smart back in return because you know - it seemed you had a smart mouth. He turned on his heels as he left you to do what you actually came here to do - work - and he should do the same.

Oh, and you were going to be fun, he thought. When he came back and sat behind his desk, he had this stupid boyish smirk planted on his face. Steve looked at him and then back at where you were supposed to be working - even though he couldn’t see you. And the blonde-haired agent thought that this meant no good.

Three years passed since your first encounter with Javier.

Three torturous years filled with you two dancing around each other - like two ships passing one another in the stillness of a night. You two became somewhat friends. Three years filled with flirting and bickering, stolen glances and going out on drinks.

Sometimes Steve joined the two of you - most of the time not. At first, he seemed to be glued to Javier’s hip - afraid that his partner would try another one of his many tricks on you. Oh, and he did.

His flirtatious nature came out on the surface anytime you were near him - though you did not crumble under his advances as Javier wished you would. Your knees didn’t buckle, your cheeks didn’t turn a darker shade of red, your eyes didn’t flutter when he was closer to you than it seemed proper. But after a while, both agents found out you weren’t even near to falling for the smooth talker that Javier was. The only thing you offered him was friendship - your presence and your laugh, your silly jokes and weird habits.

And he took it all - his flirtatious nature and comments remained but it seemed more friendly than not. And you did the same in return - your smart-ass comments about how his ass looked “good enough to bite in those tight jeans" kept him on his toes, his cheeks hurt with all of the genuine laughter you pulled out of somewhere deep in his chest.

So Steve started joining your outings outside of work less and less - you were an intelligent woman and he liked you. You wouldn’t do something stupid like sleep with Javier.

The thing was - you wanted to. After the stressful day at work, you wished you could have Javier here - in your crappy apartment that was assigned to you by the U.S. embassy. You knew his reputation, you knew that his needs were simply carnal - a basic transaction of pleasure and bodily fluids. He never wanted his lady friends to stay over - never wanted them to have any expectations of having something more with him.

You can still remember the vivid shock you felt when you banged on the door of your next-door neighbor who appeared to only come alive at night.

The walls were thin and you could hear every moan, groan, slap of skin against skin, every bang that the bedframe made when hitting the wall. At first, you tried to ignore it - you bought earplugs. Multiple pairs. None of them seemed to work and one night you had had enough when you were right there on the edge of sleep after a particularly rough day and then - a long drawn-out moan made you squeeze your eyes before you shot out of the bed. The robe you wrapped around yourself to look at least half decent flew dramatically behind you.

You didn’t knock at the door - you banged - irritated and tired but still, you chewed at your lip as you thought of how the fuck will you say in spanish that they should finally “shut the fuck up and let you sleep”. You could hear a loud bang and then curses thrown into the air before the door swung open and Javier was standing in them - Javier from the office, Javier that undressed you with his eyes every time you entered the same room as him - his eyes wild and angry before they landed on you. All of the fire in his eyes disappeared and a toothy grin replaced his scowl. He leaned one arm on the doorframe - his bicep flexing with the movement.

His hair was disheveled and he didn’t have any of his significant half-unbuttoned shirts on. His chest was broad, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his golden skin glowed in the low dim light in the hallway. The tight jeans he wore stuck to him like a second skin - he didn’t zip them in the hurry to get to the door. You could see the sparse hair leading from his belly button growing thicker the lower and lower you went - you must have gaped at him like a fish before you gulped.

He wasn’t any better though - his eyes dragged over the naked expanse of your skin and as his eyes trailed higher. He was sure you weren’t wearing anything underneath that flimsy robe. A peak of the soft flesh of your breast caught his attention as he absent-mindedly licked his lips, catching his tongue between his teeth - only a sliver of the pink flesh poking out of his mouth.

“Came to take me up on my offer, mariposa?” You wanted to wipe the self-assured cocky smile off his face.

He never really said the “offer” out loud but you knew what he had in mind. Now even more so. After a few weeks at the embassy, you heard rumors about Peña, about his reputation, about who he was. You tried to pay them no mind.

“No, Javier.” The way his name sounded falling out of your mouth was his absolute favorite thing. “Just keep it down, would you?”

You didn’t wait for his answer - turning on your heel and he watched your ass sway before you closed the door of your apartment.

He fucked the girl that was in his place harder than he ever fucked anyone in his life that night.

So that you knew what you were missing.

The way you glared at him the next day was definitely worth it.

But you also knew Javier - how he cared for those who were close to him, how the only thing he “ate” all day was coffee and so you had to almost shove any form of food into him - not that he minded - how his eyes crinkled when you cracked one of your stupid jokes that weren’t even that funny - he seemed to think otherwise.

So you were somewhat friends. You went out to drink away your thoughts, sorrows and feelings together. An unhealthy coping mechanism that you seemed to learn from Javi after the first year and a half you spent in Colombia.

You always went into that one filthy bar - quiet but with a sticky floor with not a lot of people around - somehow, Javier always found a girl that he would take home that night in it still. He was tall, broad, charming, he knew the way around with ladies - compliments forming and falling easily off his silver tongue. They seemed to be pulled towards him by his sheer presence in the room. He didn’t even have to try.

You hated the way your heart tightened in your chest whenever a pretty woman caught his attention - he always quickly stubbed his cigarette down with a quick apology that he’d be right back. His walk was confident and self-assured, his body language lose when he talked to them.

To make things worst he always had this soft look in his eyes when he asked if you were okay with him leaving. Oh, his brown eyes that always looked at you with such curiosity and interest. Those eyes made you feel like you were in another world. Looking into them - looking into those prettiest brown eyes, the eyes that you loved the most - made you feel like dying and feeling alive at once.

Even when some of them almost pulled his arm off as they tried to get him out and to wherever they would get more acquainted with one another, he still waited for your answer. Every time, you offered him the same tight-lipped smile and quick nod as you shooed him off. The imprint of his smile he always offered you in gratitude felt like a punch to the gut - as if he broke all of your ribs to get to your heart and squeezed until no blood remained in it after it stopped functioning completely.

But even if you wanted to give in - learn and feel his touch, find out if the girls were faking all of the moans and gasps or if he was really so skilled - you never dared to. Refusing to become another woman who would have to leave eventually and never look back. You wanted more than that. Because you knew Javier.

And you wanted all of him, not just a piece that he would offer and then rip it from you.

So you never acted upon the feelings you developed over the years - staying somewhat friends with the Texas man would have to be enough. Had to be.

Things changed after almost two and a half years. After he came late at night knocking on your apartment door and you sleepily opened it - the tiredness leaving your body as your eyes widened at his state. He was drunk - that was clear. He hiccuped and stumbled into your place when you opened your door wider.

There was no exchanging of words that night. He planted face-first onto your couch and fell asleep almost immediately - his soft snores filling the silent room. You draped your favorite light blanket around him that night - the one your sister gave you as a Christmas present. Javier always made fun of it. It was an ugly thing really - she said that it was compensation for an ugly sweater as she couldn’t find any. And yes, it was hideous - it looked like it just came from some dumpster - but you loved it nonetheless.

Something changed between the two of you the next morning. When you came into the living room he was still lounging on your small couch - his long legs dangling from the edge of it. You laughed as he groaned, his eyes tightly shut, one of his arms draped over his forehead. When he slowly sat up his head spun and he mumbled something about “never drinking again” - you laughed some more at that.

You didn’t ask why he drank so much - you knew it was because of something more serious than just simply wanting to get shit-faced. If he wanted to, he’d tell you. Eventually.

You passed him some painkillers for which he offered you a grateful smile - throwing his head back as he swallowed them. The only thing that could be heard in the room was the coffee machine as you stared at each other. He looked different in the morning - peaceful, soft. Things he didn’t want anyone to see.

You cleared your throat, saying that you will quickly hop in the shower while he can choose what are you two going to have for breakfast - the book you’ve written your favorite recipes in kept on the lowest shelf in the kitchen cabinet right above the stove. You were stocked with all sorts of ingredients as you like to cook a lot. He nodded as he watched you softly shut the door behind you.

The recipe book was old and rusty - the pages of it covered in smudges, the corners of them sometimes torn off. He wasn’t sure if it was yellow because it came in that color or if the was white before and it just yellowed over time. He flipped the pages quickly - honestly, he’d eat anything you’d cook as he often said you should have opened your own restaurant and not waste your time behind the desk. You always brushed these comments off with a small smile. A dried-up rose layed between the pages. He softly grabbed it and inspected it - his heart lurching into his throat when realization dawned on him. He gave you the rose. A long time ago.

Steve always bought Connie a bouquet of flowers every Friday -a habit he kept even after all the years spent with her. It was sweet, really. Romantic. You eyed the different flowers - a small flicker of yearning danced in your eyes. Javier noticed. Of course, he did. One day he came over to your desk, one of his hands behind his back and you threw him a curious look before he brought the single white-petalled rose in front of your face. The big grin you gave him and the quiet “thank you, Javi. I love it” made his entire week.

So he didnn’t know how long he had been standing there - the tip of his fingers delicately brushing over the dried-up white petals until you called his name, coming over to him.

“You kept it.” You threw him a confused look, your eyes widened when he backed you up against the kitchen counter - the small of your back hitting the edge of it. He caged you in, his hand coming to lay on the counter next to your side, the other one showing you the rose and you gulped.

“Yeah, I kept it.” You whisper and something in his chest shifted back then, his eyes softening. You held your breath when his chest brushed up against yours, his nose almost bumping with yours. You could see every freckle on his skin, his long eyelashes, the curve of his nose. Your lips nearly touching.

And then the phone rang and he closed his eyes in irritation, taking a deep steadying breath. He moved away from you and you slipped away from him quickly- your heart almost jumping out of your chest. You picked it up with shaking hands, looking over at Javier who put the rose back into its place.

“Hey, Steve. Yeah-yeah, I’ll be there in ten. Yeah, I will go over to Javi’s to kick him out of bed. See you.”

His jaw ticked when you hung up. He was going to kill Murphy.

He stopped seeing every and each of his lady friends after that day. If he wanted any information he’d meet them on neutral ground - sometimes offering to buy them a drink or two. But nothing more. He stopped picking up random girls at the bar too.

And somehow, he felt happy. Mind shockingly happy - like a kid that wished really hard for a present under the Christmas tree and got it. He cared for you - the realization hitting him in the back of the head like a fucking bullet. And you cared for him - took care of him, fed him and made him feel fucking alive and happy and thriving. You were the one that got drunk with him and never asked questions, and listened. You had to feel something if you kept the stupid rose after the years. Right?

But Javier overthinks things easily and just as easy as it was to imagine somehow a happy and safe future with you, it was just as easy to imagine scenarios - where in every one of them - he was the jackass who’d hurt you. And he couldn’t have that. No, no, no.

So he keeps his distance - still talks to you and keeps being friendly, but neither of you talks about the morning when you almost kissed. You were confused and hurt. He played with you but you couldn’t be angry at him. He never tried anything again after that on you. Even though this thing you two had between you kept simmering under the surface and he tried to ignore it. As have you.

But Javier is just a man - impulsive and quick to jump to conclusions. When he sees red? He acts. And right now he sees red as you talk to one of the other agents - he can hear your soft laugh and can see the way you grip the man’s arm as you laugh some more. What is even so funny? The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grips the edge of his desk tighter in his hold and Steve wants to laugh at his partner.

He takes pity on him and when he stands up he places one of his big hands on Javier’s shoulder which he wants to shrug away -his gaze lingering on you.

“You should ask her out, Peña.”

Javier almost breaks his neck with the speed he looks at Steve. Did he hit his head? Since when is he telling him what to do with women? Javier scoffs - an ugly twisted snarl adorns his lips. Like a wolf barring his teeth to its prey.

“Since when do you tell me what and what to not do when it comes to our lady co-workers?” Steve sighs and squeezes Javier’s shoulder tighter making his dark-haired partner look at him.

“We both know she isn’t just a co-worker to you, Peña.” He hisses at him, the grip on his shoulder loosening. “Now go ask her out before someone else will.”

And maybe it’s the first time in his life that Steve is actually right. He was fucking exhausted of playing this game of cat and mouse with you.

Javier’s legs act quick and his mind can’t seem to catch up with his actions before he is standing at your desk. When he arrives the other man bids you a quick goodbye before he scatters away under Javier’s intense gaze.

“Do you need something from me, Javi?” You offer him a small smile - so different from the first time you two met and he thinks: “yeah, you”.

His tongue sits heavy in his mouth and just now he finds out he actually doesn’t know how to do this. This dating thing. For fuck’s sake he hasn’t been on a date since Lorraine and he is getting old. Should he bring you flowers first? Should he ask you out with a note like in high school? Should he-

“Javi, you okay?”

Man up, Peña.

He scratches the back of his head before he blurts out:

“Go out with me.”

He says it so quickly that you are sure you heard him wrong but the tip of his ears are a darker shade of red and he stares at you expectantly. You gape at him like a fish - your mouth closing and opening but no sound comes out of it. He sighs and this time he says it slower, his dark eyes boring into yours as he reaches to grab your small hands in his.

“Mariposa, I’d like nothing more than if you’d go out with me. Like…on a date.” His palms are sweaty and he gulps seemingly nothing. He is nervous. It’s cute. That this big bad agent that chases narcos left and right is nervous about asking you out. You grin as you squeeze his fingers in yours.

“I don’t know, Javi. This seems so sudden and I am not sure if that’s the best idea. With us being colleagues and all.” You try to hide your grin as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“Mariposa, I swear I will make it worth your while. Just give me a chance. Please? I will-“ You break when you see his pleading eyes.

“Javi, I was just kidding. I’d like to go out with you. You are a scaredy cat when it comes to these things, aren’t you?”

He offers you a sheepish smile, his eyes glowing.

“Kind of. So please, try to be patient with me, yeah?”

“Of course.” You throw him a reassuring smile. Yeah, he could do this. With you.

He looks around before he brings your hands towards his lips - kissing them and he grins against them when he sees how you blush.

“Tonight at eight sounds good?” He offers as he pulls away from you.

“Sound perfect, Texas.” His grin spreads wider, his cheeks hurt and his heart hammers in his chest.

He owes Steve.

For someone who dreamt about being asked out by Javier you are unprepared. You never expected that he would ever actually make a move on you - not counting the sexual ones. You can’t wipe the smile off your face for the rest of your shift. You beam at Javier when passing by him to get home and he throws you a sultry wink - his knuckles resting on his desk as he looks through the documents. Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t quip anything as Javier watches you leave.

He had a date tonight. With you. Stating that he was nervous and giddy at the same time was an understatement. He felt a like a teenager expecting his first kiss. It felt strange and absolutely addicting at once.

When you arrive home you take a quick shower - Javier always said that you smelled like coconuts and one time you saw him secretly glancing into your bathroom to see what kind of shampoo were you using.

The water is scorching hot and it soothes your muscles and nerves. You scrub all the stress from your body and scurry into the bedroom when you are done - the droplets of water falling onto the floor as you don’t even bother to dry yourself off.

Your bedroom is a big space - the same as Javier’s and Steve’s and anyone who lives in the same apartment building as you, really. You open your closet which was built by Javi and Steve - both of them complaining “why the fuck would you need such a big closet if you live alone” and as you replied “because I like them big” Javier choked on seemingly nothing sending you a quick glare, his Adam’s apple bobbed and it seemed he started sweating even more after that.

You and Connie watched as they argued because, of course, neither of them needed the instructions. Glass of wine in your hands.

It was a pretty closet - cheap as someone bought it and it was too big to fit into their living space and they wanted to get rid of it. Made from mahogany wood, the doors of it had two birds on each side carved in it. Vintage and fitting into your bedroom - you even got a carpet with it for free, the one you were currently standing on.

As you pondered on what to wear you suddenly realized you didn’t know where was Javier taking you. Dancing? On a dinner? To a bar just for drinks? After a while of just checking through your wardrobe you decided to wear a sundress - it was too hot, even at night, to wear anything else, to be honest. It was a light green color - patterned with white flowers and the seam of it reached just below your knees. Backless with long sleeves. Cheeky but modest. Your mouth quirked upwards as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

A knock echoes through the apartment and you look at the watch in the kitchen when coming to answer the door -precisely seven. When you open the door your breath hitches.

Javier stands there with a bouquet of white roses - his face hidden behind them. He has his leather jacket on, his signature tight jeans on but you’ve never seen the pink shirt on him before. It suits him. He peaks at you through the flowers and his jaw sets - his eyes raking up and down your form, multiple times before he passes the roses to you.

“Thank you, they are beautiful, Javi.” You get an instant response, his hands now in his pockets.

“You are beautiful, mariposa.” His baritone raspy. He was used to you were pencil skirts, blouses, jeans and shirts when you went out. Never has he seen a dress on you even after three years. He prayed to all saints out there that you would wear only dresses from now on.

You flash him a grin before you quickly disappear inside to throw them into a vase. He has to clear his throat when he realizes that he can see the whole expanse of your back - the swell of your ass disappearing under the fabric but if the cut would be a little deeper he could definitely see that as well.

“Wear some comfortable shoes. I am gonna show you the beauty of Bogotá tonight.”

You link your arm with his as you softly shut the door.

You talk and laugh and jab at one another. The cool night air makes you shiver - you thought it would be a lot warmer than this. Javier drapes his jacket over you even as you fuss that he doesn’t have to.

You walk - it could be miles - but you don’t really pay it no mind as times fly by. You pass the few spots Javier wanted to show you - a pretty lake that reflected the moon shone under its light, looking like a silver liquid- a few daisies growing near it and you picked them, and after a while Javier even allowed you to put one behind his ear after you pleaded him. The spot where they served the best arepas in the city - Javier said so - and you had to agree as both of you munched on them, comfortable silence falling over the two of you.

It wasn’t awkward as you thought it might have been - you know a lot about each other but somehow you still find new things to talk about. You learned that he liked to paint when he was younger and enjoyed horseback riding with his pops. That he was mama’s boy - his tone softening as he talked about her. You squeezed his hand, telling him it was okay if he didn’t want to talk about it. But he did. Somehow, he wanted you to know everything about him. You took everything he gave and never wanted more and he felt at peace when with you. You found out that he grew up on a ranch and that he was a dog lover - he had a border collie that followed him everywhere when he did his morning chores - feeding the chickens and such.

The final spot of the day’s date was a pretty place with a view from which you could see the whole Bogotá, surrounded by trees and his truck parked there

Both of you lean against the hood - you pull his jacket around you tighter. It smells like him and you realize that after the years you don’t mind the smell of cigarettes. It’s soft and warm and it feels entirely like him.

“So, will you ever tell me about your little Texas boyfriend?” He cuts off the silence with his question and you cock your head to the side.

“Since when do you know I had Texas boyfriend?” He shrugs his shoulders as he brings the cigarette to his lips - blowing the smoke away from you.

“You told me the first time we’ve seen each other. You said that you will not fall for my Texas charm - “been there done that”. He quotes and you laugh breathily. He stubs the cigarette under his foot. The gravel under him crunches.

“You remember that?”

“I remember every little thing you say to me, mariposa.”

The air thickens with his confession as you look into his eyes. He is gorgeous under the dim moonlight. His hair blows in the soft wind. You reach to take the daisy from behind his ear and twist it between your fingers. The contact your skin makes with his when you reach behind his ear results in goosebumps erupting all over his body.

“I think a talk about ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends is more suited for a second date. Don’t you think?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“You want to go on a second date with me?” It surprises him - really. He expected…he actually doesn’t know what he expected but second date wasn’t it. He ignores the way his heart skips a beat.

“Yeah, don’t you?” Your eyes are hopeful and he doesn’t understand how you could think he wouldn’t want to go on another date with you.

He was smitten with you from the first time he laid his eyes on you. With your sharp tongue and wicked sense of humor, and how you love to call him out on his bullshit, how your nose wrinkles when you laugh and you throw your whole body forward - always needing to bang your hand against something, whether it was your thigh, table, his shoulder.

“I’d love to.” You grin and he mirrors it before you lean away from the hood as does he. It’s late and you are tired - even though you do not want this night to end. You yawn and Javier claps his hands together as he opens the door of the car you.

The car ride passes in comfortable silence as you keep sneaking glances when you think he isn’t looking.

You look at his sharp jawline and aquiline nose, his hand that grips the steering wheel - watching how he drums his long thick fingers against it and you lick your lips as you trail your eyes over the veins on the back of his hand. You take a sharp intake of breath as he places the other hand on your thigh after a while. You look at him but he doesn’t even glance at you, you can see how he becomes tense and when you don’t push his hand away he relaxes again, his thumb stroking idle circles on top of your covered flesh.

It passes quickly and before you know it you are outside the door of your apartment and he is pulling you closer by the small of your back. You put a finger on his lips when it looks like he is ready to kiss you senseless and you giggle, grabbing him by the chin and you turn his head to the side.

“I don’t kiss and tell on the first date, Peña. You will have to work for it.” You whisper against the skin of his cheek and his grip on you loosens as he feels the ghost of your lips against his flesh before you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw. The kiss imprints into the core of his bones.

Before he can say or act you are already closing the door of your apartment - he can hear the giggles that leave your mouth behind them. The muscle in his jaw ticks, his hands ball into fists as he stares at your door.

Seconds pass. Minutes. Maybe hours. He isn’t sure as he seems to be glued to the spot outside of your door.

When he finally moves he closes the door behind him forcefully. He feels so fucking worked up. And you didn’t even touch him. What were you doing to him? For fuck’s sake.

He stumbles into his place as he tries to tear his jeans from him. He fumbles with the zipper and button of his jeans and falls onto the couch as he quickly tries to undress. The jeans are thrown somewhere behind him and he tugs at his cock a few times, hissing as he swipes his thumb across the sensitive head - a spurt of precum falling out of it. He tries to imagine your small hand around his cock. Your slender fingers gripping him and pumping him from all he has. He groans when he squeezes the base of him and he thinks of how you looked tonight.

All pretty and soft when he held your hand in his. His brows furrow when he thinks of how your skin heated up under his touch when he placed his hand on the small of your back. How your dress showed all of your curves and how you laughed - your nose wrinkling. His movements speed up, he concentrates on how you smelled and moved. He thinks how you wouldn’t be able to grip all of him in your small hand - would you try to put all of him in your mouth or would you just suck and lick the tip of him while you would pump the rest of him? The roughness of his own hand isn’t ideal and it is hard to imagine your softer one - his eyebrows furrowing even more so as he concentrates, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth.

And fuck, you care for him. You truly care for him. You listen - really listen- and let him talk your ear off. You never judge him. And that’s why he is so fucking attracted to you. Because Javier just wants someone who will care for him and provide him with not only physical but also psychical comfort. And you are that someone.

He groans, his head thrown back as the pleasure builds in the pit of his stomach - twirling up the column of his spine. He is not quiet and his eyes roll into the back of his head when he hears the squelching sound of his hand stroking his cock - pretending that it was your pussy making the noise while riding him. He smears the precum around his cock - the glide over the hard hot flesh easier. He thinks about how would you sound screaming his name and a needs curls in his belly - primal and hungry. He finds a steadier and firmer pace and the muscle on his forearm and bicep flex with each stroke.

He is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he feels he is so fucking close - so close - his eyes tightly shut. The pleasure builds and builds - liquid warm and full of aching desire for you growing with each slick movement of his wrist. Long smooth strokes are deliberately made, his thumb running over the head, his grasp tightening on the base of his aching cock. His muscular thighs lift off the sofa, the muscles underneath his softer belly pull tighter with each second as he fucks up into his fist. His feet are firmly planted on the couch and he pretends you are there with him - on top of him, riding him as he pinches and explores, gropes and holds every inch of your body.

His balls pull tight and his cock twitches in his hand a few times before he is cumming with a string of spanish curses and your name falling out of his mouth. He keeps up the pace until he is too sensitive and he lets go of his slowly softening cock - his hand sticky with his own release as is his shirt. The back of his head collides with the soft cushions and he opens his eyes to look at the ceiling. Bringing his hand in front of his face, he watches how his spend dribbles down his wrist and his forearm - if you were here he’d tell you to lick him clean. He waits before his breathing calms down and then he slowly sits up.

And fuck, he was in big trouble. What were you doing to him?

The second date comes around not even a week later - flirtatious looks and fleeting touches scattered throughout the week when you pass each other at work. Steve rolls his eyes at the two of you but he is honestly happy for you and for Javier too. You are his friend and after your first date Steve cornered his partner, jabbing his finger into Javier’s chest as he told him to “not fuck this up”.

This caused Javier to become defensive, saying he would never dare to even try - but under no prying eyes he was so fucking afraid. Because he was him - he left his bride at the altar for fuck’s sake and the worst thing was he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to meet you.

And he never ever felt this way with Lorraine - how his heart seemed to start beating faster anytime you touched him or how it skipped a beat when he heard your laugh. How his skin felt like it was on fire under your touch, how all of his blood traveled down to his cock each night he thought of you. He felt fucking dirty and wrong for that - but alas he didn’t fuck anyone for over half a year and he was touch-deprived, your soft touch lingering in the back of his mind as he stroked himself.

He was terrified he would fuck something up sooner or later. And you noticed it - how he seemed lost in his thoughts anytime he spend time with you, your touch on his hand pulling him back into reality. You caressed his knuckles and he smiled - a real genuine smile on his lips.

“What’s bothering you? You know you can tell me, Javi. That’s if you want to, of course.” The way you offered him a soft smile made him want to kiss you right there and then.

Because yeah, he knew he could tell you anything. You wouldn’t look at him weirdly, you wouldn’t judge him. You would sit and listen and after he’d be done talking, you would tell him your honest opinion. He rubbed your fingers that were on the back of his palm with his other hand.

“I-I am afraid, mariposa. I am afraid I will fuck this up and you will never want to talk to me again. And that would break me.” He whispered, the words meant to be heard for your ears only and your heart jumped when you saw the concern in his eyes before he looked anywhere but into your eyes. Because in reality Javier Peña was a big softie deep in his core and it was sweet how he tiptoed around this thing you had between the two of you - afraid that he would break it. Break you.

“Javi.” You said in a serious tone and he met your gaze, his breath hitching when he saw how serious you looked at him, your eyes filled with adoration. For him. “We are both adults. And it is most likely one of us will fuck something up down the road. But we will try to repair whatever damage will be made. That’s how relationships work.” You shrugged your shoulders, pulling your hands away from his as one of your colleagues passed by.

He grinned. You called it a relationship. He thought it would make him scared - putting labels on whatever was going on between you. That maybe he would run for the hills because he never wanted anything serious after Lorraine. Afraid of commitment. Afraid of his own feelings. But he didn’t. He felt fucking happy. You two were at the beginning of your relationship.

“You are right, mariposa.” He laughed as you quipped “as I always am.” “I will pick you up tonight. At eight?”

“Sound like a date, Peña. Where are you taking me this time?” He grinned, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Wear another dress tonight. You looked beautiful the last time.”

“You like me in a dress, Javi?” You fluttered your eyelashes innocently at him and he felt a growl building in the back of his throat as he leaned closer to you.

“You have no idea how much. Makes me hard as a fucking rock.” He left with that and as he turned around he had to hide the teasing smile on his lips as he saw your shocked expression.

Oh, but you had an idea how much. After all the walls of your apartment were thin.

You decide to wear one of your more revealing dresses - the one in a dark shade of red, tight around your body with thin straps that held it in place, the seam of it just reaching just above your knees. It makes your breasts look absolutely wonderful. A touch of red lipstick completes the look.

A knock echoes through your place and again - he is right on time. When you open the door a single rose in his hands greets you but you don’t care about that right now as you admire his look. He swapped the tight jeans - which you loved - for looser black dress pants which highlighted his narrow waist. He has a nice pair of black shiny dress boots on, his black shirt more loose than the ones he wore for work - of course, a few of the top buttons of it unbuttoned. He looked good enough to eat and you have the urge to lick the few salty droplets of sweat rolling down his torso.

He eyes your figure shamelessly and almost chokes when he sees the dress you are wearing. It hugs you in all the right places and his fingers itch to touch you, your fingers brushing against his as you take the rose from him making a surge of electricity pass through his nerves. The red lipstick you are wearing just compliments your look. You look like sin itself. And he makes it his mission that tonight the red lipstick will be smeared all over him. He clears his throat as he offers you a quiet “You look absolutely gorgeous, mariposa” and you thank him, his hand on the small of your back - as his urge to touch you wins over him. He leads you towards his car, his eyes trailing to your ass.

“So, where are we going tonight?” You ask when you are sitting in the passenger seat and he grins, his hand automatically falling on your thigh, the tip of his fingers dancing across your sensitive skin.

“You like dancing?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Depends. When I have a good dance partner then yes.” You challenge and his head falls back as he laughs bitterly - as if offended. The grip on your thigh tightens.

“Don’t worry. I know how to move my hips, mariposa.” He winks as he starts the engine.

The drive is spent in you two talking about your past relationships as you promised him on your last date. You tell him about your Texas boyfriend - your college sweetheart. He was a sweet boy, a little shy and he didn’t like to engage much in social events. You were the one who approached him first when you saw him looking at you at all times during one of the classes you had together. He stammered and blushed when you asked him out but agreed and he loosened up after a few months of you two dating - his Texan charm slipping on the surface. You tell him about how he smooth talked you into visiting his uncle who had a ranch. He took you horseback riding. You do leave out all of the spicy details though. Javier’s brows furrow in confusion - it seemed like you were totally in love with each other from your talking, so he didn’t understand why you broke up. A quick “ah” follows when you explain that he fell out of love with you. You stayed friends but eventually, both of you parted going your separate ways. Back then you were still bitter about your break up even if it wasn’t his fault. Things like those happens. But you know, love blinded you and the rage you felt sat heavy in your heart for a long time.

And in return, Javier tells you about his girlfriends and to your surprise there weren’t many. A few flings here and there - kissing behind back of his house, exploring but neber doing anything more - before he met Lorraine during high school. His high school sweetheart. They both were the talk of the town when they announced they were getting married. The sweet, handsome and hard-working Peña boy and the perfect Lorraine who seemed to be adored by everyone. She was the one who taught him a lot of tricks when it came to sex. You listen as he tells you about how he left her at the altar - it didn’t feel right and Colombia felt like a place where he could make some kind of change. Not that he made any after the years spent here. You scold him with a quick “hey”, your hand shooting to grab his hand that rests on your thigh.

“Don’t bring yourself down, Javi. You are a great agent and an even greater man. Even if you don’t believe so.” He throws you a crooked smile, his pulse going from zero to a hundred because of the way you look at him. As if he was worth looking at. He brings his lips to kiss the back of your hand.

“So, tell me; why did you give me the nickname ´mariposa’?” you ask and the mood car shifts to playful and loose again.

He can vividly remember how you were so bothered that you didn’t know what it meant and asked him about it constantly. He teased you and each time you asked - because you could tell he wasn’t telling the truth - he told you something different. It drove you mad, you wanted to ask Steve but didn’t engage with him back then as much and you felt awkward asking some random person working in DEA. He lived for the way you squinted your eyes at him and jabbed into his chest with your nimble index finger as he didn’t even budge. Eventually, he gave in and told you the true meaning of it - and as of right now, you asked him why. He never answered you.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” He asks cheekily and you huff, your hand coming to draw circles on the back of his hand.

“It doesn’t bother me per se. I just want to know why do you call me “butterfly”? His fingers drum against the steering wheel as he parks outside of a club. It was a big building and the outside of it seemed new - a big neon sign shone in the dead of the night to grab the attention of passersbys. The outside of it was made out of black bricks, and the door was made out of glass.

He turns his torso towards you - his knee bumping with the driving console while doing so. And he really does look incredible tonight - the dress pants fit as if they were made just for him and you can see the visible bulge between his legs. You look away quickly to look into his eyes but you are pretty sure he caught you staring as he shifts in his seat again.

“You remember the first time we met?” He asks and you nod - it’s hard to forget.

“Yeah, I wanted to slap you across your stupidly handsome face for how you looked at me. As if I was a piece of meat.” He laughs, his tongue poking out to lick the seam of his lips.

“Well, you looked like a butterfly - moving past me as if I didn’t even exist, your movements so effortless in those god-forsaken high heels you wear to work. By the way, I still can’t grasp how you can walk in those. Anyways. You had this green pencil skirt on and it just seemed suitable, even more so after I found out you really do wear crazy and bright colored combinations of clothing.”

They made fun of you for that - all in a good and light-hearted manner though. Not really wanting to upset you. You still remember how Javier smacked Steve behind the head when you wore a bright pink blouse with the said green pencil skirt and the blonde asked you if you were going to masquerade. When Javier saw how your jaw set and your eyebrows pulled together in silent rage he almost beat up Steve. He came to your desk later that day and told you to ignore Steve, his words of “don’t mind Murphy, he’s an idiot. You look nice, mariposa” ringing in your ears for the rest of the day.

You nod and have to agree that indeed - the nickname does suit you. He grins at that and takes you by the hand when you both get out of the car, dragging you towards the entrance of the club.

The first thing you notice is that it’s super noisy in there - people cheering, music blasting. The dance floor is a big space and even with all the people on it there are still spots where you could squeeze in with Javier if you wanted to dance. The bar is opposite the dance floor - long and more than one barman is working there, the bottles of liquor shine under the lighting that is reflected from the disco ball that lies above the dance floor. The floor isn’t sticky from all of the sweet alcohol as is the bar you frequently visit with Javier. The booths are small but cozy - a maximum of four people could squeeze in there and Javier drags you towards the empty one that is further in the back with not a lot of people there. When you sit he whispers if you’d like something to drink and you shake your head before you leave your coat on the leather seat. This time you are dragging him on the dance floor.

His hands find your hips almost immediately as the music speeds up - flowing through your veins, your ears ringing as you concentrate on the way his hips drag against yours as you grind against him.

Javier’s brain stops working - he pulls you closer to him, his hands drag across your exposed thighs higher and higher, his hands stopping just under your breasts and his touch tickles as his fingertips hover above your ribcage. He is close -you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and his mustache scrape you there, his hands gliding and groping. His hips move alongside yours and yes - he didn’t lie when he said he knew how to move his hips.

You feel him everywhere but nowhere at once - you want more and you moan when he tests the waters and one of his hands brushes against your collarbone, slowly moving the hair away from the slope when your shoulder and neck meet and he places a tentative kiss there. The ghost of his lips is so feather-light you almost don’t feel it and his other hand squeezes your hip tighter when you brush against his clothed cock that strains behind the fabric. You can feel the scrape of his mustache on your skin and feel the tip of his tongue slowly slip out from his mouth - tasting the salty taste of your skin, his blunt nails digging into your waist when you lean against him, his hand snaking to hold you in place.

You are drunk but not from alcohol - neither of you drank anything tonight. But from the sheer presence of him as you don’t even seem to dance but only explore each other. Your hands tangle in his hair and he hums in pleasure when you tug on one particular suck he gives to your skin. It will leave a nasty purple bruise tomorrow but he doesn’t care - his eyes darkening when he sees the imprint of him on your skin. You move and sway, and grind and Javier follows your lead, never once taking more than you give him. His touch makes your skin burn with primal desire for him as they skate under the seam of your dress but as quick as they go there, that quick they leave too. He is teasing you and he grins when he feels the vibration of your whine against his mouth.

He inhales your scent and his head spins - you smell like coconut and somehow…him. Sweet and tempting and he has the urge to drag you towards to small bathroom in the corner of the room. Show you how good with his hand and other parts of his body he can be, show you what you were missing all these years. And see what he was missing for all these years.

You stay on the dance floor for a while longer before you lean your head against his shoulder, your lips brushing the underside of his jaw as you whisper in his ear that you want something to drink and he nods absent-mindedly, leading you back to your booth. His hands now dip lower, smoothing his big palm over your ass lightly - the way you almost draped yourself all over him on the dance floor making him bolder. You throw him a sultry smile when he says he will be right back and he does - not even five minutes pass before he is back with two glasses of alcohol and you quirk an eyebrow at him as you see the long line near the bar.

“Hope you like gin and tonic. Whiskey on ice is getting old. Wanted us to try something new.” You thank him as he passes you your drink, your lips catching the straw and you move closer to him - his hands resting on the back of the booth around your shoulders. He splays his legs wider and you sneak quick glance at him and see the small grin - he is doing this on purpose.

Game on, Peña.

You move even closer to him, your torso twisting as your tits brush up against his chest and his breath hitches when he feels your hand land on the inside of his thigh - too close where he was getting hard. It seemed that was too easy when it comes to you. He eyes your cleavage, his eyes turning darker, his pupils blown wide as you take the drink from his hand and place it on the table, placing butterfly kisses on his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands - one of them digging into the leather seat, the other stroking the base of your spine. You inch your hand higher and he should really pull it away but he doesn’t have the strength in him to do that - his throat closing on its own accord.

Your fingers quickly scatter to work on his zipper and his hand that was gripping the leather seat closes around your wrist - his lust-filled eyes looking into yours frantically. You smile at him, and he isn’t holding your wrist tight, so you slowly move his hand away, his breath speeding up when you unzip his pants and your fingers brush along his course hair that grows down his belly button. You bunch the material of his shirt and move it over his belly, he slides lower into the seat as you kiss him near the lobe of his ear.

“Want to take care of you. You okay with that, baby?” He almost whimpers at the new nickname for him that falls out of your lips. You grin against his skin, your tongue licking the hinge of his jaw and he closes his eyes when your hand snakes painfully slow towards his weeping cock - the tip of him an ugly red color, precum leaking out of it and he throbs in your hand when you take him out of his pants. He hisses, his eyes shoot open when he feels a dribble of slick rolls down the underside of him - you spat on him. And fuck, if that doesn’t make him even harder.

He is hot and hard and fucking big in your hands. You cannot see much of him in the dim light but you can feel it. He sits heavy in your palm. His hot breath fans over the front of your neck, his nose trailing over your collar bones.

“I heard you jerking off to imagines of me. The walls are thin. Did you forget, Javi? Hm?” His eyes wildly look around to see if anybody is looking your way but people are minding their own business. You heard him. You heard him every time and it makes a desire shoot down his spine knowing you listened to him.

The first swipe of your soft hand against him knocks the breath out of his lungs and you squeeze him tighter around the base when he doesn’t answer you.

“Fuck, mariposa. I couldn’t help but to jerk at the thought of you.” You smile - seemingly pleased with his answer and your thumb swipes along his tip, his hips jerking forward at the contact and you tut at him - your other hand pressures his hips to move down again. He whines, sweat rolls down the side of his temple and you lick it - his eyes roll into the back of his head, your hand moving with slow firm strokes. Just as he likes it. If he wasn’t so touch-deprived and seemingly in heaven he would have at least so much decency to touch you too. But he is lost in the feel of your hand against his, the coil in his belly tightening with each glide of your hand down his cock.

The music is loud - too loud - but the only thing he can hear is the squelch of his cock in your hand. It rings in his ears and you keep up your pace - your lips never faltering as you keep assaulting his neck and the thought of you leaving hickeys on him, marking him as yours brings him closer to his release. You mouth at the vein on his neck, feelings his pulse underneath your lips and you softly bite him there - the hand that was stroking your spine digs into the space between your shoulder blades.

The muscles in his thighs flex as he chases the touch of your hand - slowly fucking up into your hand and he feels the liquid warm need to just let go seeping into his whole being, his brows furrowing. You thumb at his head and squeeze him tighter at the base, your other hand moving to play with his balls and he chokes when he feels the feather-light touch. He opens his eyes which are hooded and he wants to look at you when you make him cum - the material of his pants is soft when your hand moves up and down. It only takes a few strokes before he warns you that he is going to cum and his fists fly to bang against the table - the alcohol on it spilling as you take him in your mouth. The wet warm feel of your mouth mixed with your tongue circling the tip of his cock has him cumming in seconds and he paints the inside of your throat with his spend. He violently twitches in you - the salty taste of him hitting your taste buds. You pull off him after he softens in your mouth and you tug him back into his pants.

“We don’t want you to make a mess. Do we now?” He doesn’t answer you, his eyes wild as he looks at you before he is bringing you towards his lips by the back of your neck - his fingers tangling into your hair.

He never imagined you would kiss under these circumstances - and he imagined kissing you a lot. It never was after you’d practically sucked his soul out. He isn’t complaining though. He can taste his release on your tongue and he deepens the kiss, wanting to swallow you whole. His other hand keeps your mouth open as it rests on the hinge of your jaw - his thumb slowly stroking your skin there. He feels desperate. Desperate to feel you. To have you. To be with you. And he tries to pour everything he feels into the kiss.

He hopes you understand.

When you part away you throw him the cutest smile -as if you just didn’t jerk him off under the table of a packed club - and he laughs, his eyes crinkling. He feels happy - that is how he always feels with you. And he wants to feel like that all damn time. When he is with you he doesn’t think about narcos or Pablo fucking Escobar and his inner demons don’t crawl on the surface of his fucked up mind.

He kisses you again. This time the kiss is softer, and not as desperate. Languid pass of tongue against tongue. As if the two of you had all the time in the world.

He doesn’t drink any more alcohol that night. Afraid that the taste of you would wash out from his tongue.

He watches you all the damn time the next day at work. The images of you last night flash through his mind. How your lips felt against his, the pass of your tongue against his cock, the soft touch of yours. He craves more, wants more, needs more.

He was shook when you finally arrived at your apartment complex and he kissed you breathless - his thigh coming between your legs as you slowly grinded on him, your fingers brushing against the smooth material of his shirt before you pulled away and bid him good night. Once again, he stood outside your door like an idiot.

He wants to return the favor. So he waits and waits on the right moment so he can pull you aside - show you that you were not the only one who could bring toe-curling pleasure to someone. He grins when he sees you enter the file room and he looks around - Steve seemingly busy with reading reports as he scoffs angrily - before he slides away. Closing the door behind him swiftly but softly.

You first hear the soft click of the door and then you feel big hands splaying over the expanse of your hips, mustache scraping over the skin on the side of your neck as he looks at what are you holding in your hands. The file is pink and thick and he takes it from you and places it in its rightful place - or at least where he thinks it was before - and you close your eyes, your muscles relaxing under his touch. You’ve seen how he looked at you today and for once, you were the one who gave him a show yesterday - being as loud as possible so he could hear. He almost lost his mind, almost knocked at your door.

He will show you that his fingers are better than any of your toys.

“What do you think you are doing?” There’s no seriousness behind your voice - he can pick up on the small smile behind it and he grins against your neck, softly pecking you there before his hands move lower, bunching the material of your skirt higher. He can hear the way your breath hitches and he grins - his tongue lapping at your pulse point, his finger inching closer and closer to your core before he turns you around. He slowly sinks down on his knees and oh my fucking god, Javier Peña is on his fucking knees for you. Looking up at you as if you were some kind of goddess and he was just a mere mortal ready to serve all of your needs. And he was ready to serve all of your needs. Your back collides with the bunch of files-filled shelves and the wood of it digs into you uncomfortably but you can’t seem to give a shit right now.

“I think you know what I am doing, mariposa. Did you think of me yesterday, hm? Did you think about how dirty of a girl you were? Jerking me under that table where anyone could see?” You moan when his blunt nails dig into the roundness of your ass as he tries to find the zipper of your skirt in the back. His gaze comes to watch your reactions as he slowly pulls the piece of clothing down your hips and bare legs as it catches on your heels and he helps you out of it. You squeal when he puts both of your thighs on the broadness of his shoulders and his head moves forward as he smells your arousal through the skimpy fabric of your panties.

It takes you a while to answer, your head spinning with the image you now have in front of you - Javier’s head between your thighs which rest on his shoulders, his wild hair in which you placed your hands in; tangling your fingers in it, how his long lashes flutter against the apple of his cheeks, his fingers digging into the soft flesh on your thighs - trying to imprint himself there. You can see the expanse of his neck and the hickeys you left the previous night - all purple and nasty looking but he doesn’t try to hide them, wearing them proudly.

“Yes, I thought about your big fat cock in my hand and how you seemed to enjoy yourself.” You tease and a sound between growl and a snarl forms in the back of his throat. What a samrt mouth you have - not for long though. One of his hands moves closer to your core and he kisses the inside of your left thigh first - his hand patting and mapping the trail of saliva he leaves with his tongue. Paying the same amount of attention to the other one as well. He worships you and takes his time - if he could stay like this forever, he would. His knees hurt under the weight of you as he kneels on the hard tiled floor but he ignores it.

You feel like you are in another world. Your breath ragged, your chest constricting as he looks at you through his eyelashes, his mustache burning your flesh in the most delicious way. You thought that maybe - just maybe - all the girls with Javier were just faking it. That his reputation was built on a bunch of fake moans and well-learned constricting of their inner muscles. But oh, how wrong you were. If he was at least half as attentive with them as he was with you right now, you had no doubt they were definitely not faking it.

“Wanna know a secret, mariposa?” You want him to just shut up and make you cum - to stop teasing you but you nod nonetheless, pathetically quickly.

“You remember when I came to you drunk? When I found the rose in your cookbook the next morning?” He murmurs as he draws patterns with his tongue against your thigh and again, you nod. How could you forget? You were so sure he was going to kiss you back then. Your lips almost touching but then Steve had to call. “I was so fucking drunk because I fucked a girl that night. She looked a lot like you and I pretended, just for a moment, that she was you. And then I went to see you and tell you that I wanted you. But this right here?” He nips at your thigh - his teeth leaving their mark behind. “Your pretty little sounds and pleas, and this pussy that is so wet for me?” He growls the last words. “This is better than any imagination I ever had. Fuck, you are so fucking perfect, mariposa.”

And his confession shouldn’t make your gut twist and fill with butterflies. It shouldn’t even surpsirise you. Not really. Because he tried his moves on you throughout the years. Multiple times. But hearing it from his mouth? That he wanted you so much that he pretended someone else was you? It makes a surge of possessiveness wash over you. He was yours all those years ago. As is he yours now, his head between your legs.

One of his hands snakes under your bum, the other trailing towards your mouth as he softly orders you to “open up” and you do - you would do anything he’d tell you right now. Two of his thick fingers work their way inside your mouth and you suck them in - moaning as he softly wiggles them before he pulls them out and in. And again, again, and again. Until you are gagging with how deep he seems to rach with them in your throat - your teeth grazing along his knuckles and he smiles; a twisted smile as if he was in pain, his nostrils flare before he removes them from your slicked mouth and shows you what a mess you made of them. Your eyes shine with lust and want and need as he drags them to your bottom lip. And then he removes them - pushes you even more towards the shelves so you won’t fall and his hand that was holding your ass moves to pull your panties to the side.

He moans at the sight of your slicked folds. His nose bumps with your clit before he inhales you all in. If he could, he’d touch himself. The image in front of him makes his cock jump in his tight jeans but this is about you. He wants to make you feel good and ruin you for any other man that would even dare to try and touch you. Because you were his - he knew it even if you never said so. As he is yours. You own him. Body, mind and soul and the thought of it hits him hard somewhere deep in his chest. He wants this. He wants people to hear and know that he is the one making you feel good - pissing off Steve would be just a cherry on top.

You plead his name - a string of “Javi please” falling out of your lips. He smiles - posessive and dark because he hasn’t even touched you yet and here you are; begging for him. All pliant and soft, and ready to take whatever he gives.

The first drag of his fingers inside of you makes you throw your head back and it collides with the wooden shelf - but you don’t feel the pain. You only feel the thickness and roughness of his fingers inside of you. His mustache burns your skin as he nuzzles your inner thigh as he watches you - his eyes dark and pupils blown back wide. He is enjoying this as much as you - you realize ,when a particular harsh thrust of his fingers makes you squeeze him hard and he moans even louder than you. It seems like he is doing it on purpose and it sends a thrill down your spine - if someone caught you here. He didn’t even lock the door.

His fingers work their way inside you - deeper and deeper, working up, up until he finds the spongy inside you. You squelch around his fingers and you beg for more. You are close, you can feel the pleasure build inside your body and when you are right on edge he stops. A whine escapes your lips as you open your eyes at him and growl in frustration. He grins and while he holds your gaze his mouth inches closer to your gaping cunt. He spits on your clit then and your eyes widen before a drawn-out moan falls out of your lips. He watches as his saliva drips down and he catches it - coating his fingers in it before he brings them into your mouth again.

You bite his fingers, the imprint of your teeth leaving its mark behind and tug at his hair when you feel the first slide of his tongue against your pussy. He moans under your harsh touch - his fingers pulling themselves deeper into your mouth and you feel the first set of tears make their way out of your eyes. It feels too good as Javier laps at you as a man starved - the vibrations of his moans making your thighs twitch.

He eats you out as if your pussy was his favorite meal - and it definitely is. The tangy taste of you hits his taste buds and he works the pink muscle into your gaping cunt - licking and exploring your walls. Javier never really was a fan of going down on someone. But with you? With the way, your breath hitches and you moan his name, how your fingers tangle in his hair and your Adam’s apple bobs with each pass of his tongue? He would keep doing this forever. And ever. He learns quickly what you like and what you don’t as he tests the waters. He is a quick learner and to your surprise - definitely a giver when it comes to sex.

He laps st you as if his life depended on it - his fingers moving with each flick of his tongue and you cry out when he puts his plump lips onto your clit and languidly sucks at it. His tongue flicking against it.

“Yeah, such a good girl. Come on, cum for me, mariposa.” He urges and one look at his state - his slack opened jaw, his ruffled hair, his hooded eyes that watch you with such an intensity you feel it in the pit of your very own being and you are a goner.

The euphoric feeling of it finally snaps, making you trash and spasm and writhe under his touch. Your toes curl and he keeps working you through your orgasm - lapping at what you give him before you push his head away forcefully as he tries to protest and give your sensitive clit a few more soft licks.

When you stand up on shaky legs he is still on his knees - his hand snaking behind the back of your thighs to hold your ass. He looks breathtaking like this - his mustache and chin covered in your release, his eyes hooded and he seems sedated, proud of himself.

You bring him to you by the collar of his shirt and he moans into the kiss you give him - all teeth and tongue, quick and he tries to deepen the kiss before you are pulling away. The taste of your own release sitting on top of your tongue and he grins when you start searching for your skirt - his eyes watching your ass as you bend down to put it back on you. The image of you in your high heels and panties will be kept hidden somewhere in the back of his mind from this time on.

When he passes by you to get out of the room first, he kisses you softly on the back of your neck before he whispers:

“Thank you for the breakfast, mariposa. It was delicious.” He skirts past you with a wink. Leaving a mess of piles on the ground behind him.

And you with a stupidly satisfied smile on your face and a hazy mind.

The third official date comes around three weeks later.

Work keeps you both busy but Javier always finds time for you. He comes to yours at night or sometimes well past midnight. Plopping next to you in bed, his hands snaking around your middle as he pulls you closer to him. And he swore he never slept better than when he slept by your side. So it becomes a habit.

It’s not a surprise to you that he seeks your touch at all times. One of Javier’s love languages is physical touch. Whether it’s just holding hands, smoothing his fingers down your spine or drawing circles on your knee under the table when you eat. Sometimes he comes sooner and you watch TV on the couch and read - to your surprise, Javier is a big fan of fantasy novels but he never actually has the time to read any so you read them to him when you two are already comfortably set in bed or lounge on the said couch- or play board games - and he has to cheat because there is no way he is so good at all of them.

Your nights spent together usually end up with you two making out - teeth clashing, lips latching onto each other, you grinding on his impressive clothed length. Sometimes it’s just a slow languid press of tongue against tongue in the early morning light when he is warm, putty and soft under your hands - the hardness of his walls that he builds up against him not yet coming on the surface. And Javier is insatiable but not only in the sense of sex. He craves the intimacy that you provide - your soft touch and sweet words as your fingers trace each and every scar, the press of your lips against them.

It’s dizzying the way you disarms him in every way. Making him feel so secure and whole as he opens up to you in ways he thought he never would have.

He feels desired as much as he desires you.

He drives you crazy - the close proximity of him makes you want to jump his bones on each and every surface in your place.

“Na-ah. I want to be a proper gentleman. So sex should come at least after the third date.” He said with a teasing smirk as he kissed your pouting lips and then ate you out on the kitchen counter.

It didn’t matter that you jerked him off on your second date. It didn’t matter that he ate you out the next day at work and returned the favor by giving you a mind-blowing orgasm. It didn’t matter that he fingered you from behind on your couch or that he fucked your throat while you laid on your bed, back splayed on the soft sheets. It didn’t matter that he had to eat you out at least once a day and it certainly didn’t matter if it was on the floor, kitchen counter, table, couch, your bed or a chair.

So it's an understatement that you cannot wait for your third date to finally happen. You are supposed to go to a nice restaurant - you’ve been there once or twice with other men that asked you on a date. But as Javi said, “I will make it a mind-blowing experience for you”. And you didn’t doubt it.

So you wait and wait, your eyes keep fleeting at the clock on your wall. An hour passes. Then two. He is never late. You are pacing around your kitchen - you tried to call Steve and called Javier multiple times. You knew they had a smaller op today, “don’t worry,” he said, “this should be an easy job,” he said. Easy job my ass. You were getting worried, your foot tapping against the tiles in your kitchen.

What if something happened to him? What if he was injured? What if he was bleeding out somewhere right now? What if he was-

A soft knock stops the train of your thoughts. Three knocks, the last one lighter than the other. Only one person knocks like that and you almost trip on your own feet as you hurry to open up the door. And he is standing there. Alive.

But he doesn’t look like your usual Javier. His clothes are drenched - the rain pouring outside heavy. It sticks to him - his clothes. His hair sticks to his forehead a few strands of it fall in front of his eyes. You see the difference in his posture, the haunted look in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, what to do with himself. He doesn’t even know why he came to you in this fucked up state. And he wants to leave - he doesn’t want you to see him like this. But before he can get a sound out of his mouth, the hushed and broken “sorry” stuck in his throat, before he can move his heavy limbs, you are pulling him in, softly dragging him on the couch. And as before - you don’t ask. You just wait. Wait if he says something, wait if he needs something, wait if he wants you with him right now.

The realization of it makes him want to rip open his chest and give you his scarred and broken heart. Because you own it. It’s yours, if you will have it.

His body acts quicker then his mind can catch up and he is pulling you in - his strong arms winding to hold you close to him. And you don’t protest, you just hug him back, your fingers dancing across the broad expanse of his back. He breathes you in - coconut, vanilla, mango. It grounds him. Knowing that you are here. With him. Next to him. For him.

“They-they killed them. I fucked up. Fuck-“ He hiccups. “I fucked up, mariposa.” His hold on you tightens as you shush. The slow beat of your heart drums against his ear.

You rock him back and forth and he feels like a little kid again. As if he was five again and his mother kissed the bruise on his knee from when he fell off his bike. He feels wanted. Safe. Home. Neither of you know how much time has passed as he slowly pulls away from you. His nose brushes against yours, his eyes bore into yours and the mellow look you have in them makes him want to melt into you.

“I need you.” He whispers against your lips and his fingers tighten when he feels you pulling away, your hands bunching the wet material of his soaked-up shirt. You want to push him away. It’s not right. You shouldn’t. Not right now.

“Javi-“ You protest weakly.

“Please.” And that’s all it takes before you tentatively seal your lips with his. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t take more than what you are ready to give - enjoying the slow and languid pass of your tongue as you hum in his mouth. You cup his cheeks - your thumbs smoothing slowly down his jaw and his hands rest on your shoulder blades. It’s slow and sensual and neither of you is in any kind of rush. His body buzzes all over, his lungs clench - the oxygen seemingly leaving his lungs and the only thing that can make him breathe again is you. He feels warmth in his chest spreading and spreading some more when you peck his lips and you are careful with him - as if he was fragile peace of art. And to you, he is.

He doesn’t know how he got into the bedroom before you are slowly pushing him down onto the mattress and his back collides with the silken sheets. He watches your form in the dim light as you leisurely undress in front of him. His chest heaves, his breath picks up, his pupils extend. He leans back on his elbows as he watches you - how your hand reaches behind to pull down the zipper of your sundress and as it pools on the floor beneath you. Another time he would have jumped at you and pull you towards him. Another time he would pin you against the floor and fuck you silly that you would forget your own name. Another time he would make you scream his name before you would even have the chance to undress. But tonight you both take it slow - enjoying the show you are putting on for him. Tonight he wants to be the one taken care of. And you know it.

You are a goddess sent from above as you stand a few feet away from him only in your underwear. He wants to worship you as his eyes rake over your body, taking note of every dip, every mole every “imperfection”. And you are simply perfect. He holds his breath when even the last pieces of clothing fall from your form and leave you in all of your naked glory. And he seems to be glued in place before you are coming his way. It feels like a dream when your nimble fingers hook under his belt and he hears the metal on the belt buckle fall onto the ground with a clink. He reaches for you as he slowly sits up - his rough hands coming to brush and caress your pebbled nipples. He feels the weight of your breasts in his palms and it is so strange how his simple touch makes your insides burn. All of it is strangely intimate. Neither of you talks, only the ragged breaths and quiet moans that fall out of your mouth can be heard in the stillness of the room.

You push at his chest and he falls backward again with a quiet thump. You rid him of his jeans - the damp material of it sticking to him and you both laugh when you almost push him on the edge of the bed with them. It’s sweet and it doesn’t feel forced or rushed. Just two people enjoying the presence of each other, the feel of their skin, the sentiment behind each touch going straight into their hearts.

His cock is hard, the tip of him resting on his belly and he scoots backward on the bed, you following the suit. The last piece of clothing - his shirt- is gone before he knows it as you throw it somewhere behind you and it lands on the floor with a wet plop. Your thighs swing on either side of his narrow hips and your wet core makes contact with the hardness of him as you smear your juices over his length. You roam and caress his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his neck. Stroking and teasing, and rubbing. And he does the same to you, his hands squeezing your ass before they move higher up your hips, his thick fingers ghosting over them and you squirm and giggle, your forehead bumping with his the movement tickles you. He wants to roll you over, to hover above you, to fill you up but your hands move to his shoulders, holding him tight as you look into his eyes. Your noses brush against each other and he sighs - as if all the weight from his chest had been lifted - when you whisper “I want to take care of you, Javi”.

Because yes, that’s what Javier wants. Someone to take care of him, to share his passion and hobbies and life with. He wants someone to take for a ride while they will wear his yellow aviators. He wants to take someone back to Laredo, to eventually settle down. He doesn’t want to take Escobar down and put end to all of this - retire after. And he wants to do all these things with you.

The tension leaves his body as he yields under your touch, undressing his wounds as he knows you will caress each one of his scars and kiss each bruise that is scattered not only on his body but his soul and heart too.

Bodies naked and souls bared to one another you reach blindly into the nightstand as you rip the condom and slowly roll it down his cock. Javier is big - his cock is thick and you could feel it the first time you felt him in your hands under the table in the club. When you first saw him - really saw him- your eyes almost bugged out from your head. Because you had no idea how you would fit him inside you. But you do not worry right now as you slowly sink down on him, the pinch almost too much to bare.

He waits for you to move as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, the underside of your chin. You feel like heaven around him - your walls squeezing him tight as you try to accommodate to his size. He slips his tongue into your mouth when you lift off him and then slowly -oh, so painfully slowly - sink back down the whole length of him. He kisses you more hungry this time, the kiss heated and fiery. One of his hands cups your ass while the other holds the back of your head - pulling you closer as the kiss grows more urgent, messy and sloppy as do your movements.

You feel like he is somewhere deep in your stomach, the weight of him in you makes your toes curl and the coarse hair on the base of him scratches your small bundle of nerves just right with each slide of his cock. You feel every ridge and grin of him, the tip of him hitting something deep inside you. The muscles on his thigh flex when he starts meeting your thrusts and he growls against the soft skin of your neck when your blunt nails scratch his back, your breasts bouncing with each thrust upwards. It’s glorious - this feeling you both feel. It’s not about the physical proximity right now. But It’s about everything that led you to this moment. All those years of bickering and flirting, of fighting and spending your time together led to exactly to this moment. And the awareness of it all hits you like a truck because somehow, deep inside, you knew that this would happen one day. And you think he knows it too.

The droplet of sweat that rolls down the valley of your breasts makes him lap at you there and you moan, your nails digging harder into the muscles of his back when he catches one of your nipples into his mouth, one of his hands roaming to find your clit before his skilled fingers start to draw circles on it. The roughness of his fingertips and the feel of his tongue swirling on your nipple makes seizes before your inner muscles pull him deeper, the squelch ringing in your ears before you are clamping around him - falling into an abyss. You moan his name, your orgasm washing over you before you tug at his still-damp roots and he hisses - at the way you squeeze around him, at the way you hold him.

You kiss him frantically, your tongue exploring his mouth when you feel him sob into your mouth. He pulls away and your legs lock tighter around his middle, you can feel the softness of his stomach and a sound between a growl and a moan bubbles in the back of your throat. You can feel he is close when his thrusts become more hectic as he loses rhythm, his arms somehow trying to pull you closer, his pace increasing as he chases his own high.

It only takes a few more passes of his cock through the inside of your slicked pussy and your encouring words "Come on, I want you to cum, Javi" before he is cumming. He cums with a loud moan, thrashing and jerking under you. Pumping his seed into the condom and he holds you closer, his forehead resting on your clavicle, his hands tracing over your back as a shudder runs through you when you feel him twitch inside of you.

You stay like that before he moves you off him, disposing the condom into the bin and he is surprised he can even feel his own legs. His body completely relaxes when he falls into the bed with you and pulls you almost on top of him - your legs tangle together, your chin rests on his chest as you trace his eyebrows with your fingers and he smiles at you. Because he is so fucking happy in that moment he could burst with joy.

You talk a long time after as you tell him about your sister - how she squealed into your ear when you told her over the phone you were going on a date with Javier - and he grins because if you talked about your sister with him that means that he is worth talking about. He cherishes this information and hides it into the back of his mind.

You fall asleep not long after, moving away from him a little and he watches you - you are so pretty when you sleep. You are always pretty. And his. He knows you are because he is yours.

His lips plant soft kisses where your heart is before he murmurs into your skin where it rests “I love you”. So only your heart can hear it. He is not ready to tell you. Yet. But he is completely fine with knowing your heart heard the hushed words under the ray of moonlight stream coming from your window.

TAGS: @harriedandharassed

#javier pena #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #javier pena reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #soft javi #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal ff #narcos smut #javier pena one shot

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bunnivez · 1 month

Note

Can I please have some nsfw scenario/hcs with fem!chief using f!reader as her stress reliever and just having marathon sex??? 😋

thank youuu!!

A/n: MARATHON SEX? Holy moly… alright.

Times like these aren’t rare. The chief is almost always stressed, with loads of paperwork to do, taking care of many sinners, there is no doubt she sometimes wants to rip her hair out of her scalp even.

However, that’s when you come in. You, her lovely, supporting lover who just by holding her in your warm embrace makes all her worried go away.

Other times, she calls you into her office, and the moment you enter, she grabs you and slams you on her desk, your back pressed against the hard wood as her lips crash into yours with need.

She fucks you for HOURS. Especially after finding out how sex relives stress easily, at the same time; she grew addicted to you.

Chief makes you eat her out, thighs spread apart, her sitting on the chair as you get on your knees under her desk, slurping at her slick and sucking on the sensitive bud of her cunt, her hand gripping on your hair; pushing you closer to her pussy— her eyebrows furrowed, cheeks red, mouth gaped open as she moans and groans.

She has a drawer with just toys for you and her to use in her office, most of them are meant to be used on you, though. Vibrators, strap ons, leashes, collars, a riding crop, gags, even nipple clamps!

I feel like this woman is SERIOUSLY kinky. Which is not something most people expect. Sure you both have your vanilla, soft, passionate sex moments, but when she is stressed she goes full on kinky mode.

Her favorite thing to do is pound you with her strap on, she isn’t very light on the size either— almost all the time she picks a bigger size than the one before, loving the way you cry and whine on her cock.

She gags you when she feels like you’re being too loud, she doesn’t want anyone finding you both like this.

She pulls you in many positions, missionary, mating press, she has you bent over her desk, make you grind on her thigh, ride her while facing her, or your back facing her as her fingers toying with your puffy clit.

Chief goes rough and fast at first, then slow and gentle. Kissing your body as she thrusts slowly inside your abused cunt, gently sucking on your sensitive nipples as you let out raspy moans and gasps— your voice becoming sore with how much you have been screaming and moaning in pleasure.

Don’t worry though! She may be tough but she doesn’t want to fully break you— no, not her sweet baby who lets her use her for relief. She makes sure to take breaks and always has snacks and drinks ready for you. However sometimes she doesn’t even pull out her cock, she lets you cockwarm her while you two drink and eat for a bit— then go back to fucking.

You two last up to 3–5 hours doing this before she finally lets you rest, kissing your fucked out form, legs trembling, cheeks wet with tears and your breath shaky and heavy. She really has broken you, but you love it— and she knows you do.

She makes sure to do aftercare, cleaning you and the mess on her chair and desk, even on the floor, dressing you in comfortable clothes, feeding and getting you water, and finally helps you lay down on the couch in her office as she finishes the last few paperworks she has to complete.

“Oh fuck! Look at you… so cute, clenching on my cock..” she kept thrusting deep inside you, her face flushed and sweaty from fucking you for hours, but not as much as yours. Everything was hot, your naked bodies pressed against each other, your breasts rubbing against hers as she folds you.

Her gaze snaps down to your swollen cunt swallowing her cock greedily, a white ring was formed on the base. Oh how she wishes it was a mixture of both hers and your cum.

“S-so big~!” You managed to gasp.

Chief groaned in your ear, “I know you can take it love… Look at how good she is taking me, all stretched out and greedy for more.” She said referring to your pussy.

She made you feel so full, especially in this position; your thighs spread apart close your chest as her hands grip on the back of your knees.

It’s almost hard to believe this is the same woman who is serious most of the time, the woman who others see as ‘fragile’. If only everyone knew how easily she makes you break, turn you into a moaning mess just for her. If only everyone knew the many hours she fucks you, the many orgasms she rips out of you— you don’t even remember how many times you have came.

“Are you close? Good girl, cum for me, now.”

#path to nowhere #ptn #ptn x reader #path to nowhere x reader #ptn smut #path to nowhere smut #chief x reader #chief ptn #chief path to nowhere #path to nowhere chief #ptn chief

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space-mango-company · 6 months

Text

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #atreides reader #dune #dune part two #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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ayeforscotland · 29 days

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Hi Aye, I don't know if this is your wheelhouse exactly but I wanted to draw attention to this story.

Gareth Denis is such an important voice in the UK rail industry, a key advocate of sustainable transport, loudly supports wokrers rights and devolving power, his Rail Natter series is incredibly informative.

The UK rail minister, Peter Hendy basically ordered his employer to fire him for his critisisms of the rail industry, and by extension the government.

His former employer, SYSTRA including the CEO, defended him and tried to move past the matter but Hendy warned them they would b epassed over for contracts if they did not fire him.

The comments were fairly un-controversial, poitning out that Euston station is dangeriously over capacity at times, a concern that HS2 would have adressed before its effective cancelation.

Obviously it would it be good to get as many people supporting him as possible, but it sets a really dangerous preceident for ministerial overreach that may not get as much attention now Labour is in charge

Holy moly, that’s an almost unbelievable article.

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flightofthejackdaw · 6 months

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I just want to say how much I adore the women of One Piece, not just on a ‘holy moly these women are beautiful’ but also on ‘holy moly these women are so well written’

I love how many layers the lady’s have, even those who are not part of the main cast

Nami acting as the brains of the crew, but always being up to scrap with the boys and put them in their place, her fear of trusting and being betrayed being a core aspect of her character. WCI and Wano are pretty recent examples of this, with her anger at Sanji, and her belief in Luffy. I love how confident she is in her self, and how she is a little evil sometimes she’ll use everything at her disposal to get what she wants. How she knows that she’s needed on the crew and without her they would’ve all drowned along ago, and she’s beautiful and cute and she knows this. I hate people thinking that she’s less of a character post timeskip just because of her appearance, she’s so much more than that

Vivi’s love of her people and her country, her worrying nature and her desire for adventure despite her position. Her care for the crew despite the small amount of time she knew them. Also how she’s basically the main character of Alabasta, and how she’s the one saving her country

Robin going from someone who was always looking over her shoulder, always running and never having a real place to call home. To someone who knows she has a family who loves her and will protect her no matter what, and she can be her strange morbid self without judgement (other than from Usopp)

Viola and Rebecca, two ladies forced into a living hell under Dolfamingo. One humiliated by her own people and forced to fight for her life when at heart she just wanted peace, and the other whose soul was almost broken by Doffy but chose to fight against him even if she knew she wouldn’t win. Viola going to stab Doffy even if she knew she would fail shows her strength as she stood up against him even if it could’ve meant death because she wanted to do what she could

And there are so many others that are just as amazing:

- Big Mom: a major villain with a twisted idea of family and love. One of the most powerful pirates in the sea, all this strength but she’s still just someone that was abandoned by the world and became obsessed with filling that void

- Pudding: a woman twisted by the abuse she suffered hating herself and lashing out at others in turn. And how that persona comes crashing down when showed only a bit of kindness

- Boa: the strong powerful empress, who is deeply scarred and can’t show any weakness to her people. And just wants to be loved by someone who sees more than her beauty

-Reiju: the older sister that had to go along with her little brothers abuse, and helped when she could. But only when she couldn’t be the target, she’s flawed and distant but she loves her brother

- Bonny: a literal child who braved the seas to save her father and became one of the most wanted pirates of her generation in under two years, scrappy and tomboyish with a soft heart for her dad

These ladies are living breathing characters! And there are some many others that are just the same, they are all so well developed and different from each other in character. And none of them are just there to be, ‘the girl in the group’ or the ‘love interest’ (though Boa likes Luffy and Pudding likes Sanji neither are their main character traits and have story reasons for being in love)

I love them so much

I love women

A certified girl kisser wrote this at like 1 am

#one piece #cat burglar nami #nico robin #boa hancock #vivi nefertari #jewellery bonney #vinsmoke reiju #big mom #charlotte linlin #charlotte pudding #one piece girls

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 12 days

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weren't we the stars in heaven? | m. murdock

a/n: hi guys. so sorry i haven't posted a full length fic about matt in a while so as a sorry here's a BEAST of a fic. i have nothing much to say about this, but i will say that i am not thrilled with the ending but oh well. enjoy! i'm gonna go take a nap but i am really proud of this so if you guys like it, let me know! warnings: oh boy. so many things. cursing, use of weed, drinking, matt is married but it's an open marriage, lots of religious imagery, sex, rough fucking, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, lowkey some mean matt smut, his kid is autistic but its not mentioned a ton, reader is hard of hearing but its only mentioned once, female reader with female anatomy, age gap, nicknames, ANGST, dirty talk, hella flirting and pining, just. it's a lot. word count: 9.2k (holy moly) summary: you develop a crush on a friend of your dad's from work. the only problem is that he's married, twice your age, and you babysit his son. pairing: dbf!matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: anything - adrianne lenker "lay on your lap when i'm crying/weren't we the stars in heaven?/weren't we the salt in the sea?/dragon in the new warm mountain/didn't you believe me?"

Spring

A week at home is too long. You think about how torturous a whole summer here will be. It’s almost enough to make you sign up to be a summer orientation leader or even a tour leader. Almost. The pay isn’t that good to stay in the dorms without AC all summer.

Of course, your mother asks you to go to church on Easter Sunday and because she did your laundry and cooked you your first home-cooked meal in months, you oblige her.

And as you’re sitting there, on your knees with your hands folded, your eyes peek open, beginning to wander around the church. It’s way too hot in this church, and you are bored out of your mind.

You realize you are the only one who is bored out of your mind. Well.. Almost.

Your gaze catches onto a man who looks just as bored as you do, only, you can’t really tell if he’s looking at you. You lean your head back and roll your eyes, trying to signal how god damn bored you are to him. He just smirks, and your heart flutters.

It almost looks like his smirk widens at that.

Your face flushes and you just put your head back down, closing your eyes as if you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to.

Eventually when the service is over, you’re still thinking about the strange man on the other side of the church as you sip church lemonade that is way too sweet—But you’ve been up for hours and this is the first thing you’ve had since you woke up.

Your parents are making pleasant conversations with various friends they know, and you smile awkwardly at friends from high school. You almost choke on your lemonade when you see the man make his way out of the church, his arm hooked to a woman’s as he taps a cane against the pavement, a young boy next to them as well.

And before you know it, the family of three is approaching your family and your ears are burning red.

Your dad happily shakes his hand and pulls him in for one of those weird man hugs that you don’t really understand, as your mother does one of those weird moves where she presses her cheek against his wives.

Your father gestures over to you and says, “This is our daughter,” And he gives them your name, “She’s home for spring break from school.”

You wave to the kid, before shaking the wife’s hand, and then his— His hand is warm. Your heart is racing and you just shake his hand, trying to ignore the soft squeeze that accompanies the shake.

“Matthew,” He introduces himself like your insides aren’t discombobulated, “Matthew Murdock.” You just look at him, blinking for a second, and your mind begins to wander. How did he know you were rolling your eyes in the church if he’s blind? And how is he so hot?

You think you might die—Your face is flushed, and you think for sure that you’ve been caught, and that his wife will see right through this little charade and knows that you have a huge crush on her husband, whom you just met. He must know what he’s doing because he just smirks at you and opens his mouth to say something, but your mom just looks at you with a look of concern.

“Honey, are you alright?” she asks, “You look warm,” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“No, I’m uh.. Well, I think I’m gonna take a quick walk, find some shade—Excuse me.” You say politely, but before you can leave the conversation, Matt smiles,

“I’ll come with you. I could use the fresh air.” He offers, and you almost say no, but your mom smiles like she’s trying to fucking kill you—

“What a wonderful idea, You can tell Mr. Murdock all about your studies.” She offers, and something in your stomach twists with embarrassment—the way she phrases it makes you sound so.. young. So, you just offer Matt your arm, and he hooks his hand onto it like it’s casual.

And so, the pair of you walk through the courtyard of the church, eventually finding a bench where the sun barely creeps through the leaves of the willow tree that hangs over it, and the pair of you sit down, silence overwhelming you.

“So, what’s your major?”

“Oh, uh—English. I’m an English major.” You say, almost ashamed at how boring you sound, “And.. what do you do?”

“I’m a Lawyer,” he smiles. Your dad is a security guard at the court you have in town, so there’s no question of how they know each other.

“Your wife seems nice,” you blurt out, wanting to say something nicer to convince him—maybe yourself, that you really truly are not jealous of a woman you just met.

“She is,” he answers politely, as if that’s.. the kindest thing he can say about her.

“What’s your son’s name?” You ask curiously.

“Lucas.” He smiles fondly now, and your heart melts at the thought that this man truly feels nothing but pure, burning affection for his son. “When do you go back to school?” He asks curiously.

“Oh, tomorrow.” You smile, “Thank god.”

Then, he catches you off guard.

“That’s the most genuine thing you’ve said since we sat down.” He smirks, “Not a fan of your hometown?”

You don’t know how to explain it, not really—When you were applying to college, your mom asked you if you wanted to apply to any local colleges. And while you’re persistent that there’s nothing wrong with community college, you were sure that you needed to get out of here, or else you think you would’ve died.

But, you owe Matt an explanation.. Well, maybe you don’t, but you think you do.

“It’s not that,” You promise, “There’s just something about being here that brings out the worst in people.” You sigh.

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and while it’s subtle, you notice the way that his thumb rubs against your skin, and you might melt right into him.

“Don’t let anyone ever shame you for leaving.” He offers gently, and you think you just about fall in love with him. Then, his head picks up as the screechy tone of his wife calling for him interrupts your conversation. He just sighs, and makes a bold move—his hand goes to your thigh and gently, just barely, rubs his fingers against the fabric of your sundress, the tips of his fingers teasing your skin. “Well, I’ll.. see you in the summer then?” he ponders.

“Uh-huh..” You say, your eyes soft with want. Then, he walks right out of your life.

Summer

As spring melted into summer, and as you finished the rest of your finals, your dad picks you up from your dorm, packing everything you hold near and dear into his truck, and then starting the drive home.

For the past month and a half, you have heard nothing about Matt or his family. Sometimes, you ask your parents, ‘How’s your job, how’s the church’, begging for any crumbs of information about Matt. And you aren’t even sure why, because in your mind, he is very happily married.

It takes about a week. You sit, day after day, summer job hunting, waiting to be doomed to minimum wage and exhausting hours. Then, your mom comes home with groceries and a smile that you know can only mean bad news.

“I found you a job!” She declares happily, as you put the milk in the fridge.

“In the dairy aisle of the grocery store?” You question, and she laughs.

“No, no, I found you a babysitting job for the summer.” She smiles. “For the Murdocks!”

You squeeze the orange in your hand so hard that your thumbnails pierce it as orange juice drips down your hands, blinking before throwing out the orange, your hand reeking of the tangerine, fingers sticky with sugar.

“I’m sorry?” You manage to squeak out.

“You’re going to be babysitting their son, Lucas. They both work from nine to five, sometimes later. You’d get paid to just hangout with the kid,” She shrugged with a soft smile.

Oh, great. You’re gonna be trapped in the man’s house, looking after his kid. Fucking amazing.

But, you really don’t even see Matt, especially not the first day. Well, really, you barely see him over the course of the first week, but you get whispers of him, and it’s almost worse. You see his graduation photos, his wedding photos, a photo of him holding Lucas in the hospital.

You see his office door cracked open, you see a mug with his name on it, you see his wedding ring on the table—

You see his wedding ring on the table?

He’s elusive. But, from the fragmented sentences you get from Lucas, he tells you how his parents aren’t quite like other couples. Your mind is caught on the fact that Matt and his wife might not be 100 percent happy together, and then you feel guilty that you want to take it as an opportunity to comfort him, in the least Godly way possible.

Matt and Lucas’ mother will be working late tonight, she tells you in the morning, there’s money for dinner on the counter, and you can just relax until they get home.

Lucas drags you all over town that day. The park, the comic bookstore, and then you spend two hours in target, trying to find anything related to Bluey or Cars 2, the only two things he wants to talk about. Your body is sore from looking after him. He’s a very nice kid, but you recognize that he’s.. different.

Nobody in your town has a diagnosis, but you can tell that Lucas is on the spectrum, and you have every intention of telling Matt to get him a diagnosis, so he has the resources he needs to succeed in school.

But, tonight, you’re tired. Very very tired.

So, after putting Lucas to bed and enjoying a slice of semi cold pizza, along with flat diet soda, you find yourself in the backyard. Lucas’ window is open, and you can see the downstairs steps from where you’re sitting, so you’ll be able to see Lucas if he needs anything.

You’re sitting in a patio swing, letting your feet rock you back and forth. Maybe it’s unprofessional of you.. but you scrounge through your bag, finding your pen and turning it on, taking a long hit. You walk to and from work, so it’s not like you won’t be able to drive yourself home.

Then, you see Matt come in, and you freeze. Fuck.

You watch as he sets his bag down, slipping his suit jacket off after. Then, he tucks his cane somewhere safe, before his fingers begin to work at folding his sleeves up to his elbows. His fingers rub his temple for a minute, obviously exhausted from a long time. Then, he takes off his glasses and your heart skips a beat.

He pauses as soon as your heartbeats and he smirks when he turns towards the backyard door. Oh fuck.

He slides the patio door open and approaches you,

“Why are you outside?” he asks, sitting next to you.

“Uh.. Just, enjoying the weather.” And he laughs like you’re the funniest person he knows as he sits down next to you, groaning as he does, and your heart can barely take it.

“You’re a horrible lair, sweetheart.” He tells you. Does he know how desperately you want him? “What are you really—” Then he pauses, his nose twitching. “Are you smoking weed?” He questions.

“No.” You say, but as you breath out, smoke blows out of your mouth as you cough a bit.

“Oh my god—”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t fire me—”

“Hand it over.” He says, hand outstretched, waiting for the pen. And not even for a second does your brain imagine denying him. It doesn’t cross your mind that maybe he doesn’t have that authority over you and you’re a grown adult.

In fact, you’re foolish if you ever thought he has no authority over you.

You hand over the pen sheepishly, but.. you’re caught way off guard when is fingers study the pen, finding the button and taking a hit for himself. You just watch him, mesmerized as he exhales through his nose.

“Sorry,” he starts, taking another hit before passing it back to you, “I’ll make it up to you.” he promises.

“It’s okay,” You giggle, a little bit from how comical it was, but a little bit from how fucking hot that was. Then, you take another hit, as he just rocks the porch swing back and forth, like he’s rocking you to sleep. The night is cool enough that the smoke barely rattles your lungs, and the intensity of summer has gone to sleep. Silence fills the air, as you just pass your pen back and forth, love in your eyes.

“Why is your wedding ring on the table?” You finally ask. You expect Matt to tense up, to scoff and tell you to mind your fucking business, but he just blows out more smoke before responding,

“My wife and I don’t have the most.. conventional of relationships.” He responds, “We’re in an open relationship.” He adds.

“Oh.” You breath out.

“Yeah. Oh. It’s more like.. She goes out and dates and fucks and I flirt occasionally, but that’s sort of a long title.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He takes a hit, “Oh.”

You don’t have anything to offer to that.

“Are you from here?” you ask, and he just smiles.

“No.” He says, and now there is true yearning in his voice. “Hell’s Kitchen, New York.” He responds.

“Do you at least like it here?” You ponder, as if his far away voice didn’t give him away.

“At first it’s fine. You try to fit in, just, make your way through, settle down. Then, you begin to hate it. You feel like if it sunk into the ground right at this very second, you’d die happy. Then, you become.. indifferent. You don’t mind the numbness of it all, you just stay perfectly complacent. Then, you wake up and are desperate to escape, like your own personal Truman show. The Matthew Show. Wouldn’t that be something to see?” He muses.

And again, you have nothing to offer but another piece of your soul, just throwing it out there,

“Would you date anyone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like, if you had someone you were really into, would you date her—Them, whoever?” You ask. “Whomever?” You ask, quieter now, mostly to yourself.

He smiles.

“If someone came along, someone say, who smoked weed, got along very well with my son, and was a horrible liar? Bonus points if she—they,” You suspect he’s making fun of you, “were an English Major?”

You tilt your head with a doe eyed smile.

“You remember I’m an English major?” He coos at you like you’re stupid,

“I remember everything about you, sweetheart.” What is wrong with him? What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you saying anything more to him?

“You know, sometimes, I remember the feeling of your fingers on my thigh when I touch myself,” And he grins like he knows he’s won.

“I bet you do,” He whispers, leaning forward so that his breath was hot against your skin, “Bad, Bad girl..” he ticks, and you can’t help but blush.

“Sorry,” You giggle out as your hand comes up to his face, just to move the pads of your fingers over his scruff.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he purrs, his hand finding your thigh again, the twitch of your legs not lost on him. “I don’t mind,” he hums. The weed you smoked is starting to kick in, and with it, your inhibitions start to slip away, your hand reaching so that you can barely touch his hair with the tips of your fingers. He takes another quick hit of your pen before taking your face in his hands, squeezing just a bit so he can lean in and blow smoke into your mouth, and as if it’s communion wine, you inhale, wanting every part of him you can have. Maybe it’s greedy, but you’ll atone for your sins later.

When he pulls away, you think you might just die and go up to heaven.

“I think..” You think so many things. You think that maybe he’s fucking with you. You think that this is a nice little dream that you’ll think back on when you’re old and wrinkly. The deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there, says—

What if he leaves his wife for you?

And you completely understand that you’ve barely kissed the man, but you never claimed that the deep dark part of you was smart, chill or even a little bit in touch with reality, only that it exists.

Besides, the deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there isn’t something you can ignore. Ignoring it is like trying to hold a beachball underwater—Eventually it’ll pop back up and hit you in the face.

“I think that maybe I should head home.” You finally answer, and maybe it’s the weed, but you see a flash of.. disappointment cross over his features. But that couldn’t be it, you’re much more pathetic than he is, he wouldn’t be so upset over you having to leave..

Would he?

But as quickly as the disappointment was there.. It was gone. Poof. As if it had never even existed.

“That’s okay,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and handing your pen back to you so you can tuck it into your bag, until the next time you need another hit. His head picks up as you glance over to door, where his wife walks in, putting her things down. He glances over to you, “Let me walk you home.” He offers.

You smile gently, standing up with him. You don’t say much as you make your way to gather your things from the front door, making pleasant conversations with his wife as he waited for you to get your shoes on. Soon enough, you’re making the quiet walk back to your house, and you’re accepting the swirling mess that is your emotions—Sure, he’s married, technically your boss, way older than you, and most definitely able to read you like a book, but there’s something about him that makes you forget all of that.

Maybe it’s just the general look of him—the salt and pepper hair, the stubble that’s just a bit too long, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, the way his hands have just a few wrinkles and are covered in scars (from what, you do not know), the feeling of his hand on your thigh or the way his pink lips blew smoke into yours, the way his pants hug the curve of his ass, or maybe, you pathetic college student, maybe it’s the shine of his shoes, professional but just begging you to ride them.

Jesus, you’re too high for this.

But you’re almost certain that what did you in, the roots of your delusion, is the way he squeezed your hand the first time you met. You think, with the upmost affection, that your handshake was the most intimate two strangers could get on a Sunday in the blazing sun, the hypnotic daze of the light shining through the stained-glass windows of the church finally wearing off.

You want to tell him as much, to tell him that you haven’t gone a day without thinking about him since that day, that no amount of college students who ask you out for coffee have been able to drown out the sound of his voice in the back of your head, that the deepest, darkest, most insignificant part of you thinks that he might leave his wife for you.

But the walk home is silent.

You say nothing, but you listen to his breathing, calm, steady. You’re envious. Sure, he’s blind, but there is quite literally no part of you that doesn’t betray you, that doesn’t give you away.

He stops at the end of your driveway, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to speak. You can tell he has something to say, by the way he inhales, lips just barely parted. Sure, you’ve been an English major for years, but you’ve quickly picked up a minor in Matt Murdock studies.

“If I made you uncomfortable tonight, I’m sorry.” He starts, and your brows furrow in confusion.

“I’m—You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise. If anything, even though you were the one who said it was time to go, there’s a twinge of disappointment in your throat.

“Still—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or anything..” He starts, “Just.. Have a goodnight.” He smiles gently, his hand slowly, all too slowly, sliding off your arm as he steps away, but in a moment of, possibly THC induced, boldness, you grab his hand as he stands, arm outstretched to you. His sightless eyes hold onto you.

“You aren’t even gonna kiss me goodnight?” You ask, your voice vulnerably hopeful.

His lips twitch up in a smirk, pausing for a second, his head tilted in the most curious way. Like he’s waiting for the perfect moment. Then, he pulls your hand towards him so now you’re the one with the extended arm, like the two of you are dancing, pulling each other back and forth with an intensity birthed from desperation.

He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, something straight out of a fairytale. But just as quickly, he gently drops your hand, his eyes blazing with affection.

“We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.” You confirm with a soft smile, not wanting to dwell on any uncertainty that’s between the two of you. To accept that there is any uncertainty at all would be to accept the chance that this is as far as you two will get—lingering crushes and the ghost of a pair of lips on your hand.

He waits until you get back into your house, then walks down the sidewalk back towards his house, putting the idea of you in the trunk that sits in his armoire, only in the back of his mind, next to his old suit, his old friends, and his old life.

On Monday, you get to the Murdock’s house after Matt and his wife have gone to work, but before Lucas has woken up.

On the counter, a tiny envelope sits, your name typed onto the envelope. You tear it open, finding a freshly bought cartridge for your pen. A note falls out of the envelope, and it’s.. in braille.

You sneak into Matt’s office, pulling out a braille dictionary, and you quickly figure out that the note says, ‘We’re okay?’

In the middle of his work day, Matt gets a text.

‘We’re okay.’

When you tell your mom you got invited to go out with some friends from high school, she nearly jumps with excitement. You weren’t exactly popular in High School—that’s not really something you hide, since you’re now going into your senior year of college and you can admit that you were something of a loser in high school..

And in college. But, at your college, that’s more normal and even encouraged, so you run with it.

But your stomach churns at the idea of hanging out with the girls that you hung out with in high school—Wasn’t one of them married?

You knew from your mom, mostly, that the three girls from high school stayed very much in touch throughout their time in college. They were always closer to each other than you were with them, but you know that wasn’t really their fault. They were dumb teenagers just like you.

Maybe not inviting you to hangout outside of school was a side effect of being a seventeen-year-old, as so many things were.

You tell her that you have no interest in going out with them, but she tells you that you should have some friends at home! You want to tell her that having no friends was one reason why you went away to school, but instead, you text them back, asking what they had in mind.

So that’s how you end up in a bar two towns over, liquor burning the back of your throat, your head pounding and your ears aching. Your face twists into despair as you swallow the shot, not feeling as good as your ‘friends’. You’ve never been a fan of drinking, even feeling guilty when you took your first shot of communion wine when you were 8.

Your friends start giggling and laughing as you try to keep up with the conversation, a little lost, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you poke at the ice in your empty glass with a straw.

Then, the bartender comes over to you, placing your drink of choice in front of you, your friends pausing their conversation as she does.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order that,” You say politely, smiling awkwardly to her. You wish you were underage, you wish you were anywhere but here, you wish—

“Actually, the gentleman at the bar got it for you,” she smiles, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, glancing at the bar and—

Warmth explodes in your chest, your heart beginning to thump loudly in your ears.

Your friends laugh a bit, shoving your shoulders gently, teasing you.

“You have to go talk to him,” One starts, and another picks up,

“He’s hot!” You smile shyly down to the drink in front of you and nod,

“Fine.” You hum, picking up the drink and walking over to where Matt sits at the bar, sipping a whiskey on ice. You sit next to him, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, and then his head turns to you.

“Why are you here with people you don’t like?” he asks, and you just blink in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your friends. You don’t like them.” He says, and you just blush, embarrassed.

“How do you know that?” You ask, and he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re just.. quieter than usual.” He says honestly, sending you a sympathetic smile. You feel seen in the worst way possible. It’s like you’ve spent your entire life hiding, and Matt can see you for exactly what you are. Your face burns with embarrassment, taking another sip of your drink.

“Can we just flirt and almost fuck like we usually do?” You wonder.

“That makes it sound so much more.. casual than it is.” He pouts, and you just laugh, already feeling more relaxed than you had been before. And it isn’t even because of the alcohol, or so you suspect.

“What are you doing in a bar two towns over?” You ask, unsure how to respond to his comment about the casualness of your.. relationship, although that’s a rather strong word for what you two have.

“I was meeting with a client in town,” he responds, “Thought I’d stop for a drink before going home.” He says, and all you can find to respond is,

“Won’t your wife be mad at you for getting a drink when you could be home?” And he laughs, like you said something funny or cute.

“No, when she says she’s working late, she’s probably getting a drink and hooking up with someone. I thought I’d try it.” He smirks, and your face flushes. This is not a man who has any pure or holy intentions, and that absolutely turns you on. You have so little inhibition at this point that you simply lean forward, grab his tie, and pull him in for a long kiss.

Your nose twitches at the smell of vanilla, mixed with a bit of the whiskey, but quickly followed by just a hint of lemon. His hand quickly finds your waist, causing your posture to straighten as he kisses you deeper, his other hand trailing up your thigh, just like that first day outside the church.

The bar is dingy, so no one cares when he pulls away to finish his drink, then, straightens out his tie (which might kill you), and then he stands up, taking your hand in his.

“Let’s go,” he says quickly, pulling you along to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. On the way there, your friends whistle and hoot, and while your face flushes, Matt does not seem to even notice. He opens the bathroom door without hesitation, like he knows it will be empty.

And the bathroom is.. disgusting. It’s dingy, dirty, but the sink looks.. clean enough. As soon as the door is closed behind you, Matt has you against it, his hands exploring your body as he kisses you, your hands instinctively going to his hair, as if you’ve done this a million times before.

His kisses are gentle, but invasive, like he wants to taste every single inch of your mouth with his tongue, and you happily let him. His fingers slip beneath your skirt, creeping up, finally finding the waistband of your panties, and he hums against your lips as if to shush you when you whine at the contact, his fingers slipping right under them to touch your throbbing cunt—It’s the type of warmth he’ll chase during cold, snowy days come winter.

His lips begin to attack your skin, kissing your jaw and your neck as he rubs circles into your clit, sucking up the breathy moans that escape your lips as he touches you. You’re soaking wet, and he wonders if you’ve ever been with anyone who knows where your clit is.

His fingers don’t even slip inside you, they just rub your clit with the attention it deserves, Matt taking your moans and how your hands grip his shirt as payment. But the movement of his fingers are too much for you, and before you know it, you’re squeezing your eyes tight, hands tangled in his clothes and hair, as you reach your first orgasm of many brought to you by the man.

He continues to rub your clit as you come down from that high, your breath getting more even, despite the way your skin burns and cum drips down your thighs. Then, he kisses you, jarringly soft—

“All that over some attention from my fingers?” He teases, that shit eating grin on his face. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, defend yourself, but you recognize, as does he, that he holds all the power in this dynamic.

“If I say yes, will you fuck me properly?” Because ‘make love’, despite what your mother and aunts always said, doesn’t seem proper. You two aren’t in love.. you’re in lust for this man—Or at least, you’re telling yourself that because of how desperately you want his cock inside you.

“I guess you’ll have to try it and find out.” He says, as if he’s not hard, his cock twitching in his pants at every little whiff he gets of you.

“Yes.” You hum, “All that over your fingers,” And he just smirks before asking,

“Anything else?”

“…Please?” And it seems to be the magic word, because he leans forward and kisses your cheek before adding,

“Good girl.” And at how excited that makes you, Matt finds himself practically fumbling for the condom he had put in his wallet the day he met you, but as soon as you realize it, you’re grabbing at his hands, trying to take it out of his hands, and his free hand finds your chin, gripping it just tightly enough to make your brain feel fuzzy, “What? What is it, baby?” he asks, and you have to take a moment before you respond,

“I’m on the pill, we don’t need a condom,” And a part of Matt’s brain that never quite grew out of the Catholic upbringing in which he was raised wants to remind you of all of the complications that could come with that, but another, stronger and more tempting part of his brain, the devil part of his brain thinks about the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, in the middle of this dingy fucking bathroom, with your ‘friends’ waiting outside, and he literally tosses the condom on the floor.

No words are spoken as he kisses you again, his hand that was holding the condom now working on unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, his free hand simply holding yours—perhaps the most romantic thing a man has ever done for you.

Eventually, your panties are rolled down to your ankles, and he pulls you just to the edge of the sink so you’re hanging onto him for dear life, and he just kisses you, and in between kisses he says, “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, just like that,”, and you trust him.

He pulls away from kissing you, to take your chin in his hand one more time and demand your attention.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he starts, “And it might hurt at first, but we’re gonna go slow, okay?”

“Okay,” and he kisses your forehead, strikingly loving compared to the situation that you have found yourself in. You wait, anticipation dripping down your thighs, before Matt slowly pushes himself inside of you, and as he fills you up, you moan into his skin.

There’s a part of Matt that starts shaking at the feeling of how tight you are around him. He lets out a low groan, his breath hot against your neck, as he bottoms out inside of you, his finger twitching a bit, aching to fuck you so intensely you’ll forget your own name..

But he resists, waiting for your grip on him to loosen softly,

“We’re okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“We’re okay,” You breath out, ready for him to move.

“Yeah, I know, baby, we’re okay,” he purrs, before slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to thrust in and out of you, only encouraged by your moans as they begin to pick up, thrusting into you faster, unable to resist the way you clench around him.

Your fingers barely scrape over his skin as he thrusts into you, his lips kissing your skin. He wants to tease you, he wants to tell you that you’re so dirty, letting a grown man fuck you in a dingy bathroom, but he finds himself lost in your warmth, unable to provide you with the dirty talk that he has dreamt of giving you for months.

But.. this is better. This is a well put together man, who falls apart at the feeling of your cunt, who shudders at the feeling of your hands on his, who tears apart at the seams of his being when your lips touch his. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to being an artist, mending and molding him with your hands.

It’s mesmerizing, and if you could, you’d stay here forever, letting him fuck into you like it’s his god damn job, slowly becoming faster, harder, more intense, never letting up, so you decide to push him—

“Need you to come inside me,” You pant out, and Matt won’t ever admit it to you, but he almost comes right then and there, not even bothering to give you a warning. Almost.

“I will, baby,” He hums, kissing your neck as sweat glistens his forehead, trying to push himself, trying to fuck you like you deserve, like he knows you deserve, his thrusts unrelenting.

Your thighs begin to shake as you claw at him, your breath catching in your throat.

“Matt- Please, oh my god—” You whine, “I’m gon—”

“Yeah, I know, baby, You’re squeezing around me so well,” He purrs, “C’mon, you can cum, you just gotta let go for me,” He advises, “C’mon, show me how good I’m making you feel,” And as you creep closer to the edge, your heart thumps loudly in his ears- You can’t help yourself. You’re sort of taken by the fact that when he’s breathless like this, you can hear his New York accent twinge out of him..

And that might just be what pushes you over the edge.

You cum with a moan, shuddered into his ear, panting as he keeps thrusting into you. The only time your mind wanders is rather briefly, as the way the stained glass windows looked in your church on the day you met him.

He lets out a soft whimper as he bathes in the feeling of you coming around his cock, the feeling of your hands in his hair, the feeling of your breath against his neck—he’s actually falling apart, and his thrusts only stutter as he comes inside you, deep deep within you.

Neither of you say anything as your hips pathetically roll, and he leads you down from your high as he slows his thrusts. For a moment, you both need to sit in the silence of your breathing..

And then, you start to laugh.

He laughs with you.

“What’s so funny?” He asks through laughs, tracing the side of your face with his hand, and you just laugh harder.

“You’re just..” You find the words, “You just exceeded my expectations is all,” and it’s so funny to him, that that’s where your mind goes after he fucked you so well. You’re adorable, he thinks, and he needs to keep you like this forever, stuck in time with his cum dripping down your legs.

When you both come down to earth, finally, he kisses you and says gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” And you happily oblige him.

He helps you off the sink, steadying you with his arms as your legs shake, holding onto him like a newborn deer, unsure of your movements.

But soon enough, you’re stable enough to stand on your own and the dawning realization hits you— you just ran away from your friends to go fuck a married man. And.. there’s so little regret—really, there’s nothing much at all that you feel besides an aching in your core for more.

He squeezes your arm gently, before asking,

“Feeling okay, honey?” he asks gently. And you just grin at him.

“Never better.”

So, funny enough..

You get grounded after your night out.

“Grounded?” Matt laughs as you tell him that, not at all caring that he has you sitting on his office desk, hands wandering your thighs, “You’re twenty one, how’d they ground you?” He ponders, and you huff.

“Well, my fuckin’ friends were telling their parents about this hookup I had in the bar, and their parents told mine, and they got mad at me—So now I’m only allowed to go to work, and then go home.” You huff.

Matt smirks against your skin, kissing your neck. He pulls back and grips your chin, tilting your head up to look to him, his thumb slipping into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

“What’re you gonna do all summer, stuck in your big bad bosses house?” he asks, and you just roll your eyes as your face reddens. “Don’t worry, pretty thing,” he says gently, planting a long kiss to your jaw, “Your old man is gonna take good care of you.”

And you know he means it, too.

One weekend, your parents go away. They trust you won’t have any boys over, not even considering the idea that you’d have Mr. Murdock over.

He has his arm wrapped around you as you lay in bed, mumbling something soft in your ear. You roll over, admiring him for a minute, the way his eyes look.. he’s so pretty. You reach out and gently touch the skin around his eyes, noticing the scarring around his eyes.

“Hm?” You question, tilting your head. You didn’t quite hear him. He looks at you for a long time before responding,

“I think you’re hard of hearing,” And you can tell by the tone of his voice that he means it. “I’ve noticed it a lot, you always miss things when you aren’t looking right at people, and you’re always asking people to repeat themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just.. You should be able to get the resources you need to help with that.” He shrugs, like it isn’t the most observant anyone’s ever been of you.

You lean in and kiss him, for a long time, your hand on his cheek. When you pull away, you take a second to breath before kissing him again.

“What was that for?” He eventually asks, a smile on his face.

“I just..” You shrug, “No one’s ever really noticed anything like that about me.” You feel seen, in a way that pulls at your heart. He smiles gently to you, kissing your forehead before responding,

“All I’ll ever want is for you to feel seen.”

The end of the summer comes a lot faster than you would’ve liked. You had a great summer, you tell yourself, you spent a lot of time at work with Lucas, smoking weed, sitting under the stars, and being with Matt.

But, as your move in date for your senior year approaches, and you begin to start packing, an anxiety starts to creep into you.

How will you say goodbye to him?

Neither of you have discussed what will happen when that day comes, but it looms over you like doomsday. Each day that passes, you get hit harder and harder with the realization that summer will end, and nothing will be the same.

And eventually, though you will and pray it does not, the day comes.

It’s hot. Blaring hot, hotter than you would’ve liked. Even as the sun begins to set, there’s a brutality to the air that does not provide any relief.

You’ve already said goodbye to Lucas and Matt’s wife, so now, you just sit on your front porch, staring at the house down the street. When the door to the house opens, you advert your eyes like you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Soon after, you pick your head up to see Matt approaching you. He smiles to you, and you try to smile back, but your heart aches with the knowledge that this will be the last time you see him until.. well, you aren’t sure when. You stand up to meet him at the end of your driveway.

“All packed?” he asks. You scoff softly.

“Something like that.” You shrug, and he smiles.

“What’re you still missing?” You answer before you can stop yourself.

“You.” You say, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. Immediately, his arms are around you, overheating you in the late August weather, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. He holds you gently, as if you’ll break when he lets go, crying into your shoulder. His hand rubs your back as he gently shushes you.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, “I’ll be here when you get back.” He promises, and you know he’s right. But for the first time, leaving your home will be hard, and you do not know what to do about it, other than buy a candle that might smell like him.

You stay like that for a long time, longer than you care to admit, before he slowly pulls away. You look to him for a few minutes, before he kisses your forehead. He hands you an old Columbia tee shirt of his, one that smells just like him, and you clutch it like your life depends on it.

“We’re okay?” He asks gently, and even if it’s a lie, you nod, and respond,

“We’re okay.”

Fall

Adjusting to dorm life comes back to you quicker than you would’ve thought, despite your heartbreak that came with living. You and your friends fill your time with studying, smoking, and doing anything you can to distract yourself from the aching in your chest.

But, you can’t deny, that on nights where it’s too hot to sleep, you scroll through Facebook—yes, Facebook of all things, looking at photos of Matt, getting just small glances into his life from two hundred miles away.

And as the time melts away, you become more and more.. numb to the pain that stung so intensely.. But you also spend a lot of time looking for the cologne that he wore, and you won’t deny that when your roommate leaves for the weekend, you spend hours in the memories of the summer, with your hand between your legs, aching for just a bit of the pleasure he gave you.

You almost have a heart attack when your mom asks you to come to church with her while you’re home for fall break. Of course you’ll go, of course it’ll be your pleasure, mainly because you’re hoping—maybe even praying for him to be there.

When that Sunday comes, you spend an hour getting ready. You know that Matt is blind and won’t care, but maybe a part of you believes you need to dress all pretty for him. You even wear the sundress you wore for Easter Sunday.

Your thighs are already slick with heat when you get there, and your eyes scan the crowd for Matt.. and when you eventually find him, your breath hitches in your throat, just like the first night you felt him inside you.

You grin as you see him, all by himself, at the back of the church. You excuse yourself from your parents, making your way back to him like it’s your god damn birthday you’re so excited.

But as soon as you approach him, someone calls his name behind you—an old friend or maybe a coworker, and Matt walks toward you, and you open your mouth to say something your eyes following him, and then—

He walks right past you, avoiding you completely. Your face falls with disappointment, your heart sinking. Maybe.. he just didn’t realize it was you. Maybe. You don’t know, but it messes with your head throughout all of the service.

You and your family are sitting more towards the back, while Matt and his family sits in front of you—You watch him like it’s your damn job, waiting, waiting, Until—

He gets up, quietly making his way towards a door to the side, one that will lead downstairs and to a restroom. You begin to count to sixty, waiting so very patiently, before quietly excusing yourself, and following him down the stairs.

As soon as you open the basement door, Matt is pulling you further into the basement, to a deep dark corner, and immediately, you’re pressed against the wall, his mouth on your neck. You moan softly as your hands find his hair, tugging on it, as his hands begin to explore your thighs like a starving man.

“Matt—” You go to say, but his hand clamps over your mouth as his free hand tugs off your panties, his hand cupping your cunt as you roll your hips, desperate for more contact than that.

“You gonna behave for me, pretty thing?” He grumbles, and you nod against his hand, so he bites down on your shoulder, “There we go,” He mumbles, his hand coming off your mouth to pull your panties down, before working on his belt and his zipper.

Your hands work at his hair, trying to cope with the fact that he is not being gentle, in fact, he seems to be purposefully mean, like he’s trying to see if you can even take it. This is nothing like when he first fucked you—this is a fucking that is making you see stars, and will leave you in tears.

Two of his fingers spread you open, making sure that you’re ready for him to fuck you. When he decides he is, still kissing your neck, he thrusts into you quickly—unapologetically. He doesn’t care about much else besides chasing that feeling of you clenched around him. He bottoms out inside you and moans against your neck.

Then, his thrusts start. He doesn’t even pretend to start slow, immediately he is thrusting into you, harder than he had in months, relishing in the feeling and the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Missed your tight cunt,” He mumbles into your ear, “Missed how well you take me,” he hummed, his pace relentless. He’s trying to satisfy his cravings for you, but his attempt is messy and he’s losing his mind over the idea of not being able to fuck you for another few months.

“I’m—” You whine, your hair falling into your face, your brain fuzzy, “I’m gonna—” He coos softly as he grips your chin with his free hand.

“C’mon, pretty thing, cum for me—” And just like that, you do. You absolutely do. You don’t hold back, and as soon as he feels you clenching around him, he’s coming too. You don’t know what else to do other than let him ride his high. When he pulls out, his hand comes back to your thighs, beginning to gently massage the mess the two of you had made into your thighs, pulling your panties back up so that for the rest of the service, you kind of just.. have to sit with that.

Your hands stay in his hair as he cleans the pair of you up, and you lean in to kiss him, and he lets you, but.. he doesn’t really kiss you back. And it breaks your heart. Your eyebrows furrow, as you reach for him like a child, and he just grabs your hands, “Just.. relax, okay?” He sighs.

“Why are you being like this?” You ask, “You’re..” You struggle to find the words as he buckles his pants, ignoring your gaze. There’s something inside him that’s stopping him from being affectionate towards you, that reminds him that you’ll be heading back off to school in a day or two and his heart will break all over again.

“Go back upstairs, Honey,” he says, but you shake your head.

“No, stop ignoring me—”

“Now.” He says firmly, ignoring the nauseating feeling as the saltiness of your tears fill his senses.

“Fuck. You.” you spit out, and he’s not angry with you for your reaction. It’s valid, of course. He knows why you’re angry, he just fucked you lovelessly, in the basement of the church where you first met.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he listens to the angry sniffles and foot stomps as you make your way back upstairs.

Matt’s neglect made you turn a new corner, and as soon as you get back to school, you find yourself constantly working and studying. You can’t possibly think about the intensity of his thrusts, the sternness of his voice.

You can’t talk about it, you can’t talk to any of your friends about the way you fell in love with a married man, you can’t talk to your parents about how you developed such intense feelings for the man who lives down the street..

So, you study.

On Halloween, you get a little too fucked up.

You drink an intense amount, needing to wash away the anger you have for Matt. At some point, you’re sitting in your bathroom floor, leaning against your wall.

Matt does not answer your call.

But you listen to his voicemail like it’s a sermon.

Winter

After Halloween, you begin to drink water every day, you eat more balanced meals, and you cut back on your substances. Truly, you know you need to make a change. And you do—school work becomes less of a coping mechanism and more of your job again. You mostly focus on enjoying your senior year.

But as the winter creeps in, you shop around for a gift for Lucas, fondly remembering your time with the young boy, despite your interaction with his father back in October. You store the gift away and focus on your finals. By the time you make it home, you’re exhausted.

You sleep most of the day on the 22nd, and then on the 23rd, you spend your day unpacking and helping your mom get ready for Christmas. Before you go to bed, you wrap Lucas’ present, and store it away, not caring much to deliver it any time soon.

You tell yourself you’ll drop it off tomorrow, and you aren’t sure if you’d rather come face to face with Matt, or his wife. The walk takes seemingly forever, and you feel anxious the whole way there.

You knock on the door, and wait with baited breath.. When Matt opens the door, your breath catches. He looks really good—A grey button up and dark jeans. You just smile at him.

“Hey,” You breath, “Uhm, I was just.. I wanted to give this to Lucas.. Is he here?” You question, not knowing where else he’d be on Christmas Eve.

“Oh, he’s actually staying at his moms today,” And your head darts up.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Matt says somewhat sheepishly, “We’re.. Separated. In the process of getting divorced.” He confesses.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” He chuckles, “I guess It was inevitable.”

“Well.. Then I guess you’re not doing anything tonight, huh?” You wonder, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll probably just have a drink and listen to Christmas music.” He chuckles. You ache for him to invite you over. But you don’t get to tell him that before he says, “I’m so sorry about.. October.” He sighs gently, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You say gently,

“No. It’s not. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve that. I really am sorry.”

“I got over it,” You shrug.

“So.. We’re okay?” He offers.

You smile.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good. Because I’d really like to take you out sometime. Like, a real date.” He offers, and your face flushes.

“Yeah, that would be really nice..” You grin.

“No more sneaking around?”

“Well.. Maybe from my parents.. And it is kind of sexy,” You grin, taking a step up further onto his porch.

“Yeah?” He laughs, his hand coming down to rest on his waist. “Maybe that could be arranged.” He hums.

“Good,” You hum, and then you open your mouth to add, but he cuts you off.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Tell your parents you’re keeping your old man company?” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I’d really like that.”

“That’s my baby,” He hums, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #danny speaks to the void #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader

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lovebugism · 2 years

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the customer’s always right just gave me life, they're just so sweet AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | heart-shaped

summary: you think you might be falling in love with eddie. eddie thinks he might be falling for you. a series of stashed away insecurities threaten to get in the way. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 10k holy moly warnings: talks of drugs, shitty boyfriends, and being a whore <3 also reader gets fingered <3 a lil bit of angst, smut 18+ mdni a/n: ah shit here we go again!! thanks for waiting so patiently for me to get over my writer's block and finally post! reading all the feedback for this series has been so nice, all of you guys are so so sweet <333 anyway, pls enjoy this installment and if you don't.. maybe don't tell me :^) happy reading ily!

( PREVIOUSLY) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Truth be told, working the lunch rush at Enzo’s wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

It meant you got to miss out on serving all the wine snobs at dinner who send back devoured dishes like it’s their job — insistent on a refund because their food was “unsatisfactory” just to get twice the meal with half the tip.

The rich country club goers you waited on were far more docile in comparison. They arrive dressed in pastel-collared shirts and pretty athletic dresses after finishing up their tennis practices or games of golf.

They sit and talk for hours, dine on the most expensive shrimp and wine, just to leave a tip so ginormous that you have to thank them before they go. It’s a flaunt of wealth more than anything. It might’ve felt the least bit demeaning if it wasn’t going directly into your pockets.

And it would be way too lame of you to say that getting to see Eddie Munson after your shift was the only thing getting you through it at all. That sort of puppy love belonged to high schoolers who don't know any better, you know that… But screw it— knowing you were going to meet him after was the only thing getting you through this mind-numbing, foot-aching, brain-cell-losing, eight-hour shift.

The days, of which there had been four (but, then again, who’s counting?), had been excruciating without him.

You couldn’t even sleep the first night you left his trailer. You felt him everywhere — your mouth, your chest, and between your legs — still buzzing with his touch even halfway across Hawkins.

It had you swearing up and down that the Dungeon Master had some actual powers you didn’t know about. That he’d cast some sort of love spell on you after getting you to come on his thigh.

You quickly learned that Eddie Munson was the kind of boy that girls lose sleep over; the kind of boy that reduces you to your basic schoolgirl tendencies as you grin into your pillow and kick your feet in the air.

It was embarrassing, the effect he had on you.

And you so desperately wanted to blame it on whatever witchcraft the town thought the leader of Hellfire possessed. It was easier than facing the fact that you were head over heels for a stupid boy.

You didn’t even have time to face it, really, because you were already too busy falling for him. He had you tripping all over yourself and face-planting into the petals of a thousand roses — it was pathetic.

You’d catch yourself smiling whenever you thought of him, grinning like an idiot while you rang up customers at the register — more ecstatic at the idea of Eddie than the hundred-dollar tip they’d left you. It made you giddy to think about seeing him again, enough that it distracted you from the fact that you hadn’t sat down since your shift started.

Eddie had you full of sunshine and rainbows and mirth, like something out of a damn GAP commercial. It was a particular sort of happiness you thought abandoned you a long, long time ago.

Apparently, you were wrong.

You think of Eddie, and a foreign feeling of anticipation swirls in the pit of your stomach. It almost makes you sick with childlike excitement. You didn’t know another person was capable of making someone this happy. It’s unfamiliar and daunting and euphoric and really fucking scary.

It’s an otherworldly feeling that feels like it’s only happening to you. A secret you want to keep to yourself and shout from the rooftops at the same time. People bustle around you, keep on living their mundane lives, and spare not a glance to their lovesick waitress.

No one knows I’m falling in love right now, you find yourself thinking.

But that isn’t exactly true. Jim Hopper knows because that asshole knows everything, and notices almost immediately how strange you’re acting.

The chief of police was always a comforting sight amidst a sea of strangers, most of whom made more in a week than you could ever hope to make in a year. He's a breath of fresh air, as it were, which is strange considering the two of you spent the entirety of your high school career playing cat and mouse.

He’d catch you smoking, threaten to turn you in, and you’d beg him not to — pull out all the stops, the puppy dog eyes, the innocent schoolgirl charm, the whole damn nine to make him melt.

He’d take pity on you and let you off with a warning, as long as you promised never to do it again. And you’d lie to him, tell him it was a one-time thing, and he’d catch you a week or so later — getting high at the quarry or with your hand shoved down the pants of a man too old for you at Lover’s Lake.

And the cycle would keep on repeating for the next four agonizing years until you graduated.

Strangely, somewhere along the line, the two of you became pretty good friends.

Everyone once in a while, he’ll stop by Enzo’s during his breaks to keep you company. He never actually orders food, though, just binges on the endless free breadsticks until the buttons of his uniform threaten to pop. He'll bathe in yellow candlelight and chi-antee for an hour or more and then leave you a too big tip you always have to fight about when he goes.

Your pour the crimson colored wine he’d ordered into his rounded glass, flashing him the label before describing the vintage to him, per your boss’s demand.

It feels foreign to be so formal in front of Hopper — because, after catching you with a mouthful of Tommy Hagan in a car back in '83, nothing makes either of you uncomfortable anymore. But sometimes it feels like your asshole manager is lurking over your shoulder every damn second of the day.

And having a job is more important than your pride, you figure.

“This is a medium-bodied, acidic tart, ruby red wine. The earthy aroma pairs nicely with the cherry and strawberry notes…” and blah, blah, blah. You’ve repeated the same couple of lines so often you’ve started to say them in your sleep.

“Well, shit, teacup. If you put that much effort into school, you coulda been valedictorian,” Jim quips with a signature dad smirk that’s half-hidden beneath his bushy mustache.

It’s not the first time he’s made that dumb joke, and it won’t be the last.

You roll your eyes more at the nickname than the backhanded compliment, because it isn’t your fault the sasquatch is six-foot-four.

“How much is this one gonna cost me?” he asks you and leans in his plush seat to reach for the wallet in his back pocket.

“Don’t worry about it, lurch. It’s on the house.”

A mischievous glint twinkles in Jim’s eye as he squints up at you. He tucks the leather back into his khakis. “Sure Enzo won’t mind?” he asks you because he hasn’t yet bothered to acknowledge that your boss wasn’t actually named Enzo.

“Yeah, he’ll be pissed,” you confirm with a shrug. “I just don’t care.”

“Well, you’re in an unrealistically good mood after the lunch rush,” he sing-songs.

You don’t miss the suspicious lilt in his voice. Your smile is equally sarcastic and sickly sweet as you tell him: “It’s ‘cause my favorite customer is here—”

“Yeah, I don’t buy that,” he interjects with a curt shake of his head. He sits up straighter and leans his elbows on the white linen cloth of the table like he means business. “Who’s the boy?”

“What— I don’t— What are you— boy?” you sputter with a half-hearted laugh. Your stammering isn’t the least bit convincing.

“It’s a boy, right?” he monotones. “You only get all giddy and gross like this when there’s a boy.”

You hate that he knows you so well. It might’ve been sweet if it wasn’t totally infuriating.

To be fair, you did tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you didn’t want to. When you were falling in love, it poured out of you like sunshine and blinded anyone who dared to look too closely.

Golden rays shoot from your fingertips, shine in the irises of your eyes, and flash from your smile — like the one tugging at the edges of your lips now.

It leaves no room to deny what he already knows: that you’re a stupid girl with a stupid crush on a stupid boy because she hasn’t learned from her stupid mistakes.

“Fine,” you concede with your sheepish gaze flitted to the ceiling. “It’s— It’s dumb. It’s a silly crush, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Hopper nods, like he’s giving you some kind of blessing. “Good for you. It’s about time you moved on from that asshole— what was his name again? Harrington?”

It makes you roll your eyes. You can’t tell if he’s actually confused or if he’s making fun of you. It would be all too like a middle-aged man to make a misogynistic joke about a girl who’s had more partners than years she’s been alive.

“Hargrove,” you correct in a monotone. Your tone is as bitter as thinking about him makes you feel.

“Him, too,” he quips.

There it is.

“It’s not even like that, okay? It’s not like anything,” you try and deflect like you aren’t beaming and trying horribly to hide it. “He… He probably doesn’t even like me like that.”

“Well, it’s about time you got over that boy, is all I’m saying. You deserve a good guy. A boy treats you right, who has actual aspirations in life, and keeps his nose clean—” he rambles as he brings the wine to his mouth to take a drink. He stops himself to ask: “What's his name again?”

You fidget ahead of him, shifting your weight on your feet awkwardly because good guy who stays out of trouble and has actual aspirations in life isn’t how most people would describe the Munson boy. Jim least of all.

He’s got a similar relationship with Eddie to the one he had with you, though there was little room for friendship between the two. It’s just an outlaw making a living on drugs and a chief trying to catch him dealing it.

“Eddie,” you answer and then clear your throat. “Uh, Eddie Munson…”

The life leaves Jim’s eyes.

There’s no amount of wine in Enzo’s cellar that could’ve prepared him for that — or you, for the twenty-minute lecture that followed.

“I have no words,” he’d scolded you like a disappointed parent but proceeded to rant for nearly half an hour after the fact, in true fatherly fashion.

Hopper knows when you’re falling in love. It’s all sunshine and rainbows and blue skies. It’s all so sweet he could gag. But there’s always another side of that coin — a dark, colder, meaner one.

Because sometimes boys are cruel, sometimes you really are in over your head, and sometimes relationships don’t work out. And when things go bad, they go rotten, and he has to deal with the storm cloud you become after the fact.

Taking care of you becomes his part-time job, and his check-ins become endless as he makes sure you don’t fall back into your old ways — using and getting used.

And truth be told, you don’t have the best track record with men, and Hopper tries to tell you all this, but it doesn’t get through.

Because you have a good feeling about this. About Eddie.

Fuck all the rest.

Today marks your thirteenth meeting with Eddie.

For such an unlucky number, it’s got you squirming from all the butterflies fluttering in your belly with an excitement more innocent than you’re used to. Like standing in the queue for a rollercoaster in a childlike mixture of apprehension and animation, somehow both frightened and enraptured for what’s to come.

And you’re absolutely bouncing with it. Smiling to yourself in the car with the radio turned all the way up and the windows all the way down, thrumming your fingers on the steering wheel as you belt the lyrics to “Super Trouper” with a beam that could make the sunshine cower.

It’s all completely and utterly perfect until you become suddenly aware of how unearthly happy you are.

Then it hits you like a ton of bricks and you shrink into yourself because… maybe you shouldn’t feel this way. The last time you saw Eddie, he came in his jeans and you got off on his thigh — there was never any room for daydreaming and pining and puppy love-ing, not when you so quickly gave yourself away.

The thought of Eddie not nearly being as happy to see you is what hurts the most. How he had you once and now you’re back to just being the customer he sees once a week.

What if he doesn’t give you weed for free anymore? Fuck that — what if you’re not his favorite?

And maybe it’s just you, maybe you’re the problem. Maybe you should be passed the point of giddy excitement, maybe it’s uncool, maybe you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve and it’s leaving the door open for too much hurt. Maybe Hopper was right.

But you’re happy, at least for right now, and you don’t get the chance to be too often.

Most days, you’re just an accessory — a pretty pebble someone finds on the ground and spends a couple of seconds ogling at before leaving and never thinking about again.

You deserve the chance to be held, don’t you? You should get to be praised and coddled and worshipped like the pretty girls do.

And Eddie makes you feel held.

So you’ll stick around until he gets bored of you, until you stop being so fun for him. You’ll take the moments of happiness as they’re spoon-fed to you and taste them, really taste them, until you’re starving again. You’ll stay full of this pure puppy love you have for Eddie until it’s time for you to go.

Because, for now, you’re happy. And isn’t that what matters most?

You don’t know it, but Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma.

He waits for you at the bench you meet him at every week, like you’ve done for months now, but he’s filled with an unfamiliar gaiety as he anticipates your arrival.

He’s so goddamn excited to see you that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It borders on a slight uneasiness that makes him sick to his stomach.

Eddie never gets nervous around customers. Not once, not ever.

He’s dealt to weirdos who live on the wrong side of the track, preppy douchebags that shove him into lockers at school, and pretty cheerleaders who pretend he doesn’t exist outside of dealing.

He’s seen it all, really. But you’re the one that’s got him bouncing his knee something fierce beneath the table and tapping his fingers against the rotted top of it while his heart races a million miles a minute.

He’s frightened of being too overeager. He’s scared that you’ll come here, all cool and collected about all of it, and he’ll be the freak show acting like a pretty girl’s never given him an ounce of attention before. They haven’t, but he’d rather not project that sort of disposition. Not to you, at least.

He guesses, more than anything, he’s just afraid of scaring you away.

So Eddie tries to keep the smile on his face hidden — not knowing that it’s your favorite part about him. He tries to be as stoic as possible. He wants to be this cool and mysterious and sexy guy he thinks you want, having no idea that you’d already fallen in love with him before he even realized he needed to be those things for you.

He’s just about able to wash away his grin when he sees you emerge from the woods and into the small clearing where the lone picnic table lives.

The pinky plaid skirt you wear rustles against your legs with the breeze, the pleated edges brushing against the skin of your thighs. You pair it with a white piece of Beatles merch that clings to your torso — and fuck he hates the Beatles, but you’re the prettiest thing his cynical eyes have ever seen.

He’s beaming at you before he even realizes it. And by the time he does, he doesn’t feel like the idiot he thought he would.

You’re both sporting matching grins, trying to hide them and failing miserably. His is pursed softly to the side and yours is pulled between your teeth.

You look like the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees, Eddie thinks to himself.

His eyes must be the golden of them, you conclude.

When you settle on the bench in front of him, you tuck your skirt neatly beneath you and focus on smoothing out than fabric rather than meet the boy’s gaze. You sport a meek smile and a pair of fidgeting hands that ache to touch him.

“Hi,” you greet sheepishly.

He sees your face scrunch in embarrassment at how shy you sound, and the way you almost reach out for his hand but stop yourself just as quickly. He wishes you wouldn’t. He wishes you knew how perfect you were, even when you weren’t totally graceful.

“Hi,” he repeats with a mocking, but no less loving grin, tilting his head towards his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know… overworked and underpaid,” you shrug. “Just the usual.”

You’re grateful for the small talk. It leaves little room for the awkwardness swimming in your belly. He doesn’t immediately mention what happened the last time you saw him, like people often do when they want to do it all over again. But he isn’t in a hurry to give you your weed so you’ll leave him alone either. That's what people usually do when they want nothing to do with you anymore.

It’s almost like it never happened.

Or rather, like it did, and he isn’t treating it like a spectacle.

It’s refreshing.

“Boss giving you a hard time?”

“Oh, always. I’m pretty sure that’s what he gets paid to do, actually.”

“Right,” he breathes out a laugh.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment, just a blink of a second, but it’s noticeable. The sudden quiet floats on the cool breeze that ruffles Eddie’s wild hair and sends a shiver down your spine.

In a split-second decision, you decide not to deprive yourself of the urge to touch him. Partly to distract from the stillness, but mostly because the ache had reached a fever pitch.

You’re so enthralled by his hands resting upon the old wood — the veins that decorate the back of them like the roots of a tree, the way his fingers thrum to a beat only he can hear, and the rings that wrap around them.

“Is this new?” you wonder aloud. You take his wrist in one hand and trace the glinting silver on his pointer finger with the other. It’s the bony fingers of a skeleton curved to form a heart. He’s taped the sides to make it fit better. It didn’t belong to him before now.

Eddie watches, pleasantly surprised, as you dote on him.

Your eyes glitter golden beneath an early setting sun. They dance with amusement as your fingertip traces his heart-shaped ring. He smiles to himself and wonders how often you’re looking at his hands to notice he’s got a new ring on.

“Oh, yeah,” he shrugs. He plays it cool, like his heart isn’t thrumming like a hummingbird in his chest at your touch. “Got it a couple days ago at the thrift store outside of town. It was a whole seventy-five cents.”

“I like it. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” he repeats with a scrunched nose and blushing face.

It makes you giggle. “Yeah. You can be cute and badass at the same time, you know?”

“I didn’t know those were mutually exclusive.”

“They weren’t. Not until you came into the world, Eddie Munson.”

He feels cold when you drag your hand away. The kind, almost teasing grin you flash his way warms him all over again. He’s still trying to get used to being so loved on.

You can see the way he gets lost in you for a moment. His cinnamon-tinted gaze, made golden in the sunlight, glazes over as his head gets stranded in the clouds.

The only reason you notice it is because it happens to you. Eddie makes it so terribly easy to float in the deep galaxy of his eyes. Your heart swells to know that it’s happening to him now. Happening to him because he’s looking at you.

You didn’t know you were the kind of girl people could get lost in.

Eddie clears his throat and shakes his head, mostly to himself, but enough to jostle the soft curls that frame his face and sit above his eyes.

“Well, I’m honored, sweetheart,” he grins his signature grin, the bright and cocky one, though he’s too shy to make it reach his eyes now. He busies himself and his restless fingers by rifling through the product sitting in the tin box at his side — baggies full of green nuggets and white powdery pills.

“So, uh, what’s on the menu this week? The usual?”

“I’ve still got my stash from last week,” you confess. “Haven’t really had the time to smoke it yet.”

His eyes flit up to yours again. “…Yeah?” is all he can think to say to you because internally he’s buzzing — you didn’t even need weed, he thinks to himself, you just wanted to see him.

You only shrug. “I’ve just been, like, crazy busy this week.”

Eddie nods understandingly, but can’t help but to joke: “Is that why you haven’t called?”

Because, fuck, if the past couple of days without talking to you haven’t been complete and total agony. He knows it’s a little too brash and brave of him to wonder why you went AWOL when he hasn’t exactly made an effort to seek you out either.

Not for lack of wanting to, though. He’d like to put that on record.

“Well, I didn’t call because I don’t have your number,” you retort with a smile that toes the line between cunning and timidity. “So, you can’t really blame me for that.”

He huffs dramatically. “Guess not.”

“It’s probably for the best. If I could call you, I’d never leave you alone.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d want you to,” he dismisses your negative talk with ease.

You warm with his words and duck your gaze on instinct. You keep your eyes on your hands while you fidget with your fingers, wishing that they were his instead. “Just don’t want to bother you or whatever, you know?”

“You could never bother me.”

“Promise?” you ask him. Your smile is playful, but your words are sincere.

Eddie’s is much of the same. “Cross my heart.”

“How about this — I give you my number and you just call whenever you’re free,” you offer, more confident at the boy’s admission and glowing with it. “‘Cause, you know, Wayne probably wouldn’t appreciate me clogging up the phone line very much.”

“He wouldn’t notice… Or care,” he tells you and pulls out an old pen from his tin box. His sparkling deep brown eyes stay locked on you as you rise from your side of the bench and round the table to sit next to him.

You’re obviously not as nervous as he’d been at the trailer all those nights ago, when he had to practically be beckoned over to realize you wanted him beside you.

You sit opposite him, with your knees pointed away from the bench. You get to be closer to him this way. Your thigh presses against his as you twist towards him, your chest mere inches from his arm, your mouth even closer.

You write a series of numbers on his forearm that Eddie can’t make out because he’s too busy looking at you. He admires the frown between your brows as you struggle to get the ink to write and the way your lips purse to the side in concentration.

“Wayne would actually be pretty stoked I was talking to a girl—” he jokes with a laugh though he’s quick to cut himself off like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.

His admission was supposed to be funny, something the rest of Hellfire would’ve laughed at because they know him. But you don’t, and he doesn’t really want you to. You’ve already got this idea of him in your head. He lives in agony that he won’t be able to live up to it.

He’ll just have to fake it, he concludes. Fake it until he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

Fortunately enough for him, you don’t read into his words too much.

“He wants you to settle down, huh?” you joke back, half-distracted as you doodle a heart onto his skin.

“Wants me to move out, more like.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate the bed.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, right. That old geezer’s practically in love with his Laz-E-Boy.”

He watches with glimmering eyes as you laugh. Then he’s smiling because you’re smiling. He isn’t sure how else he’s supposed to look at you. How could anyone possibly look at you and not hold so much love in their eyes?

You haven’t yet let go of his arm, he notices, as you cradle his wrist in your grasp and swipe your thumb over the blotchy blue veins there. Your gaze is pointed down to where you hold him. There’s a distant grin on your face as you admire such a minute piece of him.

He wants so badly to kiss you.

He could. All he’d have to do, really, is move his head a couple inches and he’d brush the apple of your cheek. The skin would warm against his lips until he ducked down to kiss you for real.

And he feels just bold enough to ask you, but not quite enough to say the words out loud. Instead, they sit impatiently on the edge of his tongue while he waits for the right moment to say them. The wind blows, and it passes.

“It wouldn’t be totally crazy if I kissed you right now, would it?” you ask him first, looking at him through your lashes like you’re scared he might reject you.

He glows pink, momentarily stunned that you beat him to the punch, then worried that you might’ve read his mind. He plays it cool with a shrug and a shake of his head. “No… Not unless it’s totally crazy how bad I want you to kiss me right now.”

You don’t waste any time. You gravitate towards him like you were made to do it and he meets you easily halfway.

When your lips lock, it feels like a routine. Kissing you is like a cup of coffee and the morning paper and a rocking chair on a front porch — something he could do forever and ever and not get bored of.

You kiss him so soft, more gentle than anyone’s ever been with him, but your tongue swipes into his open mouth, and it’s dirty.

Eddie still isn’t sure how a person could touch him the way you do. You’re all sweet, like you’re frightened you might break him, but you aren’t scared to kiss him like he’s yours.

As good as it feels to have him against you this way, the position you’re in isn’t any less awkward. Your upper-half is still twisted to face him and he has to lean slightly over to touch you completely.

He explores the cavern of your mouth with a more confident tongue than you remember him having while ten ringed fingers press into your ribs.

Eddie can feel your mouth contort in a smile. He thinks it’s because he’s tickling you, but you’re just in love and totally giddy with it.

The wooden edge of the bench digs into your spine. The ache distracts you from feeling him the way you want to — the way you need to — so you make a split-second decision to rise from your seat and rest your bottom on the table.

Your lips click wetly, almost out of protest, when they part.

You use the palms of your hands to lift you and prop your sneakers on the bench seat when you sit down again. You wait patiently for Eddie to accommodate you, to rise and keep kissing you the way he was just kissing you.

He does. Eventually.

He just needed a few moments to gather himself when your new position flashes him the faintest glimpse of your panties — all black and dotted with little red hearts that have started to fade with time.

His eyes widen and he everts his gaze immediately. His cheeks and the tip of his nose go red, like he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to be looking at. It’s sort of stupid. You were getting off on his thigh some days ago, and now you’re kissing him like you mean to swallow him whole, surely you wouldn’t mind him peeking.

If he were someone totally different, he might’ve spread your legs, dug his fingers into the fat of your thighs, and put his mouth on you like he wanted to do three nights ago — like he’s been wanting to do for ages.

But he doesn’t.

He just sits there, for what feels like forever, feeling like a total idiot.

But if you notice his hesitancy, you don’t show it. You just cup his warm cheeks in your hands and drag him up to you. Eddie isn’t enough of a dumbass to reject your affections.

He happily melts into your touch once more while the both of you maneuver like a bunch of lovesick teenagers around the bench — rather than just part momentarily to move more efficiently.

You round the table so you’re propped on the outside of it and Eddie’s no longer confined in the seat. If making out and multitasking was an olympic sport, you and Eddie would take the gold, no doubt.

It’s hopelessly high school, the way you make out like teenagers in some clearing, known only to Eddie’s most loyal customers and a golden orange sky.

It feels rebellious and raunchy, like you’ve just snuck out of Mr. Kaminsky’s lecture on chemical bonds to fuck under the bleachers. You kiss each other and it feels like you’re doing something so much more than yourselves.

Eddie touches you and you feel like a kid again. Everything’s just new experiences and stomachs full of butterflies — heartache is virtually nonexistent.

As far as you’re concerned, you’ve never been kissed before now.

You had no idea someone could hold so much love in their mouth and then kiss you with it. You’re so used to tongue and teeth and spit, not these slow and sweet pecks that feel like white clouds and summer rain.

Every now and then, Eddie will slot his kiss-bitten bottom lip between the plush of your swollen mouth. And he’ll just stay there, for several long moments, just to feel you. His ringed fingers rise to cradle your jaw to keep you against him. His nose knocks against the bridge of yours and his heavy breaths fan against your cupid’s bow.

You’re not sure why he does this, why he chooses to be so soft with you when he knows he could have you however he wants. You’re a kitten purring against his chest now, all pliable and willing for him, but he just likes how still and soft you are like this.

You let him kiss you the way he likes. You notice he takes acute infatuation with your bottom lip, biting softly and pulling at the skin until it’s a plump pink thing for him to suck into his mouth.

Every swipe of his tongue against yours is experimental and methodical. He finds what makes you exhale the heaviest moans and keeps doing that until you’re a puddle of a woman in his hands.

Oh, god. His hands.

It’s almost unfair how kind they are.

One keeps a steady, warm hold on your cheek. He can feel the way you start to soften as you lean more and more into his touch. The other has fallen to your thigh. His fingertips settle beneath the skirt you picked out specifically for him, but don’t move any further than that.

He just likes the feel of you, it seems, as he pets the softness of your skin. Occasionally, he’ll squeeze and marvel at the feeling of your thigh in his grasp and the way it makes you moan against him. The feeling of his silver rings against you makes chill bumps erupt on your skin.

You’re unsure if he knows the effect he has on you. Surely, he must, you figure — just days ago you were falling apart on his thigh and here you are now, willing to do it all over again.

He touches you like he knows. Like he takes pleasure in teasing you until you’re all but begging for more. And you’re not the least bit ashamed to do it, either. His touch, his hand down your panties, it isn’t a want — it’s a need.

You take Eddie’s wrist in your impatient hand, moving his palm further and further beneath your skirt until it’s pressed against the dampening cotton of your underwear. “Touch me, Eds,” you plead against his mouth, already breathless.

The boy tenses.

It’s a dream come true in the most literal sense, to feel you like this. You cling to his consciousness wherever he goes. You’ve spent so many nights plaguing his dreams that they’ve started to feel like nightmares. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, achingly hard and shuddering with cold sweats at the mere thought that he’d never get to have you the way he always dreamt of having you.

But it’s here now, lying beneath a heart-patterned cloth, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He’s not scared of you exactly, just of everything else.

His hand has never gotten anyone off but himself. He’s scared that he won’t make you feel good, or worse, that he’ll hurt you — he’s scared of himself. He’s terrified of losing you and you’re not even his.

It’s everything else that frightens him, but not you. Not when you’ve got your legs spread out before him and begging him to touch you. Not when you act like you want to be his.

Rather than deprive himself of the dream of you, Eddie decides to hook his pointer finger around the hem of your panties and slide them to the side.

With your pussy concealed by the pleated skirt you wear, he’s forced to work blindly while he touches you. He doesn’t mind, though. He takes the opportunity to feel you as it’s presented to him on a silver platter — the softness of your lips, the trimmed mound of hair above them, the slick coating your warmed skin.

You feel like silk and velvet. A material that’s far too expensive to touch. It makes him feel like he’s ruining you in some way.

Eddie’s open-mouthed, heavy breaths fan against your lips, all nicotine and mint gum. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of him — billowing across your jaw, pressed between your thighs, fingers treating your pussy like it’s a piece of delicate art.

“More,” you beg in a dream-coated sigh and spread yourself further for him. You’ve got one hand twisted in his leather jacket and the other flipping up the skirt of your dress, putting yourself on display for him — a piece of delicate art indeed.

You’re laid out before him, all at once, bare and glistening with need.

He’s seen plenty of vaginas in his time, usually photographed in a centerfold of a magazine or half-blurry through a botched VHS tape. But, for obvious reasons, you’re quite different.

You’re beautiful. The kind of beauty that men would’ve fallen on their swords for a time ago, the kind you’re lucky to see in a lifetime. That’s a bit what it feels like to look at you. He looks at you, and he sees a cotton candy sunset over mountains that touch the clouds or clear blue waters that go on for infinity.

Even like this, with your pussy on display for him — in a moment that’s supposed to be dirty — it’s a serene sort of beautiful. You need to be hung up in a museum, Eddie thinks to himself, in the Louvre or some shit — because a freak show from the middle of nowhere shouldn’t get to just have you like this.

He slots his middle finger between your lips, for once not overthinking when the urge to feel you takes over. You soak his appendage with ease, the slick only adding to your softness. He dips down to the dimple of your opening and rises to the peak of your swelling clit. He notices how it makes you twitch against him.

It feels like being you’re touched for the first time. Unfolded and cherished like some sort of expensive gift. You’re not used to this sort of tenderness. No one’s taken things this slow with you before. The way he’s making you feel good is for him just as much as it is for you. It’s unfamiliarly blissful to be handled with so much care.

Eddie watches with heavy and attentive eyes as your head tips back, like you’re starting to drown in your own pleasure and unbothered to keep yourself afloat. Your contented sighs and gentle tremors spur him forward. Those subtle praises almost equal the pleas that spill from your kissed mouth.

It makes him stop worrying about how to do all this without being totally obvious that he’s never done any of it before.

Everything he knows, he’s gotten from poorly produced porn. He doesn’t want to treat you like that. Like you’re some toy or plaything or a game to be won. He wants to take things slow and treat you right because it’s becoming more and more obvious to him that no one’s ever done that for you.

He’ll be your first, if you’ll be his.

He finds himself grateful for how responsive you are. He doesn’t need to know everything there is to know about sex or ask you for direction like an idiot because your pussy tells him what to do.

You tremble every time the pad of his finger swipes against your clit. He can feel you clench around nothing every time he dips towards your opening, as if in a silent plea. You tell him what you like without saying anything, but rather by drenching him in clear-coated honey.

His eyes have trouble flitting away from your pleasure-ridden face and down to where he coaxes you open. His finger glistens with your wetness. Beneath a setting sun, it looks like the sparkling rays over an ocean.

“Fuck,” he huffs, almost moaning. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Sorry…” you mutter meekly.

“What?” Eddie finds himself laughing softly, brows furrowing in confusion at your sudden embarrassment. That’s not the response he was expecting. “Why are you apologizing?”

Your skin burns hot at his question — no longer warmed from pleasure, but out of pure self-consciousness. It’s a conversation you’re used to now, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. With his finger still caught in your drenched pussy, you find it suddenly hard to meet his gaze and instead peer at him through your lashes.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Some guys think it’s gross… And messy—”

“Screw ‘em,” he blurts. His brown eyes twinkle with a newfound confidence, not one of the unabashed metalhead drug dealer, but one of a boy whose head over heels for a girl who doesn’t know what it means to be truly cared for. “It’s sexy,” he assures you.

A shy smile hints at the corners of your lips, innocently comforted by the promise and pleased by the compliment. “Really?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he tells you with a wholehearted nod. He means it more than anything he’s ever said. “Cross my goddamn heart.”

He leans in to press his lips against yours then, just because it feels right to, and you graciously accept his affection.

Eddie’s kisses come in innocent, loving pecks that are far too sweet in comparison to the way he’s making you feel. His finger traces the slick gathering at your opening, not having to force his way in because your pussy is more than wanting.

Both of you let out low moans when he’s finally inside of you. He doesn’t stop until the silver of his ring is pressed into the outside of your pussy.

You’re wrapped around him like velvet, warm and tight velvet that won’t let him go. He works hard to find a steady rhythm that you like and watches your every reaction intently.

You’ve got your lip dragged between your teeth, biting so hard that the fragile skin has started to blanch. Your eyes have fluttered slowly shut with a frown forming between your brows in a vague concentration as you focus on your own pleasure.

You seem to like it most when he’s crooking his finger rather than thrusting them inside of you. At least, that’s what he assumes, as he reaches a much softer spot within you that makes you jolt against him.

Your hand darts to his wrist, not to tug him away or pull him any closer, just to tether yourself to him.

“Can you— fuck—” you sputter when the palm of his hand bumps against your clit. “Can you add another finger? Please?”

You’re all whiny and breathy like you’re begging him, like there’s any chance he might deny you. Eddie’s not exactly in the business of saying no to you.

He slides his ring finger in with his middle. He marvels at how snugly they fit inside you and how the sticky nectar coats his skin. Your wetness has gathered around his silver rings, including the one with the skeleton hand you were complimenting earlier.

He doesn’t ever want to wash them again... Not that he ever did in the first place, but he makes a vow not to start now.

Eddie doesn’t know it, but this is the part where you usually get embarrassed. Sometimes you think you’re too sensitive, too responsive. You’ve found that there’s a threshold between being sexy and being needy that most guys tend to enjoy. But, for you, it's a finicky thing and you find yourself crossing it before you realize it.

You moan too loud, talk too much, whine too often. Nearly everyone you’ve ever been with has said so in some way or another — mostly in gentle approaches that are observations more than anything. But some boys aren’t so nice. They say that you get too turned on, the wetness coating your pussy is evidence of that, and they tell you that’s it’s gross.

But here, now, with Eddie, there’s little room for embarrassment.

He tells you that you’re pretty, swears up and down that the way your slick trickles down his fingers is sexy. And for the first time in your life, you find yourself actually believing someone who tells you that.

You let him pry you open with slow and meticulous touches. You can feel his bent fingers deep inside you, exploring the slick velvet of your walls, and rubbing at the spot that makes you keen. It’s got your back arching and thighs trembling by his waist, toes curling inside your sneakers while you keep a tight grip on his wrist.

“Rub my clit, Eds,” you plead breathlessly with your eyes shut tight. You’re about to come, you can feel the tightening coil in the pit of your belly, you just need a little bit more. “Please, Eddie— please, touch my clit—”

He’s hasty in his attempts to comply to your request. He barely lets the words leave your mouth before he presses the pad of his thumb just above the hood of your clit. And it doesn’t feel bad per se, it actually feels pretty damn good, it’s just not where you need him most.

It’s not the first time a guy’s had trouble finding your clit and you figure it won’t be the last, so you opt guide him with a helping hand. You maneuver his thumb until it’s pressed snuggly against your swollen button.

Eddie watches attentively as it makes you whine. You arch your back, pressing yourself further against him, as a moan rises from the depths of your chest and spills out of your mouth. You pull him somehow closer by the lapel of his jacket.

He takes every unspoken criticism to heart, along with every one of your wordless praises. His acute attention to what you like the most — how his thumb on your clit makes you clench around him, how you moan every time he rubs against that foreign spongy spot inside of you, and how he keeps on doing that because he can tell that you like it — sends you to an otherworldly place pleasure.

It’s different from guys that are just good from experience. Most do the same old shit that gets their girl off because they know they’ll get off in the end, too.

Eddie’s attentiveness is unfamiliar and spellbinding, all-consuming and unavoidable. A pleasure you’re both chasing and wanting to run away from out of fear it might be too much.

“Is this okay?” he whispers to you, breath fanning across your cheek.

You nod wordlessly in reply, with your lip caught between your teeth as you fight to bite back the cry building in your throat. It’s hard to when he’s so intently hitting every spot that makes you dizzy. The moan that inevitably spills from your mouth sounds wet, like you might really start to cry.

“Fuck,” you wail when your stomach tenses. His fingers, deep in the confines of your pussy and rubbing at your clit, are relentless. Pleasure’s biting at your ankles now and you have no way to stop it from swallowing you whole. “Feels so good, Eds—”

Your mouth hangs open as you drop your head down to watch him work you open.

His ringed fingers are coated with you, a sheen of honey that drips down his fingers and onto the silver wrapped around them. You’re hopelessly spread open for him, your pussy blooming like a flower at the promise of springtime for the boy, and then tightening around him to keep him trapped inside you.

It’s dirty, like a lewd piece of art that you can’t help but gawk out.

You fight to keep your heavy eyes open. You want to watch what he’s doing to you, but it’s a harder feat than you could’ve ever imagined. Pleasure rises so violently in you. You’re frightened you might burst entirely.

“I’m gonna come,” you whimper. It’s a warning to you but for him, it’s a promise. Your head tilts back again, face scrunched in a gentle sort of horror, like you’re scared at how good you feel. “Please don’t stop. Oh my god, Eds— Please don’t stop. Please, please, please—”

Eddie presses a gentle kiss to the buzzing skin of your cheek. He whispers his slurred promises there, too. “I’m not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not gonna stop until you want me to, ‘kay? Not until you’re pushing me away. Wanna make you come so many times you can’t take it—”

You clenched around him at his words. His fingers, trapped in your velvet, struggle to move within you as you tighten. The thumb on your clit works you through your orgasm.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan while your hand grips his wrist something fierce. Pleasure builds and builds and builds, striking you like lightning so suddenly, and reducing you to a shuddering mess on the picnic table in front of him.

“There you go,” Eddie whispers in your ear through his own trembling breaths. “Yeah, keep going for me— keep coming.”

You comply.

You don’t have much of a choice in the matter, anyway.

Your orgasm runs over you like a dozen fucking freight trains. You’re caught in your own riptide of pleasure, drowning in it with no way of getting out. With no choice but to endure it, you whine and writhe against him while his hand stays trapped between your trembling thighs. It forces you to feel all of it until you can’t take it anymore. Just like he promised.

The pleasure passes. The vice-like grip your pussy had on his fingers lessens. The high fades. But Eddie keeps going. You don’t feel much of it at first, still pleasantly numb and buzzing, then you realize how sensitive you are.

He crooks his fingers faster, rubbing against the swollen spot inside you, while the pad of his thumb presses steadily against your clit.

You’re sloppy and wet and still gushing from the fading orgasm. A second one wouldn’t be too hard to reach, not with Eddie touching you the way he is just now, but you’re scared that it might be too much.

The I can barely see, we need to lay down a towel, hold me while I float into subspace sort of too much.

“Mm-mm,” you hum softly in protest, twitching against him while you squeeze his wrist. You feel his fingers still within you.

A lazy smile plays on your lips as you tilt your face towards an orange sun, all fucked out and beautiful. Eddie could stare at you for ages and find something new to love.

“No more. I need… Need a break.”

You shudder when his fingers drag slowly out of you, trying hard not to jostle you too much. The pads of them have started to prune slightly. His ring and middle finger stick together with a mixture of your come, he separates them to watch your honey stretch and break apart.

He doesn’t know what to do with them. If he should wipe them on his jeans, or if that would be too barbaric of him. If he should stick them in his mouth to finally get a taste of you, or if you might think that’s too much.

You beat him to the punch, just like you always do, as you grab him by the wrist and bring his fingers to your mouth. Your eyes are still half-closed as you run your tongue over his skin, sucking at them like they were his cock — god, he wishes it were his cock.

He watches you with his own heavy gaze and an agape plump pink mouth, stunned at how you could do something so sexy without thinking. He has no idea how you manage to find ways to become more beautiful just when he thinks you’ve run out.

When you pull off of him, you do it all slow, like you’re teasing him. A soft, wet pop sounds when your lips leave his fingers. You smile like a fucking minx at him when you do.

“Was that— Was that good for you?” Eddie asks you with a nervous, doe-eyed chocolate button gaze. You’re unsure how he could make you feel so good and then worry that it still wasn’t enough.

“It was perfect, Eds,” you promise, then joke: “If you don’t believe me… believe the wet spot you made me leave on this fucking table.”

It makes both of you laugh like a pair of lovesick idiots.

Your hands rise to his jaws, fingers getting lost in his wild curls as you drag him to you again.

He keeps a pair of steady hands on your hips as you lick hungrily into his mouth, kissing him like you haven’t gotten tired of kissing him yet. And when you part, you leave one, two, three more pecks against his lips.

“So… This is what you came out here for, huh?” Eddie jokes with his signature stupid grin that you want to kiss all over again. “You didn’t even want the weed, you just wanted to use me. I’m wounded, sweetheart. Truly.”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Came out here to see you… This part was just a bonus.”

He happily accepts the kiss you give him, though he tenses against you when your hands travel from his jaw and to his chest, trickling down his torso like drops of rain until they rest on his belt.

“Something tells me you don’t mind either way,” you murmur against him when your palm settles against his hard cock trapped in his tight jeans.

He can hardly hear you, though, too trapped in his own head.

He can’t fuck you out here, not like this.

Maybe it’s too stereotypical for a virgin, but he wants his first time with you to be on a real bed and not some bench that threatens you with splinters. He wants to wine and dine you, and treat you right like he’s supposed to, not fuck you in the middle of nowhere like you’re a plaything he can do whatever he wants with.

But he doesn’t know how to tell you all this, so he parts from you with a wet click and shakes his head. “You don’t— You don’t have to—”

“I want to, Eds,” you assure him. “I promise.”

“I can’t… I mean, I guess, I’m not really…” he stammers out. He has no idea what to say to you, totally at a loss of how to turn you down. The way you clutch his covered dick, make his toes curl in his sneakers and his brain go all stupid, doesn’t exactly help either.

“What?” you tease with a light-hearted chuckle as you squeeze his rock-solid cock through the denim. “Not really hard?”

“No, it’s just…” he breathes out a laugh, or rather tries to.

He watches with wide and frightened eyes as you work at his belt buckle, struggling to unfasten it without his assistance. There’s a tug-of-war playing in his brain right now, because he wants you — he wants you so bad — but not like this.

Not when he hasn’t been completely honest with you.

It’s not fair to either of you.

Least of all when he has to turn you away without explaining why.

“I don’t think we— we really shouldn’t,” he tries to let you down easy, but to you it just sounds like he’s being coy, playing with you so you’ll beg to suck his cock. And you keep on going because you’re not totally above that. “No, really. I can’t— seriously, stop. We need to stop.”

The sudden firmness in his voice makes you still. Eddie’s never talked to you like that before. The stern, foreign words he spits at you tells you that he’s serious.

You jerk away from him like he’s burned you.

Embarrassment sets fire to your face.

“Sorry. I just— I thought that— I just wanted to return the favor,” you stammer out in an apology, frightened you’ve crossed a line with him.

No one’s ever turned down a blowjob from you before. Most times, that’s all guys want.

“No, yeah, I know,” Eddie nods understandingly when he sees how you’ve started to shrink into yourself. He steps back from you and tucks his belt back through the loop of his jeans “I just… I— I have more customers coming… And everything, so…”

“Right.”

“Yeah. And I don’t really, you know— I don’t want them to see…” he trails off with a shrug because that’s easier than saying, I don’t want them to see you sucking my dick. No one deserves to see you like that. That’s for my eyes only.

It would’ve been something short of a compliment had he said it out loud. You would’ve blushed with a shy, cheeky smile — “For your eyes only, huh?” you would’ve teased like you weren’t enlightened by the prospect of belonging to him and him only.

But because he doesn’t say that, you take on a whole other meaning to his words. I don’t want them to see me with the town whore, you can imagine him thinking. I might be the freak, but being associated with the slut would be a whole new low.

Maybe it’s irrational thinking, but it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to you. The fear has turned into a full-blown phobia.

You’ve made a boogeyman out of the clothes in your closet because you’re so frightened of him leaving you. And he doesn’t even fucking belong to you.

“Right,” you echo with a nod. “Okay.”

You find it suddenly hard to meet his gaze as you slip off the bench, sliding your panties back into place before pulling your skirt down again.

You’re so deep in your own head, wallowing in your woe, that when Eddie leans down to kiss you, you jerk away from on instinct. Like your body’s telling you not to play with fire, something that’s destined to burn you.

Because Eddie can’t ever belong to you. In some ways, you can’t really belong to him either, not when you’ve belonged to half of Hawkins.

But your wordless rejection sends a shock to his heart, a bolt of blue that pierces the beating organ. Your denial feels like heartbreak and you can see the anguish coat his features. He looks at you look a wounded puppy, glassy eyes going wide and thick brows frowning softly as he wonders what he did so wrong.

You kiss him anyway, if only to tell him that he didn’t do anything wrong — that it’s all you and your stupid brain that won’t let you enjoy a good thing while you’ve got it. It’s the briefest little peck, a brush of your lips against his, and it has his mouth tingling anyway.

“I’ll call you later?” he says to you, though it comes out as more of a question than he intended it to.

You shrug with pursed lips, then try your best to smile. “Whatever you want.”

Eddie watches you walk away and feels like an idiot to let you go.

He can tell that he’s upset you. You’ve had too many shitty experiences with guys not to be weary of another, and he knows that.

But he also knows he’s a total fucking coward — he’s always ran away from things, never towards something. Because that shit? — That shit was fucking scary, even for a so-called devil-worshipping freak.

But he finds himself hurrying towards you anyway.

His raggedy sneakers practically float on air as something short of muscle memory carries him towards you before you can get too far away.

And when he reaches you, he takes you by the arm, spins you and pulls you towards him. You barely get the chance to blink before he presses his mouth against yours.

He cradles you by the neck, resting large palms on either side of it, as he slots his lips against yours. And he does that thing where he just rests his kiss there, just feels you.

Eddie notices when you relax against him. You sigh against his cupid’s bow, your hands fall to his waist, and you melt totally into him. Your lips untangle slowly and tingle when he parts from you. You know you’ll be feeling him there all night… there and everywhere else.

“I’m gonna call you later,” he tells you, voice confident and unwavering.

He hopes you understand what he really means by them — whatever you want, you’d said when you saw how unsure he was. And now he’s telling you what he wants, not to make some stupid phone call, but that he wants you.

He can tell you get the hint when you smile at him. It looks like the pinky-orange sunset that bathes you in warm-colored hues.

You nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

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#virgin!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #virgin!eddie munson x reader #published by bug

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