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rip-quizilla · 5 months ago

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Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Thanksgiving, idiots in love, and unwelcome encounters in the parking lot.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Content Warning! This chapter contains sexual harassment (grabbing at clothes, derogatory name calling).

Thank you so much @hellfire--cult for the adorable Converse divider🥹

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Part 6

Thanksgiving Day, 1983

Eddie had a lot of things to worry about today, but right now he was most worried about whether or not the mac & cheese he’d slaved over all morning would taste like shit.

His sweaty hands clutched the dish towel-wrapped baking dish for dear life and mentally rolled through all of the ingredients he had read on that clipping from the Southern Living magazine he’d grabbed from the grocery store. It wasn’t as if he’d never cooked before- he could make a mean grilled cheese, and if something came in a box he hadn’t found a way to fuck it up yet. This time, however, he’d been a little out of his element.

Wayne had been excited to finally have a use for the casserole dish that had been sitting in a cabinet unused for so long that Eddie hadn’t even known it existed. Currently, he sat relaxed in the drivers’ seat of his pickup smiling smug as hell even though Eddie had assured him multiple times that he was not about to meet Eddie’s girlfriend… just a friend.

No matter how much Eddie tried to hammer that point into Wayne’s skull, however, he still smiled that stupid knowing grin every time your name came up in conversation, as if he knew something Eddie didn’t.

“You seem nervous.” Wayne commented, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead as he lazily turned the truck into your neighborhood.

Eddie glared at the tin foil topped dish in his lap. “Well, I’ve never made this recipe before, I keep picturing everyone taking a bite and immediately spitting it into their napkins.”

Wayne snorted, shaking his head softly and guiding the steering wheel with one hand. “Son, it’s pasta and cheese. Pretty hard to mess that up too bad.”

“Yeah, well…” Eddie harrumphed. “I’m sure I found a way somehow.”

Wayne smiled softly at his nephew’s smitten nerves, parking the pickup with a jerky stop at the curb of your house. “505, right? This is the one?”

“Yeah.”

Watching smugly as Eddie stared out the window at your house, Wayne waited about four seconds before he asked, “Are you gonna get out of the car today, or…?”

Cue the sound of the car door opening and Eddie grumbling a sassy muttered retort of I’m going old man, calm down, or something along those lines. Wayne pretended not to catch it.

You opened the door before Wayne and Eddie could even get to the door, and when Eddie’s eyes landed on you? His uncle could just tell. The smile that exploded on his nephew’s face was all it took.

“Oh here, let me take that-”

“No, no, it’s fine Ace, I got it.” Eddie reassured you, swooping the casserole dish away from your eager hands. He nodded in Wayne’s direction, directing you to do the same as he introduced the only family member of his that you’d heard of at all in your time as friends. “This is my Uncle Wayne.”

Your eyes shone, welcoming and warm, and Wayne understood in an instant how you’d had such an effect on Eddie in less than a year. Since he’d started spending time with you, Eddie Munson had become the kind of young man who did his homework without being asked. He’d even gotten a job at the mall of all places and gave a portion of his earnings to his uncle to help with living expenses.

None of the things Wayne had always loved about Eddie had gone away- the changes he’d seen in his nephew were all additions to a personality that he’d always known would take him far in life if he could just surround himself with those who brought out the best in him. People who saw that spark of Munson Magic and knew how to fan it.

Wayne could now confirm that you were one of those people.

He took your hand in his weathered and wrinkled one, pouring his approval of you into a firm and fatherly handshake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, young lady.” He gestured to Eddie with a conspiratorial nod. “Nice to put a face to the name, all he does is talk about you.”

“Brrrrr, it’s cold out here!” Eddie interrupted his uncle with a hand on your back to steer you away from Wayne and into the house. “Are you cold? You look cold, we don’t need to stand out here yapping when you’re cold.”

You smiled, following Eddie’s lead but tossing a look over your shoulder at Wayne like it was a shared secret.

Eddie had already met your parents, so greetings were warm and familiar once the three of you had reached the foyer. Wayne was introduced to both your mom and dad before your mom noticed Eddie had brought an offering for the table.

“Edward Munson, if I’m about to find out you’re not only a shoe designer but also a cook, I might just have to extend a standing invitation for all future holidays!”

“Shoe designer?” Wayne raised an eyebrow.

You chuckled, pointing your foot out for him to see your white (now turned a bit duller from wearing them every day) Chuck Taylors, completely covered in idle drawings from Eddie’s inability to sit still.

Wayne gawked at the artwork on your shoes; he’d always known that Eddie was talented, but this was the first time in a long time that Wayne had really stopped and looked at his nephew’s art. The detail, the use of space and composition- it was clear that Eddie knew not only how to draw, but he had an eye for how to make his art look like it belonged on its canvas. Even otherworldly monsters- sea creatures, dragons, demonic ghouls and ghostly images- looked at home on your well-loved high tops.

“You drew all this, Ed?”

Eddie smiled shyly, nudging your shoulder with his own. “Ah, they’re just doodles. This one over here figured out I pay better attention in class when I’m doing something with my hands. Helps me listen better.” Finally, his trademark grin reappeared, shyness replaced with snark. “Now I’m the one helping her in class.”

“All the times I’ve had to kick you so you don’t fall asleep in O’Donnell’s beg to differ.” You replied, rolling your eyes at him. This brought a good-natured ripple of laughter from everyone in the room. You all felt it- the ease with which familiarity settled in the air amongst you. Eddie felt it most of all, since he wasn’t quite accustomed to the particular familial feel of it.

He might have been, once. But it’s been a while.

A second later and your mom had whisked Eddie into the kitchen to set his dish down on a trivet and sent him into the living room with a steaming cup of wassail in one hand and a plate of appetizers in the other.

“There was enough food in there to feed an army,” Eddie said, bemused as he sat down next to you on the couch. “Does she know there are only five of us?”

You toed off your shoes and let them fall to the ground before crossing your legs up on the green ottoman, fuzzied soft with wear from years of love. You leaned closer to Eddie, eyes fixed on his plate of goodies as you began to pick pieces of fruit and cheese for yourself.

“Mom grew up with a big family,” you said, popping a juicy red grape into your mouth. “All the family recipes make enough for six at least. She could probably cut the recipes in half… but I think cooking all this food reminds her of home.” you smiled tenderly and shrugged. “We usually freeze the leftovers, but since you and your uncle are here I doubt we’ll even have to open a freezer bag. We’ll just send leftovers home with you!”

Eddie liked the sound of that.

An hour or so passed before you all sat down to share your meal, and Eddie was amazed how quickly his nerves had dissipated in that time. The two of you sat cozied up on the couch, munching on fruit, cheese and deviled eggs. Your dad had offered Wayne a beer, and the two of them sat watching football in front of the TV until your mom gave the all-call for dinner.

Everyone loaded up their plates, remarked on how good the food looked, thanked your mom for all of the hard work that went into today’s meal. This was quickly followed by a pointed thank you from your mother to Eddie for the “best mac ‘n cheese I’ve ever had” according to her. He was pretty sure she was just being nice, but he didn’t care. Her smile was still contagious- one of those ‘I love you no matter what’ mom smiles.

He’d forgotten about those.

He’d also forgotten what it was like to sit at a dining room table with more than three people. For a second, he’d been worried that you were all about to hold hands and pray, which wouldn’t have been ideal since all Eddie could remember about the dinner prayer was “bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts,” and he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

But there wasn’t a prayer. This wasn’t a test he’d forgotten to study for, just a meal where Mom and Dad and Uncle were all happy he was here, happy each other were here. That was new. And when your dad asked Eddie how school was going, for once he had nothing but good things to report. He’d gotten a 95 on his last English test. For the first time since sophomore year, he wasn’t failing a single class. And when your dad said “Glad to hear you’re doing well, son.” Eddie felt you squeeze his thigh lightly, just above his knee. He saw Wayne smiling proudly out of the corner of his eye.

Eddie could get used to this.

Conversation flowed easily in your family; no one felt the need to talk about the weather or ask arbitrary questions, and thankfully nobody decided that “we should go around the table and all say something we’re thankful for!”. There wasn’t a need for it. None of you needed to say it out loud to know you were all thankful for each other. For this.

By the time dessert came around, Eddie started to think he might be dreaming. Apparently, you were the one always in charge of dessert in your household. And while he’d grown very acquainted with your chocolate chip cookies, he hadn’t been adequately prepared for your pecan pie. Or your chocolate & peanut butter sheet cake. Or the chocolate pudding/cool whip/cookie crumb whatever-it-was that you’d spooned onto his dessert plate.

Could a person become delirious after consuming too much sugar? Eddie wasn’t sure if it was sugar that was causing him to start wondering what you’d look like making all these desserts in a kitchen that you both paid rent for, or if that was just him. It was probably the sugar.

As soon as Eddie was shoveling his last bite into his mouth, he was looking over to see if you had any left for him to mooch off of you. Your plate was empty- scraped clean, even- and then you were grabbing his empty plate and standing to take them into the kitchen. Eddie was about to pout when you looked at him knowingly and asked, “You want seconds? I’m getting seconds.”

It wasn’t the sugar. Eddie wanted to know what your signatures looked like together on a lease. And Eddie couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to finally admit to himself that he’d been nursing a crush on you since… when had it started? Eddie wasn’t sure. Somewhere between seventh grade history class and this very moment, he figured.

He looked up at you from his seat, mouth still stuffed with pie crust and cool whip, and smiled when he noticed how pretty you looked in that sweater you were wearing. It was red- you wore red a lot, he realized. Had you always worn red this often?

You giggled, poking his cheek. “You look like a chipmunk when you smile like that.”

His eyes followed you as you disappeared into the kitchen, and when Eddie caught a glimpse of the way Wayne was grinning at him? Well, his blush was a deeper shade of scarlet than your sweater.

The smile stayed, though. Even a punch to the jaw couldn’t knock that off Eddie’s face.

“I wanna take you out.”

It had taken Eddie what felt like ages to finally ask you. You were both at school, and he had been thinking about it and thinking about it and ramping himself for weeks to just grow a pair and ask you. The question had sounded smoother in his head, but now he thought he sounded vaguely frightening- sharper and more desperate than he’d hoped.

You blanched, eyes wide and mouth open to a little “O” shape that made Eddie’s heart flutter.

You were so cute. How had he ever ignored it?

You grinned a little, “Take me out like… assassination, take me out, or…?”

“No,” Eddie shook his head, laughing nervously, “I mean like, out. To a place. Or multiple places, if you want.” He was jumpy, his hands switching from his pockets to the strap of his backpack, to his hair, to the fraying edges of the friendship bracelet you’d tied around his wrist in July.

“So when you say take me out, you mean like… on a date?”

There it was. You’d said it, that word. Date. It was out in the open now.

You’d put the ball in Eddie’s court, and he should be happy about it. This was how it was supposed to be, right? He needed to be a man, take control, take the lead. But unfortunately, it had taken the majority of his bravery just to initiate this conversation.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Just like that, he passed the ball to you. Eddie cursed himself, waiting anxiously for your response, completely at your mercy.

You looked down at your shoes covered in his doodles, at the red plaid of your flannel that you wore because you’d bought it in hopes that if he started to associate you with his favorite color, he might like you more. Like you the way you liked him.

You couldn’t say the words either… couldn’t speak them into existence without fear of sounding too desperate, too eager. So instead, you nodded yes to your doodle covered shoes and smiled at the dragon he’d drawn on the left toe.

Eddie beamed- inwardly, of course. Couldn’t let you see exactly how happy he was that you felt the same as him- he needed to be calm, to be cool. Girls liked calm and cool.

“Then it’s a date, Sweet Tart.” He ached to sling a triumphant arm over your shoulder, but shoved his sweating hands into his pockets instead.

You snuck a glance at Eddie, your smile refusing to leave no matter how cool you were trying to appear. Be cool, don’t act too desperate, you chided yourself.

“It’s a date.” you repeated, beaming up at him. “When were you thinking?”

“Well,” Eddie shrugged as you both came to a stop by your locker. “Finals are next week and then we’re off for Christmas break, so I should be able to pencil you in for next Saturday night.” He leaned against the adjacent lockers, a smug smile shining down on you.

“Pencil me in, huh?” you giggled, replacing the notebooks and folders from your last class with your supplies for the next. “I’m flattered you could fit me into your busy schedule.”

“If there’s one thing my schedule always has room for, it’s you, Ace.”

Swooning. That was the only word for what those words made you do. You weren’t sure if Eddie was aware of the effect he had on you, but you were pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to help it if he was.

You were actually grateful for your final exams the following week- they gave you something to focus on other than your date with Eddie. Which meant that the moment you’d finished your last exam on Friday, that date was the only thing on your mind.

Your date with Eddie. The words alone were enough to make you smile to yourself. You’d been harboring this crush on him for the better part of this year, and now he asks you on a date? Was it possible that he had felt the same way all this time?

“You sure you’re cool if I don’t stay for the whole session tonight?” you’d asked Eddie as he’d prepared for Hellfire that afternoon, triple-checking that he wasn’t upset. It had become a routine for the two of you- your weekly presence as the one and only audience member for Hellfire’s in-game escapades.

“Cool as a cucumber, Ace.” Eddie had replied, “You took three exams today, for crying out loud. Go take a nap.”

When you finally conceded, he’d walked you from the gameplay table to the door, even going so far as to hold it open for you. Then, to your surprise, he’d taken your hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“Go rest up.” He’d muttered, low enough so only you could hear. Then he’d brushed his lips against the back of your fingers, and you’d just about melted on the spot. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 8, Sweet Tart.”

Your hand still tingled as you thought about the feel of his lips on your skin. Now, you wanted that feeling everywhere.

Your body was on autopilot as you made your way through the school parking lot; slushed, muddy snow sat piled up in corners and untouched patches at the edges of the lot from the on-again off-again winter precipitation over the December weeks. Your booted feet marched on toward your car, your mind entirely occupied by thoughts of tomorrow.

You were so distracted by that thought that you didn’t notice who was waiting for you, leaned up against the trunk of your car.

“Hey there, firecracker.”

You stopped short when your eyes snapped up to see Alan, along with a couple guys from the basketball team. Their faces were pure predatory malice as Alan eyed you up and down.

You paused a moment, your heart rate picking up a notch when you realized just how empty the parking lot was, given the hour that had passed since the final bell.

“I have to get home.” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the driver side door and making your best attempt to brush past the jock leaned up directly beside it, but to no avail.

“Not so fast, you little freak.” Alan stepped into your path, a cruel smile creasing his freckled face. “We just wanted to chat!”

“You,” your voice betrayed every ounce of disbelief that you felt looking up at the meathead blocking your path to your own vehicle. “-want to chat. With me?”

“I know, I know, you’re flattered-”

“I’m not.”

“Well you should be.” Alan peered down at you with frigid eyes. “Lord knows no guy will ever want to be seen with you now that the Freak’s got his claws in you.”

You felt a surge of indignant fire seep into your gaze. “Piss off, asshole.” You attempted to shove past him, but Alan took a step toward you, throwing off your balance. You had to grab the bumper of the car beside you to keep from falling over, clutching at the books in your arms to avoid dropping them onto the icy pavement below.

“I even heard he branded you.” Alan’s hot breath sent an unwelcome shiver over your skin. “Sherrie said she saw you in the locker room with… some kind of symbol… on your upper thigh, I believe?”

A biting breeze whooshed past you, but you didn’t feel it- your body had already gone ice cold.

“Sherrie’s lying.”

“You know, I don’t think she is.” Alan’s hands crept closer toward you, ghosting fingertips across the fabric of your skirt. “But if you want to prove it to us…”

You felt your stomach drop when one of Alan’s friends stepped behind you, boxing you in. They were like vultures- to them, you were already down for the count. Ready to be picked at and preyed upon.

Slapping Alan’s hand away, you attempted once again to squeeze past him and his goons, anxious for the safety of your driver’s seat and a locked door between you and them. Unfortunately, Alan had other plans.

“Come on,” he crooned, “girls don’t get tattoos unless they want people to see them. Go ahead and show us.”

“Go. Away.” you gritted through your teeth.

“The Freak’s seen it, hasn't he?” Alan pressed, his hand grasping the fabric of your skirt in his fist. “What, you’ll slut yourself out for him, but not us?”

“What the fuck are you dickheads doing?”

You’d never been so thankful to hear Robin’s voice in your life.

Alan sneered at the unfamiliar sophomore, subtly letting go of your skirt. “Who the hell are you?”

Robin marched up to the boy standing behind you, powering her glare with just enough ferocity that he actually moved aside. Grabbing your shoulders, Robin pulled you a good five feet from Alan and looked you square in the eye. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, pulling your car keys from the pocket of your backpack. You were anxious for something tangible to fidget with, something to ground you in where you stood, away from Alan and his wandering hands.

Once she was sure you were alright, Robin turned the full force of her fury on the boys that stood around your car.

“Mr. Dunne was right behind me on his way out here, so unless you want me to tell him that I just found you groping a female student, I suggest you scram.”

You saw Alan weighing his options for a moment, but eventually he stuck his hands in the pockets of his letter jacket and- thankfully- took his leave.

“Whatever, freaks.” he muttered, strolling away like a brat who had grown up believing himself to be invincible in a system that agreed with him.

It wasn’t until the two of you were both sitting in your car and safe behind locked doors that you finally let out the breath you’d evidently been holding. “Fuck him.” you huffed. “Fuck. Him.”

“Fuck him.” Robin agreed with an emphatic nod of her head. “Has he ever even talked to you before? That seemed… super random, honestly, I’ve never even seen him look in your direction.”

“I may have picked a fight with him after I heard him call Eddie and I freaks in class not too long ago.” you winced, remembering how brazen you’d been that day… you’d been so bold, so fearless, but that girl was nowhere to be seen today. Instead, you’d frozen like a cornered fox surrounded by hounds. It made you feel so small, you thought you might be sick. You hated feeling this way.

“Apparently,” you continued, “his girlfriend saw my tattoo in the locker room. He said he wanted to see it for himself.”

Robin had been the first person- and only person- you’d shown your little bat to after Halloween. She’d been pretty impressed… after she’d stopped worrying about it getting infected, of course.

“First- ew. Gross.” Robin grimaced. “Second- are you telling me you just change in the locker room with that thing out in the open?”

“I’m usually super careful about keeping it hidden!” you argued, “But it is a possibility that I might have been a little rushed to get to my next class at some point… I guess I wasn’t careful enough.”

A short silence settled while you mentally kicked yourself. I should have known this would happen. How could I be so careless?

“Well,” Robin started, suddenly chipper. You knew this tone; she was about to try and cheer you up. Good luck, Rob.

“You’re going to drive me to your house and then we’re baking cookies and watching whatever movie you want.”

While you were still far from what you would consider over what just happened, your interest was definitely piqued. “Whatever movie I want?” you countered.

Robin sighed. “I know what you’re about to ask, and yes, we can watch The Dark Crystal.”

The beginnings of a smile stretched across your face. “And you won’t call any of the puppets creepy at any point?”

“Let’s not go that far.” she deadpanned. “I will watch it, I will eat cookies, and I will not suggest that we turn it off before the movie is over. This is my final offer.”

For Robin, that was a pretty good deal. Your beginnings of a grin had graduated to a full-on smile as you took her hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. “You’re a good friend.”

She returned your smile, and squeezed your hand back before letting go to buckle her seatbelt. “I’m a great friend. Now start driving, I’m hungry and we’re stopping for french fries.”

Part 7

Taglist: @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92, @melodymishahiddlestan , @sadlittlesquish, @clarafornerlyknownasclaire-blog , @stylesxmunson , @fishwithtitz , @elvendria , @carrotbunnies21 , @the-unforgivenn , @munson-blurbs, @writinginthetwilight, @ghost-proofbaby , @hellfire--cult

I added a few people to the taglist who’ve shown an interest in the series or have been my sounding boards during the writing process for this story. Hope y’all don’t mind!😊❤️

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #when harry met sally #friends to enemies to lovers

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sluttynfemme · 3 months ago

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The Rise and Fall of a Lesbian Situationship

chapter two- knee deep in the passenger seat

contains: butch4femme, jealousy, praise kink, derogatory praise, fingering, strap-on, intox, slight overstim, strap sucking, car sex

Midterms chew you up and spit you out. You’re exhausted, physically and mentally, and you’ve never been so fucking needy in your life.

You’ve been neglecting yourself lately. It’s been two weeks since you last saw Miron. The first time you canceled on her, you’d lost track of time at the library. When she texted you at 10:30pm, asking if you wanted chicken or tofu in your noodles, you realized with regret there was no possible way you could meet her. You needed to work through at least half of your 16-page research paper before you could leave and you had just crested page five.

YOU: fuck i’m sorry, i lost track of time and i’m stuck at the library… order without me, i don’t think i’ll be leaving until the library closes :\

MIRON: no worries, i’ll just have them deliver to u. i know u haven’t eaten today, lol

You could have tried to argue about the takeout—you hate handouts—but you’re just too focused and too tired to fight. And she was right. You hadn’t eaten.

The second time you canceled, which was yesterday, you’d had the wherewithal to text them early in the day. You told them the truth, which was that your Advanced Calc II exam was in the morning and you were neurotic and anxious and needed the time to study. Miron had replied with something nice and bland and that was that.

But your dry spell has expanded past just Miron. In the last few weeks, you’ve hardly touched yourself either. When you have, it’s been brief and efficient, something to help you go to sleep at night after you’ve hit your dab pen a few times. You might take the time to make yourself wet, or you may just spit on your fingers and touch yourself roughly, rubbing your clit furiously. You think of her, though, oh of course you think of her, and it’s the thought of her head between your legs that gets you off both times.

(Shit. You’ve been thinking about that more lately—Miron Sikkari’s dark head of curls between your thighs, her mouth sucking in your clit, her tongue in your hole.

Maybe the distance has made your pussy fonder but the anxiety you normally have, the one that worries you’ll take too long, that you won’t taste good, just isn’t there.

You want it. God, you fucking want it.)

So, you haven’t seen Miron in weeks and you’ve been doing a piss-poor job of taking care of your own needs, sexual or otherwise.

As such, your diet has consisted mostly of iced coffees, McChickens and microwaveable mac and cheese. At night time, even if you were trying to sleep, the lesbian couple sharing the room above yours has been fighting all week. One of them had cheated on the other at a party last weekend and you and the entire building have been privy to the details of that infidelity all week.

You’re sober and horny and exhausted.

It’ll be three more days before you know whether or not you passed your Advanced Calc II exam. You spent all week studying, working through practice problems and old homework, and none of it felt like enough when you sat down to take it earlier that morning.

You remember the GPA requirement for your full-ride scholarship, the one you are barely meeting, and your gut twists with anxiety.

You’ve been trying so hard but life has you pulled in a million directions—you’re taking 6 three credit-hour courses and a 1 hour lab. On weekdays, when you aren’t in class, you’re at work-study on campus or studying in your dorm; on weekends, you work at the upscale steakhouse in town and sometimes you write for the university’s paper for extra cash. You have, on occasion, been known to donate plasma on Mondays.

Except for Thursday nights, you never make time for yourself. There are always better things to do with your time than self-care. Like the library.

You don’t go out. Ever.

But this time, you’re breaking your ‘no parties, no distractions’ rule. Your manager, Greg, gave you the weekend off after he found you sobbing in the cooler two hours ago. All you want to do is get drunk, maybe a little crossed, and forget that you are failing spectacularly in all areas of your life.

You call Tara, your best friend, from your car, hiccuping into the speaker as you drive home. She comforts you and promises to be your driver and babysitter while you get properly trashed. You deserve a break, babe. Tara is more than willing to give up alcohol for the evening if it means getting you to come along with her anywhere on a Friday night.

There’s a party going on at some house outside city limits and Tara promises it’s just the place to be. You’re not the only one with a plan to blow off steam after midterms.

The two of you currently meander down a gravel road in Tara’s newer-model sedan, eyes searching for a light in the dark.

You fiddle with your dab pen in your lap while a queer pop song plays through the stereo. Tara complains that the potholes are going to ruin her shocks—or maybe it’s the struts. You’re not really paying attention, truth be told.

Instead, you’re thinking about the string of text messages you exchanged with Miron only an hour before. While you’d waited on Tara to pick you up, you’d time to think. You were needy and you missed Miron’s attention.

YOU: are you going to party the basketball team is doing?

MIRON: wasnt planning on it, noor n ryan want to shoot pool downtown

YOU: oh ok

MIRON: why

YOU: tara is taking me, figured i’d say hi if you were gonna be there

MIRON: ur going out?

YOU: yeah, tara is taking me

Your phone has been painfully quiet since then and you wonder if you’ve made her mad. Things have always been good between the two of you but her lack of response makes you nervous.

Tara swears and you tune in. She’s complaining about her ex now, graciously reminded by the break-up ballad cued on her Spotify. “They’re a liar, Hamali. Two months we’ve been doing this online thing. Two months. And to find out they’ve had a girlfriend this whole time?”

You take a long hit of your pen and shrug, resting your head. The smoke tickles when you blow it out your nose. “That’s the problem with meeting people online. It’s easy to hide shit and get away with it. You never know if you’re getting the entirety of a person, y’know? It’s equally as easy to ghost them and avoid accountability, so people will say and do whatever they want.”

“Like she knew about me but I didn’t know about her, which is so crazy to me. They’d told her we were just friends, or some bullshit.“

You nod your head in agreement, the buzz making you feel bold. “So, fuck that guy and their girlfriend. You know what you should do? Date Noor. Noor is literally begging for a chance to take you out. You already know the sex is good, y’all fucked last summer, and Noor is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You’re not gonna run the risk of being lied to and ghosted. Besides, you know where Noor lives so even if she did do something horrible—but she won’t because it’s Noor—you can just show up at her house and confront her there.”

You stare at Tara pointedly and she replies with some new detail she’s just recalled. You do the girl thing, hashing out the details of this massive relationship failure, passing the time as you drive.

You’ve already been traveling for twenty minutes so it only takes a few more for a beautiful country house to appear in the distance. Light pours from its windows, a colorful beacon in the dark. People mill around outside and their breath cloud in front of them in white puffs.

Tara parks in a grass field amidst an organized grid of other vehicles. There are a fair amount of people out tonight, you note. Your boots crunch over frost when you step out of the car and you shiver. The skinny jeans you fished from your closet and black corset top don’t do much to shield you from the wind.

Your best friend grabs your hand and you weave through the cars, making your way with the others toward the house. A neat stone path lined with solar lamps and small shrubs leads you to the front porch. The house is even prettier up close, all beautiful wood paneling and detailed carpentry, so pretty that you’re almost green with envy. Stylish but comfortable furniture and twinkling lights make the porch inviting; the front door feels like a portal to a world far away.

When you make the plunge inside, where you are so much warmer, you think that you’re not surprised this is the kind of party Tara brings you to. She’s never been one for the rotten underbelly of a house on fraternity row. But still, you feel entirely out of your depth. The house isn’t extravagant but everything you lay your eyes on flashes a triple-digit price tag at you like a neon sign. You feel poor and small and you would be overwhelmed if it weren’t for your friend.

People say Hi! and Omigod how are you? to Tara and wave and smile at you as you are absorbed deeper into the house. They… do not know who you are and you can’t blame them, really; you’ve been here a semester and a half and this is your second night out. You feel dumb and awkward and your social anxiety is screaming like a hoard of cicadas in summertime.

You need to adhere to your original plan: get shitfaced and ditch the anxiety. Ditch all of it.

In the kitchen, Tara opens the fridge and inspects its contents. Her mini skirt hugs her waist and hips, accentuating the softness estrogen has brought to her figure, and the glitter on her collarbone and shoulders sparkle in the light.

Hard liquor is already on the counter but space has been made inside the refrigerator-sized monstrosity for wine coolers, soda, and bottled water. Tara retrieves a bottle of water and a Coke and you watch, taking a long drag on your pen, as she deftly whips up a Jack and Coke for you. She’s heavy handed with the pour, which you appreciate.

You’re stumbling behind Tara, choking on the whiskey behind your hand, as she pulls you through the house. She’s always been a speed-walker lesbian you can never keep up with.

“What are we looking for?” you ask.

She grins over her shoulder. “You’ll see!” she sings in reply.

Tara brings you to a room on the second floor, large and spacious with a green-felt pool table in the center. Beer pong is next to a set of white French balcony doors; an L-shaped couch is tucked in the back corner where a group of people are huddled around a coffee table. As you approach, you see colored baggies, gummy squares, and pre-rolled joints neatly displayed. The cloying scent of marijuana assaults your senses and you could kiss Tara; sobriety has sucked and you think a blunt with your drink would fix you permanently.

The dealer is an obvious dyke with cropped brown hair and a T-shirt that says, Who ate all the pussy? Tara knows your tastes so you stand back, sipping your drink quietly, while she buys you two pre-rolled joints. You watch with amusement as Tara immediately snags the dealer’s attention and begins to flirt with him, playing with the ends of her dark ass-long hair. Tara walks away with a free edible square several minutes later.

No one gives a fuck if you light up down here so you find a spot near beer pong and watch as the women’s basketball team begin a bracket amongst themselves and divvy into teams.

Once settled, you light your joint and sip your drink and enjoy the haze that settles over you. Intoxication is sweet bliss. You find yourself laughing more than expected. Several of the players are good friends with Tara and she tells you about the intricacies of their social circle—who’s been seeing who, who’s been fighting and who’s been fucking. It’s all harmless gossip and you enjoy it immensely. You’ll admit, it’s a nice change of pace from all of the books and homework assignments.

It’s not long before you’ve both finished your drinks and you’ve smoked about half of your first pre-roll. Tara leaves you on your stool with instructions not to wander far. This makes you giggle. Where could you possibly go?

You feel her presence before you see her. Miron has a way with people that you find eerie and the room shifts to center its axis around her.

She comes up behind you and a hand brushes over the small of your back. You swallow. You know if you turn your head, she’ll be right there, waiting, watching; she’s close enough now that you can smell the musk of her cologne.

When you turn, Miron is grinning down at you. Her hair is a mess and a single curl lays over her forehead.

“Hi,” she says. You want to melt into a puddle where you sit. You hate how little it takes to grab your attention. Heat rises to your already hot cheeks.

“You’re here.”

“I am,” she says and arches an eyebrow. The scrutiny makes you squirm. “What, like I’d miss a chance to see you out in public? Did the restaurant burn down?”

You blink. Stammer. “I—No, Greg gave me the night off and Tara’s been wanting me to come out for ages.”

Miron’s grin is feral and canine. She’s teasing you and the realization frustrates you. You shut your mouth, flustered. She can talk, if she’s feeling so damn cheeky.

“Don’t pout. I just wanted to come make myself known.

“Well. Hello. And good-bye,” you say, even though you don’t really want her to leave. You cross your arms, feeling defensive and panicked. You didn’t expect to see her, you have nothing prepared. You want her to like you. But it’s Miron.

The hand at the small of your back disappears and you immediately wish she would put it back. Being around Miron is always like this. You want her close but the proximity makes you nervous. All you know how to do is bite.

Miron searches your face, brow furrowing for just a moment. You almost mistake it for confusion. The expression is gone as quickly as it comes, though, and Miron smiles at you once more.

“Well, alright then. Have a good time, sweetheart. Don’t get into any trouble.”

She brushes your chin with her thumb and forefinger, flashes a cheeky smile, and disappears back into the house. The world continues spinning like normal. Blood pulses in your ears and chest to the thumping baseline powering through the media room.

Miron is gone but now that you know they’re here, they’re all you can think about. They had lied about playing pool with Noor, then. Why? You bite your cheek, worry your bottom lip between your teeth—a terrible habit, really.

You cross your arms and slink to a corner where you find a bar stool to perch upon. You’d been lurking on the corners of this room, in the doorway, but your new vantage lets you keep an eye on the comings and goings. The basketball game featured on the wall-size flatscreen and the game of beer pong is now largely ignored so that you can watch for Tara—just Tara, no one else.

A few moments later, the dark-haired beauty returns to you with refills in hand. She hands you your cup and you swirl the contents around. Another Jack and Coke with an emphasis on the soda this time. You don’t blame her for slowing your light weight self down; you just grab the second half of your joint and light up.

“What’s up your ass?”

You grumble into your cup. The captain of the basketball team roars with victory, startling you. It seems she and her partner have won. Their prize is an edible, donated by the dealer. How kind of him.

Tara pouts. “Come on. Don’t play hard to get.”

“Miron’s here. Noor and Ryan probably are too.”

Tara immediately perks up. “Really? Where?”

You roll your eyes and snicker. “You’re so fucking easy. My god.”

“You have absolutely no room to talk. Where did Miron go? She didn’t leave, did she?”

“No, I told her to… I don’t know. She wandered off.”

“Then let’s go look for them, yeah? Come on, Hamali. They are our friends.”

Ryan, maybe. But you and Miron are fucking consistently and the sexual tension between Noor and Tara has been suffocating the last few months.

You’re happy to follow Tara around again. Your head is light and fuzzy and it’s nice not having to think about where you are walking or how you’ll get there. The music in the house beats and pulses around you, overwhelming your senses. Too much of this and you’ll be crying in a dark bathroom, overstimulated and overwhelmed. You’re safe for now though and content to trail behind Tara.

You find two of them in one of the many rooms downstairs. Ryan is fiddling with a deck of playing cards, dividing them up and shuffling them around, while Noor takes buy-ins.

“Are you playing poker?”

Noor is a bit on the shorter side and broad through the shoulders, with beautiful brown skin and hazel eyes that Tara likes to fawn over. She looks up at you and flashes a devilish smile. “Strip poker. Wanna buy in?”

You roll your eyes, barely suppressing a giggle. “God, no. But Tara might.”

Tara splutters. Her tan cheeks turn pink and you watch as a magnetic pull lures the both of them in. Noor says something charming, a bit cheeky, and you quickly tune them out. Not really a conversation meant for you.

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself looking for the dark head of curls that should tower over the rest of your group. It’s rare to see Noor and Ryan without Miron, especially with something as enticing as strip poker on the line.

“Where’s Miron?” you ask, leaning forward on your toes.

“Got distracted.” Ryan’s response is tight-lipped and your gut immediately drops. That can only mean one thing.

A deeply masochistic part of you wants to know who she is. You’ve always known this to be what it is: friends with benefits, casual, no-strings-attached. That doesn’t stop the deep sting when you’re reminded that Miron Sikkari is not yours.

Is she prettier than you? Does she give Miron something you don’t? No, it’s none of those things. You know that. Miron just doesn’t date.

No one stops you when you quietly slip away. It’s not hard for you to slip through the hallways unseen. All you have to do is search for her magnetic attraction in the house. People gravitate towards her. They can’t help it.

When you find Miron, it’s on the back patio outside. She’s sprawled out in a chair, her legs spread wide. In her free hand, she holds a smoldering blunt. None of that matters though. Because the girl sitting in her lap is Julia.

Julia. Julia. Julia.

Your brain goes white.

Both of her perfectly gorgeous legs are swung over Miron’s thighs, the slit in her skirt exposing an expanse of smooth tan skin. Only one of her perfectly manicured hands rests at the nape of Miron’s neck, playing with the short curls just above her fade; the other rests on Miron’s chest, fingers adorned with gold and stone rings.

Miron clearly enjoys the attention. You watch as she leans into Julia’s hand, as her eyes flutter when Julia tugs on the ends of her curls.

It’s hard to explain why you feel so strongly about the other woman. This isn’t who you are. You’re not the type to go blind with jealousy, but when you look at Julia and her perfect long red hair and her beautiful tits and amazing ass… well, maybe it’s hard not to compare. Next to her, you feel like a silly girl playing pretend.

You freeze in the frame of the sliding doors. There’s a blunt rotation going on and Miron has just passed to the right. You debate being bold, putting yourself right in the middle, and seeing if maybe you can overthrow Julia’s position in her lap. You entertain a fantasy where you coolly integrate yourself and Miron is awed

Ultimately, the idea of losing outweighs the rewards of winning and you begin to slink back into the house. All you want to do is return to Tara and drink more. You have a whole joint left, too, stored in your pocket for safe keeping.

You don’t retreat successfully. Miron, who has been lulled into a state of relaxation by Julia’s ministrations, spots you hiding behind the patio door. Her eyes, hooded with her high, widen with recognition as you backpedal and she opens and closes her mouth. You’re not quite sure what you’d call the look on her face but it makes you ache.

In the kitchen, Ryan, Noor, Tara and a few faces you don’t recognize have started a game. Noor is dealer and Ryan is already missing their shirt.

You’re not going to cry. That’s not what that feeling behind your eyes is. You just… feel a little sick. God, you could just turn fucking green. Envy is not your color.

Ryan notices you return first. Their smile is wide and inviting and they wave you over.

You try to smile back but you have a terrible poker face, game or otherwise. If they notice how forced it is, they don't say anything.

A few moments after you’ve settled down and lit up your second joint, Miron’s frame fills the doorway.

“Hey,” Miron says, a small salute at the forehead. Her grin is lopsided and she’s just so terribly handsome. You avoid looking at her, instead becoming increasingly occupied by the stickers on your phone case.

Ryan makes a noise. “What? Back so soon?” Their voice holds an edge.

There’s a pause and then you hear Miron say, “And pass up the chance to see you naked? Never.”

“You want me to deal you in?” Noor asks.

“Actually—‘Mali, could I borrow you for a second?”

Your eyes immediately snap up to Miron. Those fucking eyes of hers are burning into you, red and hooded from the smoking. Your stomach flips.

Wordlessly, you stub your joint out, place it in your case, and separate from Ryan’s side. You wrap your arms around your waist and follow Miron down the hall. Music bounces off the walls around you, echoing in your head. The walls are narrow enough that when she stops, leans her back against the wall, and slides down just a little, her legs eat up the entire distance.

You stand opposite to her, fidgety and restless in close quarters. Her head cocks to the side.

“What’s up?” you ask lamely.

Miron takes a second to study your face. “You just came outside and looked like you had something to say. What was it?”

Your throat feels dry. It’s so damn hard to think around Miron and you hate it. Her intensity always manages to throw you off course completely. You’re not used to being so noticed.

“I just came to find you because we were starting strip poker; turned around because you were busy.”

Miron makes a face that scrunches up her nose. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. And you were clearly enjoying yourself, so far be it from me to interrupt you.”

“Hamali, what are—“ Their eyes narrow infinitesimally, cat eyes in the dark. “Is this about Julia? Is she why you’re upset with me?”

“I’m not upset, Miron.”

“Bullshit. You’ve said fuck all to me tonight. I want to know why you came out there—the real reason. And I want to know why you turned around.”

You stand there gaping like a fish. Truthfully, you don’t have an answer for either question. Why did you go looking for Miron? You don’t know. So instead you say:

“I just don’t understand why Julia of all people. No one likes her, except you.”

For once, Miron actually looks speechless. They blink a few times before saying, “What?”

Music and blood pulse in your ears. You’re pissed and you’ve been drinking. You ought to give Miron a piece of your mind. You do.

“Julia is just using you, you know that, right? She—well, she treats you like a piece of meat and it’s disgusting frankly. I hate her.” You feel petulant but you keep going. Miron doesn’t date but this isn’t about that; this isn’t about the fact that you desperately want her all to yourself. “She’s twenty-one but she acts like she’s thirteen, like she’s a goddamn child. You’re not a toy, Miron. Why, in the ever loving fuck, do you let her use you like one?”

“She was just sitting in my lap—“

“I haven’t forgotten what she said to you last month. You were so pissed too because she’s always resented the fact that you’re stone. What was it? ‘I could never date you but you’re too perfect of a lay to pass over.’ And now here she is in your lap, and I fucking hate her.”

Miron starts and stops a few times, stumbling over her words in a way that you’d never seen her do. Finally, they get out, “What does it matter, anyway?”

“What does it matter? You’re the one who fucking asked me! She’s a bitch! She’s a cunt!” You’re seething now, leaning in towards Miron as you make your point. You lift your chin indignantly. “I came out there because I wanted to see you. I didn’t know what to say when I first saw you. I didn’t expect to see you and I didn’t have time to think or get my thoughts straight, so I went looking for you later. And it’s Julia, who you’ve done nothing but complain about for weeks now, sitting in your lap. It’s Julia, playing with your hair, shotgunning smoke into your mouth.”

“What am I supposed to do, Hamali, follow you around like a lost puppy? I went outside to smoke and she was there. It’s not like I sought her out! Besides, what’s it to you if she uses me? Why do you care?” She takes a step toward you, inviting herself into your personal space like she always does. A wave of her cologne washes over you, something crisp and earthy. She towers over you and despite your anger, you can’t ignore the way your gut tightens. You kinda want to kiss her.

“Because it’s wrong and shitty of her.”

“Sure, but I’m a big kid. I know what I’m getting into with Julia. I don’t think that’s the entire truth, ‘Mali.”

“I—“

“Be honest with me: are you jealous?”

Another baby step. They’re standing close enough that if you took a deep breath your chest would brush them. She leans down, lips close to the shell of your ear and you fight a shiver.

“You don’t wish that was you sitting in my lap?”

“N-no, that’s not it, I told you, I—“

“Oh, I know what you said.” You feel her fingertips brush the dip of your waist before they curl around it entirely. You try your hardest to ignore just how far her fingers can reach around you. “I don’t think that’s the truth, though. I think the truth is that you are pent up and stressed and are using Julia as an excuse to rile me up. Come on, princess.” You feel her fingers slip under the hem of your shirt just barely. “You should know by now that you don’t have to play games with me.”

Your hand comes up to grip their forearm, your nails leaving crescent moon marks on their skin. Already you feel yourself growing wet. Your head swims; you sway just a bit on your feet. Fuck, she’s so right. You are pent up and stressed and her bare fingers on your bare skin feels so nice.

“Princess,” she says, teeth in your throat. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong? C’mon. Why don’t we go somewhere more private to talk about this?”

You know that wherever she takes you “talking” is not what she has planned. “Where?” you ask, voice a little more breathless than you’d like.

“Jeep,” they mumble into your neck.

You nod. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. You know you can be so much better than Julia. You know Miron can make the itch under your skin go away. Fuck, you’re just burning, wanting, waiting.

Miron takes your hand and leads you back down the hall. As you pass the poker game going on in the spare room, you see that Tara is missing her shirt and Ryan is out their socks and pants; a few others have joined and they’re all in various states of undress.

The journey back through the house is nothing like the one inside. Your world is full of bright lights and colors and everything blurs together as you blindly follow Miron outside. Her hand is so warm in yours as you slam the front door behind you and step into the cold.

The porch is empty and no one is around, so Miron takes the time to press you against the door and kiss you. It’s so sudden. One moment, you’re shivering as the cold turns your cheeks pink and your breath comes out in a fog. Next, Miron has you flush against them, lips moving against yours in a persistent, persuasive manner. Her leg finds its way between yours and with your difference in height, it’s easy to apply pressure to your core.

You keen into her mouth at the slightest touch and she groans. Her tongue in your mouth next, searching and exploring. She hasn’t tasted you in weeks and she kisses you like she’s trying to make up for lost time.

Her hand grips your jaw, thumb pressed in the delicate space between your ear and mandible. She tastes like smoke and mint, the faintest hint of alcohol.

Miron pulls away and leaves you wanting more. They take your hand, pulling you back through the pretty stone path and to the cars parked in the neighboring field.

You pass Tara’s sedan and then you see Miron’s Jeep on the other side of a massive truck.

You’ve heard of the Jeep. Of course you’ve heard of Miron’s fucking Jeep. You’re eighty-percent sure she keeps a collection of underwear in her center console, keepsakes from every fuck she’s ever had in there.

Miron’s hands are at your hips again, insistent as they hold you tight against them.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that? God, you have no idea how how fucking bored I’ve been.”

You sigh as Miron hones in on your neck. Her teeth and tongue assault you, turning you into a useless mess in her arms. She keeps talking to you, flips the button on your jeans.

“Feel me, princess. Go on. Feel how hard you make me.”

Miron takes your hand and guides it to her groin. Beneath the fabric of her Dickies, you feel something hard and long. Your breath catches in your throat and your pussy—goddamnit, you just throb.

“Miron,” you groan.

They laugh in your ear. Make no mistake—they’re mocking you. You know it. They’ve always given you shit for how easy it is to get you to take strap. It’s one of your preferred methods of fucking, honestly. You love how fucking wild it makes this stone butch of yours, how feral Miron grows when it’s just you, her dick, and filthy pillow talk.

Miron pulls the latch on the back door to the Jeep. It swings open, an invitation you’re eager to accept. “Get inside.”

You do and without being told you begin to remove your shoes and socks. The back seats are laid down a quilt thrown down hastily; a bit sourly, you realize Miron was prepared to get laid no matter who it was.

Miron climbs in behind you. The awkward manner in which she does so is almost enough to make you laugh.

She pins you with a single look. Pulling the door shut behind her, she says, “Take your pants off, princess. I won’t be able to do much with this,” they punctuate this by grabbing their cock, “if you’re still wrapped up so pretty.”

You shimmy out of the jeans, slipping your underwear off, and it’s a blur from there. All of this movement has you feeling almost sloppily drunk. The two of you somehow readjust, Miron settling below you as you crawl on top. The cool smear of lube on your thigh briefly grounds you and then you're being stretched and filled. You cry out and Miron hushes you, rubbing circles on your hips.

It hurts. The pain isn’t unbearable but truthfully the two of you hadn’t spent much time on foreplay before Miron put their cock in you. You can’t fault her; the lube helps. The stretch and pain you feel is a nice reminder as you whine and whimper in Miron’s lap.

You don’t fuck right away. Miron, you realize, has been staring at you rather intensely while you have your eyes screwed shut. Her hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and her fingers make her way to your head of curls.

She brushes a piece back, tucking it behind your ear. “You still have that joint on you, princess?”

You nod, trying and failing to squeeze your thighs together.

“Take it out. Light it. You deserve to relax.”

Getting crossed in the back of Miron’s car seems like an excellent idea, so you do as your told.

You smoke, and Miron quietly demands that you feed her smoke. Her lips meet yours more than a few times as you breathe each hit into her lungs. You feel spacey and sluggish and you realize absently that Miron’s hips have begun rocking up into you.

“Miron,” you whisper.

“Hmm?” she hums, smiling at you in her haze.

Mustering your strength you push her down, her back coming to rest on some pillows and blankets she’s used to prop herself up.

“I think I’m done waiting.”

Your hands rest on her abdomen, an anchor to steady yourself as you breathe in and out and adjust to her cock. You grit your teeth, hang your head. It hurts still,, but you have a point to prove and pain isn't something you’ve ever shied from.

Miron swears. “Fuck.”

Nails dig into your hips and a slight twitch in her hips nearly makes you keen.

“Can I—?” she starts and you cut her off by shifting one hand to her shoulder and rolling your hips.

This time, you don’t stop yourself from making the sounds you want to. Miron watches you, pupils blown, as you hold her down and experiment.

You’ve never had sex in a car before and god is it uncomfortable but you just don’t fucking care. You feel full and her hands are on you; the ache starting in your knees is nothing.

Miron rocks into you and that makes you gasp and sigh. Your grip on her shoulder loosens and she takes full advantage of that. Before you can push her down and play at being in charge, she puts her mouth on you, wrapping her lips around a nipple.

A hand slips from your hip to your ass, kneading the flesh and fat and muscle there. It guides the rock of your hips as you ride her, filled to the hilt. When teeth pull on the metal of your piercing, you whine.

Your hand slips under her collar and you drag your nails across her shoulder, leaving welts with the points of your acrylics. You lace your fingers through her hair, wrap and wind through it. In the far reaches of your peripheral vision, you can see her watching you through her eyelashes, a patient study.

When you pull, the groan she lets out against you makes your hips jerk. It resonates deep in her throat, an unbidden, unwilling sound of pleasure. You love doing that to her.

You think of Julia, again, and how she was playing with the curls at Miron’s neck when you found them. Jealousy spreads through you like a wildfire. You think of how she fawned over Miron, touching her bicep, swinging her thighs over her lap. It makes you possessive and you dig your nails into Miron’s scalp.

Teeth bite down on the swell of your breast and you instinctively pull harder. You feel yourself clench and the fresh smear of cum on your thighs. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re in deep shit.

“Did you just bite me?” you ask.

She grins, arrogant and pleased with herself. “You liked it.”

You did, but you also like to argue. “Did not.”

She slips a hand between your bodies and her thumb finds your clit. Before you can stop her, an open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder turns into a bite.

You cry out and shudder in her arms.

Your mind is hazy but you feel Miron laugh against you. Absently, you note that the car windows have fogged over with your breath.

Lips tug on your earlobe. “You got wetter, sweetheart.”

You did. You know you did. Fuck, you feel drunk and so very high and you are quickly losing the ability to talk back. The jealousy you choked on is hard to remember when she calls you pet names. With no dignity, you moan into her shoulder. The sharp burst pain is almost enough to send you over the edge and into your first orgasm—but not quite.

You’re still rocking against her, suffering through the pleasure you feel. You know you’re pitiful like this. Silly and stupid with need, you ride her in an attempt to stop whatever it is Miron pulls out of you. You’ve brought yourself to the precipice but you can’t push yourself over.

Miron keeps a hand on your hip and pays sweet, special attention to your chest while you try your best to cum. The thumb on your clit provides enough stimulation to make you whimper—but it’s still not enough.

If anyone walks by, they’ll find you falling to pieces in her lap. Your tank is missing and you know that when you look in the morning, you’ll see bites and hickeys all over your tits. She’s terrible like that.

You whine, exhausted and stretched full, and she hushes you.

She lays a kiss on your collarbone. “Fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Your gut sparks and you dig into her shoulders, drawing a deep groan from her. You nod against her shoulder, a shuddering and panting mess. Close. So fucking close. You’re woozy with the need.

“You’ve worked so hard this week. It’s only fair you get to cum. Do you agree, princess?”

A hand cups the back of your head, a gentle soothing weight that presses you into her chest. You nod and melt into her, your cheek pressed against warm skin. Your whole body buzzes, focused in your clit as Miron rolls her cock into you. Embarrassment is the last thing on your mind, so you don’t care when you feel tears on your cheeks.

“There you are. That’s it. Good girl. Just like that.”

You shudder and your hips slow. You’re so tired as you cry into her shoulder. You can’t. You just fucking can’t. You need her, need her to put you on your back and fuck you hard.

The uninhibited part of your mind again thinks about what someone would see if they found you then. Maybe it’s Julia who finds you. They would see Miron and you having sloppy drunk sex in the back of the Jeep, her strap buried in you. You’re naked at this point, covered in hickies and bent over her lap.

“You want me to take care of you, sweetheart? Make you feel good, like I always do?”

Miron adjusts herself under you and you whimper as her cock moves inside you. The veining on the underside of the cock runs perfectly against your entrance as she shifts and you endure the exquisite torture.

She’s going to take care of you. She promised. Finally, you’ll get to cum.

With her grip on your hips, she lowers her center of balance, slipping further into the black leather seats to give herself some leverage. And then she thrusts up into you.

Your head drops to her shoulder and you gasp against her skin, sinking your own teeth into the skin of her neck. Groaning, Miron settles into a ruthless pace.

Her hips rise up against you, her cock pounding into your core. It hurts, bruising something deep in you that you nearly flinch away from, but the relief and pleasure you feel outweigh the discomfort.

Tears leak from your eyes as you tip your head back. “Fuck, fuck, Miron, I—”

You feel yourself breaking apart in their lap, a shattering that begins in your gut and spreads through your entire being. You thrash and scream against their body as you cum, experiencing the release in its entire violent glory.

Every muscle in your body contracts. You feel the gush of cum between your legs. You arch so hard against them that you feel the muscles in your feet begin to cramp.

And when the violence of your orgasm passes, you are left with the exhausting sweet relief in your body. The tension you’ve been holding all week is gone and you slump against Miron’s body.

She soothes you as you steady your breath, but you can hear the humor.

It doesn’t take much for you to laugh against her. Honestly, you’re not even sure what you find so funny. But she joins you and the two of you laugh together until you’re just two people again.

It’s quiet for some time, you wrapped around her torso, her cock still buried in you.

Her cock—that lick of heat races through you again. The things you wanna do to their butch cock.

“I wanna try something,” you blurt. You chomp the words out in an effort to ensure they’re said.

Your gut twists with nerves. You’d read about it being done to butches—femmes, too—but what if she doesn’t like it? The possibility of a No looms over you.

Miron grins at you and raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You bite your lip. “Could I… Would you mind… Can I suck you off? Or like pretend I’m—“

A muscle in her jaw tweaks and she swallows. Hard. “You wanna suck me off, Karakuş?” Miron’s voice strikes you as a bit breathy but the tilt of her smile assures you of her confidence.

You immediately turn bright red. “I-I mean, yeah. Yes.” You can’t look her in the eyes.

“Alright.” Miron looks around the inside of the car for a moment. “Think you’ve got enough space?”

You blink and quickly nod your head a few times. What are you supposed to say? No?

You lift yourself off Miron’s cock and there’s some adjusting for her to find a comfortable position slumped against a few pillows and the back of the front seats. You tug at the bottom of her shirt. She always does this, strips you naked before you realize she’s still fully clothed.

Miron obliges quickly. They pull their black tee over their head and toss it into the passenger seat. Now you can see all of her tattoos, namely your favorite, the dragon curling under her sternum and over her belly.

You start by kissing her neck, swirling your tongue over the places you know she likes. You press her into the floor, bracing yourself over her as you begin your descent down.

“Fuck,” she says, more of a breath than a word. Her hips twitch in anticipation and you smile to yourself.

You kiss her stomach, following the curved tail of her dragon tattoo, journeying further south until you reach her hip bone. There are a few more smaller, hidden tattoos here—an armadillo on the outside of her hip, a zippo lighter on the V of her abdomen. You spend a few moments here, kissing the feather soft-skin of her hip; you suck a hickey just next to the zippo lighter and smile when they swear and jerks under you. Their cock is inches away from your mouth and you know they’re trying so hard to be patient.

It works out for her that you’re desperate to put her in your mouth. You turn your face in, brushing the strap with your nose. It smells strongly of you, pleasant and musky, if not a bit salty. Your tongue darts out, tasting the silicone, and you nuzzle into her cock, kissing the side and base.

Miron’s eyes are on you. You feel them burning into your face. This makes you want to squirm under her gaze but you double down on the task at hand.

You don’t wait long before licking up the side of her cock. She groans, says something foul that you don’t really hear, and slides her fingers through your hair. Her hands are rough on your scalp and they knot through your curls. Her thumb brushes the curve of your jaw. You hum.

When you reach the top, you look up at her. Of course she’s staring back. You keep eye contact with her as you curve your tongue around the head of her strap. In the dim lighting of Miron’s back seat, the shine of plastic and your own cum make her cock gleam oil-slick.

You keep eye-contact with her when you wrap your mouth around her cock and take her into your throat.

Miron’s eyes are blown wide. Her nostrils flare and the hand in your hair grips you even tighter. Your eyes flutter shut. You groan around her. Saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth and you close your eyes, relaxing your throat as she gently bucks into your mouth.

“Fuck,” she says. “Look at you, princess. Fuck.” Her head tips back against the seat behind her. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

You soak in the praise as you suck Miron Sikkari’s cock. Her hand remains on the back of your neck, guiding you up and down. Though you can’t see it yourself, you hope she appreciates her view: You, face down, ass up, the naked curve of your spine and waist on display just for her.

One of your hands digs into her thigh to support yourself. Her muscles flex and bulge under you, and you hear the stream of curses leaving her mouth.

You catch a—Fuck, fuck, fuck, sweetheart, you’re such a slut—and not too long after—God, look at you taking all of me like that, you didn’t even need my help, that’s perfect, you’re perfect.

You suck Miron off until she tells you to stop. You’re content down here, throat relaxed around her hard cock as you sleepily give her head. The position you’ve folded yourself into is rather comfortable and Miron’s hand on your head is heavenly. Compared to the urgency of your fucking, the blowjob you give Miron takes it’s time. You look at her occasionally and find her face buried in her hands or staring right back at you. One of her thumbs brushes under your eye, wiping away the tear tracks and smeared mascara.

Hands on your shoulders push you away before they pull you back up. A thumb makes its way into your mouth and you wrap your lips around it. Of course you do. A voice shushes you, pulls you to their chest, adjusts you just right.

Miron has placed the two of you flat in the back seat, both of you laid on your sides. You note that her legs seem a bit cramped, but she doesn’t seem to notice. If she does, she doesn’t care. A hand is busy stroking your stomach and lips are on your neck and that voice keeps telling you—

You’re so pretty. Think you can take my cock for me one more time, princess? Fuck, Hamali, you feel so good. That’s right sweetheart. Keep me warm. Let me use you.

The head of her cock presses into you, splitting you open again, and you groan. She slips into you with ease, filling you perfectly.

Fingers circle your clit and you jolt, an animal brought back to life. You suck in a breath and moan. Your head tips against her and they hold you even tighter.

Her arms pin you against her chest, not that you have the strength or will to fight back. A hand rests at your throat, a casual reminder of her physical dominance over you. The movements they make around your most sensitive point send shockwaves through you. You keen, whimper, whine. Your hips stutter to a rhythm of their own design.

Shhhh. Shhh. That’s it. You’re so sensitive right now. God, a fucking mess. This is. Fuck, ‘Mali. You have no fucking idea—

Teeth nip at your earlobe before they sink into the flesh of your neck. If there’s anyone nearby, they absolutely hear your moan. It’s loud and carnal and your eyes roll into your skull.

Your orgasm does not creep upon you in a gentle construction of pleasure and pain that transcends you. When Miron bites you, your orgasm rears its head inside of you and punches a hole straight through your gut.

You hear a distant scream (your own) and feel breath on your neck. Your pleasure burns through you, a wildfire that won’t be stopped.

Your body shakes and shakes and shakes. Miron wonders at you as you cum under her touch.

Any thought you’ve been holding onto evaporates. Right now, you’re just another girl Miron Sikkari has fucked in the backseat of her Jeep and you bask in its glory. You may be starting to see the appeal.

In the true moments after, Miron holds you with a softer, more gentle grip. Her arms are still a vice around you, but her fingers stroke and smooth over whatever they can reach. She pulls the cock you’ve been keeping warm for her out and the absence makes you shiver. Sweat sticks to both of your bodies and the mixed sound of your breathing fills the car.

You’ve never wanted anyone to be Mine more.

“As much as I’d like to continue laying here,” her lips brush over the shell of your ear, “my legs are going a bit numb, love. Here, why don’t we sit up.”

You barely contain your whining. In another world, one where your claim to Miron is real, you might have thrown a tantrum; you ask to be taken home, swaddled, and held all night. You’d pout for a joint and her attention and you’d receive both for your efforts. She calls you something else, something intimate like baby or—

That claim is not yours. You have to remember that. So you shift into a seated position, wincing when blood rushes back to the cramped parts of your body. Your cunt is sore and will be for a few days.

Miron is quiet while you collect your clothes. You hear her removing her strap and the distinct sound of a zipper when she places it back in her backpack. Hickies have begun to bloom across your collarbone, larger bursts of purple forming where she bit you. Your top does nothing to hide them and your skinny jeans are a bitch to wiggle over your hips. You decide your boots are the worst part when you smack your elbow trying to cram your feet into the chunky platforms.

When you’re in a finer state of dress, Miron wordlessly opens the back of the Jeep and climbs out. She holds out an arm, letting you use her for stability. The world outside is cold, significantly less warm and humid than the vehicle. You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a little wobbly on your legs, and shiver as sweat cools on your skin.

Your muscles are tired and you still feel more than a little drunk. Now that the moment and its intensity has passed, you aren’t sure what to say.

Maybe you should stick your hand out for a good shake and say, “Thanks for the fuck. Yeah, no, I know we’re not dating. I just hate when you flirt with girls you’ve had sex with more than once. No, I don’t wanna be just a hook-up but I also don’t wanna be nothing. Yeah, great, see you next Thursday.”

You don’t think that would go over well. Any claim you might have to Miron’s time and attention would disappear. You’re too selfish for that. Sex with Miron is too good to let go for something as inconsequential as feelings.

Miron has her hands in her pockets. Her eyes look wholly black in this lighting. “I should get you back to Tara,” she says. “She’ll be wondering where you are by now.”

You start to laugh but are surprised by just how dry your throat is. “Maybe. I don’t know. I would be surprised if Tara managed to keep herself sober while I was gone. She’s probably set her sights on Noor.”

“Where does that leave you?”

“I imagine they have to stop sucking each other off at some point. It’s a party… I’m sure I can keep myself occupied until she’s ready to go.”

Miron huffs. “You don’t sound so confident there.” You’re not. Parties aren’t your scene but your options are slim. “What if I just took you home?”

Your eyes snap back to her. “What?” You’re a little surprised.

Miron looks a little bashful and scratches at the back of her neck. “I mean, to be honest, I don’t really want to go back and you don’t look like you do either. We could just… get back in the Jeep. You can text Tara. I can take you home. To your dorm. Call it a night, yeah?”

You just look at her for a moment. The midnight sky is bright and washes Miron in a million shades of blue. They look so boyish in this moment, hands tucked in their pockets, earnest as they wait for an answer. Miron’s eyes are so dark, so bottomless. It would be so easy to let them swallow you whole.

This is why you can’t hate her, or any of the girls she shamelessly seduces, you think. When she looks at you like that, how can you say no?

“Alright,” you say.

As if you could have given any other answer.

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