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thesunisatangerine · 2 months ago

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playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]

word count: 13.1k

[1]

‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.

The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end?

You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.

Tap tap tap.

The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil.

The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words.

“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”

You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.

Still, you waited.

Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone.

“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”

He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.”

His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled.

He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school.

And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go.

This was so stupid.

“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!”

You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.”

He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.”

There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.

Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.”

His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.”

He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.

“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.”

The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Guille––”

Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.

Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”

At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.

“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”

There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope.

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.

“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action.

In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air.

It was Guille who spoke first.

“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”

Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right?

You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”

“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled.

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking.

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.”

His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke.

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

A brief pause as his eyes wandered.

“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.”

“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”

Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise.

“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!”

“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.”

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm.

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes.

You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”

Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.

“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”

When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there.

“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”

You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there.

[2]

“He’s studying what now?”

“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey.

Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.”

“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!”

Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.

“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed.

She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”

“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”

“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.”

Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway.

You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious?

A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could.

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”

There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?

You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.

“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.

She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back.

Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?”

“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh.

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

“Would… would you join a club in England?”

Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.

“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.”

At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world.

Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?”

She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”

“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve—shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.

Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”

[3]

You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did.

There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon.

And it did.

Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment.

Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.

The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.

There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.

Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.

“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.

“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.

You picked at your thumb.

“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”

Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.

“I just saw them yesterday.”

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”

“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.

“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”

Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Alexia.”

You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.

The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.

“How’s Papá?”

Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy.

“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”

You nodded.

“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”

“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”

In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased.

When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.”

And with that, you and Alexia headed out.

The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all.

By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.

“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower.

Alexia only nodded.

When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours.

She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”

You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run.

“Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.”

It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.

Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers.

“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency.

“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”

“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”

A scoff.

“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”

“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”

Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild.

Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.

“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”

She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees.

Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia.

She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!”

Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.

“She has no need to worry.”

You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.

“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?”

Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow.

And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”

“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”

“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”

Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.

“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”

She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”

“Oh, Alexia.”

Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”

You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.

“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”

A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.

“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”

“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”

Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.

Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.

Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”

“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.”

“And I’m sorry for—”

“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”

“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!”

It was too late.

The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door.

“Oops, sorry.”

You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours.

You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”

Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.

You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied.

“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”

You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones.

The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine.

Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself.

“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!”

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned.

She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“I carried those boxes for you.”

“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”

“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”

You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that.

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her.

You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”

Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know.

Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was.

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out.

[5]

With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol.

It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes.

But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.

The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by.

Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy.

No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.

And the world never felt bigger than it was now.

You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain.

Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.

The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.

What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—

The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.

“Alexia?”

You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.

“What—”

The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness.

“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact.

Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”

“She’s yours.”

Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response.

“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.

At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”

She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart.

“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips.

“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”

“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.

“Your family of nine?”

“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.”

Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose.

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!”

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything.

Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point.

And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip.

“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.

Alexia eyed you.

“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago.

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”

You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”

Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?”

You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch.

Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”

The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully.

“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”

At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable.

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily.

You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.

“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it.

The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky.

You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.

“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”

Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”

Another pause.

“I like women.”

For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope.

The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.

“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief.

There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep.

“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.

[7]

When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side.

And then, you jumped in.

It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.

Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.

Your father barely caught you in time.

Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs.

If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like?

In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.

Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice.

And the aftermath?

A drowning of a different kind.

Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters.

And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.

In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?

And the worst part?

There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.

And Alexia sank.

[8]

Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did.

There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.

But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one.

Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news.

“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.

“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”

Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist.

“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.

You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”

“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy.

You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.

“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”

Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her.

And then, “What about you?”

“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”

Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.

“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”

You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face.

[9]

It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again.

With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm.

And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you.

Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun.

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist.

Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse.

When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food.

After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.

“Are you playing with your food?”

Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled.

“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”

“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”

You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”

With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again.

You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something.

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again.

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you.

A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon.

For now though, rest was due.

Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance?

That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor.

Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side.

Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning.

As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”

“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you.

“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”

“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.

She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.

“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed.

You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.

That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth.

You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you.

“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.

You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”

“Dance with me.”

She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you.

Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed.

It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.

She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.

And in the heat, you lost yourself.

You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.

And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen.

[11]

Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”

You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. “You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”

She nodded.

“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”

“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.”

“Fuck you.”

At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh.

“Rough morning, huh?”

“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face.

“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.”

“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.

You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.

“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.

“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.”

You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk.

Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter.

You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue.

“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”

You froze.

The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop.

“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.

“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears.

“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her.

“I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.

“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”

“What?”

Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now.

“I said leave.”

Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”

“Get out, Alexia!”

She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet.

She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed.

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid.

#ap11 #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #my writing #a/n:#hello everyone i hope you all are well <3 #still alive lol but when they said time flies once you hit your 20s and that life stops holding back its punches they really werent joking #couldnt find the time to write since the last update but i told myself that id finish this chapter before january ends so here it is #(although I barely made it in my timezone anyway ahaha)#and i must admit ive been out of the womens football loop for quite some time now so uhhh yeah sorry #please pardon any grammar/spelling mistakes as well as other errors because i know i left more than a few here #and im sorry for updating this eight months (!!!) later #anyway i hope you guys enjoy and thank you to those of you who've stuck around for this #im sorry again for the late update and thank you for reading <3

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fratttymatty · 5 months ago

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Nathan's Parked

(All characters are 18+)

Nathan Parker had never quite fit in at Westbrook High. He was the kind of guy who spent his lunch breaks huddled in the back corner of the library, buried in books about superheroes or playing online games. He had thick glasses, messy brown hair that he never quite knew what to do with, and an awkward way of talking that made him stand out in the worst possible way. He didn’t have many friends, and his idea of a "good time" was usually just scrolling through fan fiction on his phone or studying for tests he didn't care much about. Nathan had long accepted that he would always be the geeky loner.

And then there was the secret he kept hidden from everyone: Nathan was gay, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, it would have been nice to share his feelings with someone.

But that was a far-off dream, something he'd shoved into the deepest parts of his heart. Who would want someone like him? Especially at a school where the jocks and cheerleaders ruled the social hierarchy, and someone like him was just… invisible.

One afternoon, after a grueling chemistry class, Nathan found himself wandering the aisles of the local drugstore, searching for something—anything—that might make him feel a little less out of place. He was heading to the deodorant section when something unusual caught his eye.

It was a sleek, black can of deodorant sitting alone on a shelf. Eclipse™ it was called, with the tagline: "Unleash your potential."

Nathan chuckled at the marketing slogan. "Sure, right," he muttered. He had no reason to believe that some fancy deodorant could change his life, but he figured it was worth a try. After all, he was desperate enough to give anything a shot.

As he sprayed the deodorant under his arms, a strange tingling sensation washed over him. Nathan shook his head, laughing at himself. Maybe it was some sort of psychological thing, he thought—his imagination running wild. He glanced at himself in the mirror and froze.

His reflection was… different.

His hair—messy and unkempt just moments ago—was now styled into a perfect wavy middle part, dark brown strands flowing effortlessly in a way that seemed entirely new. His face was sharper, more defined, and somehow more… masculine. His eyes no longer looked tired and worn-out but bright and confident. And his posture—his shoulders were broader, his chest fuller—he stood taller, more at ease.

Nathan blinked. Was this some kind of weird trick of the lighting? He reached up to touch his hair, but his fingers only confirmed what he feared: it wasn’t just his imagination. He was different. His clothes had changed too—gone was his oversized graphic tee and cargo shorts. Now, he wore a tight black compression shirt that showed off a toned chest, a sleek grey hoodie, a pair of jeans that fit him perfectly, and a letterman jacket draped casually over his shoulders. His shoes—new white trainers—looked like something right out of a sports magazine.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, "what the hell is going on?"

A sudden movement caught his eye, and when he turned, he saw a group of cheerleaders walking toward him. A few of them—Liana, Amanda, and Jenna—had been in his chemistry class earlier. But they'd never looked his way before. Now, as they approached, their eyes lit up with recognition. Or maybe it was something else… admiration?

"Hey there, Nathan," Liana said with a playful smile. "Wow, you look… different."

Nathan opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was deeper now, smoother, more self-assured. "Yeah, I guess I’ve… changed a little."

Amanda giggled, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Changed? You look like you’ve had a total makeover or something. I mean, you used to hide behind those glasses and all that—what are you doing now, hitting the gym?"

Nathan tried to think of a reply, but his mind was a little foggy. He didn’t recognize himself anymore, but he couldn’t help but feel good about the attention. He could feel his chest puffing out, his muscles subtly flexing under the tight shirt, as though his body was responding to the change.

"Yeah," he said with a grin that felt more natural than he expected. "I’ve been hitting the gym… working on a few things."

Liana stepped closer, her eyes glinting with interest. "Well, whatever you're doing, it's working. You should come hang out with us at the game this weekend. We’ve got a big pep rally, and it could be fun. You’d fit right in with the team now."

Nathan blinked. Hang out with them? The cheerleaders? He was just a nerdy kid who kept to himself. But the idea of being part of their world—their confident, carefree world—was suddenly too tempting to ignore. He felt a surge of something that felt like excitement. And… pride? A new sense of self-confidence he couldn’t quite explain.

"I’d like that," he said without hesitation, the words coming out effortlessly. "I’ll be there."

The days that followed felt like a whirlwind for Nathan. In a matter of days, he’d gone from being the awkward, socially-inept loner to one of the most talked-about guys at Westbrook High. His new look and newfound swagger made him the center of attention. The cheerleaders treated him like one of their own, and he soon found himself hanging out with them after school, practicing football moves with the jocks, and getting invited to parties where people actually wanted him around.

But the more Nathan embraced his new persona, the more he realized how much he was changing—not just physically, but mentally. He wasn’t the shy, introverted guy anymore. He was Max Hunter, the popular, athletic jock with a cocky attitude to match. His confidence quickly turned to arrogance, and before long, he was acting like the kind of guy he used to despise.

"Yo, check this out," Max said one afternoon, tossing a football up and down in front of his football buddies, Blake and Trevor. "This is how it’s done, alright?" He spun the ball effortlessly in his hands before tossing it across the field, landing it perfectly in Blake’s arms.

Blake threw him a high-five. "Damn, Max, you’ve been killing it lately. You're the new king around here."

Max grinned, his eyes flashing with arrogance. "Damn straight. It’s all about putting in the work and looking good while doing it. Don't know why I wasted all that time reading comics before."

Trevor chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, you’ve changed. But in a good way."

Max gave a half-smirk. "Of course I’ve changed. I’m Max now. I’m not some nerdy little nobody anymore." He ran a hand through his hair, letting the group admire his perfect waves. "And it’s about time the world noticed."

As the week went on, Max’s new life was in full swing. He’d been casually hooking up with pretty much every cheerleader in school. It started with Liana, of course. She was beautiful, confident, and everyone’s idea of the "perfect girl." Max had charmed her with his cocky smile and athletic physique, and within days, they were seeing each other.

But as Max quickly realized, he was no longer someone who got tied down. As soon as Liana wasn’t around, he started flirting with other girls—cheerleaders, mostly—and eventually found himself in a casual, yet thrilling, rotation of hookups. He’d dated and slept with Amanda, Jenna, and even a few girls from rival schools, all while keeping up the pretense of being in a committed relationship with Liana.

The funny thing? They didn’t care. It didn’t matter how many times Max cheated on them—he was Max Hunter, and somehow, that made everything excusable. Each cheerleader, knowing full well about the others, would still smile whenever he showed up to practice, each one thinking she was the one who had his true attention. And Max let them believe it. He was the star of the show, and they were just happy to be along for the ride.

After all, when you looked like he did—when you had the physique, the style, and the swagger—you didn’t need to commit. They all wanted a piece of him, and he was more than happy to oblige.

But as Max looked in the mirror again, something clicked. He wasn’t just Nathan anymore. The person staring back at him—confident, athletic, popular—wasn’t Nathan Parker at all.

He had a new name.

"Max," he whispered, testing the name on his tongue. It felt right. Max Hunter. Strong. Powerful. The kind of guy who everyone knew, and who everyone wanted to know. A jock. The kind of guy who got the girl, the attention, and the respect.

As Max adjusted his letterman jacket and ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, he realized something: this wasn’t just a new look. It was a new life.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the person he was always meant to be.

#male tf #male tf story #nerd to jock #gay to straight #gym bro tf

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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Summary: After you attend Harris's birthday party, Eddie's forced to confront some big feelings, and a Valentine's date has the two of you navigating a much different type of big feeling.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), fingering, protected p in v, slight breeding kink, very fluffy smut, brief mention of parental abandonment

WC: 8.6k

Chapter 12/20

Eddie's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers Mixtape credit to @lofaewrites Divider credit to @saradika

The mingled scents of wood polisher, stale cigarette smoke, and old frying oil invade your nostrils the second you step into Hawkins Lanes. Bowling balls thud as they make contact with the fiberglass lanes, subsequently crashing into the waiting pins. You offer a smile at the exasperated teenager clearly nursing a hangover, holding back a dry heave as he sprays a pair of red and blue shoes with a can of deodorizer that, given the undertones of pungent sweat permeating the air, is likely well past expired.

“I’m here for Harris Munson’s birthday party?” It comes out like a question rather than a definitive statement, and you hold up the gift bag in your hand like it’s some kind of evidence.

The teenager jerks a thumb towards the back left of the building, not bothering to look up. “Party room’s down there,” he mumbles, and you thank him as you walk along the pink and purple carpet.

You’ve arrived a little early, hoping to steal a few moments with Eddie before the chaos of the day begins. Wayne is the only one in the small room, stretching to hang up a sign proudly declaring ‘Happy Birthday,’ each letter a different color of the rainbow. He grins when he sees you approaching, and you hold one end of the sign in place as he adheres it to the door frame with Scotch tape.

“Good to see y’again, darlin’.” Wayne greets you with a grin, taping your side of the banner.

You put your arm down and return his smile. “You, too!” you chirp, glancing around the room. “Where can I put Harris’s present?”

The older man points to an empty table off to the side. “Right over there should be good,” he figures aloud. “Ed just took Harris to the little boys’ room, but they’ll letcha know otherwise.”

You nod, gently placing the bright yellow bag atop a table covered with a Hot Wheels-themed cloth. Amusement dances on your lips at the realization that Eddie must have splurged on decorations; it’s far better quality than one from the local 99-cent store.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You’re at my birthday party!” Harris’s enthusiastic voice captures your attention, and you spin around just as he’s launching himself into your arms. A tiny human rocketship.

“I am!” You laugh, motioning towards the gift table, “and I left your present over there.”

Harris’s face lights up and he starts towards it, arms outstretched and ready to tear through the tissue paper, but the sound of his dad clearing his throat stops him in his tracks.

“Remember,” Eddie says, keeping his tone calm but firm, “we’re gonna open everything once all your friends are here, after we eat cake.”

Harris juts out his lower lip in a pout. “But Daddy,” he protests, “I wanna open it now!” He stomps his foot indignantly, and you have to suppress a laugh at how silly it looks with the clown-esque bowling shoe on.

“Harris, can you wait until you open the ones from your friends?” You phrase it like a favor, hoping to appeal to him that way. “I’m really excited about what I got you and I want them to see you open it, too.” Of course, you couldn’t care less about what a bunch of random four- and five-year-olds think about your gift, but you had to think quickly before the whine escalated to a tantrum.

He releases a sigh of exasperation but ultimately concedes. “Okay, I guess I can wait.”

Eddie mouths thank you and winks as the four of you walk out to the lanes to wait for Harris’s friends. You feel a hand slip into yours, too small to be Eddie’s, and beam when Harris looks up at you with pure joy.

“Daddy! Grampa Wayne! I’m holding Ms. Sweetheart’s hand!” he exclaims, baby teeth on full display

Eddie ruffles Harris's hair. “I’m jealous.” If prompted, he’ll claim that he’s envious that his son chose to hold your hand instead of his. But you and him–and Wayne, let’s be real–know the real meaning behind his statement.

As Harris’s friends arrive and the birthday boy greets each of them with a hug, you and Eddie spring into action and line them up to get fitted for shoes. There are five kids, three boys and two girls, and though you recognize them as Ms. Marion’s students, you don’t know any of them by name. The bowling shoe laces are flimsy, and a few of them struggle with the fine motor skills necessary to tie them.

“Can I help you with that?” you ask one boy, who nods and extends his leg towards you. You crouch down and rest his foot on your knee as you double-knot the laces. When you finish, you look up to see that the rest of the kids have formed a line for your shoe-tying expertise.

Eddie returns from dropping off the guests’ gifts in the party room, laughing when he stumbles upon the queue of children. “You don’t have to do all that, Sweetheart,” he tells you, using his hands to assess the weight of different bowling balls before distributing them to the kids.

You shrug as you finish tying the last shoes. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie has reserved two lanes for the party, and before anyone can figure out who will be bowling where, Harris is tugging on his Black Sabbath t-shirt.

“We wanna play in teams,” he reports matter-of-factly. You��re not sure who ‘we’ refers to, since you didn’t see him corroborating with any of his friends, but you don’t question it aloud. “Team Harris and Team Daddy.”

Eddie gasps with feigned offense, bringing his palm to his heart. “What? You don’t want me on your team?”

“Nope.” Harris shakes his head, curls swaying back and forth. “I want Ms. Sweetheart on my team.” He pauses as he glances around the group, eyes brightening when his gaze lands on the eldest Munson. “You can have Grampa Wayne.”

“Old man’s probably gonna break a hip.” Eddie grumbles teasingly, picking up a red marbled bowling ball and hoisting it up to his chest.

Wayne scratches the top of his head. “And yet I can still kick your ass.” He keeps his voice low so that little ears can’t hear, but you and Eddie can, and you tuck your lips into your mouth so none of the kids catch on.

Harris is up first, squatting down and using two hands to roll the ball down the lane. His method proves to be somewhat effective when he knocks down a few pins, and the scoreboard screen flashes a giant number 5.

“That’s how many years I am!” Harris proudly announces, skipping back to where the rest of his team is standing. He cocks his head at the ball return’s open mouth for the neon green ball that Eddie had handed him earlier, eagerly scooping it up when he spots it. Assuming the same stance, he once again rolls the ball and successfully topples two more pins.

Eddie raises his brows incredulously. “Hmm, let me try that strategy.”

“I don’t think there’s enough pins for all of your years,” you quip, and Eddie sticks out his tongue in your direction before mimicking Harris’s approach, knees aligned with his toes. He draws the ball back between his legs and releases it a few inches ahead of him, smirking as it cascades down the lane.

His cockiness is apparently earned, since he gets a strike. He attempts a victory moonwalk, clumsily dragging one foot behind the other in a manner that would make Michael Jackson regret ever making the move popular. The heel of his shoe catches on the floor and he stumbles backwards, landing on his ass.

The kids burst out into peals of laughter, and you and Wayne join in once it is evident that Eddie’s not hurt, only embarrassed. You stoop down, clutching your ball between your palms as you grin. “That’s what you get for gloating,” you whisper in his ear, a joking lilt in your voice. “Try setting a good example for the kids next time.”

Unbeknownst to you, one of the kids, Kelly, strikes up a conversation with Harris while you’re up to bowl. “Is that your mommy?” she asks him, strawberry blonde pigtails softly swishing as she looks over at you.

“No, but she’s gonna be my mommy soon!” Harris replies happily. “She and my daddy are gonna fall in love and then she’ll be my mommy.” His voice lowers as concern mars his words. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? Because it’s my birthday cake wish and I need it to come true.”

Kelly nods, taking this obligation seriously, and she averts her gaze when she spots you walking back to the ball return. Since you’d only knocked down eight pins, you take another turn, slipping your thumb, middle, and ring fingers into the holes, frowning when you don’t get the spare you’d hoped for.

Harris’s chipperness brings a smile back to your face. “Ms. Sweetheart, can you teach me how to bowl like a grown-up?” He blinks a few times, hammering in his naturally docile nature.

“Of course!”

When it’s Harris’s turn again, Eddie watches you go up with him. It’s noisy, but he zeros in on your sweet tone among the clattering of bowling pins and cacophonous conversations.

“See, you put your middle finger and ring finger here, and your thumb here,” you’re gently explaining. “And then you lift the ball back just a bit, bring it forward, and let it go.” You go through all of the motions without actually letting go of the ball, Harris’s eyes glued to your every move. “You try.”

Harris follows your instructions, pink tongue poking from his mouth in sheer concentration, and knocks down a single pin. Eddie braces himself for his disappointment, maybe even escalation to a tantrum, so he’s pleased when his son spins back with a wide, toothy smile.

“I did it! I knocked it down!”

“You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you, Harris.” Eddie’s posture softens as Harris runs into your arms and gives you a giant hug, tiny fingers digging into your biceps as he squishes the side of his face just below your collarbones. When he does this, Eddie notices that Harris’s cheeks have lost some of their chubbiness; his son’s baby-like features subtly disappearing to make way for attributes of the older child he’s growing into. It brings a slight pang to his heart, and he swallows the emotion and focuses instead on the bonding moment between you and the not-so-little boy.

There’s a shared love; more than that, there’s trust. Harris knows he can rely on you to teach him with kindness and patience, that you won’t berate him or yell at him for doing something incorrectly. You’re his Ms. Sweetheart.

Wayne takes note of the goofy smile adorning his nephew’s face, nudging him before he drops the bowling ball on his foot. “I know you’re in love with her, but she ain’t worth losing your toes over.”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, the tips of his ears burning now that he's been caught. “I’m not in love with her, Wayne.” At least, I didn’t think I was yet, but now I might be.

“Whatever you say,” Wayne mutters under his breath, taking careful steps towards the lane. “You, uh, might wanna wipe the drool from your chin before you take your turn, though.”

Team Harris ultimately wins, mostly because Wayne throws the game so the birthday boy can have a victorious moment. You, Eddie, and Wayne quickly corral the kids into the party room, seating them at a large rectangular table for cake and presents before anyone can take offense over the game results. The three of you breathe silent sighs of relief when you easily shift their focus to the next activity.

Eddie pulls his lighter from his back pocket, flicking it on and lighting the five thin blue and white striped candles unevenly jabbed through the chocolate frosted homemade cake. He picks up the plate, supporting it from the bottom as he leads the group in a hilariously off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.

Harris squeezes his eyes shut before blowing out the flames with gusto, a big grin on his face when he opens them again.

Feeling a hand clap on his shoulder, Eddie swivels his body to see his uncle armed with a disposable Kodak camera. “Let me get a picture of you and the birthday boy,” Wayne insists, peering through the little viewfinder and snapping a photo. Eddie’s crouched down, right arm slung over Harris’s shoulders. Both of them wear matching smiles; the only difference is that Harris is still sporting his baby teeth.

“Now Ms. Sweetheart!” the little Munson declares. Eddie goes to leave, pressing his palms to his knees and standing up, but Harris grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “No, Daddy. You and me and Ms. Sweetheart together!”

You shuffle over to stand on Harris’s other side. When you place your hand on his upper back, Eddie’s slides over yours, the two of you and Harris chiming “cheese!” in enthusiastic unison.

Blinking from the brightness of the flash, you extend your arm and make a ‘gimme’ motion with your hand. “Let me get one of the three of you,” you say to Wayne, who begrudgingly places the camera in your outstretched palm.

Eddie pulls him in closer. “Alright, Munson men. Flex those muscles!” You giggle as the three of them bend their arms to show off whatever biceps they have.

“Ms. Sweetheart, who’s got the biggest muscles?” Harris asks as you lower the camera.

You scrunch up your nose as though seriously contemplating the question. “Um, me, obviously!” You smack your own bicep, sending Harris into hysterics.

“That’s so silly!” he cackles, glancing up at Eddie. “Daddy, isn’t Ms. Sweetheart so silly?”

You expect him to agree with his son, but he just puts his hands on his shoulders and gives a quick squeeze as he says, “Nah, she’s the strongest person I know.” Your stomach flip-flops when he peers at you through his impossibly long lashes. He picks up the plate and brings it over to the smaller, empty table. “Let’s cut this cake before the kids start revolting.”

The two of you use plastic knives and forks to divide the cake into slivers and toss them onto paper plates. Once all of the kids have their slices, Eddie licks the excess frosting from his fingers and hands you a plate.

“Havin’ fun?” He carefully wraps the question in a joking tone, but you can tell that he’s genuinely curious about whether you’re enjoying yourself.

You spear a piece of your slice with the plastic fork. “I am, actually.” The chocolate melts in your mouth, and your tongue glides over your lips to catch any crumbs. “I haven’t been bowling since I was a kid.”

“And it shows,” he teases, wincing when you flick his cheek. “Hey, now—violence is never the answer. What values are you instilling in these impressionable young minds?”

Harris pops up from his seat, waving an empty plate. Whatever cake bits were left on it have tumbled to the floor. “Daddy, I’m done! Can I open my presents now?”

“Jesus, did you inhale that thing?” Eddie wonders aloud, but ultimately agrees. He grabs a bunch of thin napkins and wipes Harris’s hands and face, laughing when the boy sputters as the paper presses against his lips. “Har Bear, you don’t wanna get your presents all messy.”

Once he’s all cleaned up, Harris grabs each of the gifts and brings them to his seat at the head of the table. He tears through brightly colored wrapping paper at lightning speed. Eddie tries to keep track of who gave what as his son unveils a Hot Wheels track from Charlie and his brother Brendan, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure from Kelly, a G.I. Joe from Emma, and—regrettably—a tub of Gak from Zachary. He makes a mental note to pick up a harmonica or a kazoo or something else noisy when that kid’s birthday rolls around.

The last gift left is from you, and you twiddle your thumbs as you await Harris’s reaction. Should I have gotten him a toy?

“It’s a stencil kit,” you feel the need to explain, as though you wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment of him asking what it is. “So you can trace shapes for your art. It’s got all different ones: food, animals, holidays…” You clamp your mouth shut, willing yourself to stop talking.

Your panic is short-lived; Harris’s brown eyes light up as he runs to you and wraps his arms around your legs in another giant hug. “I’m gonna draw you so much things!” he promises, gazing up at you excitedly.

“I can’t wait to see what you make me.” A drawing from Harris holds a deeper meaning than you ever realized. It’s more than a simple display of creativity; it’s a symbol of love and acceptance into his life.

He looks at his dad now with pleading eyes. “Can Ms. Sweetheart come to our house after the party so I can draw her a picture? Please?” He stretches out the last word so that it has at least five syllables.

Eddie looks at you expectantly, a timid smile on his lips. “Well?”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Your response earns you another quick squeeze from Harris before he darts back to his seat to further inspect his gifts.

Eddie’s warm voice is low in your ear, his fingertips ghosting the small of your back in a manner that lets you—and only you—know how starved he is for touch. “And you can help me get rid of that slime thing, too.”

Once the party has ended and you, Eddie, and Harris are back at their apartment, the cherubic boy takes the stenciling kit into his room.

“I’m gonna do art in here so you can’t peek,” he declares, clutching the kit to his chest as though there’s already something to hide.

Eddie chuckles, raking a hand through his curls. “Okay, bud. We’ll be out here, watching TV. You go be a little artíst.”

Once he hears the bedroom door click shut, Eddie puts the TV on a random channel and plops on the couch with a soft oof. You sit down next to him and he puts his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle in closer. The shirt fabric against his underarms is slightly damp with the day’s sweat, but you’re far too comfortable to even consider it an issue.

Your unsuccessful attempt at stifling a yawn has Eddie grinning. “Can’t hang with the kids anymore?” he goads, lips flush against your scalp.

“It’s exhausting being on the winning team,” you playfully retort, adding in an over-the -top fake yawn to drive home your point. “Not that you would know.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pulls you closer to pepper kisses across your neck and cheek until you’re a giggling mess. Satisfied with his handiwork, he allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions and lets out a yawn of his own.

You rest your head on his shoulder, gently brushing his curls back so they’re not in your eyes. A hum of contentment escapes you as you fully relax for the first time today.

You feel a slight nudge on your chin as Eddie tilts it upwards and kisses your lips. The gloss you’d applied before the party is long gone, a casualty of conversation and cake consumption, but he has no complaints.

“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs, shooting shivers down your spine. “And when I saw you helping Harris? Baby, I just…” he searches for accurate words. Nothing he can think of seems to fully convey the depth of his feelings, but he tries his best. “I’m so fucking lucky. We’re so fucking lucky.”

The feeling of your body against his relaxes him further; a marvelous white noise replaces the plethora of overanalyzed problems constantly buzzing through his brain. The heaviness of sleep falls over both of you, and you shift your body even closer to his in a primitive quest for the safety his presence brings. Whatever show is on the fuzzy TV set is now a dull hum until it’s muted by the dreams your subconscious brings.

Eddie only stirs fifteen minutes later when the bedroom door hinges give a soft squeak, ears trained to pick up on Harris’s innocuous noises that often precede chaos. Grogginess overpowers attentiveness, so he misses the smile on his son’s face and the way he whispers, “my birthday wish is coming true.”

Gray clouds cover Hawkins the next day, drenching the small town in cold rain. And while Eddie is certainly grateful that it’s not snowing, this means that he has to find indoor activities to keep his endlessly energetic son occupied.

Luckily, Harris is still enamored with his birthday gifts, particularly the stenciling kit you’d given him. He sits at the kitchen table now, tracing an outline of a cow on a Valentine for his classmate. Eddie’s not quite sure of the correlation between the animal and the holiday, but he’s learned that some battles are best left unfought.

“That looks great, Har Bear.”

“I know.” Harris agrees, not looking up from his drawing as he says, “Daddy, you should make a Valentime for Ms. Sweetheart.” Before Eddie can answer, Harris slides over a piece of red paper and a black marker.

“I should, huh?” Remembering a trick he learned back in elementary school, Eddie folds the paper and draws half of a heart against the crease. He has to use Harris’s blunted safety scissors, much too small for his fingers, to cut the paper. Pleased when he sees that it actually resembles a heart, Eddie taps the marker against his dimpled chin as he contemplates what to write. “You really like Ms. Sweetheart, don’t you?”

Harris nods, putting down the blue marker he’s using and reaching for an orange one. “Mhm. I love her, Daddy.”

Eddie’s heart soars at the confirmation of Harris’s adoration of you, but he tries not to make it obvious. “That’s, uh, that’s good.” He finally decides on a simple message: Be Mine, and he signs his name underneath with a dash. It feels a little less impersonal than “from,” but isn’t as strong as “love.” Do I love her? He wonders. No, it’s only been one date. He can’t fall in love this quickly. It’s not possible. “How’s this? Be mine,” he reads aloud, underlining each word with his finger.

“Oh, I like that.” Harris picks up a green marker and writes the same two words on a pink sheet of paper. The letters are a little too big for the paper’s limited space, and he ends up squishing the “e” in “mine” very close to the edge. “How do you spell ‘mommy’?”

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry. “You wanna make a card for your mom?” Harris has never wanted to make anything for his mom before; never brought her up, really, but maybe that was changing now that he was in school and surrounded by children with present mothers.

But Harris shakes his head. “No, it’s for Ms. Sweetheart. I wanna write ‘Be Mine Mommy.’”

It takes Eddie a second to realize that Harris means “be my mommy,” and he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Um, Har, you can’t just ask her to be your mom.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t want to tell Harris that wants to make sure you’ll stick around, nor does he want to make a promise neither one of you can keep. “Because you…you just can’t, okay?” It comes out harshly, and he sputters to fix his tone when he sees Harris’s lower lip quiver.

“But it’s not fair! You didn’t have a daddy, so you got Grampa Wayne as your daddy. I don’t have a mommy, so I want Ms. Sweetheart as my mommy!”

Eddie flash backs to their zoo trip, when Harris had innocently asked him if Wayne had taken him out on father-son days. There’s no child-friendly way to articulate that Wayne had initially been legally obligated to act as his guardian. “I know, bud. I know you do–”

“Then why can’t I ask her?” His expression shifts from anger to confusion, brows pinching together.

Because she could say no, Eddie thinks. Because the responsibility of being a mommy was too much for your biological mother to handle; why would Ms. Sweetheart take it on? What if she doesn’t have a problem being your mommy, but she finds issue with the idea of being connected to me?

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Look, Har. I know you want her to be your mommy. And between you and me, I’d love for her to be your mommy, too.”

“But–”

“But, grown up feelings are weird sometimes,” he presses on, borrowing your verbiage from Thanksgiving, “and feelings like love take time. But I’m gonna make you a promise right now.” He sticks out his pinky finger. “I promise that if me and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love, I’ll tell you, and I’ll let you ask her to be your mommy. Is that a deal?”

Harris looks dubious, but ultimately hooks his pinky around his dad’s. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief that the crisis has been averted for now.

“Before we can ask her to be your mommy,” Eddie continues, “I need to figure out the perfect Valentine’s Day date to impress her. Wanna help?”

Harris purses his lips in concentration, resting his chin in his hand. “How about McDonald’s? They have a ball pit!”

Eddie has to tuck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “A definite contender,” he finally manages. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Friday night. Valentine’s Day.

You had been unsure whether Eddie wanted to do anything for the holiday; your relationship was still so fresh, and you didn’t want him to feel pressured. When he crept into your classroom Monday morning with a coffee and a heart-shaped note—far more conspicuous than he’d intended to be—you couldn’t hide the excitement on your face.

The card reads Be Mine and currently resides under a magnet on your fridge, finding a home among the plethora of drawings from Harris. It’s got some creases in it that Eddie had explained were the result of Harris shoving it into his backpack that morning. You thought it was perfect as is.

“Are you free on Friday? For Valentine’s Day?” he’d asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. When you answered in the affirmative, he visibly relaxed. “Great. I’m taking you out.” His smile lights up his face. “Wear something that you don’t mind getting messy, and I’ll pick you up at 6.”

You’d wanted to try and pry more information from him, but Carol Perkins and her son Frankie walked in just then, and you’d put away the heart as quickly as you could as Eddie scrambles from the classroom.

You stand in your bedroom now in your Levis 501s and a fuzzy red sweater, taking one last look at your makeup in the mirror reflection. You scrape your fingernail along the bottom of your lip to wipe off any excess gloss. Underneath your outfit is a special surprise, wishful thinking if the night goes well.

At 5:55, you sling your pocketbook over your shoulder and make your way down to the lobby. You spot Eddie the moment you step out from the elevator. He’s pacing, hands shoved in his dark wash denim pockets and lower lip pinched between his teeth.

Your voice draws him from his thoughts. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him so your stomachs touch. “You look really, really handsome.”

“You’re…you’re beautiful.” He’s almost breathless as he says it, eyes roaming down your body and taking in the view. The way your sweater drapes the slope of your breasts has his heart leaping into his throat. He kisses you slowly before proclaiming, “My beautiful Valentine.”

You reach into your purse and pull out a tiny red gift bag, letting it sway and dangle from your fingertips. “I got you a little something.”

The tissue paper crinkles as Eddie rifles through it to pull out a silver lighter, much heavier in his palm than the usual plastic Bic he uses. “Sweetheart, this is…” He takes a closer look and reads aloud the engraved words etched on the front. “Fill my heart with song…”

“It’s from Fly Me to the Moon. Because of Thanksgiving, when you played the record, and Grandma…” you trail off, not wanting to get choked up, “and because you’re a rockstar. My rockstar.” You kiss his lips again, feeling his palm softly cup your cheek.

“I have something for you, too. Um, I didn’t get to wrap it, but I hope you like it.” He unzips his jacket, exposing the gray t-shirt clinging to his pecs. He digs into the inner pocket and clutches a cassette tape, handwritten label stating,“Ms. Sweetheart’s Mix.”

“‘S nothin’ crazy, just some songs that remind me of you.” There’s an array of genres and artists on there. Guns ‘N Roses, of course, as well as Frank Sinatra. There’s Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me, Un-Break My Heart by Toni Braxton, and a plethora of songs with ‘sweetheart’ in the title: Bob Dylan’s Sweetheart Like You, Bing Crosby’s Let Me Call You Sweetheart, The Spaniels’ Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight.

Tears prickle along your lash line, and you blink them away before you smudge your mascara. “Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” You hold the gift in two hands, giving it a small shake to emphasize your excitement.

A small pang in his chest has Eddie realizing that he wishes you’d ended that statement with you instead of it, but he tries to shove the thought down by kissing you, tongue parting your lips, hand traveling up your side. His hands aren’t even touching skin, only your sweater, yet it’s so electrifying that you feel your thighs clench in wanting.

“C’mon,” you urge him gently, “let’s go on this date before we end up making out in the lobby all night.”

Eddie cocks his head. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Eddie…” Truthfully, you’re thinking the same thing, but your desire for a romantic Valentine’s Day date with him propels you towards the door. You take his hand so he dutifully follows.

“Fine,” he relents with an exaggerated sigh, smile showing off the soft dimples in his cheeks. “But only because you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.”

Twenty minutes later, Eddie’s car pulls up to The Novice Chef. You’ve never been–taking care of Grandma didn’t allot you much time for hobbies–but Jess has told you about their incredible cooking classes. She and Robin went to one right before Thanksgiving and insisted that they’d perfected the art of turkey basting.

“Figured we could learn how to make pizza since we’re basically funding the local Surfer Boy,” Eddie grins, turning the key in the ignition. The car stills and the two of you unbuckle your seatbelts, pushing open the car doors. “Just, uh, no olives on my half.”

You find an unoccupied cooking station with two aprons on it, the venue’s cursive logo displayed on the front in an eager advertisement. You slip one over your head and Eddie does the same, twirling his finger in a turn around motion. You feel the brush of his fingers on the small of your back as he ties the strings in a bow. After returning the favor for him, you squeeze his waist, giggling when he yelps in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“I dunno; you’re just really squeezable.”

Eddie just shakes his head, already missing your touch after that brief moment. He slides a rubber band down his wrist and ties his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck before slipping his rings off of his fingers. He flexes his hands, almost taken aback by their nakedness, and you suppress a heaving sigh when you catch sight of the protruding veins, dark purple snakes that disappear amongst soft arm hair.

“All right everyone, let’s get started.” The unfamiliar voice brings your attention to the front of the room, where the instructor is standing behind his own station. “My name’s Argyle, and I’ll be your tour guide on our journey through Flavortown.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “First thing we’re gonna do is knead the dough.” He gives a demonstration and then invites the class to try on their own.

“Damn, that dude has some badass hair,” Eddie muses, noting the man’s long raven locks that are pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. He nods approvingly and flips the silver bowl of dough onto the table. A small puff of flour rises as it hits the surface with a thwack, and you’re very glad you’d heeded his warning not to wear something new.

Eddie presses the heel of his palm into the dough, kneading it with precision. Flatten, stretch, flatten, stretch, until he’s satisfied with the consistency. He shapes it into a thin circle, fingertips digging into the edges to form the crust. The movements are hypnotizing, and it’s not until he clears his throat that you bashfully realize you’ve been staring.

“Y’good, Sweetheart?” A sly, knowing grin stretches from one cheek to the other; now you’re certain that he’s caught you.

“Y-Yeah.”

The next step is to spread the sauce onto the dough, Argyle explains, and Eddie places the crust onto the pan and steps aside so you can take over. You dip the ladle into the pot, filling it to the brim. Bits of dried basil and oregano swim in a red tomato sea as you use the ladle’s base to evenly distribute it across the crust.

“Y’got a little somethin’ on your face.” Eddie whispers in your ear, making you stop mid-swirl.

“Huh? Where?” You use the back of your free hand to wipe at your cheeks and chin for any sauce that may have splattered, but a close inspection shows nothing.

Eddie leans over you, his chest flush against your back. You fight the urge to press the curve of your ass to the seam of his jeans, wiping a sweat-slick palm on your apron. “Right…” he swipes his finger down the ladle’s curved side, catching some sauce and dotting it on the tip of your nose, “here.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got it.” He leans over and licks the sauce off, a quick lap of his tongue on your skin. The unexpected sensation makes you giggle louder than you’d intended. You clap a hand over your mouth, surely smudging the gloss, but you’ve already drawn the instructor’s unwanted attention.

“Lovebirds, are we here to flirt or to make pizza?” Argyle punctuates his rhetorical question with an exasperated sigh. You duck your head in shame and Eddie just coughs to stifle his own mischievous laughter.

“All right, now for the cheese,” Argyle continues, dipping a hand into a glass bowl and retrieving the ingredient. “Some people think that ya just pile it on; the more cheese, the better, but there’s an art to–hey, not cool, man!” He’s looking right at Eddie, and you glance over to see your date drop a handful of shredded mozzarella into his open mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cheese, but you’re willing to bet that his apology is anything but sincere.

Argyle rolls his eyes, not even attempting to hide his irritation. “You got one more strike, and then you’re out.” He points one finger at Eddie and then jerks his thumb backwards to emphasize his point.

“Yes, sir,” Eddie salutes, and you elbow him in the ribs.

Once the cheese has been sprinkled across the sauce–whatever remains after Eddie’s impromptu snack, anyway–you reach for the mushrooms. Eddie’s sharp gasp makes you freeze up before you can grasp any.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, placing his flour-coated hands on his hips.

You flick your gaze from the bowl of mushrooms to his impatient face. “Um, putting toppings on the pizza?”

“Not that one, you’re not,” he argues with a disapproving shake of his head. “Vegetables don’t belong on pizza.” He picks up the bowl of pepperoni and starts layering the slices on top, either unaware or indifferent to the fact that some of them stick together in a double layer of cured meat. “This is more like it.”

You nudge him, triumphantly layering mushrooms around where he’s placed the pepperoni slices. “It’s called compromise, Eddie. It’s how relationships work.”

His jaw drops and he places his hand over his heart like a southern belle who’s just been presented with extraordinary gossip. “Oh, this is a relationship?” He snickers when you give him a small shove. “I had no idea. I just thought we were two friends who make out sometimes.”

“God, I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

An hour later, stomachs filled with pizza that might rival Surfer Boy’s, you and Eddie return to your apartment. A tense stillness fills the air when he walks you to your door, daring either of you to speak your mutual desire into existence.

You’re the one to break the silence. “I had an amazing time tonight, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” he asks almost incredulously, as though he doubts the truthfulness behind your words. He pushes the insecurity aside with a joke. “Even though I almost got us kicked out?”

The memory brings a smile to your face, though you would imagine that the annoyed instructor would not share the same sentiment. “I still need to get you back for that.” You lick his nose and giggle, knocking his hand away when he lifts it to his face. “Don’t wipe it off!”

“And what if I do?” Eddie takes a step closer, resting one hand on the small of your back and putting the other on your cheek. He kisses you and you lean into it, pressing your body against his. His tongue parts your lips, and you hook a finger into his belt loop as you melt into each other.

“Do you wanna come in? Or do you have to get back home to Harris?” You’ve pulled the trigger. There’s no turning back now, and though you’re certainly in a healthier place than the last time you’d made this suggestion, the fear of a similar reaction has your heart in your chest.

He shakes his head, nose rubbing against yours. “Wayne’s staying with him tonight.” He omits the fact that his uncle was the one who’d offered to babysit overnight, a not-so-subtle hint at his expectations of Eddie’s evening plans.

“All night?”

“All,” he kisses you again, “night.”

You fumble with your keys and unlock the door, Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist from the back as though he never wants to let go. As soon as you get it open, its grimacing creak mere background noise to the pounding in your ears, you’re kicking off your shoes and pulling Eddie into the bedroom.

Your hands on his shoulders pin him against the door, only moving them to the hem of his shirt to begin tugging it over his head. It proves to be a difficult task as you try keeping your lips on his neck, but he wraps his fingers around your wrists and stops you.

“Been dreamin’ about worshiping this body…you,” he clarifies, pupils blown so wide that they overtake his chocolate irises. “Please,” he adds, a slight break in his voice. His begging starkly contrasts the bravado that dominated his personality the night you’d met. There was no patience or tenderness, just teeth clashing and hands searching for the fastest and easiest way to bring pleasure.

You nod. “I have a surprise for you first.” You take off your sweater, drawing it slowly up your torso to build up the anticipation, and toss it to the side.

Eddie goes slack jawed at the sheer mesh bra that leaves nothing to the imagination, just as you’d expected him to. He quickly snaps his mouth shut and swallows, a last-ditch attempt to salvage his machismo before he fully loses his mind.

“It’s a matching set, if you wanna see.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie walks over, pressing kisses to your collarbones that leave your knees weak. His thumbs graze your breasts, slipping the bra straps down and unhooking the clasp. It falls to the ground and he stoops a bit, bringing his mouth to one hardening nipple and sucking it before moving onto the other. “Perfect.” He trails kisses down your stomach, dropping to his knees as he does. “Perfect.” He lifts one hand, kissing each individual finger right on the first knuckle. “So perfect.”

He remains on his knees as his nimble fingers, still cold from the brief walk to your building, unbutton your jeans, and you shimmy out of them eagerly. His eyes widen when he sees that your panties do, in fact, match your bra: a red-tinted mesh thong that has everything on display.

“Baby,” he moans, grabbing one ass cheek in each of his big hands and pressing soft kisses to your clothed pussy. “Baby…f’me?”

“All for you, Eddie.” Your breath hitches when you feel his lips graze your most sensitive spot. He’s not intentionally teasing you, but logic has no place in your current state.

He kisses down your thighs. “Lay down f’me, yeah?” You do as he asks, laying your head down on the pillow as your body sinks into the mattress. Eddie climbs on top of you, slotting one knee between your slightly open legs. He brings his lips to your ear, gently biting your earlobe and singing in a low murmur, “got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…”

You giggle, the breath from his whisper tickling the shell of your ear, and you tilt your head slightly so you can see his face. “Can I undress you now?” He nods, and you wrestle with his shirt to expose the pale expanse of skin. There’s a dusting of curls across his chest, thicker in the middle and thinner around his nipples. You plant a kiss on his left bicep and drag your palm down his tummy, practically concave during his teenage years but now has a slight softness to it, stopping when you reach the bulge in his pants. He groans at your touch, and you feel his cock twitch slightly. Eager to alleviate his pent-up energy, you undo the button and tug down his zipper, cupping his erection through his navy blue boxers.

“Not yet,” Eddie mumbles, “not done showing you how much I l–care about you. How much you mean to me.” With a burning in his cheeks from what he’d nearly admitted, he drags your thong, a wet patch formed on it, down your thighs and past your calves until it drops to the ground unceremoniously. He balances your legs on top of his shoulders and pulls himself in closer, nudging your clit with his nose as he licks a stripe up your folds. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, brushing it with his tongue. Soft brown eyes peer up at you, desperately seeking your approval.

“F-Feels good,” you manage, words caught in your throat as pleasure seeps into your body. “Please keep going.”

Eddie needs no further convincing, reveling in your growing wetness against his face while slipping his middle finger into your pussy. You whimper at the feeling of him inside you, bracing yourself for a comment about how needy you are, but he just continues to draw you closer to your orgasm. His finger glides in and out, in and out, rhythmic but not too slow. The bed shifts ever-so-slightly, and you realize he’s rutting his hips against the mattress, desperate for relief.

Your hand finds purchase in the curls adorning his scalp, digging your fingers into them and giving a small tug. Eddie lets a second finger into your tight hole, curling them upwards and hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Right there, th-that’s it, please, Eddie,” you beg, your moans barely audible over the sounds of him fervently fingering you and lapping at your cunt. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘m gonna cum!”

Eddie just lets out an “mmm,” in acknowledgment, the vibrations shooting through your core and bringing you right to the edge. Your release overtakes you and your thighs instinctively squeeze against either side of his head. He makes a mental note to ask you not to do that because he absolutely needs to hear every noise you make while you cum.

“Y’good?” he asks as you drift down from the high, still perched between your legs. He wipes his slick-glistened lips with the back of his hand before licking the taste of you from his fingers. “I can keep going, trust me.”

“Need you closer.” You try to sit up, but your legs fail you, and you flop back onto the bed. “I have condoms in the top drawer–”

“Brought my own,” he grins, reaching into his back pocket–now positioned just under his ass from the way he’d dry humped the bed–and pulls out three connected foil packages. “Ribbed, for her pleasure.”

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, but it’s the truth. The way he took care of you, made sure you were okay after, offered to continue eating you out despite the raging hard-on he’s sporting…his chivalry isn't lost on you. You watch as he strips down until his body is rid of any clothing, tearing one wrapper and rolling the rubber down his cock, and you bite your lip in anticipation of its delicious stretch.

There’s an unspoken disappointment at the addition of the barrier, regardless of its practicality. You want to be as close as you possibly can without anything in the way, but neither of you are in any rush to give Harris a sibling.

Imagine it, though, Eddie can’t stop himself from thinking. Imagine the intimacy of filling her up every night until she’s carrying my baby. Taking any little bit that drips out and stuffing it back inside to make sure it takes. Imagine kissing her growing bump every morning to greet her and our unborn child.

He puts one thigh on either side of yours, looking into your eyes as he asks, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Eddie lines up with your entrance, pushing in gently and keeping his gaze trained on the way you take him in. Inch by inch, he disappears into your wanting hole until he bottoms out. He holds your hips while he finds a steady pace, and as soon as you arch your back, he’s slipping his hands around your waist just above the curve of your ass. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers. “You make me so fucking happy.”

Your hands grasp at his shoulder blades and you kiss him, tongues intertwining while you moan into each other’s mouths. “I’m always yours, if that’s what you want,” you promise, wrapping your legs around his.

“Of course, that’s what I want. Most beautiful girl in the world, asking me if I want her to be mine.” He grins cheekily, burying his head in the crook of your neck and sucking on it lightly before asking, “do you want me to be yours?”

“Yeah,” you exhale as his cock presses against your walls. “Yeah, I want you to be mine.” You smile, moving your hands to the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. You want to be the only one he touches like this, the one who goes to bed next to him every night and wakes up next to him every morning. The one who celebrates his wins with him and brings comfort during the losses. You want everything that comes with belonging to each other.

Eddie thrusts into you, pulling wanton moans from your lips. “Say my name,” he pleads. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Eddie,” you pant, not able to fathom a single thought beyond the pleasure you’re feeling and who’s bringing it to you. “Eddie, ‘m so close. You feel too…too good.” Good is an understatement; perhaps a more accurate adjective would be euphoric, but finding a more elaborate term is low on your priority list.

Eddie’s peak is not far behind, with the feeling of your warmth around him bringing him closer every second. “Always wanna make y’feel good, baby,” he says. His face hovers just above yours, a bead of sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose onto the tip of yours. “I gotta–”

“Cum for me, Eddie,” you tell him, and with your permission, he pistons his hips a final time and spills into the condom. Your walls contract around his length as you finish with him.

Eddie stays inside you as the two of you catch your breath, smiling and stealing kisses from each other. He’s never felt anything like this before; for him, the thrill of sex is typically fueled purely by the primal instinct to get laid, but he’s in no rush to let you go. His cock begins to soften and he slowly pulls out, chuckling when you whine at the loss of fullness.

“Gotta toss this,” he says, removing the condom with a soft hiss and tying a knot. “Then I’m gonna hold you, mmkay?” Part of him is waiting for the post-sex adrenaline to wear off and the inevitable crash down when he realizes he’s mistaken lust for passion, urgency for belonging, but that doesn’t happen. As much as he’d love to be inside you again, hearing and feeling your satisfaction as you unravel for him, what he wants more than anything is to lay next to you and keep you safe. Safe from what, exactly, he’s not sure, but something compels him to protect you.

He takes you in his arms, the two of you a tangled, sweaty mess of naked limbs. Perspiration mats his sparse chest hair to his skin, but you press your cheek to it anyway and breathe in his scent. Your body grows heavier as sleep overtakes you, but Eddie’s low voice pulls you back for just a second.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

I love you. The words want to flow freely but come to a screeching halt on the tip of his tongue. It’s only your second date, and his mind is clouded with the sappiness of Valentine’s Day and oxytocin; what if he just thinks he loves you? Or what if he truly does, but you don’t feel the same way? Would you tell him, or would you pretend to reciprocate to spare him the hurt? Which is worse?

I love you. But it’s too soon to feel that, to know it for certain. And if he rushes things, he’ll get Harris’s hopes up–get his own hopes up–only to be met with heartbreak and disappointment.

I love you. And what would that admission accomplish, anyway? Where would you go from there? What would it change?

“Get some rest,” is what he settles on, biting the inside of his lower lip in shame. He kisses your forehead and watches you drift off, grateful when the exhaustion of the evening hits him and he follows suit.

I love you, is his last thought before he falls asleep, but he convinces himself that he’s not ready to speak it into existence.

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luvrgirl4roman · 1 month ago

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When Desire Strikes

Roman Reigns X Malika (Plus size Black OC)

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18 +, Smut, cussing, creampie, daddy kink, unprotected p in v, Oral (woman giving and receiving), restraints being used.

My apologies, I barely proofread. I hope you enjoy 😊

Malika looks in the mirror, takes a deep breath, and drops her head. As her curls hover over her face, she whispers, "It's just a date." She's usually not nervous, but she hasn’t entertained a man in over ten months. Roman moved into the neighborhood about five months ago, and they frequently run into each other at the grocery store, the gym, and Tropical Smoothie. She first laid eyes on him at the gym; he was using the bicep machine, and she couldn’t stop staring. He had salt-and-pepper hair in a messy bun, a matching thick beard, and wore a black tank top with matching shorts. Whenever he did a curl, he let out an animalistic grunt as the veins in his muscular arms bulged. As sweat dripped from his forehead, nose, onto his chest, Malika was so entranced that she almost fell off the treadmill. She quickly regained her balance, continued her workout, and went about her day.

She couldn’t get him out of her head for two days after that. With so much sexual frustration pent up, he made her feel feral. They went from nodding at the gym to saying "hey" at the grocery store and then to small talk. Malika was taken aback when he stopped her in the Tropical Smoothie parking lot and asked for her number. Surprisingly, he was a great texter—he kept the conversation interesting and never let more than five minutes pass without replying. He was very flirty without being creepy or sending unsolicited dick pics. They set up a couple of gym dates, during which he would spot her for barbell squats. The sexual tension was definitely high. The way his hands hovered over her plush, thick frame and hips took her mind to dirty places. It had been ten months since she felt a man's touch, and her body was screaming for Roman. One day, after one of their gym dates, he finally asked her out on an actual date.

"It's a nice lounge that I frequent, and I would love for you to be my date. We can order food, have some drinks, and talk," he says.

"I-I would love to," Malika replies, shuddering over her words.

"Great! I'll pick you up tomorrow around 8 PM."

She was so excited that she could barely sleep that night. After passing out, she was awakened hours later by her usual good morning text from Roman. She couldn't help but think that he would be saying "Good morning" tomorrow from her bed. She replied to his text and drifted back to sleep. When she woke up the second time, she checked her phone; it was 12:30 PM. It was her day off, so she usually slept in. She got up, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and fixed a late breakfast of spinach, eggs, and toast. She could barely eat from excitement and nerves. She didn't need to do any maintenance for the date since she had done so earlier in the week; all she had to do was figure out her outfit, shoes, fragrance, and accessories.

"What's the attire for tonight?" she texted Roman.

"Casual, nothing too dressy. I can't wait to see you tonight, by the way," he replied.

"I can't wait to see you too, handsome." she responded, grinning at her phone.

Time flew, and soon it was time for her to get ready. She wrapped up her hair and hopped in the shower. After showering and exfoliating, Malika headed to her closet and found a gorgeous, mid-thigh, spaghetti-strap black sundress covered in pink and red roses to wear. She pulled out her black platform sandals and accessorized her look with a beautiful gold necklace featuring a heart pendant and hoops. She releases her 26-inch curly sew-in from her bonnet, puts on deodorant, applies mascara, body cream, lip gloss, and sprays on FORVR Mood's "You Remind Me." As she checks herself in the mirror, Roman texts her that he's outside. She grabs her black crossbody bag and keys and heads out the door. Roman is standing next to his black 2024 Maserati Quattroporte, its tinted windows gleaming. He wears a black collared shirt and black slacks, and his hair is neatly tied back in a bun. “You look beautiful,” he says as he opens the passenger door for her.

“Thank you, you look great,” she replies with a smile as she climbs into his car, and they head out. She glances over at him as he drives; he looks and smells incredible, with his hair perfectly styled, a full luscious beard, soft lips, and muscular arms filling out his black collared shirt. They arrive at the lounge and enter. The place is dimly lit, with music playing at a respectful level. The soft hum of patrons lounging in their chairs fills the air as they engage in conversation over drinks and food. Roman and Malika make their way to the bar, where the bartender greets them and asks what they would like to eat and drink. Roman orders a surf and turf meal with his steak cooked medium-well and a whiskey neat, while Malika requests Chicken Alfredo and a Blue Motherfucker.

“Your usual spot is available,” the attendant says as he leads them to the quietest area in the lounge. The lounge chair feels soft against Malika's skin, and the dim red lights create a sensual atmosphere.

“I'll go grab your drinks now,” the attendant adds.

“Thank you,” Roman and Malika reply in unison.

“This is an amazing spot; I’ve never been here before,” Malika remarks.

“Yeah, I love it here. I've been coming for about a year now; it's a nice place to unwind at the end of the day.”

“I definitely understand.”

After some small talk over drinks, their food arrives. A comfortable silence envelops them as their forks scrape against the plates, followed by the occasional eye contact. As Malika slurps up her fettuccine noodles covered in Alfredo sauce, Roman’s eyes meet hers, and he smiles. For a moment, Malika wishes it was Romans dick that she was slurping, but she quickly reels her thoughts back in. They finish their meals, and Malika orders a round of tequila shots. Roman declines, citing his need to drive, so Malika takes his shot as well. It felt as if that shot went straight to her core; she could feel a tingle anytime Roman did anything. The way he licked his lips, the way he spoke to the attendant, the intense gaze he held while talking with her—she couldn't take it anymore; she wanted him now! "I can't hold this any longer. I want you to take me home, please," she said softly not breaking eye contact.

"D-Did I say something wrong? I'm so—"

"You've nothing wrong, I want you to come home with me tonight," she said, grabbing his hand.

" I would love to," Roman grinned. He paid the tab, and they headed out to his car. He opened the sunroof, and as she looked up at the clear night sky, the moon shined bright, and the stars were clear and beautiful. The summer night air flowed through her hair and grazed her skin. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in months, she felt stress-free.

She looked over at Roman, eagerly anticipating their night ahead. They arrived at her apartment, and she stumbled out of the car. Roman grabbed his gym bag from the back, which held toiletries and a change of clothes, and they headed for the door. As soon as she put the keys in the lock, Roman began pressing his manhood against her ass. She opened the door and dropped everything at the entryway. Roman trailed behind her as she pushed him against the door, locking it while standing on her tiptoes to reach his lips. They helped each other rip off their clothes, moaning into each other’s mouths as they kissed.

"It's been a while since I've had sex, so I might be a bit aggressive at times. Is that something you're okay with?" Roman asks, completely naked, his eight-inch brown member and balls hanging free. Malika feels a rush of excitement as she imagines him invading her throat and insides. "It's cool with me; I like rough," she replies. They move over to Malika's dining room, where he bends her over the sleek brown marble table, her breasts pressing against the cool surface, her nipples hardening. He grips her voluptuous waist with his left hand and with his right hand slaps his cock against her clit, the sound wet and sticky. "You ready?" he asks in a deep, sultry tone. "Yes, please," she moans back. "Oh shit, you're already wet for me; I love that." He slides his into her slowly, grunting as he gauges how much she can take. She lets out a moan as her body tenses from his girth entering her.

"Fuck, you're so tight. I don’t know if I can fit; let’s try," he mutters, pushing his entire length deep inside her. A whimper escapes her as he fills her completely. "You like the way I stretch you out, huh?" he growls, delivering a sharp smack to her ass. "Yesss, big daddy," she moans, as he grabs her curly hair, quickening his rhythm.

At this point, he's thrusting into her so hard that her ass creates a rippling effect against his abdomen. Each stroke hits her G-spot, sending her legs shaking. Her entire body feels electric as goosebumps spread across her skin. As she lets out a deep moan as she's being filled up with Romans rod. The intensity of pleasure and slight pain has tears falling from her face as she senses he’s close to cumming; his breaths quicken and his moans grow louder. "You gonna let me cum inside this pussy?!" "Yes, please, cum inside me, baby!" he begins to jackhammer her, the table moving rhythmically with each thrust. She’s pretty sure the screws in the table are loosening. She feels his manhood pulsating inside her as he releases himself. "Ohhh shit, this pussy feels amazingggg." Once he slides out, he says, "Let's take a shower and get ready for round two" She detaches herself from the table, his seed slowly run down her leg as she begins to lead the way to her bathroom. As they enter her bedroom, she grabs the LED remote and dims the lights, bathing the room in a soft red glow. She guides him into her spacious bathroom, where the scent of Glade Vanilla Passionfruit lingers in the air, being met with the plushness of the black fur rugs. The bathroom features a two-person tub and a 4 person walk-in shower adorned with black tiles and glass doors. Roman sets his bag down on the sink, pulling out a fresh washcloth, Dior Sauvage deodorant, and the matching body wash.

“Do you want to take a shower first?” he asks.

“We can shower together to save time and water,” she replies, doubling up on her shower caps. He turns on the shower, takes his hair out of the ponytail, and steps in.

Malika stands in awe at the sight of the beautiful man soaking wet in her shower, knowing she is going to let him have his way with her tonight. His body and hair glisten under the falling water, and she can't help but admire how sexy he looks. She joins him and offers to wash his back. Grabbing a washcloth, she begins to lather it over his stunning back tattoo. He turns around, gently grabs her chin, and kisses her deeply. A tingling sensation ignites in her core from his delicious lips, and he offers to wash her back in return. She takes her washcloth and Olay body wash as he drops to his knees. He starts lathering her legs and thighs, cupping her thick, brown ass in his large, strong hands before moving up to her back. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, his hands gliding over her breasts as he grabs her waist. “I can’t wait to wear that pussy out,” he adds, locking his beautiful brown eyes with hers. After finishing the shower, they grab towels from her towel warmer. He gets dressed in her room while she heads into her walk-in closet to find some lingerie. It’s the perfect moment for her red strappy open-cup bra set with heart accents over her nipples, paired with the matching thong she bought from Torrid, along with her black diamond-studded platform heels. She applies pineapple body oil all over her body, puts on a black lace sheer robe, lets her hair down, and struts back into the room. Roman is there, his long, wet black hair framing his face, wearing only red Nike boxer briefs as he tries to connect his phone to her Amazon Echo. “Can I play my playlist from YouTube?” he asks. She turns on the TV and shows him how to connect, and the first song he plays is “Juicy” by Pretty Ricky. He hasn’t seen her outfit yet, as her robe remains closed, but he notices her shoes and her red-painted toes, prompting a smile as he leans back on the bed.

“What you got for me, big mama?” he asks, his bulge growing larger. She stands up, drops the robe, and his eyes light up.

“Damn, you look amazing in that,” he says, biting his lip.

“Thank you, big daddy,” she replies, swaying her hips and turning around to bend over. He quickly leans up and bites her ass cheek. She pushes him back down onto the king-size memory foam mattress with black silk sheets, climbing on top of him. With his muscular built, she's confident he can handle her curvy figure.

"You smell so good," she whispers as he leans up to bury his face in her neck, kissing it softly. Their lips meet, and it feels like fireworks are going off in her head. She begins to trail her tongue from his neck to his broad chest, down to his stomach, and finally to his rod. She starts by teasing his thick mushroom tip with her tongue, then wraps her hand then her lips around it, sliding her mouth down his shaft, hearing him grunt and moan. He grips her hair and says, "Look at me." She looks up at him, her mouth full. "Ahhhh, you look gorgeous with my dick stuffed in your mouth. Come on, I know you can take more," he moans, sliding his length further down her throat. Tears well up in her eyes, and spit rushes down his shaft as she strokes him deeply with her throat. She detaches her mouth from him, pulls him down onto her black shag rug, and lays him flat. Hovering over his waist, she squats down, moving her thong to the side, guiding him inside her warm, wet pussy. Once she’s fully impaled, she gasps, making sure she has her balance in her heels. “Mmmm, good girl, fitting all of me in there. I want you to ride me like a good slut, okay?” he says to her. “Yes, I will.” With her heels on, she's securely planted, lightly burying her fingers in his chest as she begins to slide up and down on him. Her tight walls conform around him, and she starts to speed up the pace. While his thumb plays with her clit, Malika’s breasts bounce and she feels her G-spot being hit; her legs turn to noodles, and her body begins to shake. Roman’s hands are now planted on her waist, guiding her movements. Sensing he’s about to come, he stops her mid-ride , “I’m not trying to cum yet.” They stand up, and he pushes her onto the bed. “I don’t want you running from me this time. I want you to cream all over my dick. Do you have anything I can use to tie your hands up?” She gestures toward the second drawer of her nightstand, where she keeps two pairs of handcuffs, a whip, a blindfold, and rope. “Are you a dominatrix or something?” he asks, staring at her drawer full of goodies. “Nope, I like to be dominated. They’re used on me,” she chuckles. He takes each of her hands and cuffs them to her metal headboard. Starting by pressing his lips against hers, he sucks on her bottom lip, kisses her neck, and then removes her bra. As her breasts are revealed, he begins to suck on them, squeezing them together. He continues his journey down to her stomach, caressing it before coming face to face with her soaking core. He sticks out his long, thick, wet tongue and softly teases the tip against her pearl, then flattens his tongue and flicks back and forth. “You taste so good, baby,” he moans. As his tongue moves in a circular motion on her clit, as he begins sucking, she lets out a loud moan, squirming beneath him. He looks up at her, a moan escaping his lips, as her legs start to shake.

“I’m about to cum—”

“Oh no, not yet, baby,” he replies.

He gets up on his knees, places her thighs around his waist, and enters her. As he slowly strokes, filling her up, he grabs her full breasts for leverage, running his thumbs over her nipples. With every thrust, she lets out a cry.

“Big... Daddy... please... I don't know how much—”

“Come on, big mama, you got this," he says as he leans down to kiss her, silencing her moans with his mouth. He places both his hands on her head and begins to slow his rhythm inside her, which drives her crazy.

"I've been thinking about fucking you for weeks," he says, his voice low and intense. "You were acting shy, like you didn't want to talk to me. Now look at you—cuffed and completely at my mercy." Their eyes lock, and a rush of ecstasy overwhelms Malika.

"You want me to fuck you harder?" he asks, leaning closer.

She nods

"What? I didn't hear you" Roman growls

"Yes, sir. Pleaseee." Malika replies

He places both of her feet on his shoulders and pushes himself deeper inside her, intensifying his thrusts. The only sounds are his knees hitting her back thighs, the headboard ramming against the wall, the clinking of the handcuffs around her wrists, his grunts, and her moans. At this point, her body is tingling and shaking, and she feels her peak is near.

"Come on, baby, cum on my dick," he moans. The room begins to spin as their bodies shiver and they climax together. He looks down at her and says, "Good girl, let it all out," as her body shakes uncontrollably. When he pulls out, his cock is covered with her juices and his cum. She's unable to form words at this point due to the fact her intense orgasm has robbed her of speech. Afterwards, she sits back as her heart rate returns to normal and her body stops twitching. When she goes to clean up and returns, Roman is sound asleep, stretched out on her bed. She curls up next to him and falls asleep.

#roman reigns #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x plus size reader #daddy reigns #otc #smut #the tribal chief #wwe fanfiction #roman reigns fic

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qrrieterisunnq · 9 months ago

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The Worst And The Best Day

nico!hischier x ainsley!hughes SUMMARY: Ainsley and a few of her friends decide to go to a party after a long day at work. A few drinks later she’s dancing with some guy, who drugs her drink. When her friends find her, she’s in a bad state. WARNINGS: drugs, amnesia, alcohol consumption, unplanned pregnancy, angst, unedited, mentions of unwanted sex MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut WORD COUNT: 3,1K AUTHOR'S NOTE: First fic for our new au! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! PART OF THE SWISS LOVE CHARM AU

the swiss love charm au

“Oh my gosh! Quinn, it’s one night! I’ll be fine!” Ainsley groans in annoyance walking in her bathroom, to spray some deodorant on her.

“But I’m your older brother and I worry about you, okay?” he sighs, dropping down on her bed with a heavy thud. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know, Q. And I promise I’ll be okay!” she smiles at him as she walks back into her room. “I’ll be with girls all night, and I’ll be home around midnight.” She speaks as she puts all her things in her purse.

“But if something goes wrong, you’ll call me and I’ll pick you up.” he says in a stern but soft voice.

Quinn loves his sister so much. A lot of people were like they would hate each other, they would be arguing all the time as I did with my brother and all those kinds of things, but the truth is Quinn and Ainsley are best friends. They were inseparable all their lives. Quinn was so overprotective over his little twin sister. At uni, he had one rule for all of his teammates, ‘Ainsley is off limits for all of you, and if you try anything, I’m done with you’.

Many guys made fun of him for having his sister as a best friend but knowing her forever and having the same personality as her he doesn’t care. He knows she’ll be there for him whenever he needs and the same goes for him. Even though they have the same personalities, Ainsley is more social than him. She’s not afraid to speak with strangers on the street just to ask on the way or where is the best restaurant.

“I will, I promise.” Ainsley says softly laying down next to her brother. She turns her head to look at him, smiling at his sight. His brows are furrowed as he looks at the ceiling with his hands resting on his chest.

“Okay, just, don’t drink too much!” he sighs and turns his head to look her in the eyes.

“Oh I will my lovely brother, I’ll get so wasted, girls will have to bring me home on their backs.” she grins at him, sticking out her tongue. Quinn just let out a chuckle shaking his head.

“Good,” laughing he looks back at the ceiling and takes a deep breath in. “Now let me see you in your dress!”

Ainsley giggles like a teenager and stands up from her bed. She stands in front of Quinn, who pops up on his forearms to look at her. She spins around a few times looking down at her brother, who’s smiling at her.

“Gorgeous!” he winks at her, a grin sitting on his lips.

“Thank you,” She smiles shyly, smoothing her dress. “Anyway I better go, or I’m going to be late.” She chuckles taking her purse and the rest of her things.

“Okay, then say hi to girls!” he says as she walks out of her room, Quinn behind her. Ains looks at him over her shoulder, grinning and nodding. She puts on shoes and walks out of the apartment. Before she reaches the elevator she looks behind herself laughing when she sees Quinn standing there, hands crossed over his chest. “Call me if anything!” is the last thing she hears as the doors closed.

Pulling her phone out, she texts in a group chat that she’ll be in the bar in a few. With a smile she makes her way down the street, shivering when the cold wind hits her.

As soon she gets in the bar, she searches for her friends who she finds all gathered around a bar in a few seconds, laughing, clearly tipsy a little bit.

“Hi, girls!” Ainsley calls when she reaches her friends.

“Hi, Ziggy!” Amber, Ainsley's best friend, shouts standing from her seat and enveloping Ainsley in a hug.

“We ordered you a shot!” Lily, who’s now on her right yells in her ear and tugs Ainsley towards the bar, sliding the shot towards her.

With a laugh she drinks the shot, her face screwing from the taste. Amber and Lily laugh ordering other shots.

A few shots and cocktails later the three of them find themselves on the dancefloor swaying their hips in the rhythm of the music. Somehow, she drifts apart from them dancing a few feet from them and a few human beings between them.

Not caring she keeps moving and swaying her hips in the rhythm of the song, feeling a pair of two hands on her hips. She looks over her shoulder, smiling when she sees a tall handsome blonde boy standing behind her, a boyish grin on his lips. With a smile she sways her hips, grinding against his groin.

His grip on her hips tightens as he brings her even closer than she is now. He bends down until his lips are touching her ear as he speaks loudly, “We should get something to drink, baby!”

With a smile, Ainsley nods, leading the way to the bar. Sitting on the chair, the guy stands next to her, waving his hand at the barman.

Ainsley’s clouded eyes roam the bar, searching for her friends. The blond guy takes advantage of it, and as soon as the barman puts their drinks on the bar, he slips his hand in his pocket and pulls out from his pocket a small bag full of tablets.

He looks around, making sure no one sees him and he puts the tablet in her drink, stirring it with the straw that's in it. A few seconds later he taps Ains’ shoulder, sliding the drink to her with a smirk, that Ainsley assumes as a mischievous smirk. She thanks him, sipping from it and closing her eyes briefly at the sweet taste.

“Ainsley!” the voices of Ainsley’s friends are sounding through the bar hall that leads to the toilets. When they reach the doors toilet they swing them open, Amber and Lily gasp, and tears start forming in their eyes at the sight of their mutual friend.

Ainsley is sitting on the ground, her legs are bent towards her chest, with her hands around them clutching to them. Her head is resting on her legs and her blank eyes are looking at the floor underneath her.

“Ainsley…” Lily whispers rushing to her friend just like Amber who is now pulling out her phone. “Ba-babes, what happened?” she whispers, reaching her hand out, to touch Ainsley’s leg. But as soon as she touches her, Ainsley's head shoots up and she moves away from her. The fear in her eyes and her trembling body make Amber and Lyly cry softly.

“Quinn,” she whispers after a good ten minutes, not daring to look at her friends, because of her, now, crying face.

“You want me to call Quinn?” Amber says with a few hiccups, her eyes wide as he watches her best friend. Ains just nods her head not looking at them. “Okay. Okay, I-I’m going to call him.”

“Do you… uhm… do you remember what happened?” is Lily’s question when Amber puts her phone to her ear and waits impatiently for him to pick up. When he does, she turns to Lily signaling to her, that he’s on the phone.

“What’s up, Am?” his voice is hoarse, probably from sleep, but that’s the last thing Amber can think about now.

“S-something happened, w-we need you to co-” She doesn’t finish the sentence before she’s cut by the sound of the duvet and Quinn's voice.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you? Or-or Ainsley?” his voice cracks at the thought of her being hurt.

“Uhm…j-just come here please!” her voice cracks with the tears, and that is the last thing Amber says before she hangs up on him. She tucks her phone back into her purse and crouches down next to Ainsley.

“Do you remember what happened?” Lily asks again, her voice louder this time and her hand slowly reaching for her hand. Ainsley shakes her head and moves away from them not sparing them a single look as tears roll down her face.

She does remember. She remembers every second of it. But she doesn’t want to tell them. She just wants Quinn to take her home, make her something to eat, and leave her alone in her room. But she knows her brother too well, to know he isn’t going to do that.

The next ten minutes are quiet, only a few girls come in and shoot them weird looks. That’s until the door swings open, revealing a fuming Quinn standing there just in his pajama shorts and shirt. His palms are clenched in fists as he searches the room for his sister. His eyes widen when he sees his sister sitting in the corner of the room, her face is wet from the tears that have been running down for the past twenty minutes.

“Ainsley!” he gasps jogging to her. She looks wide into his eyes, more tears now forming in hers. Amber and Lily stand up and make a room for him. He drops down on the hard floor, not caring about the pain shooting through his knees, and pulls his sister in a bone-crashing hug.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay,” he whispers in her hair when he hears the loud sobs being muffled by his shirt. “I’m here. It’s okay, Ains. Shh.” He keeps whispering, and his voice cracking as he listens to his sister's sobs.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs in his chest, clutching his shirt tightly in her palms. “I’m so sorry.” she whispers again, her voice broken, causing her friends to share a broken look, as the tears roll down their faces.

“Don’t apologize! You have nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t your fault,“ Quinn cries in his sister's hair, squeezing her tightly to his frame. “Amber call Brock, and tell him where we are, he’ll pick you up and drive you home.” He hands her his phone, telling her his password, which are dates of his sibling's birthdays.

“I-It’s our fault Ziggy. We should have never left you alone.” Lily cries out, he body shaking from the guilt as she stands only few feet away from her. It breaks Lily to see her like this.

“It’s no one's fault, now come, we’ll take you to the hospital,” Quinn says after a while, scooping his sister in his arms and taking her out of the bar, with Amber and Lily hot on his tail. “I have to know what happened to you.”

As they walk out of the bar, Brock’s car is already waiting there, with him leaning against the passenger door. When he sees his captain holding his sister in his arms and his face red from tears, he immediately pushes himself from the car rushing to them.

“What happened?” Quinn just shakes his head rushing to his car to get his sister in and drive her to the hospital.

“Hello. I’m Doctor Hendrix, and I’ll be taking care of you. I have the results of the tests, but first I have to ask you a few questions so if you don’t mind,” he averts his gaze from Ainsley to Quinn. “I’d like to speak to Miss Hughes alone.”

“N-no I need him there.” Ainsley immediately says, shaking her head and reaching for Quinn's hand. The doctor looks at Ainsley and then back at Quinn, smiling slightly.

“Okay. So Miss Hughes, do you remember what happened?”

Ainsley looks up at her brother, ensuring he’s really there even though she’s holding his hand. “I…uhm I remember that I and my friends were dancing,” Ainsley swallows hard, looking down at her hand on her lap. “And…uhm and some guy approached me.” she stops talking, tears forming in her eyes.

“Don’t rush, Miss Hughes. There’s a lot of time.” The doctor smiles at her politely, leaning his back on the table opposite the bed.

“Thank you,” She sniffles, wiping the tears away. She gently pulls her hand from Quinn’s taking in a deep breath. She doesn’t want to talk about it, but she knows what happened to her. She remembers every detail of it, except the face of the guy. “We uhm…we danced for a while, but I already had a few drinks in myself so…” she trails off, not looking at any of the men in the room.

“He uhm… he then took me to the bar and bought me a drink, wh-while I was searching for Amber and Lily,” as soon as the words leave her mouth, she realizes what happened and Quinn does too as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god… he did put something in my drink, didn’t he?” she asks her voice croaking tears now sliding down her face. When Doctor Hendrix nods his head, she sobs her hands coming up to cover her face.

“He gave you a rape drug in the drink, enough to make you numb, but not enough to make you not know what happened, right?” he asks her, but he already knows the answer from the drug test results.

Ainsley just nods her head, one of her hands covering her mouth, so she doesn’t let out a loud sob. Quinn pulls her head in his chest, letting her cry in his shirt. Her whole figure is shaking from the sobs. It’s killing him to see his sister in this state when he promised her he’d protect her.

“It’s okay, Ains. I’m here!” he whispers in her hair, kissing the top of her head as a tear slides down his cheek. He’s so mad with himself. He hates he wasn’t able to protect his little sister.

“But that isn’t everything I wanted to tell you,” the doctor says in a sad but professional voice. Ainsley pulls herself away from her brother, wiping the tears away from her cheeks. “We found some semen in your...” he trails off, hoping the two of them will understand. “If you're not using birth control then unfortunately I'm afraid you're going to be pregnant.” As soon as the words leave Doctor Hendrix’s mouth, Ainsley’s vision blurs and dark swallows her.

“Ainsley!” Quinn shouts when he sees his sister collapse on the bed.

Doctor Hendrix hurriedly calls a nurse shoving Quinn away so he can wake up Ainsley. “She’s okay, Mr. Hughes. She just fainted, from the amount of new information and the drugs still in her blood.”

“Quinn, calm down! What’s going on?” Jack asks worry lingering in his voice as listens to his brother talking to him.

“A-Ainsley, sh-she is in hospital. Someo-” he didn't even get to finish the sentence when Jack shouted.

“What the fuck happened!” he shouts, sitting up on his bed running a hand through his hair. His loud voice woke up Luke, who hurriedly ran to Jack's room, confusion written on his face.

“What's wrong?” Quinn hears his youngest brother ask. Quinn sits down on the chair that is next to Ainsley’s bed, who is now fast asleep, letting out a deep breath.

“Put me on the speaker, please.”

“So, what’s going on?” this time Luke asks, his voice full of nervousness and curiosity.

“Ainsley, she got drugged and is in a hospital now. Someone uhm, someone r-ra…” he choked on his words as he tried to tell his brothers what happened.

There’s silence on the other side of the call for a while, until Jack speaks.

“We’re catching the first flight to Vancouver. Did you call mom and dad?” his voice is low and a little cracked with tears, that are welling in his eyes just like in Luke’s.

“N-no not yet,” Quinn shakes his head, his eyes watching his sister's chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. “I’m planning on calling them after I call you.”

“O-okay, w-what else did the doctor say?” Luke asks, sitting down next to Jack, his shoulder brushing against his.

“I-I think it’d be the best if I tell you when you’re here.” Quinn whispers, hanging his head low.” I uhm, I’m going to get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Yeah, yeah, go, and don’t forget to call mom,” Jack says before hanging up on him. “Fuck, man…” he whispers shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, fuck.” Luke nods, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Quinn lets out a sigh and with trembling fingers, he dials his mom's number.

“Quinn, baby, what’s wrong?” her voice is raspy from her sleep as she squints her eyes at the alarm on the nightstand. “Isn’t it like one am in Vancouver?”

“Mom, something happened…” Quinn sighs, nervously biting down on his lower while his eyes are fixed on his sister, who’s slowly waking up.

“What is it, Quinn?” Ellen's voice is low and full of worry when she senses the guilt in Quinn's voice. She sats herself on the bed, resting her back on the headboard.

“It’s Ziggy. She...uhm...some-something happened,” he whispers and looks at his sister, whose eyes are now open, and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“That's mom?” Ainsley’s voice is hoarse from her sleep and the lack of water. Quinn nods his head, letting out a long sigh.

“We are on our way!” Ellen says getting up from her bed and waking up Jim in the process. "We'll be there as soon as possible!" she says before ending the call.

“Jim! Wake up! We're heading to BC something happened to Ains.” Ellen shakes with her husband on her way to the closet to pack some of their clothes in a bag.

“What happened?” he asks confused, rubbing his tired eyes in the process.

“Something happened to Ains, we're leaving for BC,” she says again throwing her and his things in the bag.

“I'm going to look for some flights.” he stands from the bed and jogs for his laptop.

“Yeah that’s mom, they’ll be here as soon as it’s possible just like Lu and Jack,” Quinn smiles softly and stands up to sit down next to her. “Everything’s going to be okay, I’m here for you and I’ll help you with everything.”

“I’m so scared Q.” Ainsley whispers, her eyes closing from how tired she is.

“I know you are, but we’ll help you, now go sleep. Get some rest before everyone will be here.” He kisses the top of her head, letting her rest her head on his chest.

Ainsley closes her eyes, her hand resting on her belly as she caresses it softly. If she is pregnant, she’ll keep this baby because she already loves it.

#nico hischier #qh43 #nico hischier imagine #ainsley!hughes #nico x ainsley #quinn hughes #the swiss love charm au #nj devils #nh13 #nico hischier x dandelion #nhl #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic

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asapfike · 7 days ago

Text

reki kyan & langa hasegawa x ballerina reader ♡

labels. y/n used, she/her pronouns, platonic, feminine delicate reader, canonically shy & pretty reader, professional dancer.

warnings. n/a . i was thinking about nina sayers while writing this lol & to celebrate the ova’s release !

reki & langa were drinking right by a vending machine talking about their plans after skating.

they were honestly thinking of going over to reki’s place to eat, the elder kyan enjoyed company, his little sisters were very fond of langa too.

their conversation was cut abruptly by catching you in their peripheral vision, mind you they have never seen you before. the expression on your face was comedic in a way, a pretty girl with a slight grimace on her face.

the bag you carried on your shoulder looked really heavy too.

little did they know, you were running late to a rehearsal …

you had wired headphones on and your phone sticking out of your bag, the wires got stuck around the straps of the bag and everything fell out. right at the perfect timing, fuck your life.

when i say everything i mean it, down to your 3 pairs pointe shoes, toe pads and spacers, an extra leotard and tights, leg warmers, lip balm, water bottle, claw clip and bobby pins, deodorant, body spray, medical tape, hairbrush, compact mirror, and embarrassingly enough your feminine hygiene pouch.

reki hesitated while langa quickly rushed to your aid, dropping his board in the process. reki adjusted the boards before following langa.

❝i can help you!❞ said the pretty blue haired boy as he knelt down gently placing everything in your bag as reki held it open.

and you let it happen till you quickly realized you dropped something they maybe didnt wanna see, you snatched your pouch containing tampons and panty liners.

❝o-oh sorry, we shouldn’t have touched your stuff without asking!❞ the red haired boy sporting the cutest handband let out. you sighed.

❝i-it’s okay! i just.. im sorry.❞ you mumbled. ❝it’s just the bag is heavy and im running late so if i can j-just grab my things!❞

the two boys snapped their necks and made intense eye contact startling and flustering you a bit like they made telepathy within each other.

❝we can take you if you don’t mind?❞

you thought it about it for a second, felt like hours for them. they could tell you weren’t understanding how they would do it.

❝look, i can hold on to your stuff, and since langa has a longer and a wider board you can grab onto him from behind!❞ and you obliged.

you later found out watergirl was langa and fireboy was reki.

reki would insist on making you custom skateboards, even if you didn’t skate. he’d be like, ❝ c’mon, y/n, you need one just in case! ❞ and surprise you with a board that had an elegant, soft design that totally matched your aesthetic. langa, ever the enabler, would nod and say, ❝ you should at least learn how to stand on it. ❞

❝so you wouldn’t have to hold on to be anymore.❞ whistled out langa as reki laughed hysterically. you huffed.

you did, in fact, try standing on it. it did not go well.

langa caught you before you could fall, but reki was on the floor laughing. ❝ okay, maybe skating isn’t your thing, ❞ he teased, but he still held your hands to keep you steady while langa stood behind, ready to catch you again.

reki thought it was so cool that you were a professional dancer. he immediately wanted to incorporate some of your moves into skate tricks, even though you kept telling him, ❝reki, that’s not how gravity works.❞

langa was a little more subtle about his admiration, but you caught him watching your rehearsals like he was studying every movement. when you asked if he wanted to learn a few steps, he just nodded with that soft little smile of his.

after watching the sleeping beauty fairy variations with langa

❝okay now on this part when after the red fairy leaves, the lavender fairy comes in and you try to lift me.❞ you insisted.

❝okay! w-wait what?❞ langa spurted out in disbelief.

both of them refused to let you walk home alone especially with that big ass ballet bag. reki would be like, ❝how does your whole body not crumble in pieces when carrying this thing!?❞ grunting, langa would just silently agree, already walking beside you as you had your arm intertwined with his without question.

you always had snacks in your bag, and they always stole them. reki would whine dramatically if you refused to share, and langa would just silently take something when you weren’t looking.

reki tried to incorporate ballet terms into skateboarding just to impress you, but it usually ended with him mispronouncing everything. ❝okay, so i just do a… uh, pah-day-doo?❞ ❝reki… that’s not even close.❞

❝reki its pronounced pas de bourrée, its french!❞

when you were feeling shy or overwhelmed, langa would casually place a hand on your shoulder, grounding you. reki, on the other hand, would be extra loud and silly to distract you from any nerves.

reki loved drawing little doodles on your hands with his marker. sometimes they were random, sometimes they were little messages like ❝you got this!❞ or ❝remember to eat!❞

if you ever had to dance in front of a large crowd, they’d be front row, cheering way too loudly. joe and cherry would have to remind them not to scream your name in the middle of a routine.

❝gosh! of course they would put the spotlight on her, she’s the most beautifulest ballerina girl in japan!❞ reki whispered yelled.

❝beautifulest isn’t a word stupid!❞ miya remarked him smirking. all langa was doing was remembering when you could whine how hot the stage lights would be while hitting you during dress rehearsals, as his jaw was on the ground.

cherry had to scold them and miya during intermission before the next act.

you tried teaching them a simple waltz one time. langa actually did well, but reki? absolute disaster. he kept stepping on your feet, apologizing every two seconds, and then laughing too hard to continue.

you had a polariod of reki and langa simultaneously lifting you in your swan queen costume in the back of your phone, taken by yours truely, langa’s mom, nanako hasegawa.

#© MINA LEIGH 2024 - 2025 #leighbaye #asapfike #sk8 the infinity #sk8 reki #sk8 langa #sk8 anime #sk8 the infinity x reader #sk8 ova #minaleigh

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hellfirehottie · 5 months ago

Text

California Dreamin' - Eddie Munson

Chapter Eleven - Lay all your love on me

Content warnings: Awkward first date (cute though!), brief mentions of trauma, Eddie flashback (okay, a lot of trauma for Eddie, oops!), goofy idiots in love, lots of sexual tension, smut! dirty talk kinda, thigh riding, hand kink / oral fixation kinda? thumb sucking lol. Praise kink, use of "good girl" , possession kink, public sexual activities / voyeurism, untouched m!orgasm (cause I'm a simp for simp Eddie), brief mention of vomiting.

"Don't go wasting your emotion, lay all your love on me,

Don't go sharing your devotion, lay all your love on me."

Lay your love on me - Abba

Saturday / Forest Hills Trailer Park / 12:30pm

[Eddie sways into his bedroom, towel hung low on his hips, humming along to the music playing on his stereo. He closes the door with his hip, dancing along to the music as he runs another towel through his drying hair.]

Eddie: “Mmm-Mmm-Mhm, Oh yeah, mmm, pow!” [He dramatically throws his towels to the floor, dancing sassily around his room naked] “Mmm-hmm-Mhm, yeah!”

[Eddie yanks open his drawers and pulls on a pair of underwear and jeans. Continuing to hum to himself he haphazardly opens another draw, looking at his shirts.

His Hellfire shirt is shoved in the back of the drawer, unworn but clean since Nina had stayed over. He looks at it, contemplating, deep in thought. He looks at his recent favourite Black Sabbath shirt and goes to pick it up. His fingers still, as he looks back at the Hellfire shirt.]

Eddie: [quietly, to himself] “Hellfire or Sabbath, Hellfire or Sabbath, Hellfire or Sabbath. Damn it, just pick one!”

[Eddie picks up the Hellfire shirt]

Eddie: [smiling softly] “Hello, old friend.”

[He pulls the shirt over his head, sprays deodorant and cologne, and pulls on his socks and shoes. Looking at the time, his eyes widen, and he runs out of his room to the kitchen, grabbing his keys on the way.]

Wayne: [calling out from the living room] “Go get her, son!” Eddie: “Thanks Wayne!” [bending down to tie his shoes] “Any words of advice?” Wayne: “Just be yourself!” Eddie: [smirking] “Garbage advice, Wayne!” [running out the door] “Don’t wait up!”

[Eddie jumps in his van and speeds to Nina and Robin’s house.]

Robin: [perfecting Nina’s hair] “And what are we going to do?” Nina: [nervous] “Be myself. Not panic.” Robin: “Good, and what are we not going to do?” Nina: [rhetorical, uneasy] “Be a messy, disastrous basket case?” Robin: [wincing, sarcastic] “Needs work but it’ll do.” [smacking Nina on the ass as she walks out the front door] “Go get ‘em tiger!”

[Nina rolls her eyes and closes the front door. As she turns around, she sees Eddie on the front door step, hand extended ready to knock on the door.]

Nina: (shy) “Hi, Eddie.” Eddie: (warmly) “Hey, gorgeous.” [looking at her up and down, smiling] “You look beautiful.” Nina: [nervously] “Thanks, you too- I mean, you look h-handsome, you look good.” [she closes her eyes, embarrassed] “Fuck.” [smiling] “Sorry, I’m a little nervous.” Eddie: (teasingly) “It’s okay, I know I look beautiful.” [Nina blushes, Eddie relishes in it] “Ready to go?” Nina: [patting her backpack full of snacks, cheeky] “Ready when you are, beautiful.”

[Eddie and Nina sing along to a mixtape Eddie made - the one he promised Nina he would make- for an hour while driving to a small village outside of Hawkins. Eddie lies down the picnic blanket he bought especially for the occasion, offering Nina his hand with a courtesy to sit down. They sit under a tree, unpacking their food.]

Nina: (sweetly) “Ham and cheese or peanut butter and jelly?” Eddie: “Peanut butter and jelly please.” Nina: [handing him a sandwich, looking around curiously] “So, how do you know about this place?” Eddie: [looking around, smiling] “My mom used to take me here when I was little.” [pointing at the park] “She used to push me on the swings there.” [pointing at the river] “And we used to feed the ducks there. And a secret third thing which will be revealed later.” Nina: (teasing) "Ooh that’s ominous, I’ll refrain from asking questions since it’ll ruin the mystery.” Eddie: (teasing her back) “Hey, you’re learning!” [Nina rolls her eyes and swats him playfully] Nina: [smiling to herself, eating her sandwich] “I can just imagine little Eddie running around playing in the park. I bet you were a little terror.” Eddie: (cheeky) “I’ll have you know I was a darling little angel as a child.” Nina: (scoffing, cheeky) “What changed then?” Eddie: [mock offence] “Hey! I’m still a darling little angel.” Nina: (teasing) “Says the Satanist cult leader of Hawkins.” Eddie: (laughing) “You got me on that one!” ---------------------------------------------------

Nina: [lying back on the blanket, pointing up at the sky] “That cloud looks like a bat.” Eddie: [smug, amused] “I think it looks like a cloud.” Nina: [sarcastic, light-hearted] “You know, when you graduate you should seriously consider a career in comedy, you’re so funny Eddie.” Eddie: [cheeky] “Or a cloud designer.” Nina: [rolling her eyes but can’t help but smile] “You’re impossible.” Eddie: [pointing up] “That one looks like a dolphin.” Nina: “Where?” [she shuffles closer to Eddie, resting her head on his shoulder, his stomach flips] “Oh yeah, it does!”

[Eddie squeaks with happiness as Nina lies down on him, he tries to cover it with a cough]

Nina: (confused) “What was that noise?” Eddie: [trying to play it off, embarrassed] “What noise? I didn’t hear any noise.” Nina: (grinning) “You made a weird squeaking sound.” Eddie: [dismissive, voice squeaky with nerves] “No I didn’t.” Nina: “You’re doing it now!” [loving how embarrassed Eddie is] “What’s up with you?” Eddie: [flushed, nervous] “You just lay your head on me, I thought it was cute.” [Nina grins harder] “And my body betrayed me and decided to embarrass me ‘cause… yeah…” Nina: (teasingly) “Cute.” [she rests her head on Eddie’s shoulder again, smiling] “Should I expect squeaking sounds every time I touch you?” Eddie: (cheeky) “Depends on how you’re touching me.” Nina: [swatting him playfully] “Perv.”

[Eddie blushes and presses a gentle kiss on the top of her head, inhaling her coconut shampoo and smiles to himself. Nina smiles as she feels the kiss on her head.]

Nina: [Nina notices Eddie’s Hellfire shirt] “Hey, that’s my shirt!” [Eddie looks at her, confused] “That’s my sleepover shirt.” Eddie: “Oh, yeah, uh, I made it a few years back.” (blushing) “I don’t wear it very often anymore.” Nina: (flirty) “You should, it looks good on you.” [curious] “I’ve seen the rest of Hellfire wear that shirt but I’ve never seen you wear one. It suits you.” Eddie: (flirty) “Really? Cause I think it looks much better on you.” [whispering in her ear] “Especially when it’s the only thing you wear.” [a shiver runs down Nina’s spine] Nina: “Again, perv.” Eddie: (cheeky) “Can’t help it, I’ve got a gorgeous girl lying on me who is feeding me sandwiches and cookies, I’m happy.” Nina: (curious) “Why don’t you wear it anymore?” Eddie: “Well…”

Flashback - January / the trailer park / 8pm

Wayne: “Right I’m off to work, I’ll see you in the- Eddie, you okay?”

[Eddie is lying in bed, covers pulled high over his shoulders, glumly watching the snow outside.]

Eddie: (flatly) “I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” Wayne: (concerned) “Not feeling well?” Eddie: [tearing up] “I-“ [he clears his throat of his tears, stubborn] “I’m fine. Just tired.” Wayne: [after pause, trying to uplift him] “You’ve got band practice tonight, right?” Eddie: (quietly) “I’m not going.” Wayne: “I see.” [struggling] “Why don’t you give Dustin a ring? I know he’d love to help you with your new campaign.” Eddie: “I scrapped the campaign.” Wayne: (defeated) “Is there anything I can do?” Eddie: [with a fake smile] “It’s okay, I’ll be fine.” (Gently) “I’ll see you in the morning.” Wayne: [torn] “You know where I am if you need me.” [Wayne exits the trailer]

[Eddie sighs, watching the snow fall. It reminds him of the ash falling from the sky in the upside down.]

Eddie: [sighing sadly, tearing up again] “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Chrissy.”

[Eddie’s tears turn to anger. He looks around his room, enraged at the metal band posters, the D&D figurines, the clutter and chaos. He wants to tear his room to shreds.

He begins heaving with anger. His trembling hands push everything off his desk onto the floor, he crumples up his bedding and tosses it across the room, he empties his clothes from his drawers onto the floor.

The Hellfire shirt takes his eye. He snatches it and storms outside, picking up a bottle of whisky from the kitchen counter.

He wrenches open the trailer door, slamming it behind him. The cold snow nips at his skin, aching the scars on his torso. This only fuels him more.

He pours the whisky into the metal trash can and flicks a lit match into the bin. Flames woosh into the air, thick smoke melting the falling snow. He looks deeply into the flames, his anger mirrored in the violence of the flames.

He looks at the Hellfire shirt scrunched in his fist.]

Eddie: [bitterly] “It’s all your fucking fault. You’ve ruined my life.” [he holds the shirt over the flames, not enough for the shirt to burn] “It’s never going to fucking end.”

[His lip begins to tremble again. His skin erupts into goosebumps, he becomes aware he is outside in winter in just pyjama trousers and a vest, no shoes on the cold snow.]

Eddie: [hyperventilating] “I’m so sorry Chrissy.” [he begins to sob] “I’m so fucking sorry.” [he brings the shirt away from the flames and holds it to his face, using it to muffle his sobs and wipe his tears]

End of flashback -

Eddie: (uneasy) “After the accident last summer, nothing felt right, everything was too tight and suffocating and- well, it didn’t feel like me anymore. I started to dress more normal for a while.” Nina: “Eddie Munson, normal? I don’t think you’ve been normal a day in your life.” [Eddie smiles a small smile, shaking his head laughing] “It’s understandable to lose yourself for a while after something traumatic, it happens to all of us.” [she smiles at him reassuringly] “I’m glad you’re wearing it again.” Eddie: (softly) “Me too.” Nina: [realising] “Wait, you’re sharing with me.” Eddie: “Um, yeah. Is that not okay? I thought it was normal to share this kinda stuff with someone you’re dating.” Nina: “It is! I- I want to share with you too. If that’s okay?” Eddie: (proud, soft) “Yeah?” Nina: “I ran away from home. Kind of. I er-“ [picking her nails anxiously, Eddie takes her hand] “I had to leave, for reasons I won’t get into now, so I packed my bags and left in the middle of the night.” Eddie: (softly) “I’m sorry.” Nina: “Don’t say sorry, you’ve done nothing wrong.” [pulling at her hair] “I just had to get out of there, I couldn’t take it anymore.” [sighing] “I’m a coward.” Eddie: [smiling sadly] “I know a thing or two about running and being a coward.” [he rubs his thumb over Nina’s hand he’s holding comfortingly, which is laid across his chest] “I doubt you were being a coward, you were probably scared.” [looking at the water nearby] “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too.” Nina: (sniffling) “Wow, this got deep very quick.” [smiling sadly] “You know what we need?” Eddie: [thumb rubbing her shoulder with his free hand] “What’s that?” Nina: [turning to face him, grinning] “Ice cream.” ---------------------------------------------------- Nina: “Stop stealing my ice cream, shithead!” Eddie: [grinning, ice cream over his mouth, talking with his mouth full] “I was just testing it for poison.” [Nina rolls her eyes but can’t help but smile. Eddie extends his ice cream to her face, grinning devilishly] “Here, have some of mine?” [Nina innocently goes to lick the ice cream, Eddie pushes it so it goes on her nose] “Oops!” Nina: [surprised] “Oh, you little shit!” [Eddie takes off running, cackling, while Nina wipes her nose] “I’m gonna get you, Munson!”

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Nina: [swinging Eddie’s hand back and forth with hers] “So, what now Batman?” Eddie: [grinning] “Now to the fun part!”

[They walk along the riverside to a small wooden stall. The stall has a big sign saying “boat rides” on it. Small rowing boats are stacked upon each other, and the giant pond in front of them is filled with laughter and chatter amongst the fellow rowers. ]

Eddie: “Tadah!” Nina: [excitedly] “We’re going on a boat?!” Eddie: [happy at Nina’s reaction] “We are indeed.” Nina: “Awesome!” Eddie: [holding his hand out to help Nina on the boat] “Bow or Stern?” Nina: “Either is fine by me!”

[Nina sits on the seat at the end of the little boat, Eddie sits in the middle holding the two oars]

Eddie: [cheeky] “Where to, m’lady?” Nina: [glowing with happiness] “Wherever the water takes us, kind sir.” Eddie: [amused, begins rowing] “I think the saying is ‘wherever the wind takes us.’” Nina: [smirking] “Don’t be a smartass.”

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Eddie: [matter of fact] “You could not be more wrong.” Nina: “What? Chucky is so much better than the Evil Dead!” Eddie: [offended, cocky] “Chucky is a little asshole doll. Lock him in a cupboard and your problem is solved. A possessed woman with a chainsaw? Can’t lock her in a cupboard, can you?” Nina: [equally as smug] “Don’t read from the book of the dead and there wouldn't be a possessed woman with a chainsaw, problem solved.” Eddie: [scoffing] “Where’s the fun in that?” Nina: [tutting, teasing] “I bet in a horror movie you’d be the dumb blonde who dies first.”

[Eddie pushes up the sleeves on his shirt; Nina’s eyes linger on Eddie’s toned forearms]

Eddie: [cocky] “I’ll have you know, I’d be the brave charismatic leader that saves your dumb blonde ass.” Nina: [scoffing, cheeky] “Not if the thing I need saving from is spiders or deep water.” Eddie: “I knew I shouldn’t have told you that, it was a big fucking spider in my defence!” [Nina giggles at him, he smiles] Nina: “Hang on, why did you bring me on a boat, on a lake, when you’re scared of water?” Eddie: (shy) “I know you like water and I thought, well, I need to get over the fear sometime.” [looking away, embarrassed] “Just killing two birds with one stone or whatever.” Nina: [grinning] “I think that’s really sweet of you, Eddie.” [he blushes] “And brave. I’m having a lovely first date.”

[Eddie stops rowing and looks at Nina, mouth parted, eyes glassy.]

Eddie: (small) “You think I’m brave?” Nina: (oblivious) “I do.” Eddie: [whispered] “Thank you.” [he looks around at the sky, confused] “When did it start raining?”

[Nina looks around confused, holding her hands up to feel water drip onto her fingers. She looks ahead, behind Eddie, to see the large water fountain ahead]

Nina: [rushed] “Oh my god, Eddie, the fountain!” Eddie: [oblivious] “The what?” Nina: [panicked] “The fountain, the fountain!”

[The small boat begins to float towards the large water fountain in the centre of the pond. Eddie looks back at the fountain, then looks back at Nina with wide eyes]

Eddie: “Oh fucking hell!” [he scrambles to grab the oars to manoeuvre them away from the spraying fountain. They both begin to get soaked from the water, both of them squealing and shivering under the heavy spray]

Eddie: “Jesus H. Christ!” Nina: [squealing] “Fuck me, that’s cold!” [loudly] “Eddie, the oars!”

[the oars begin to drift off the boat and into the water. Nina lunges one way to grab an oar, Eddie the other. The boat rocks under the quick shift in weight.]

Eddie: "Shit!” [Eddie lunges too far and falls into the water.] Nina: [worried] “Eddie!” [rushing to his side to reach him] “Are you okay?”

[Eddie emerges from the water gasping, he takes Nina’s hand and throws himself back onto the boat]

Eddie: “Jesus, that is cold!”

Nina: “Are you okay?” [both of them look at each other, completely drenched]

Eddie: [sheepish] “Never better, babe.”

---------------------------------------------------

[Nina and Eddie row over to the wooden hut, their time in the boat over, both of them completely soaked. The usher working at the stall raises his eyebrows at them and they smile sheepishly. They leave the boat, giggling into each other, and walk up the bridge back towards Eddie’s van.]

Nina: [giggling, raking her fingers through her hair as they walk] “So, did that help conquer your fear of deep water then?” Eddie: [walking oddly, stiff in wet denim] “There’s no deep water left to be scared of, I think I’ve swallowed half of it.” [Nina bursts into laughter, eyes struggling not to leer at the way Eddie’s clothes cling to his toned body.] Nina: [coy] “Y’know, Eddie…” Eddie: [oblivious, ringing out his shirt] “Hmm?” Nina: [whispering in his ear, cheeky] “You’re the first guy who's ever gotten me this wet on a first date before.”

[Eddie’s eyes go wide and his face immediately goes red. Nina cackles at his reaction and takes off running]

Nina: “Race you to the car, Eddie!”

Eddie: [fondly watching Nina skip away, heart beating fast, grinning, talking softly to himself] “Jesus Christ.”

[Nina is sitting in the passenger seat as Eddie opens the door and gets in. He puts on the heater to warm up the car and dry off their clothes.]

Nina: “You want the last donut?” Eddie: “Sure.”

[Nina leans over the centre console and offers the donut in front of Eddie’s mouth. He takes a bite of the donut, eyes locked on Nina.

Strawberry jam from the donut lingers on the corner of Eddie’s mouth. Nina wipes it with her thumb and offers it to Eddie, he sucks it off her thumb. Nina’s eyes go wide, transfixed on Eddie’s lips and the suckling of her thumb. Her heart beats faster and she finds herself biting her lip. Eddie watches Nina’s reaction, turned on]

Nina: [clearing her throat] “We should probably head back and get out of these wet clothes, huh?” Eddie: [eyes scanning Nina, trying not to linger on her wet body] “Y- yeah we should.”

[Eddie begins to drive. The tension in the air is thick.]

Nina: (shyly) “Thank you for a great date, Eddie. Even if we are drenched.” [blushing] “I kinda don’t want it to end.” Eddie: [matter of fact] “It’s not over yet.” Nina: [hopeful] “It’s not?” Eddie: [grinning] “Chucky vs Evil Dead at my place.”

[Nina hums contently. She presses the radio on and “Lay all your love on me” by ABBA plays loudly in the van]

Nina: “I love this song!” Eddie: “This song sucks!” Nina: [exclaiming] “You’re tapping along on the steering wheel!” Eddie: [embarrassed] “Am not.” Nina: [enthralled] “You so are!” Eddie: [stubborn] “I am not.” Nina: [cheeky] “Hey Eddie?” [Eddie turns to look at her, she begins to sing at him loudly] “Don’t go wasting your emotion!” [Eddie rolls his eyes but smiles] “Lay all your love on me!” [the sentence trails off towards the end, her voice becoming softer. Eddie looks over at her, eyes twinkling with hope] Nina: “Eddie?” Eddie: “Yeah?” Nina: “Pull over.” Eddie: [worried] “Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” Nina: [softly] “Just pull over.”

[Eddie pulls the van to a stop at the side of the road. The road is empty]

Eddie: [hopeful] “Everything okay?” Nina: “Kiss me.”

[Eddie’s heart beats faster and he gulps, palms sweaty]

Eddie: “H-here?” Nina: “Right here.”

[Eddie looks at Nina’s eyes searching for doubt. When he finds none, he confidently reaches across the van to kiss Nina; his large hands cupping either side of her face. It takes Nina’s breath away.

Nina shuffles closer, her hands combing through his wet hair. Eddie hums with content as Nina slips her tongue into his mouth, pulling her even closer]

Eddie: “C’mere.” [Eddie pats his lap. Nina leans over the console, and with help from Eddie, straddles his lap. Before their lips can touch again, Nina pulls back] Nina: “Wait!” [Eddie looks at her, pouting and confused. She reaches down the side of the seat and slightly reclines Eddie’s chair] “Much better.” [Nina giggles and Eddie looks at her with love in his eyes]

[Eddie holds Nina firmly by the neck and pulls her down to him, reuniting their lips. As their tongues lick at each other, Eddie uses his large palm to pull Nina closer to him, their wet bodies pressed together, Nina’s weight on him]

Eddie: [mumbling between kisses] “You really wanna do this here?” Nina: “Don’t want to wait any longer.” [Eddie moans at her words] “Need you now.” [Eddie melts, moaning again] “Please, Eddie.” Eddie: [riled up, checking the windows for passers by] “Doesn’t bother you we’re in public?” Nina: (shyly) “I find it kinda hot, actually.” Eddie: [resting his head back on the headrest, eyes closed, turned on] “Fuuck.” [Nina’s eyes light up at Eddie’s thick neck, how his Adam’s apple bobs with anticipation, she can’t help but lean down and kiss and nibble at it.] Nina: [whispered in his ear] “Is it okay that I find it hot?” Eddie: (hungrily, in bliss with Nina kissing his neck) “I find it hot that you find it hot.” [he brings her face back to his, kissing her heatedly] “Been wanting you all day.” [his hands go under her dress, stroking both thighs, both hips, her ass, her sides of her stomach] “This dress has been driving me crazy.” [he grabs harsh handfuls of her ass] “Take it off.”

[Nina leans back and pulls the dress off over her head. Eddie leans back to take in the sight, hands stroking the goosebumps on her skin.]

Nina: (embarrassed) “Um…” [she pulls her underwear down her legs too] “They’re wet too…” Eddie: (grinning, cheeky) “Only if I’m doing my job right.” Nina: [red with blushing] “You’re on a roll today, perv.” [smirking] “Your turn, Munson.”

[Eddie eagerly pulls down his trousers, Eddie and Nina having to manoeuvre carefully in the seat to remove his jeans, both of them giggling when they get stuck. With Eddie’s jeans at the footwell of the car, Nina paws at Eddie’s shirt, which he pulls off over his head.

Nina’s lingers trace Eddie’s tattoos and he shivers, wriggling underneath Nina. Nina’s body is once again pressed on top of Eddie’s, her naked cunt against the fabric of his boxers.]

Eddie: “Oh god.” [Eddie bites his lip, enthralled by the sight of her bare pussy ghosting over his hard cock. His hands linger on her hips, his thumbs rubbing circles on her pelvis, his mouth watering. He softly mutters to himself.} “I can’t believe this is happening.”

[He looks up at Nina with eyes filled with want and adoration and feels his heart race, body igniting with heat and gulps with anticipation. Nina feels the twitch of Eddie’s erection against her core. She lets out a little whimper at the feeling, her clit throbbing.]

Eddie: [breathless] “Keep making noises like that and I’ll cum right here right now.” [his jaw clenches with restraint] Nina: (teasing) “Hot.” [she grinds up and down over him once, he begins to pant] Eddie: [restrained] “‘M serious Nina, wanna make it last this time.” [stroking her sides, eyes closed, gulping] “Want it to be good for you.” Nina: [spurred on] “You’ve been thinking a lot about the other night?” Eddie: (half joking) “You kidding me? I’ve been hard ever since.” [tucking her hair behind her ear, looking at her lovingly] “Can’t stop thinking about it, about you.” Nina: [pulling back, Eddie whines] “Eddie… I’ve got to ask.” [Eddie’s face drops in fear] “Is it me you want or is it just sex? Just so I know where I stand ‘ca-” Eddie: [interrupting] “You. Definitely you.” [gulping, brave, looking deeply into her eyes] “Wanted you since I set eyes on you.” [brushing the hair out of her face] “Knew I wanted to make you mine.” Nina: [with wide eyes, voice soft] “I like it when you say things like that.” Eddie: (curious) “Yeah?” Nina: “Yeah.” [kissing his neck, whispering in his ear, he shudders] “It gets me hot.”

[Eddie rests his head on the headrest, eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut, biting his lip with restraint as Nina kisses down the side of his neck, sucking on the column of his throat. Nina begins to grind on Eddie’s lap, causing a low groan to slip through Eddie’s lips]

Nina: (softly, aroused) “Say it again for me.” Eddie: [breathless as Nina kisses him] “I’m yours and you’re mine.” [Eddie’s hand weaves into the hair at the back of her neck as she gently bites his ear] “Jesus, Nina.” Nina: [pulling back with flushed cheeks and rosy lips] “This okay, baby?”

[Eddie’s eyes flick between Nina’s eyes and lips, and he answers her question by crashing his lips on hers desperately. He holds her tightly by the back of her neck, his free hand wrapping around her back to pull her flush against him.

Eddie’s cock aches desperately as its slapped against his stomach, Nina’s core only inches away from him, occasionally brushing against him, her thighs straddling Eddie’s hips. Nina hums contently into the kiss, holding his face in her hands as they kiss passionately, Nina’s hips still rocking against Eddie’s.]

[The windows of the van begin to fill with condensation, the music on the radio playing softly in the background.]

Eddie: [mumbled into her neck between kisses] “I can’t believe I have you all to myself, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.” [whiny, desperate] “I’m so hard it hurts, babe, can’t contain myself around you.”[Nina moans and grinds harder] “Nina, I- I…” Nina: “Tell me, Eddie.” Eddie: [kissing Nina’s jaw] “You have no idea how badly I need you.”

[Nina pulls back, surprised, stopping her movements. Eddie looks at her with cheeks flushed and lips parted, disappointed by the lack of kisses and friction]

Nina: “Need a hand?” [Eddie looks at her with raised eyebrows and a cheeky smile, Nina blushes, embarrassed] “I mean- I didn’t- not like that, I-“ [Eddie laughs at her pink cheeks] “Well, maybe like that…if you want?”

[Eddie’s lips part with excitement, arousal evident in his eyes. He kisses her again and Nina takes that as her cue to lean back, palming Eddie over his boxers, squeezing him through the thin fabric. Nina’s heart races at the feel of the thick outline of Eddie’s hard covered cock, and finds herself clenching with anticipation. Eddie groans into the kiss, his grip now tight on Nina’s hips]

Eddie: “Wait! I-“ Nina: [pulling back, worried] “Are we going too fast? I’m sorry-“ Eddie: [quickly] “No, no! I, er,” [flustered] “I want you to get off instead. Please.” Nina: (confused) “But… you…” Eddie: “I know, but I got off last time and I want to see it, I need to see it, please.” Nina: (teasing) “So polite, we don’t have to take it in turns, y’know.” Eddie: [grinning] “I know.” [determined] “But I wanna see you get off, I wanna make you feel good.” [holding her by the back of her neck again, looking at her with pleading desperate eyes] “Show me what it’s like, baby, please?” Nina: (softly) “Y- yeah, okay.” Eddie: “Like how we did the other night?” Nina: [smiling softly, fond] “However you want, handsome.” [she has an idea] “Wait, one sec.” [she leans back to rearrange herself and accidentally leans on the car horn, it beeps loudly, she jumps with fright] “Shit!”

[Eddie looks at her with adoration and amusement before bursting into laughter as Nina clutches her chest with fright.]

Nina: “Fuckin’ horn scared the shit out of me!”

[Eddie laughs harder and she scowls at him then she begins to laugh too, and the pair lean into each other in their laughter.

When the laughter subsides they rest their foreheads together, giggling softly, and then lightly kiss each other.

After kissing for a few minutes, Nina moves again, her thighs now straddling Eddie’s thick right thigh.]

Nina: “Is this okay?” Eddie: [aroused] “Ye-yeah, it’s good.” [Eddie can feel the warmth of Nina’s cunt on his bare leg, it makes his cock twitch, he gulps. He strokes Nina’s thighs, horny, eager] “You can get off like this?” Nina: (smoothly) “With you underneath me, like this? Definitely.” [Nina giggles as Eddie’s moans softly at her words. Eddie’s hands return to her hips, eager to begin] Eddie: “Smooth.” [smirking] “Ride away then, cowgirl.” Nina: (cheeky) “And you call me the smooth one.” [she wraps her arms around Eddie’s neck, pulling their bodies closer, kissing each other firmly.] Eddie: [mesmerised, running his thumb between her cleavage and down her sternum] “You’re the smooth one here,” [to himself] “So soft.” [he brings his thumb to Nina’s lips, rubbing it across her parted lips] “So beautiful.”

[Nina takes Eddie’s hand cautiously in hers and pulls his thumb towards her mouth; slipping it past her lips and sucks on it gently as she begins to move back and forth on Eddie’s thigh]

Eddie: [groaning] “Oh, fuck.” [can’t take his eyes of her, practically panting] “You’re gonna kill me.”

[Nina giggles as she removes thumb, kissing down the side of his hand, releasing it and begins kissing Eddie’s neck, her breasts pressed against his chest.

Eddie’s eyes close in bliss. I’ve died and gone to heaven, he thinks. Nina’s sits on his thigh and rocks herself back and forth as she kisses Eddie’s neck; feeling his racing pulse under her lips.]

Nina: [panting, clutching at Eddie’s neck] “Feels good, Eddie.” [a harder grind down pushes Nina’s underwear against her throbbing clit, causing her to softly whine] “Really good.” Eddie: [mumbled into her hair and shoulder, inhaling her deeply, guiding her hips] “Keep going, baby.” Nina: [her head hangs back, hair trailing down her back as she moans, squirming against Eddie’s thigh] “Oh god.” [her hands roam across his shoulders and chest; she bites her lip] “You’ve got such a nice body, honey.” [rubbing his chest, eyes filled with lust as her hand trails down his torso] Eddie: [in awe, flushed, achingly hard] “You think so?” Nina: [dreamily, breathless] “I know so.” [her hand goes to his face, stroking his cheek, staring deeply into his eyes] “So handsome.” [chewing her lip, eyes closing, Eddie’s relishes in her expression] “Like having you under me.” [Eddie moans and grips her hips tighter, pushing and pulling her against his thigh, her chest heaves with her exertion.]

[Nina’s hand reaches to the roof of Eddie’s van, searching for something to dig her nails into, pleasure coursing through her. Eddie kisses and bites at her neck and her soft moans become louder and more frequent, her grinding harder.]

Eddie: [mesmerised, hands on Nina’s hips to guide her movements] “You’re so wet Nina, can feel it on my leg. You like riding my thigh, princess?” Nina: “I do, Eddie, fuck!” Eddie: “So perfect, such a good girl.” Nina: [with wide eyes, aroused, moaning] “Say that again, Eddie.” Eddie: [darkly, half lidded, panting] “You like me calling you a good girl?” [Nina whimpers in response, pressing herself down harder on Eddie’s thigh] Nina: [pleading] “Please, baby.” Eddie: [relishing seeing Nina’s reactions, confident, in awe] “Come on Nina, cum on my thigh like the good girl you are.” Nina: [resting her head on Eddie’s shoulder, desperate] “Jesus, Eddie!”

[Eddie’s head lulls on the headrest, eyes closed, breathing deeply as he tries to contain himself when Nina pants and whimpers in his ear; her breath tingling his damp skin. He wraps his arms around Nina’s back, pulling her tight to him to stabilise her, biting and kissing her neck as she grinds on him, determined to push Nina over the edge.]

Nina: [moaning] “Jesus, Eddie, fuck!” [she holds onto the car grab handle tightly, using it to stabilise herself as she grinds down harder on Eddie’s thigh] “I’m so close, oh god.”

[He jumps to action and pulls Nina away from him to her surprise, yanking down the bra she wore to expose her breasts, confidently taking one in his hand and the other in his mouth. As Nina leans back in surprise, her hand catches the volume dial on the radio; the volume goes from quiet to loud, ‘I was made for loving you’ by KISS plays loudly in the car. Nina lets out a loud moan at Eddie sucking on her chest and her movements become harder and deeper, that tingly feeling in her insides becoming stronger]

Nina: “Eddie, ‘m close, oh my god I wanna cum so bad, please baby, oh god!” Eddie: [mumbles into her breasts, he gently bites and pulls at her nipple, her eyes roll back] “Love hearing you beg for me, sweetheart.” Nina: [at breaking point] “Eddie!” Eddie: [licking, kissing, biting her chest and neck, panting, wild, untamed, gripping her ass hard to force her movements when she begins to tire] “Say my name when you cum for me, lemme hear it, wanna hear it so badly.” Nina: [head flung back, desperate, so close] “Fuck, Eddie!” Eddie: [determined, heart racing] “That’s it baby, c’mon, say it.” Nina: [gripping the hand rail tightly with one hand, the other clawing at Eddie, her thighs begin to shake] “Eddie, I’m coming, I’m coming, oh god!” Eddie: [looking up at her as he kisses her chest, in awe] “Good girl, baby.”

[That tips Nina over the edge]

Nina: “Oh fuck, Eddie!” [her trembling thighs clamp down hard over Eddie’s, her body shaking with her orgasm, Eddie watches lustfully, in delight, trained on her every move. Her body blossoms as she orgasms, her shoulders pushed back, her chest pushed out towards Eddie, her head flung back in pleasure.]

Eddie: [softly groaning] “Fuck.” [he relishes in watching Nina tremble above him, his own orgasm catching him by surprise as his stomach tenses, thighs twitch and balls heave as he cums in his boxers, his throbbing cock aching and twitching in his boxers] “Oh fuck, Jesus.”

Nina: (dazed) “Did you just…”

Eddie: [breathless] “Yeah, I did.”

---------------------------------------------------

[Eddie is finishing up in the bathroom. He spits out toothpaste into the sink, humming along to “I was made for loving you” by KISS, stuck replaying on his head since the van. He can hear Nina laughing in the living room.

His eyebrows furrow with confusion as he hears Nina talking, along with another voice. He walks out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist.]

Wayne: “…And then he fell face first into the puddle of mud! It took his mother hours to get the mud out of his hair!” [looking up to see Eddie] “Oh hey, Eddie!” Nina: [shyly, blushing at Eddie in just a towel, despite seeing him semi-naked before] “Hey, Eddie.” Eddie: [surprised] “W-What are you doing here, Wayne?” Wayne: [grinning, knowing] “I got an early finish at the plant. We just ordered Chinese. Our regular place was closed so we had to order from somewhere else.” Eddie: [suspicious at Wayne] “You got me the usual?” Wayne: “Chow Mein with extra fried rice and-“ Wayne and Nina at the same time: “Duck pancakes.” Nina: (smiling softly) “We know.”

[Eddie looks at them fondly, heart warmed.]

Eddie: “I’ll be right back.”

[Eddie gets changed into his pyjamas, smiling to himself as he hears laughter from Wayne and Nina in the living room. He joins them shortly after, plonking himself on the couch beside Nina, pulling her into him, her legs bent over his long legs.]

Wayne: “What are we watching then, kids?” Nina: “Evil Dead, then Chucky!” Wayne: [tutting, shaking his head] “The tripe you kids watch nowadays, sheesh.” ----------------------------------------------------

Wayne: [with a mouth full of noodles, pointing at the television with his chopsticks, frowning] “Surely if they didn’t read from the scary book, none of this would have happened.” Nina: [vindicated, excited] “Thank you!”

[Eddie rolls his eyes but can’t hide the smile on his face]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nina: [knocking on the door, worried] “Eddie? You okay in there?” [Eddie groans behind the door] “Can I come in?” [Eddie thumps the door closed, before vomiting again in the toilet] “I’ve brought you some pain killers and water.”

[She hears shuffling on the floor and the door opens ajar.]

Nina: [concerned] “How’re you feeling?” Eddie: [pale, sweaty, clinging to the toilet bowl] “I don’t think dodgy Chinese and lake water mix.”

[Nina stifles a giggle and sets down the glass beside him, handing him the pain killers]

Nina: (teasing) “Pretty sure you’re just chickenshit scared of the Evil Dead, that’s all.”

[Eddie laughs then groans, holding his stomach]

Eddie: “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.” [embarrassed, can’t look Nina in the eye] “You don’t have to stay, it’s okay.” Nina: (softly) “Who else is going to hold your hair back?” [pushing the glass of water near him] “Drink.” [he gulps at the water greedily] “Sip, honey, sip. You’ll hurt your stomach more.” [he begins to sip slowly, putting the glass down and gasping for air] “Better?” Eddie: “A bit.” [he watches as Nina runs a cloth under cold water and sits beside him. He looks at her with doe eyes, feeling ashamed. He looks down, embarrassed, speaking self deprecatingly] “Was our first date everything you expected then?” Nina: [snorting] “It was the best.” [She wipes the cold cloth over Eddie’s face and rests it on his forehead, he sighs happily] “One of the most eventful first dates I’ve had.” [Eddie snorts bitterly, looking down] “I had a lot of fun though.” Eddie: (unsure, hopeful) “Yeah?” Nina: (fondly) “Yeah.” [wiping his brow, pushing his fringe back, Eddie avoids her eyes] “You know how to show a girl a good time.” Eddie: [chuckling softly, eyes fluttering] “I do try.” Nina: (softer still) “You don’t even have to try.” [Eddie looks up, eyes glistening hopefully] “I had a great time, Eddie. Lake water, dodgy Chinese and all.” [she presses a kiss on his forehead, he smiles peacefully] “Ready for bed?”

[Eddie begins to move off the floor but groans]

Eddie: “Not yet, the floor is nice and cold and my stomach still hurts.” Nina: [patting her lap] “Come here then.”

[Eddie lies down with his head in her lap, body curled into the foetus position on the floor. Nina gently presses the cold cloth against him as he sighs with content.]

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wayne: “Night kids.” [he walks past the bathroom to find the light still on.] “Kids?” [Pushing the door open a crack, he sees Eddie asleep on the floor, head on Nina’s lap, Nina asleep against the cold tile wall of the bathroom. Wayne shakes his head, amused, talking to himself] “Well, Eddie, I approve.” [he turns off the bathroom light] “Goodnight.”

A/N: So sorry this chapter took so long to come out! I'm genuinely sick of the sight of it now, it took so long to write and so long to edit! Hopefully chapter 12 will be easier!

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated :)

Comment to be added to taglist :)

Next Chapter : Chapter Twelve - Jaws

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propremiumshoecare · 11 months ago

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your-highnessmarvel · 1 year ago

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Enemies to Enemies to Enemies to... Lovers?

Requested by @skyf-7: Bucky x reader. Enemies to lovers. Pranking each other. Glue his arm and steal her clothes.

AN: LMAO this was so fun to make!!!

Warnings: Mentions of being naked, kissing, language

*gif not mine

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

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MASTERLIST

Honestly, you don't know what triggered your hatred for this man. It's like one day, the world was turning one way, right on its axis with gravity pulling at exactly the right pull. And then, you woke up the next day, and everything had switched.

And every time he talked or moved or cleared his throat, it was like Bucky had managed to get on every single one of the 7,000 nerves in your body.

And to be fair; he started it.

He started the useless pranks that turned into very, oh very, frustrating attempts on your sanity.

It really all started with honey in your tea. You hated it. Abhorred the taste, the sickly sweet twang on your tongue. Everyone knew that. But somehow, in the tea that Wanda prepared for everyone that fateful night, yours was brimming with honey.

And Bucky was grinning, the blue light of the TV reflecting off his irises because, of course, he wasn't looking at you. He'd never meet that darkened stare across the room, the black eyes from under your brows, the look that would kill a million men in its radius.

So you stole one of Tony's super magnets and, while Bucky was in the shower, taped it against the wall of the hallway.

You heard his yell all the way across the tower floor, through your closed bedroom door.

Now that was a declaration of war.

Next, it was your hairspray switched out for insect spray.

His favourite ice cream swapped for white toothpaste.

Your shoes stuffed with whip cream and peanut butter.

Messing up the functions on his favourite treadmill at the gym.

And always, "I'm going to kill you, rookie!"

"I'd like to see you try, Bucky!"

"Next time you mess with my things, I'll really make you regret it!"

"You're only method of warfare is food, Bucky!"

And every time, you'd leave those conversations with a little spring in your walk. As if driving Bucky to the brink of committing a war crime was the thing you needed to start off your day.

But it all came to a brutal end when you stepped out of the shower, and both your clothes and your towels were gone.

"Fuck," you whispered, knowing exactly who had taken them. By now, everyone had left the compound, and you didn't think that Bucky would attempt any prank. It was always funnier to see the reactions of the Avengers, and Bucky, especially him, loved the way Steve would laugh and Nat would tell him his prank was clever.

You hadn't thought he would care to prank you - what with his beloved audience all gone.

"Bucky!" you yelled. But no one answered except your voice echoing in the women's locker room. You scrambled to your locker, but you'd stupidly left it open and there was nothing but you perfume and deodorant in there.

You went through each locker, but Nat's was locked and Wanda only had her smelly shoes in there. You pulled every cabinet door open, but the bastard had taken every piece of cloth out of there.

You had no choice but to venture outside.

You stepped into the dark gym, your feet leaving wet imprints on the wooden floor. Slowly, you tiptoed towards the hall, covering your breasts with your arms.

No one was there, so you lounged the wall, quickly aiming for your room.

Something crashed behind you, as if someone - Bucky - had dropped a book or something. So you broke into a run, not risking it, until you got to your door.

And found it locked.

You slammed your shoulder against it and groaned.

"You thought I'd make it that easy?" You heard his voice behind you and you spun, wet hair sliding against your bare shoulders.

But the hall was empty. Faintly, you heard footsteps.

You bolted to the right, down another hall, pushing against all doors but they were all locked. The asshole had really taken the time to lock every door!

You agve all your strength to your legs, pushing you down every hall, until you spun around one corner and ran right into Bucky's chest.

It was like hitting a brick wall made of ice. He just stood there, latching onto both of your shoulders and bringing your face a few inches from his, right where he could bore his icy blue gaze into yours.

Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, throbbing in your throat, roaring so loudly in your ears it was like a marching band was playing the crescendo in your brain.

"Now, now," he whispered, and the way his lips formed the words sent a wicked shiver down your spine.

He wasn't looking anywhere else but your eyes.

"You're in a hurry."

You bald one fist and moved to strike him, but he grabbed onto your wrist with his metal fingers, eyes pinned to yours like glue. "None of that, sweetheart," he purred, so close that the tip of his nose brushed yours.

He'd never used pet names before. He'd always called you by your alst name, always in a mocking, sardonic tone.

"Now that you're finally listening," he said, pulling away slightly but never once roaming his eyes down your figure. He was surprisingly intent on your face.

And you, heart hammering like a wild drum, stood there, frozen in fear, wet and cold and shivering. You too couldn't tear your eyes from his.

"This little rivalry ends now," he ordered, tone low, menacing, grating. "Because I just won."

Then he dropped your wrist, his metal fingers imprinted in red marks along your skin. And so suddenly, he turned and walked down the hallway, leaving you to the sound of your roaring blood.

And after that, after you'd returned to your room and you'd taken a few days to scatter your thoughts, you couldn't ignore that feeling that Bucky had shifted. Every time you walked into a room, he'd stop talking or listening and he'd search your face.

When he was in the gym, you couldn't rip your eyes away from his form; the sweat darkening his shirt or dampening his hair or the way his skin moved along his muscles.

People asked you what the next prank was and you'd mumble some excuse, some dumb serenade about finally becoming the bigger person.

Suddenly, the urge to prank Bucky turned into an obsession with his presence. Wherever he was, so were you. Where you went, he followed. He was as fixated with you as you were with him.

For weeks, this went on, in silence, in torturous gazes and flickering smiles.

Until you left your door unlocked one evening, when the tower slept, when there was no noise but the central air conditioning, humming through the tower like an ever-present breath.

You sat on your bed, over the covers, in cotton shorts and a cropped t-shirt. You knew what you were doing.

I don't know how you knew, but you knew he tried to come talk to you so many times, but this night, you were ready to start talking back.

The door creaked open first, a surprised stop, and then it swung slowly on its hinges, revealing the towering Winter Soldier beyond.

"How'd we get here?" he asked, eyes drinking in the sight of you on the bed, sitting crossed legged, bare legs, bare tummy. He'd almost seen you naked and this is the sight that almost brings him to his knees.

You gulped. "I don't know where my wires got crossed," you whispered back.

He breathed in slowly, then stepped through the threshold, closing the door behind him.

"Yogurt for ice cream?" he said, tone flat.

"You started it," you answered, looking up at him, fingers trembling in your lap, as he came across the bed towards you.

He smiled softly. "It was the only way to get your attention."

You frowned. He took a seat at the edge of your bed, inches away from your folded legs. "I thought you hated me," you admitted, watching carefully as he touched the tips of his flesh fingers onto your knee. A shiver ran through your body like wildfire.

He smiled again. "No, not really," he answered. "I thought I did but every time I pranked you, it gave me an excuse to talk to you."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

He slowly met your eyes, and your heart started galloping in your chest again. "Because I saw you naked," he said. "And I had a sudden thought that if anyone was around to see that, I'd rip their eyes out."

Oh, well, that was graphic.

He scooted closer, moving his fingers from your knee to the bed, beside your hip, so he could lean in.

"And I had a serious hard-on right after."

You gasped silently, finally tearing your eyes from his to look down, cheeks heating.

His put his index to your chin, dragging your eyes back up to his. "Don't look away from me, y/n." He leaned in closer, examining your eyes as if they were the most beautiful gems in the world. "Don't turn away from me when I'm about to kiss you."

He left you enough time to process it, smiling, the corner of his lips lifting to show his teeth. And then he kissed you, leaning into you until you had no choice but to lean back against your pillows. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, settling between your open legs effortlessly, as if you'd been made to fit him there.

He nipped at your mouth, each kiss rewarded with his teeth against your lip. He molded his body to yours, and your hands moved onto his back, caressing his shoulders and sliding down his biceps. His kissed you harder, delving his tongue through your teeth, and you reacted by pulling your feet over his hips.

He pulled back from the kiss abruptly. "Do that again and I don't know if I can walk out of here tonight," he breathed, nuzzling your jaw, kissing down your neck.

You giggled when his beard tickled the sensitive flesh there.

"Make that sound again," he breathed into your neck, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his mouth back to yours.

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #avengers #fluff #bucky x yn

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sexilene · 1 year ago

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smelling like an angel!

here is everything i use and i promise you’ll be smelling and looking angelic! 🪽🌸🐇

🪽 my daily go to's are for sure, britney spears fantasy and the midnight fantasy for perfumes, they have that soft vanilla scent while also being sooo 2000s! on fancier days i use the casablanca lily perfume from byredo it’s my fave!

🪽 for my hair the tresemme shampoo and conditioner makes my hair smell so good for days im not kidding!! if you are feeling a bit fancier/expensive then i recommend the oribe gold lust shampoo and conditioner it’s also heavenly.

🪽 i also blowout my hair with the extra strength color wow spray orrrrr the oribe royal blowout spray and use curlers so it holds its shape, then i lock that it with the sexyhair shine/weather proof hairspray then oil/serum (kerestase exlir ultime) or the oribe split end seal! i like my hair to shiny, soft and bouncy like 90s butterfly cut with slightly fluffy bangs, sorta like a supamodel!

🪽 i use the tree hut hibiscus ylang ylang body scrub when i’m feeling pinkkk heaven and if im feeling fancy i use the ouai st. barts scrub and the elemis salt glow. i also am using the sticky dates body wash from lush rn and it’s like sooo vanilla i love it! (i'm literally always going to lush lol). oh! and the necessaire unscented bar soap is fabulous as well!

🪽 i use the pink dove deodorant im not sure what its called since ive gotten it so many times but i love the smell! for lotions i do a mix of a body shimmer from ionic london, or the soleil blanc shimmer from tom ford and the ouai st. barts creme which smells like a frosting vacation! i buy the i also use the sleepy dust powder from lush and basically cover my clothes, bed-sheets, inside of my shoes and body with that, go get it seriouslyyy! i also crush up glittery eyeshadow sometimes to mix in with the powder to leave things shiny and so when i offer some to guys to put on their gym clothes or whateverrrr they are slightly glittery and smell like me 😇😇 ‘swoon’

🪽 something i also like to do which is a little odd is that i like to very lightly spray tom ford cologne on my mattress and pillows because it smells like hotel to me!

🪽 always keep a spare mini perfume samples in your bag because you never know when you’ll need a touch up or if a friend need a quick spritz that way you both aren’t wearing the same perfume! 🤍

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l1ftinggqueen · 8 months ago

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back 2 school l1fting/🧬 wishlist

clothes 👗

jeans (walmart, shein, or target)

biker shorts (walmart, shein or target)

push-up/underwire bras (walmart or vs)

accessories 🎀

sunglasses (shein, walmart, dollar tree)

beaded bracelets (shein,walmart, or claire’s)

skincare & makeup 💋

setting powder (ulta or sephora)

charlotte tillbury setting spray (ulta)

la-roche posay face wash (ulta)

lash bond & seal (ulta or walmart)

touchland hand sanitizer (sephora/kohls or ulta)

micellar water (ulta)

shoes 👟

crocs 🩴 (famous footwear)

nike shoes (famous footwear)

nike socks 🧦(famous footwear)

hygiene 🫧

dove spray deodorant (walmart)

dr teals mouthwash (target or walmart)

sdj perfume 59 (sephora)

sdj perfume 71 (ulta or sephora/kohls)

sdj perfume 62 (ulta or sephora/kohls)

hair 👩🏾‍🦱

edge control 💇🏽‍♀️ (sally’s beauty supply)

edge brush 🪥(sally’s beauty

snacks 🍿

gum 🍉(anywhere)

takis (anywhere)

big bag of reese’s pieces (dollar tree, target, or walmart)

flavored drink mixes (dollar tree or family dollar)

chester’s cheese puffs (anywhere)

hot fries 🔥(anywhere)

cheez-its 🧀(anywhere)

cashews (anywhere)

reese’s xl candy bar (anywhere)

sour patch kids oreos (walmart or aldi’s)

frosted sugar cookies 🍪 (walmart or target)

other 🤷🏽‍♀️

pillows (five below or target)

locker organizers/decor (dollar tree or target)

mini stanley dupe🥤(five below)

and ik it’s mainly snacks but yk i gotta stock up on snacks for back 2 school i’m a big back lmaoo 😭🙏🏾 and majority of this list is being l1fted, i don’t wanna spend a lot of money on back 2 school shopping so i’m only buying things that i physically would not be able to fit into my bag.

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w1yre · 4 months ago

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bull headcanons yay

art is also official i think idfk

(i think i have a lot more for bull than colt sorry this is long)

- speaks WAY too loud, has no volume awareness

- unintentionally gets up in your face when he talks to you

- he’s cisgender and pansexual

- is definitely fucking scared of butterflies and harmless bugs

- probably a sweat in chemistry in his high school years

- crashes out during football games

- unironically says “if she ain’t hawk tuah, i ain’t talk tuah”

- no water. just beer and the worst, most toxic, most radioactive, most caffeinated energy drinks ever

- probably the type of person to go from screaming borderline slurs at his friends to “hi mommy :)” when he was a kid

- cannot recite the alphabet correctly

- “a b q d f g i h l m n o p w” type shit

- if someone offers him a high-five he literally slams his hand into theirs and sends them flying

- cannot swim

- cannot balance on one foot

- ate dirt as a kid

- wears axe body spray and old spice deodorant. worst combo ever

- hates sonic the hedgehog with a passion

- type of person to punch you right in the nose if you insult him and then go cry about it in the shower

- actually a really great cook. can make anything and everything

- shoes are really fucking squeaky

- probably makes a really nice thanksgiving dinner

- has probably smoked a fat blunt before

- does not wash his face. greasier than the food he cooks

- baby soft skin everywhere else but his dry ass chapped ass old man ass hands

- cries when he sees those sad ai cat videos on instagram reels and tiktok

- calls tiktok “taktak”

- laughs way too loud

- uses like 400 hair products to get his hair together in the morning

- cuts himself all the fucking time while shaving and it pisses him off

- seems like he would like yellow. i think he’d like yellow :)

- probably around six feet tall

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adhdnursegoat · 1 month ago

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Word count: 19.6K

Pairing: Edward Nashton X OC Romy Winslow

Setting: Pre-Arkham Origins; 2013

Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, power play, dominance/submission themes, dirty talk, degradation, praise, light restraint, strong language & explicit descriptions, fingering, handjob, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, spitting, mutual teasing, taunting, rough sex, heavy themes of control, tension, and giving in.

You do not need to read The Edge of Us to enjoy, but it is highly recommended!

Ao3 link here!

Enjoy the filth, perverts!

2013

Well, this isn’t ideal.

Edward stood in the doorway of the motel room, messenger bag slung across his chest, duffle in his grip, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he took in the absolute fucking state of the place.

The air was musty with the scent of stale cigarettes and something vaguely chemical beneath it, like years of cheap deodorizing spray had failed to mask whatever had seeped into the walls. The yellowed wallpaper curled at the seams, lifting in places where moisture had eaten away at the adhesive. The dull-pink shag carpet— shag carpet, Jesus Christ —looked as though it hadn’t been properly cleaned since the seventies, the fibers matted and flattened from decades of cheap shoes and bad decisions.

A single, sickly amber fluorescent light flickered overhead, the bulb audibly popping, buzzing every few seconds as though clinging to life. His eye twitched with every irregular pulse of light.

The furniture was an eclectic mess of forgotten decades. A small, composite wood dresser sat against the nearest wall, its edges scuffed, laminate peeling at the corners. Atop it rested a box television, an old Zenith with a convex glass screen, the kind of relic that suggested whoever owned this place hadn’t made an upgrade since the turn of the millennium.

The far wall housed a built-in vanity—faded green laminate, cracked porcelain sink, a warped mirror above it that stretched the reflection like an unsettling funhouse distortion. A narrow doorway beside it led to what he could only assume was the toilet and shower. He wasn’t eager to inspect.

But none of this, none of it, was what made his eye twitch.

No. That honor belonged solely to the single full-sized bed taking up the center of the room.

Edward’s lips pulled flat.

The russet-colored bedspread looked scratchy, the kind of synthetic material designed to withstand cigarette burns and questionable stains. The headboard was a basic dark wood laminate, cheap and unremarkable, flanked by two mismatched bedside tables that didn’t even attempt to coordinate with the dresser or the vanity. And—of course—there wasn’t a couch. No second bed. Just a single armchair in the corner, positioned beside a rickety table near the window. The aging AC unit beneath the window roared like it had something to prove, rattling as it pushed out arctic-level cold air, the force strong enough to ruffle the thin drapes, making them dance.

Edward rolled his shoulders, adjusting the strap of his bag as he mentally recalibrated.

It would do. It had to.

Because this was the room for the night—the room. The one he was expected to share with her.

And that was the problem.

Before he could step inside, Edward caught the faintest flicker of movement behind his shoulder. He turned, already anticipating trouble, and found Romy—his infernal student—peering past him into the dim room, sharp green eyes scanning the space with interest. She blinked once, processing the layout, then slowly tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. Something shifted in her expression. A slow, dawning amusement that made his stomach tighten with preemptive irritation. There it was.

That smirk.

No—worse than a smirk. A grin. A wide, wicked, shit-eating grin that split across her face like she’d just won a fucking jackpot.

"How ‘bout that?" she drawled, voice all honeyed mischief, tilting her head with mock surprise. "Only one bed."

Edward exhaled sharply through his nose, resisting the immediate, visceral urge to rub at his temples. Instead, he rolled his eyes, his lip curling into a small, pointed sneer.

"Don’t get any ideas, Winslow."

Without another glance in her direction, he strode into the room, heading immediately to the right and dropping his bags onto the small, rickety table with more force than necessary.

"We’re here to work. Nothing else."

Behind him, the door clicked shut, locking them into the dimly lit, questionably sanitized motel room. He didn’t turn around. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But he heard her. The quiet shuffle of her heeled boots over the matted shag carpet. The dull thump of her dropping her bags beside the cheap composite wood dresser. Then—that sound. A low, protesting creak of ancient springs as she flopped onto the bed, making herself comfortable.

Edward’s jaw clenched. His hands flattened against the table’s surface. For half a second, he fought the urge to look. But his body betrayed him. His gaze flickered over his shoulder—and there she was.

Splayed across the bed, her long legs crossed at the ankles, her body reclining in that effortlessly confident way of hers. One elbow propped her up, her head tilted just enough to let her dark, loose hair spill down behind her shoulders. She was watching him. Expecting something.

"C’mon," she mused. "You’re not gonna get any sleep tonight?" She shifted lazily, lifting one hand, examining her nails like this entire situation was beneath her concern. "Don’t tell me you don’t sleep either. No breaks. No sleep. I rarely see you eat."

A pointed pause.

Then, her gaze flicked back to him, eyes gleaming with something—sharp and knowing, cutting straight through him. "You’re sounding more and more like a robot every day."

He bit his teeth and rolled his eyes before turning back to his bags, busying himself with unpacking. “Unlike you, I don’t need breaks every fifteen minutes.”

“Please. I don’t know how you even function with your energy expenditures. Eventually, the car does run out of gas you know.”

Edward snorted. “For you, maybe.” He flipped open his laptop and pressed the power button. The fan whirred to life, blue light flickering along the keyboard. “Plus, we shouldn’t be here long. A few hours, tops.”

“Sure, we’ll see how it goes.” Romy clicked her tongue. “I brought a change of clothes just in case.”

“From the looks of it, you packed for the whole weekend.” He tossed her a glance over his shoulder, his brow cocked, before refocusing on his equipment. “I mean, honestly, does one need so many bags?”

“Absolutely. One for clothes, another for skincare, makeup, and toiletries, and the other is my purse.”

Edward scoffed under his breath. Stooping near the wall, he stretched to plug in his power cord. “Sounds like a bunch of bullshit.”

“Mr. Nashton, don’t you know it takes a lot of time, products, and effort to look this good?”

The teasing lilt in her voice had him rolling his eyes again, but when he straightened up, hands brushing dust off his slacks, his gaze landed on her without thinking.

Romy was playing with a strand of her long black hair, twirling it lazily around one slender finger. Her nails—sharp, lilac-tipped talons—contrasted against the dark silk. Her lips, already full, were caught in her teeth, just a small bite, but deliberate enough that his mind snagged on it.

And fuck.

His eyes swept downward before he could stop himself.

Her white button-up pulled taut across her chest, the fabric straining at the buttons. The little tie around her collar hung loose, slipping lazily over the valley of her breasts. Below, her skirt, short and pleated, had ridden up her thighs, crumpled in a way that shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was. It framed her perfectly—the dips and curves of her hips leading down to the expanse of bare skin exposed between her hem and the tops of her thigh-high stockings.

His stomach tensed.

She did look good.

Too good.

Edward shook his head, clearing his mind with a sharp blink. His jaw tightened as he turned back to his laptop, fingers planted on the table as he refocused on his work.

Focus.

They had work to do. Another dumb criminal. Another person thinking they were smart enough to hide from the law. Not that he cared, really. Just doing what he was paid to do. Surveillance. Collect information from a known drug smuggler staying in the room next to them. Proximity. That was all this room was. That was all it was useful for. Proximity. As soon as he had what he needed, they’d be out of there. Easy peasy.

Edward adjusted his laptop, angling the screen toward him as he sat down and pulled up the feed from his equipment. He’d planted a small listening device under the vent cover outside their target’s room earlier, the perfect placement to pick up any conversation from inside. If there was anything worth hearing, he’d catch it.

From his periphery, Romy stretched like a cat, arms lifting over her head before she slumped back onto the bed with a satisfied sigh.

"So, who’s this guy again?" she asked, shifting onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. "And what exactly are we listening for?"

"Daniel Barrera.” Edward didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Smuggler. Moves product through the port in South Channel, mostly coke, some heroin, but he's getting into fentanyl now, which is an even bigger problem."

"So we’re spying on a drug dealer’s hotel stay?” Her brows lifted. “Real thrilling stuff."

"It’s not about where he is. It’s about who he’s talking to," Edward corrected. He tapped a few keys, adjusting the sensitivity of the mic feed. "Barrera’s meeting with someone tonight. One of Sionis’ men."

"Any guesses on who?"

"Several." Edward flexed his fingers, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I prefer certainty over speculation."

Romy made a thoughtful hum, tracing lazy circles against the mattress with her nails. "And what exactly do you need me to do?"

"Sit there. Be quiet. Pay attention. Maybe you’ll learn something."

Her head tilted, eyes narrowing playfully. "So I just sit here and watch you work?"

"That’s the idea."

"Wow, riveting. ” She snorted. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Mr. Nashton."

Edward ignored her sarcasm, tuning into the audio feed as the static smoothed into background noise. A chair scraped against the floor in the next room. Someone cleared their throat. He leaned in slightly, adjusting the frequency, honing in on the muffled noises.

"You’re welcome to leave if you’re so bored, Winslow."

Romy grinned. "And miss all the fun?" She smoothed a hand over her thigh, letting her skirt ride just a little higher. "Not a chance."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then quickly looked back at his laptop.

It was going to be a long night.

In the few hours they had been there, nothing. No chatter. No movement. No meeting. Dead air. He had heard nothing. Nada. Zilch. It was, much like Romy had stated multiple times in as many hours, boring.

Edward rolled his shoulders, then his neck, grimacing as he felt the dull stiffness from staying hunched over his laptop. He shifted, stretching his fingers before rubbing a hand over his jaw, irritation thrumming beneath his skin. He’d busied himself as much as he could. Adjusting levels. Recalibrating the mic sensitivity. Checking the security of the feed. Again.

Now, it was just a waiting game. He was patient. Always had been. Sure, his temper ran a little hot, but patience? That, he had. Yet—this? This was grating. The setup was practically running itself, the audio and surveillance on autopilot, recording everything for later review. He just needed to be here. Nearby. Present. It wasn’t like they were raiding anything. There were no doors to kick in, no immediate action required. No brilliant feat of deduction to solve. He just needed proof. That was all.

And right now? There was nothing to prove.

Edward dragged a hand through his hair before letting it drop back to the keyboard.

The room was oppressively quiet. The kind of silence that settled into his bones, coiling into his nerves, making them itch for something—anything.

And Romy? She wasn’t helping. Not with the way she had sprawled across the bed like this was some leisurely getaway, her body stretched in a way that made it abundantly clear she was having a better time than he was. Not with the way she sighed dramatically every few minutes, shifting her position just enough to draw his attention. Not with the way she existed in this stiflingly small room, her scent lingering in the air—warm, soft, something faintly sweet beneath it, a problem he didn’t need right now.

He ground his teeth, adjusting his glasses. They were working. That was the priority.

Even if the waiting was becoming unbearable.

From across the room, the bathroom door clicked open. Edward barely glanced up at first, still staring at his laptop screen, fingers idly tapping against the keyboard. Romy had stepped in earlier, muttering something about “pajamas.” Of course, she’d be sleeping. Lazy twit. All she was good for was taking up space and distrac—

He blinked. His fingers stilled.

…Distracing him…

Edward’s mind, usually so sharp, so relentlessly efficient, went utterly blank.

Because oh.

Oh, fuck.

His gaze snagged on her form, eyes widening slightly behind his glasses as she strode toward the sink, seemingly unaware of the seismic shift she had just caused in his entire reality. Much to his growing dismay, she was not wearing pajamas.

No. It was worse. Much, much worse.

Romy’s back was to him as she dug through her bag, fishing out a toothbrush, scrolling idly on her phone with her other hand. In the warped mirror above the sink, he caught a glimpse of her pretty face—unbothered, completely oblivious to what she was doing to him.

But Edward’s gaze had already dropped lower.

The white tank top she wore clung to her like a second skin, the thin fabric tracing every dip of her spine, every delicate curve of her waist. It was cropped, the hem stopping above her navel, revealing the smooth line of her back, the arch of her lower spine.

And below that—

His breath caught, his pulse spiking violently in his throat.

Oh, God.

Lace. Black lace. That was all she had on. A delicate, scalloped pair of panties that left nothing to the imagination—the cut high, the fabric thin, her curves accentuated in a way that made his mouth go dry.

She shifted onto the balls of her feet, searching for something in her bag, the motion making her calves flex, her thighs tense, molding into something even more enticing—as if the universe had designed this exact moment to fucking ruin him. And all the while, she brushed her teeth like nothing was happening. No performance. No teasing glance over her shoulder. No acknowledgment of the absolute carnage she was wreaking on his ability to function. Just standing there, scrolling through whatever meaningless content she was looking at on her phone, like this was normal.

Edward’s jaw slackened, lips parting slightly. His entire system—his precise, carefully maintained equilibrium—had just short-circuited.

“I—” He cleared his throat, his voice catching on something embarrassingly tight. “I thought you said pajamas?”

At that, Romy turned just enough to see him, her toothbrush paused between her lips. She blinked at him, head tilting slightly as if she hadn’t the faintest clue what he was talking about. Then, slowly, her gaze dropped to her own body, her mouth quirking around the plastic in realization.

Edward grimaced.

And then— God help him— she smirked.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste, moving with that same infuriating, languid ease she carried everywhere she went. Then, she spun on her heel and laid her phone on the counter. Now fully facing him, she leaned back against the vanity, bracing her hands against the counter, hips jutting out just enough to make his pulse stutter.

“These are my PJs,” she offered, voice syrupy sweet, as if she were doing him a favor by wearing anything at all.

Edward’s fingers clenched against his laptop.

"Those," he croaked stiffly, "are nothing of the sort."

Romy’s smile only widened. "You should be grateful," she hummed, "because I actually sleep nude."

Blood rushed so violently to his face that he felt it burning down his neck, spreading up to his ears, and somewhere else entirely. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again in silent, useless floundering. Edward’s brain—his entire central nervous system—glitched.

She saw. Her lips pressed together like she was holding back a laugh. She shifted slightly, crossing one bare leg over the other, dragging the tip of one lilac-painted nail along the sink’s countertop as she regarded him with deep, unhurried amusement.

He yanked his gaze away, forcibly adjusting his glasses, adjusting his seating, adjusting everything to compensate for the problem she had just created. He turned back to his laptop. It took every ounce of willpower not to look at her again. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the slow, unbothered movement of her pushing off the counter. The soft pad of her feet against the shag carpet. She wasn’t in a hurry—she never was.

And then, because of course she did, she made her way back to the bed. She climbed up slowly, deliberately, on her hands and knees.

God was testing him.

She lounged on her side, legs half-folded, a palm propping her up on the ratty bedspread. The neon motel sign outside the window cast streaks of light, molded by the blinds, across her bare legs, the soft glow trailing up the curves of her body.

"You look tense, Mr. Nashton," she lilted. "You okay over there?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn’t respond. He wouldn’t take the bait. He kept his focus on the screen, on the empty audio feed, on anything that wasn’t the young, sexy woman sprawled out on the bed beside him.

She smirked.

"What, never shared a bed before?"

"Go to sleep, Winslow." His voice was low, controlled. A warning.

But Romy? She never listened to warnings.

She stretched with a lazy, languid ease, her arms lifting above her head before she shifted, rolling her hips slightly, letting the hem of her tank top ride up to reveal the soft curve of her stomach.

He was trying —trying so fucking hard to be good, to stay in control, to not react.

But then—

"Are you scared?”

Edward’s fingers curled into fists on his keyboard. His entire body tensed, his pulse tripping with something that had nothing to do with frustration and everything to do with the way she was looking at him right now. He forced himself to breathe through his nose, measured, even.

"Hardly," he muttered, finally pressing a key on his laptop, though he didn’t register what he was doing.

"Mm." She hummed, unconvinced.

Romy moved again. Shifting onto her stomach, she stretched across the bed. The movement arched her back, lifting her hips, making the lace of her panties stretch just right against her skin.

He took a deep breath through his nose, head falling back and eyes scowling towards the ceiling, towards whatever divine being that existed.

"You seem awfully stiff," she mused, watching him now, head propped up on her palm. "Too stiff. Maybe you should lie down. Relax a little." She smoothed her palm over the bed beside her.

Edward exhaled sharply. "I’m working."

"Are you?" Her voice was almost playful. Almost. "Because you’ve been staring at that screen without actually doing anything."

"I’m monitoring the feed." He bristled.

Romy tsked softly. "Right. Totally. Must be porn. That’s why your ears are red."

His shoulders went rigid.

A slow, knowing smirk curled at the edges of her lips.

"Aw," she cooed, voice dipping into something silkier, lower, more dangerous. "You really are scared, huh?"

“Scared of what?” Edward snapped, his teeth grinding together, the tension in his jaw spreading down his spine, stiffening his entire body.

Her eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing, as she tilted her head, nails tapping lightly against the sheets. “Scared you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.”

Feeling tense, his throat worked around a swallow, pulse thrumming heavy in his neck.

“Or…” Romy shifted back to her side, slow and languid, stretching one leg out, then the other, tracing a lazy fingertip from her knee, along the soft skin of her thigh, up over the curve of her hip.

Edward’s eyes followed. He couldn’t help it. The sharp lilac nail skated over the dip of her waist, teasing the hem of her tank top, dragging down just slightly—just enough to make something hot twist in his stomach.

"Or maybe…" Her voice was velvet, thick and laced with something almost mocking in its sweetness. "Maybe you’re scared you don’t want to keep your hands to yourself…?"

Feeling caught, his brows knitted together, mouth parting as if to retort—but nothing came out. His mind was blank. Just white noise and the unbearable weight of his own restraint straining at the seams.

And she knew. Her lips curled into something dangerous.

Then—slowly—Romy lifted one of her pretty little hands and crooked a pretty little finger at him. Her nails caught the light, sharp and pointed, the movement deliberate, controlled. Her eyes, hooded, gleamed with the kind of filthy promise that made his stomach drop through the fucking floor.

"C’mere," she purred. "I won’t bite… hard… not unless you want that."

Edward froze. His feet shifted against the matted carpet, his muscles coiled so tightly they ached. His mind was screaming at him. Don't. Don't move. Don’t take the bait.

But his body? His body had already made the decision for him. His weight shifted forward, his hands bracing against the table for all of half a second before—He moved. Quick, sharp steps across the too-small room, closing the unbearable space between them with the force of a man who had finally, finally lost the battle. He stopped at the side of the bed, standing over her, looming, his breath shallow, his pulse hammering in his throat. His hands flexed at his sides, his entire body burning with the unbearable frustration of wanting her.

And God help him, he did.

More than anything.

Romy—his student, his infernal devil, his irritating little minx—shifted when he approached, sitting up with an unhurried ease, her legs folding neatly beneath her. The movement sent a ripple through the bedspread, the thin mattress dipping slightly under her weight. Her hands slid against the sheets, settling between her spread thighs, fingers resting lightly, a picture of effortless temptation.

Edward shouldn’t be looking. Shouldn’t be standing there, hovering at the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body wound tight, his hands twitching at his sides as he battled the unbearable heat curling low in his stomach.

But Romy was looking at him. Emerald eyes gleaming beneath dark, smoky lashes, half-lidded, knowing. She was watching him with the kind of quiet, expectant patience that made his nerves burn.

"Mr. Nashton," she breathed, voice smooth as silk, teasing something almost affectionate. "You’re staring."

His jaw tightened. He should step back. Should say something sharp, something cutting. He didn’t.

Her lips curved, pleased.

"You work too hard," she murmured, voice low, sultry, dangerous. "Always so tense. Always so frustrated." She tilted her head slightly, nails tracing lazy patterns against the sheets. "You’re only human, you know," she continued, voice feather-light, coaxing. Her gaze never left his, studying him the same way he always studied her. "Even you have wants, don’t you?"

Edward’s breath came shallow, heat pooling low in his spine, coiling tight. "I don’t," he muttered, but the words came out thin, unconvincing.

She smirked.

"Liar."

It was barely more than a breath of sound, but it spurred him. A challenge. A provocation. Her fingers flexed before she reached out, grasping his wrist with a touch so deceptively light it made his stomach tighten. His breath caught.

Romy’s nails skimmed along the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, a slow, featherlight drag that sent something electric darting through his nerves. His pulse hammered, his muscles twitching as she traced just along the hem of his glove—teasing the seam, testing his reaction. And then, deliberately , excruciatingly, she slipped a fingertip beneath the fabric. A slow, unhurried pull. Bit by bit, she peeled the glove away, revealing bare skin to the cool, stale air of the motel room.

Nearly unmooored, Edward clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching as though they meant to resist—but she just smiled. Soft. Sweet. Decadent . She smoothed her palm over his, her touch unbearably tender, and lifted his hand bringing it to her cheek.

His breath shook.

Just as it looked, her skin was so soft, impossibly soft, and warm against the rougher texture of his that it made his stomach coil tight. As if that wasn’t enough, she turned her face into his touch, nuzzling against it in a way that sent something ruinous curling through his veins. Her lashes lowered, her lips parting, as if she was savoring the moment, as if this was something gentle—

Instead of being the single most depraved fucking thing he had ever felt or seen.

His restraint was unraveling, fraying apart with every press of her skin, every measured, deliberate breath that passed between them.

"Touch me," she whispered.

His stomach dropped.

"Just this once."

The words sank straight to the pit of him. His teeth gritted so tightly his jaw ached. His body was tight, wound with something unbearable like he was standing on the edge of something deep, irreversible, fatal.

His control, his meticulous self-restraint, his entire goddamn equilibrium—

It was slipping through his fingers like sand.

But her words were insidious, something occult.

Just once.

Just this once.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale through his nose. His hands twitched, one at his side and the other on her gorgeous face.

And then—

Edward gave in.

With the gentlest of touches, his palm cupped her skin of his own accord, thumb smoothing along her cheekbone. The simple touch made her lips curve, and when his hand slid back towards her hair, she tilted her chin up, a look of pride in her eyes. His breath came shallow and uneven as his fingers continued back, sliding towards the silk of her hair. The strands caught lightly against his fingertips, smooth and cool, as he slid his hand deeper. He found the curve of her skull, his fingers threading into the threads of her hair with a pressure that was both hesitant and deliberate. Her hair was as sleek and soft as it always looked, slipping through his fingers like water. His gaze was fixed on her, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, the vivid green of them disappearing beneath dark liner and fanned lashes. She leaned into him, just slightly, the movement so subtle it might have been missed if he weren’t so hyper-aware of every breath she took.

"See," she chuckled softly, her breath warm against his fingers, "I told you I wouldn’t bite…"

Feeling the tension, Edward swallowed hard, his throat aching around it. His brow was furrowed so tightly it hurt, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line as he watched her. Watched himself touch her. Watched as his fingers disappeared into the silken curtain of her hair, the strands curling against his skin, clinging to him, as if they, too, refused to let go.

It felt… wrong. It felt wrong how right it felt. His brain fought to process it, but it was too much. The warmth of her. The way her skin felt beneath his palm, smooth and soft and alive. The way she tilted into his touch like she welcomed it, like she had been waiting for it.

And goddammit—he didn’t know what to do. Had no fucking clue where to go from here. Had no idea where to go after this.

But Romy—sweet, merciful Romy—didn’t let him flounder for long.

Slowly, deliberately, she rose onto her knees, the movement fluid, predatory, her spine arching slightly as she closed the space between them.

Edward froze.

She was so close now. Her body was drawn up before him, pliant and waiting, a breath away from touching, the thin strap of her tank top slipping just slightly off one shoulder, her collarbones delicate, prominent in the scant motel light. She peered at him through half-lidded, hooded eyes, gleaming with something that made his stomach flip.

"Kiss me."

The words were smoky, thick and hypnotic, dripping from her lips like molten honey. A command. A plea. A promise.

His breath stilled in his chest. His eyes dropped to her mouth, drawn to the way her lips looked under the glow of the neon-drenched room—plush, supple, inviting. So damn tempting. The kind of mouth that demanded to be kissed. The kind of mouth that could undo a man with a single taste.

He felt himself leaning in before he even registered the movement.

A breath. A stutter. A pause. Then another. He hesitated, his body riddled with tension, but she waited. Patient. Wanting. Encouraging. Not moving. Not rushing. Just letting him come to her. And fuck, he was.

Romy’s nose brushed against his with the barest hint of contact, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt through his entire body. Time seemed to halt. Her lips parted, her breath warm, soft, exhaling against his skin in the smallest, most devastating of movements. Edward’s hand tightened in her hair, deliberate now, no longer hesitant. The silk of it wound around his fingers, slipping and catching, the sensation sending something dark and satisfying curling through his spine. His thumb traced the side of her neck, a slow, absentminded stroke, feeling the heat of her pulse beneath it. He could feel her exhale, could taste the moment that was about to happen. Inevitable. Unstoppable.

She made the final move. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, gripping lightly as she tipped her chin up, closing the last bit of space.

Finally—finally—her lips met his.

It was soft at first. Tentative. Testing. A slow press, a lingering moment where they both seemed to hold still, feeling the shape of each other. Then another. And another. And then, the spark caught. Quickly, like a short fuse.

The tension, that wound and coiled for so long, snapped.

Edward deepened the kiss, his grip in her hair tightening as he dragged her closer, until there was nothing between them but heat and breath and need. His lips parted, his breath mingling with hers, and when she sighed softly against him, he took. He kissed her harder this time, hungrier, his other hand rising to cradle the curve of her jaw, fingers pressing into her skin as if to memorize the shape of her. But it wasn’t enough. His touch felt distant, hindered by the barrier of leather still clinging to his skin. It wasn’t fair—she was soft, nearly bare, all silk and heat beneath his hands, and he was still… held back.

He wouldn’t be. Not anymore.

He released her, just for a second—just long enough to tear the other glove from his hand, the fabric slipping away in one sharp motion, discarded, forgotten, mouth never leaving hers, lips still crushing, demanding, devouring. And when he grabbed her again—skin to skin—he gripped her harder this time. Firmer. Possessive . His fingers sank into the back of her neck, his other hand curling around her waist, pressing against the warm, delicate flesh just along the hem of her tank top.

Fuck—the way she reacted, the little shudder that ran through her body, the way her breath hitched—it nearly undid him. Romy responded to his fervor in kind, leaning into him, molding against him, her hands fisting into his shirt, pulling as if she wanted more, wanted everything. The heat between them spiked. Her lips parted further, inviting, needy, and Edward took. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, and when she moaned—low, breathy, perfect—he slipped inside, deepening the kiss until it was hotter, wetter, filthier. Her body arched into him, pressing chest to chest, the thin cotton of her tank top a pathetic barrier against the heat of her skin.

Edward was dizzy. Dizzy from her taste, from the way her hands clutched at him, from the way she melted into his touch so easily, so perfectly. He kissed her like he was starving. Like he had been denying himself for far too long, and now there was nothing left to do but feast.

Between them, he could feel her hands moving, working—plucking at his tie, loosening it, undoing it completely before she yanked it free and tossed it aside. Those lithe fingers of hers didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, slipping between the buttons of his shirt, popping them loose quickly, efficiently, without hesitation. Not stopping, she tugged his shirt free from his trousers, pushing the fabric aside, her palms sliding up his chest, over the sharp lines of his ribs, his collarbone—touching him like she wanted to map him out, memorize him. Hot. Searching. Claiming.

Then—Romy gripped him. Fingers clenching the edges of his shirt, her teeth caught his lower lip, biting down just enough to send a sharp, electric thrill up his spine. He groaned, the sound low, and desperate, but she didn’t stop. He was not sure he could stop her if he tried. She pulled him forward, down, her grip firm, her body shifting as she sat back, making space for him on the bed.

“C’mon, Mr. Nashton, come get me,” she breathed against his lips, grinning, taunting.

His breath was ragged, his restraint in fucking tatters. “Shut up,” he rasped, and then he devoured her. He pushed forward, crawling onto the bed, caging her beneath him, his hands gripping at her, pulling, taking, claiming the space between her thighs, pressing her down into the mattress as his lips searched and found hers again.

No more hesitation. No more waiting. No more posturing.

Edward wanted her broken.

And he wanted to be the one to do it.

Their mouths crashed together in a frenzy of heat, wetness, and unchecked need. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful—just pure, reckless hunger, as if they had been circling this moment for far too long and neither of them could hold back any longer.

Edward took. He claimed. He devoured.

His lips parted against hers, opening wide as he angled his head, tongue pushing deep, slicking over hers, tasting every inch of her mouth. The kiss was lewd, messy, their breath tangling as their tongues slid together, twisting, curling, pressing into every space they could reach. Spit slicked between them, gathering at the corners of their mouths, making each movement wetter, filthier, louder. She moaned into him, and he swallowed the sound greedily, deepening the kiss until their teeth clashed, until there was nothing but heat and saliva, until he could barely breathe. His fingers dug into her hips, dragging her closer, pressing their bodies together so tightly that every shift of muscle, every subtle grind of movement, sent sparks shooting up his spine.

Romy’s hands slid beneath the open panels of his shirt, spreading over his bare skin, heat meeting heat. Edward shuddered under her touch, his breath faltering as her fingertips traced his ribs, his sternum, following the lines of his body with infuriating precision.

Then she found it. Her palms pressed against the hair on his chest. She explored it slowly, deliberately, testing the texture, mapping the warmth of him, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

Edward sighed into her mouth, the sound reverberating through his chest, his hands tightening at her hip, gripping her harder than he meant to. She was unraveling him, undoing him piece by piece, and she fucking knew it.

She pulled back, just enough to break the kiss, their lips parting with an obscene, wet pop. A thin strand of saliva stretched between them, catching the dim motel light, snapping only when she took a slow, shaky breath. Her fingers curled deeper into his chest hair, threading through it, nails dragging lightly through the wiry strands. Edward sucked in a sharp breath, his stomach tightening, his body betraying him before he could even think to stop it.

She moaned, low, throaty, rough with desire, lips still slick and parted from the kiss.

"Fuck. I knew you'd be hot, sir."

Edward’s body jerked. Heat flashed through his entire system like a live wire, like a fucking switch had been flipped. His fingers flexed, breath shuddering, pulse hammering as her nails curled in, dragging downward.

Not soft. Not teasing.

A slow, deliberate scrape down his chest, following the path of muscle and bone, catching against his ribs before scratching down his abdomen. He hissed through his teeth, his stomach clenching so violently it felt like his body was trying to fold in on itself. The sharp sting of her nails left a burning trail in their wake, raw and stinging and perfect. His jaw clenched, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat, his breath coming hard and ragged against her lips. She was grinning. He could feel it, could sense the satisfaction rolling off her in waves.

Romy’s hand trailed lower, over the sharp dip of his abdomen, nails teasing the line of muscle that led beneath his waistband. Then she curled her fingers into the top of his trousers, gripping his belt tight—and yanked him forward.

Edward lurched, his breath knocked out of him, his body pitched toward hers. His hands braced against the bedspread beside her shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric as he loomed over her, breathless, burning. She grinned up at him, knowing, dirty.

"You feel that?" she murmured, voice low, a velvet whisper against his lips. "Your heart’s hammering." Her hand flexed, nails scraping against the leather of his belt. "You’re fucking throbbing, aren’t you?"

He bit his lip, hard, his brows knitting together, his jaw tight. His whole body jerked, his hips twitching forward against her grip, against the pressure she had on him, because damn, she wasn’t wrong. His pulse was a drumbeat in his throat, in his chest, between his legs. He exhaled, ragged, his voice shaking as he rasped, "Winslow—"

Her lithe fingers slipped between the leather of his belt and the fabric of his slacks, tugging the metal free, her movements fluid, practiced, unhurried. She popped the button open, pulled at the zipper, every small motion teasing, torturous, maddening.

Edward couldn’t move.

He just watched.

Watched as she undid him—physically, figuratively, completely. His breath hitched, his lips parting as her hand dipped beneath his waistband, slipping into his boxers.

Finally, for the first time, she gripped him. Edward groaned, loud, guttural, his spine arching, his fingers clenching into the mattress on either side of her. His head dropped forward, his breath harsh, uneven. His brows knitted together, his jaw clenched, his entire body tensing as pleasure punched through him like a strike to the gut. And when he finally cracked his eyes open, when he met her gaze—she was mirroring him. Mouth parted, breathless, her own brows furrowed, her hand tight around him, fingers flexing just enough to make his stomach clench. She groaned, low, mocking, her lips curling as she watched him unravel beneath her touch.

"Shit," he rasped.

Her fingers tightened around him, her grip firm, deliberate, the heat of her palm pressing into his length. She gave him one slow, squeezing stroke, base to tip, her touch fucking sinful—just enough friction to make his hips twitch toward her. Edward sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body coiling, his grip on the mattress white-knuckled.

Romy felt it. She knew. It was written all over her face. Her smirk widened as she worked him, her hand stroking him in agonizing, deliberate pulls—slow enough to tease, to make his spine stiffen, to make his breath stutter against her lips. She twisted her wrist at the end of each stroke, her thumb pressing along the underside, grazing the sensitive ridge beneath the head of his cock. His muscles clenched, a broken sound ripping from his throat before he could stop it.

"God.”

"Romy is fine," she whispered, taunting, her nails skimming lightly down his length before cupping his balls.

Edward shuddered, hard, his jaw dropping as she rolled them in her palm, slow, intentional, fucking fantastic.

"That feel good?" she purred, voice syrupy, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth, so close, too close.

He couldn’t answer. His head dropped more, his forearms collapsing onto the bed around her, his body sagging, shaking with the effort of holding himself together.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Amused, she laughed, breathy, and tightened her grip gently before slipping back up to his shaft. Edward choked on a moan, his hips jerking forward, his forehead pressing to her shoulder, panting, trembling beneath the weight of her merciless, expert hands. Her fist worked him steadily, her palm gliding effortlessly over the slick head of his cock, her thumb smearing the leaking precum, making every stroke sloppier, dirtier, unbearable. He was breaking. His arms were shaking, his breath ragged, his pulse pounding.

Romy tilted her head, brushing her lips against his ear, her voice low, sweet, dangerous. "So hard for me, sir." Her grip tightened, her wrist twisting in a slow, calculated motion that sent a violent shudder through Edward’s body. The shift was devastating, her fingers curling around him just right, just too fucking right, her thumb dragging along the sensitive underside of his cock, pressing firmly against the swollen head.

Edward’s breath caught, his spine arching, his thighs clenching, a broken noise tearing from his throat before—

His hand snapped to her forearm, gripping, stopping, halting everything.

"Stop, stopstop," he pleaded, his voice hoarse, cracking, the sound escaping against his will. His body twitched, his teeth gritting so tightly they squeaked.

She stilled, her fingers still wrapped around him, her hold still taunting, still so fucking present. She smirked, tilting her head, eyes sharp with pure amusement. "Too good?" she asked, mocking, knowing, cruel .

He huffed a laugh, breathless, disbelieving, his chest rising and falling sharply as he finally lifted his head to meet her gaze. His glasses sat precariously on the bridge of his nose, crooked, slipping, hair fallen out of place on his forehead. He swallowed hard, his eyes blown wide, desperate.

"Yeah," he rasped, clearing his throat as he pulled her hand from his pants, fingers wrapped around her wrist. "Too good." After taking a moment to breathe through his nose, he adjusted his hold. A quick shift, a fluid motion, and suddenly her wrist was pinned above her head, trapped beneath his grip. "Too fucking good.”

His lips brushed her jaw, hot breath ghosting against her skin, then lower, down the slope of her neck. His mouth was hungry, relentless, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her pulse, sucking, teasing, claiming. His teeth scraped, his tongue soothed, his free hand roaming—palming her waist, gripping, holding, his fingers digging into the delicate flesh beneath the hem of her tank top. She shivered beneath him, and he felt it. Felt the hitch in her breath, the tension in her muscles, the way her thighs shifted, clenched, restless. Edward grinned against her skin.

She wasn’t the only one who knew how to tease.

Edward’s grip on her wrist stayed firm, pinning her above her head as his mouth descended—his lips pressing, dragging, devouring a path down the column of her neck. He sucked and nibbled relentlessly, his teeth scraping, his tongue soothing, taunting her with every wet, open-mouthed kiss. Her pulse thrummed against his lips, the heat of her skin intoxicating, making his own blood run hotter, heavier, darker.

"You wanted to play dirty," he murmured against her throat, his breath hot, his voice low, teasing. "That’s fine." His teeth grazed the spot where her pulse pounded the hardest before he bit, sucking just hard enough to make her gasp.

"I can play dirty, too."

Romy’s fingers clutched his bicep with her available hand, nails pressing into his skin as she arched beneath him, her breath coming sharp, ragged. His free hand shifted, propping himself up, holding himself over her, but his mouth—his mouth was free.

And his mouth was going to ruin her.

He kissed lower, over her collarbone, down, down, down until his lips hovered over the swell of her breast, barely contained by the thin, white fabric of her tank top. He exhaled, his hot breath ghosting over her nipple, already perked, already taunting him through the cotton.

His lips curled. "All that teasing, and now you're trembling for me," he murmured, voice sinful, drenched in something dirty. He dipped lower, and closed his lips around her nipple. Through the thin, soaked fabric, he sucked her into his mouth, his tongue lapping over the tight peak, the material clinging to every wet flick, every deliberate drag of his teeth.

Her breath hitched, her back bowing off the bed, her nails digging deeper into his arm.

Edward moaned against her, low, guttural, vibrating against her sensitive flesh. He sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, letting his teeth graze, nip, tease, work her through the fabric until the cotton stuck wetly to her skin, clinging, molding, leaving nothing to the imagination.

"Mr. Nashton—" she gasped, her voice cracking, breaking, falling apart beneath him. A hand—that had been gripping at his bicep, desperate, seeking—slid up. Up his arm. Past his shoulder. Into his hair. Her fingers buried deep, tangling him tight, holding him to her chest, refusing to let him go.

Pleased, he groaned, the sound muffled, lost against the wet heat of her nipple through the fabric. He shuddered, his hands tightening, his hips twitching—fuck. She wanted him there. She was keeping him there.

God—someone help him—he didn’t want to move.

Edward exhaled hard, his breath hot, damp against her flushed skin as he finally— finally—pulled away, his lips breaking from her nipple. His gaze dragged downward, taking in the absolute debauchery he had left in his wake. Her tank top, soaked through, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin, making the tight peaks of her nipples utterly, unapologetically visible. Her chest rose and fell, breathless, heaving, her skin damp with sweat and his saliva, the entire display filthy, sinful, so fucking perfect. He groaned, low in his throat, his fingers flexing against the mattress.

"Fuck.” His gaze was ravenous as they flicked back to hers. "You look so damn good, Winslow."

Romy laughed breathlessly, her spine arching, her chest pushing up, inviting, wanton for his mouth again. "You’re only now figuring that out?" she teased, her fingers tightening in his hair, clutching him closer, deeper, harder.

His smirk curled, full of intent, then he switched. His lips latched onto her other nipple, dragging it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the taut, aching peak through the damp fabric before his teeth grazed, nipped, sucked. She gasped, her body trembling, writhing, her fingers digging deeper into his scalp, pulling, demanding. Edward’s groans rumbled against her, his breath a searing contrast to the cool, wet fabric of her top. He worked her thoroughly, unrelenting, taking his time, his lips closing over her again and again, sucking, laving, teasing, dragging her nipple between his teeth before letting it go, only to repeat the delicious torture.

"You little shit," she moaned, her nails scraping through his hair, making his scalp tingle, making his hips press against the mattress, frantic for friction.

Edward grinned against her, lips curling around her nipple as he gave it one last, sharp flick of his tongue. With deliberate slowness, he started moving lower, letting go of the wrist above her head to smooth his hands down her body. He kissed down her belly, hot, open-mouthed, his tongue tasting her skin, his lips following the soft dips and curves of her abdomen. He reached the sliver of bare skin between her tank top and her panties, his lips finding the sensitive dip of her hipbone. There, he opened his mouth, attaching to the thin skin. A wet pull, his teeth scraping, biting just enough to leave a mark.

Romy yelped, her hips bucking into him, her back arching clean off the mattress.

He broke with a chuckle, his tongue swiping over the fresh bite mark, soothing it. "Oh," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, arousal, satisfaction."I think I found an on button."

His lips hovered over the other side of her hips, fingers gripping her waist, holding her steady, and then he sank his teeth into her again. Harder this time. Deeper. His lips sealed over the flesh, sucking, dragging a fresh, dark bruise to the surface. The mark bloomed beneath his mouth, deep, raw, undeniably his.

To his delight, she shuddered, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her hips jolted, seeking, writhing. "Fuck," she breathed, her fingers twitching against the sheets, gripping the fabric tight.

Edward pulled away just slightly, his hot breath ghosting over the fresh, sensitive bruise. He stared at the pretty red blotch, the way it stood out against her pale skin, the way her body twitched, reacted, ached beneath his mouth.

"Look at that," he mused, voice thick, low, devastatingly satisfied. "A work of art."

Romy let out a soft laugh, her head tipping back against the mattress, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Egotistical prick," she teased.

He chuckled, lips grazing over the mark once more before his hands shifted, gliding lower. Slow. Intentional. His fingers hooked under the waistband of her panties, brushing against the sensitive skin of her hips, his thumbs rubbing slow, infuriating circles over her pelvic bones. Then, he paused. He looked up at her, waiting.

"May I…?"

She blinked down at him, breath still uneven, lips parted, her cheeks tinted. The heat between them was thick, suffocating, the weight of what they were about to do pressing down on them. Her smirk deepened.

"Such a gentleman," she murmured, lifting her hips slightly in invitation. "You may."

He didn’t wait for another invitation. His fingers tightened around the thin fabric of her panties as he began to drag them down her legs, his mouth following closely behind, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of her lower belly and pelvis. Slow. Purposeful. Each kiss a promise. Each drag of his lips a tease. His breath fanned over her as he worked his way lower, tasting her skin, his tongue flicking out just slightly, barely a graze, barely there. Then he saw it. The way her arousal clung to the fabric, glistening, stretching, thin strands connecting her panties to her slick, swollen cunt.

Edward stopped. His grip on her panties tightened, his chest heaving, a deep, wrecked groan tearing through him at the filthy fucking sight. His jaw went slack, mouth watering, his gaze transfixed.

"Goddamn," he rasped. "You are soaking, princess."

Spiraling, his fingers tightened on the fabric, his breath heavy, labored, his mind fucking spinning as he took in the mess she had already made of herself. He licked his lips, his throat working around a swallow, before giving the tiniest tug on her panties—just enough to pull at the slick threads of arousal still clinging to the fabric. He groaned.

Romy twitched, her thighs tensing, her breath coming short, shallow, sharp. A slow, devious smirk spread across her lips. "What?" she murmured, her voice low, teasing. "Never seen a girl this wet before?"

His eyes snapped to hers, burning, ravenous. "Not like this," he muttered, his voice hoarse, raw, the words leaving him before he could even think to stop them.

Her smirk widened, her fingers curling lazily in the bedsheets as she watched him, utterly unbothered, completely in control. "Guess I’m just special," she purred, lifting her hips slightly, inviting him to finish what he started.

“That you are.”

Edward let out a breath that shook, his hands moving with deliberate slowness, dragging the soaked fabric down her thighs. As he did, his mouth followed, trailing heat down the smooth expanse of her leg, his lips pressing into the tender dip of her inner thigh, the sensitive curve of her knee. He felt her twitch beneath him, small, subtle reactions, her muscles tensing under his mouth as he worked his way down, taking his time, savoring every inch. He kissed over the ridge of her shin, then further, down to the delicate bone of her ankle. Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched. He smirked against her skin, his lips ghosting over the top of her foot before giving one last press of his mouth to the bottom. With a single fluid motion, he pulled her panties free and tossed them over his shoulder.

Romy let out a breathless laugh, her thighs shifting slightly, still trembling beneath him.

"I didn’t expect you to be this attentive," she mused, voice dripping in satisfaction, in amusement, in pure seduction.

"You should know by now," he murmured, fingers gliding back up the inside of her thigh, slow, taunting, traveling higher, higher, "I don’t do anything halfway."

"Ha ha, touché.” Romy chuckled, her breath warm, teasing, dripping with satisfaction. ”Let’s see if you can put your money where your mouth is." Smirking, she crooked her foot behind his neck and tugged him forward a bit.

Spurred, he growled low in his throat, his hands snapping to her calf, his grip tight, possessive. He moved. With one sharp motion, he threw her leg over his shoulder, gripping her thighs, yanking her toward him. She squeaked, her spine jerking off the mattress, her breath hitching in surprise before she let out a breathless, giddy laugh. Her fingers curled into the bedspread, her sultry gaze locked onto him as he settled between her thighs, knees planted firmly on the floor. He tilted his head, eyes burning with pure, unfiltered hunger, his fingers digging into her thighs, kneading the soft flesh beneath his hands.

"I got somewhere I want my mouth, Winslow."

Her grin widened, her breath coming shakier now, her hips twitching in anticipation.

Edward didn’t wait. He lowered, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thigh, dragging his mouth slowly, deliberately up her sensitive skin. He licked—long, languid, devastatingly slow—his tongue flattening against the soft flesh, tasting her, savoring her.

Romy hissed, her thighs tensing around him, trembling, her teeth gritting hard. "You must be aiming to impress.”

He grinned against her thigh, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin again, barely there, just enough to make her squirm. "You should be impressed already.”

His grip on her thighs tightened, his fingers sinking into soft, pliant flesh, holding her open for him as he continued his slow, ravenous descent. His mouth pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thigh, his lips dragging hungrily, teasingly, torturously closer—but never quite there. He licked—slow and deliberate, the flat of his tongue dragging obscenely over her sensitive skin, tasting the salt of her sweat, the heat of her arousal, the sheer, devastating anticipation trembling through her muscles.

Then—he bit. His teeth sank into her inner thigh, his lips closing tight over the sensitive skin, sucking hard—deep, possessive, claiming. The mark bloomed red, stark against her pale skin, undeniable, inescapable.

She let out a stunted, sharp cry, her breath snagging in her throat, her fingers falling to grip the sheets. He looked up at her, utterly pleased with himself, a wicked smirk curling slow and satisfied on his lips before he leaned down again. His breath ghosted over her skin, slower this time, closer, lower, hovering just above where she needed him most. The heat of him, the promise of his mouth so fucking close, sent a violent shudder through her body, her pelvis twitching toward him, needy. He could see it—feel it. The tension rippling through her muscles, the anticipation coiling inside her, the sheer fucking need thrumming through her entire system.

But he pulled away.

Romy whimpered, a soft, pathetic sound, her hips lifting, searching, pleading. "Please," she whined, voice breaking, her eyes blown wide, pitiful, desperate.

Edward grinned—slow, smug, utterly sinful. "I like hearing you beg," he murmured, his voice deep, low, almost cruel. He leaned back in, this time pressing a soft, teasing kiss just above her clit. His lips moved against her skin, barely a whisper, as he purred—

"Do it again."

A shudder shook her body, her thighs quivering, her breath hitching violently. Her fingers clenched into the sheets, the tension in her body coiling tighter, tighter, unbearable. "Please," she whispered again, needier this time, shakier, raw.

Satiated, he exhaled sharply, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, trailing higher, higher—but still not enough. His hands slid up her thighs, fingers pressing, kneading, thumbs grazing the slick heat pooling at the crease of her thighs. He could feel how wet she was, how swollen, how aching she was for him. His mouth dipped lower, the tip of his tongue flicking just barely against her clit, the lightest touch—

Romy whined, her thighs clenching around him, her hips lifting toward his mouth.

He chuckled, low and smoky, his breath teasing, torturing. "Not yet, princess," he murmured, letting his lips hover, taunting, just out of reach.

He wanted her wrecked.

He wanted her begging.

He wasn’t going to give her a single fucking thing until she gave him exactly what he wanted.

"So needy,” he murmured, voice low, thick with amusement, heavy with control. His thumbs skimmed along the outside of her cunt, teasing, featherlight, his touch barely there, his fingers parting her just slightly, just enough to spread her open before him. She was soaked, dripping, her arousal glistening in the dim light, pooling at the place where her thighs met.

Edward let out a dark, amused groan, his lips parting at the sheer fucking filth of it. "This is what you get," he whispered, his breath hot, his fingers still tracing, teasing, spreading her folds just enough to watch her clench around nothing.

Romy whimpered, her thighs tensing, twitching.

"Oh, don’t fucking whine now," he drawled, his tone mocking, drenched in satisfaction. "You wanted to play your little games. You wanted to tease me."

His thumbs dragged slowly along the soaked lips of her cunt, parting her just a little wider, his eyes locked onto her weeping, pulsing hole.

"You wore all those little skirts, didn’t you?" he continued, voice like smoke and honey, thick with sin. "Sat in my office with your legs crossed like a good girl, knowing I was looking. Knowing I wanted to rip them off you."

Romy’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling, her fingers twitching at her sides, resisting the urge to grab at him, pull at him, beg.

Edward let his thumb drag down, not touching where she needed, just teasing along the outer lips, watching as she twitched, ached, trembled beneath him. He leaned in, kissing her groin, nipping, teasing, his tongue tasting her sweat, her desperation.

"And now you’re dripping for me."

Wrecked, she let out a broken whimper, her hips jerking toward his touch, urgent for more. He grinned, his thumbs pressing just slightly against her folds, parting her wider, studying the way she clenched, pulsed, begged.

"God," he muttered, voice raw, reverent, almost in awe. "You wanted this, didn’t you?"

His breath brushed against her swollen, throbbing clit, and she jerked, whimpered, gasped, barely holding herself together. Edward didn’t touch her. Didn’t give her a single fucking thing.

He just watched her fall apart.

"This is what you deserve,” he murmured, smirking against her thigh.

Romy let out an exasperated groan, her fingers fisting in the sheets, her thighs trembling, twitching, her whole body wound so fucking tight he thought she might snap. And he just sat there, watching. Waiting.

"Fucking hell, Mr. Nashton," she growled, voice edging on helpless, raw, frustrated beyond belief. "Are you gonna stare all night, or are you actually gonna use that big fucking mouth of yours?"

The second the words left her lips—the smack landed. A sharp, stinging slap to her inner thigh, hot, commanding, absolute. She yelped, her whole body jerking, her thighs clenching around him, breath catching in her throat.

Edward growled, his fingers gripping her thighs hard, his nails digging into her flesh, holding her still. "Don’t talk back to me," he said, voice low, rough, a promise edged in warning. His thumb soothed over the spot he just slapped, lazy, deliberate, patronizing. "You’ll take what I give you, brat."

Romy shuddered, her breath heaving, her hands gripping the sheets so tight her knuckles turned white.

Centering, he exhaled, measured, restrained, controlled. But then his thumb dragged down, teasing at the slick heat pooling between her thighs, collecting her arousal. He furrowed his brows, watching, studying, his curiosity spiking. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his thumb to his lips. Romy’s breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow gasps, her thighs tensing, trembling. Then, Edward’s tongue flicked out, tasting her. Just a small tease. A sample. With excruciating slowness, he brought the pad of his thumb into his mouth, sucking gently, savoring, indulging. His eyes never left hers. She let out a shaky exhale, her lips parting, her fingers flexing against the sheets, her body frozen as she watched him. Watched his tongue, his lips wrapped around his own thumb, tasting her like she was something rich, something decadent, something he wanted to devour.

"You’re lucky you taste good," he moaned, voice hoarse, almost like a confession.

Finally, giving in, unable to help himself, Edward dived in. His mouth latched onto her cunt, open, hungry, consuming. His tongue flattened, dragging up the full length of her, lapping at her arousal, tasting her properly, deeply, thoroughly.He moaned again, this time against her, his hands tightening on her thighs, keeping her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. Romy’s head snapped back, a loud, broken moan ripping from her throat, her body trembling, shuddering, unraveling. He didn’t let up. Didn’t give her a chance to breathe. His tongue flicked, licked, teased, his lips sealed around her clit, sucking, pulling.

She was fucked.

And he was only getting started.

Edward consumed her. His mouth worked her with absolute precision, tongue flattening, flicking, circling, lapping—his lips closing around her clit, sucking, teasing, releasing, only to do it all over again, driving her higher, making her ache, making her suffer. She was soaking, dripping into his mouth, the taste of her heavy, intoxicating, slick coating his tongue, his chin, his lips. His grip on her thighs was iron-tight, holding her still, keeping her right where he wanted her.

Fuck, the sounds she was making. Soft, pitiful mewls, high-pitched gasps, her breath snagging in her throat, turning into whines, pleas, choked little cries.

"Ed—Edward—" Her voice cracked, her fingers flexing against the sheets, searching for something to hold onto, something to keep her tethered.

The call of his name on her tongue made his eyes flutter. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Didn’t give her a second of relief. He was drunk on her, lost in her, drowning in the way she trembled under his mouth, how she was breaking apart in his hands. She deserved this. Deserved every second of it. For all the teasing, all the looks, all the times she’d strutted around him like she wasn’t breaking him from the inside out. She had known. Had known what she was doing, what she was tempting, tormenting. Now she was paying for it.

Now, she was his to wreck, to ruin, to debauch, and debase.

Edward dragged his tongue from her dripping hole back up to her clit, slow, deep, thorough, like he was memorizing her, mapping every reaction, every breathless little moan, every twitch of her body. She gasped, hard, her thighs shuddering around him, her hips jerking, trying to get away and chase more at the same time.

"Please," she whined, her voice thin, breathy, barely coherent.

He hummed against her, the sound vibrating against her clit, making her choke on a gasp, her back arching clean off the mattress. He finally pulled back, just a fraction, his lips slick, swollen, his chin gleaming with her arousal. Slowly—deliberately—he lifted his head, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip before finally looking up at her. His glasses were crooked on his face, fogged, but he could still see how she looked. She was unmoored. Her chest heaving, her lips red, swollen from biting them, her hair a mess against the mattress.

Fuck—the way she was looking at him. Like she wanted to swallow him whole.

Edward’s smirk deepened, sharp and wicked, teasing, utterly pleased with himself. "I like you like this," he murmured, his voice low, raw, drenched in something satisfied. His grip flexed against her thighs, grounding himself in the heat of her, in the way she trembled beneath him, open and pliant, completely at his mercy. "All flushed, all needy. All mine. "

Romy’s breath hitched, pupils blown wide, lips parted like she wanted to say something but had momentarily lost the ability. Instead of responding, her hand finally moved—not to his hair, not to his face, but to his glasses. She plucked them from his face with delicate precision, making him blink, his vision momentarily unfocused as his bare eyes adjusted. His body stilled, just for a second, a rare moment of stillness in the chaos they had become. He watched as she set them aside carefully on the bedside table, her other hand finally threading into his hair. Her fingers curled in, nails dragging over his scalp, scraping just enough to send a violent shiver down his spine. His lips parted on instinct, a breath hitching somewhere deep in his throat, but before he could process it—she grinned. Dark. Saucy. Infuriating.

"You’re so pretty, Mr. Nashton," she murmured, voice thick, slurred with arousal, like she had drunk too much of him. "You look so good between my legs."

His stomach clenched, his pulse kicking like a live wire, and before he could stop it, a sharp, low growl rumbled from his chest. His lips curled, his confidence surging back, flooding through his system, dragging him right back into control. He tipped his head slightly, smirk widening, tongue running along the inside of his cheek as he took her in, memorizing her.

"That right? Maybe I’ll stay here."

The compliment drove him, encouraged him. He dove back in. No hesitation. No teasing. Just pure, unrelenting, salacious intent. His mouth latched back onto her, his tongue diving deep, working her over with renewed purpose, with the kind of single-minded determination he gave everything he wanted. Right now—there was nothing in the fucking world he wanted more than this. Edward’s fingers flexed against her thighs, his grip still firm, unyielding, holding her right where he wanted her—open and dripping.

But he wanted more. He wanted to feel her, to know her, to find out exactly what made her tick, moan, sob for him. His tongue flattened against her clit, sucking, flicking, teasing her just enough to keep her on edge. And when he had her rocking against his face, when he had her right there , he slipped a finger inside her. Slow, careful, pressing in knuckle by knuckle, feeling the heat of her, the slick, tight grip that clenched around him instantly.

Romy whimpered, her breath catching, her thighs tensing, her nails curling into his scalp. " Fuck," she gasped, her head tilting back against the pillows, her hips pushing forward, wanting more.

He groaned against her, his tongue still working her clit, his finger curling, stroking, feeling every inch of her. He pressed in deeper, searching, exploring her hot, wet depths with slow, purposeful movements.

"Like that?" he murmured, his voice low, muffled, vibrating against her.

"Yeah," she breathed, her fingers tugging gently at his hair, encouraging, guiding. She shuddered, her thighs quivering around his shoulders. "Just like that."

Edward groaned, the exalt twisting something hungry inside him, making his cock ache, pulse, strain against his slacks. He added another finger, pressing deeper, stroking, his knuckles flexing as he started to curl his fingers, searching. She moaned, breathless, her nails scraping lightly over his scalp, petting him, coaxing him.

"That’s good," she murmured, voice low, syrupy, sweet. “Fucking amazing.”

The praise made him growl, the sound low, vibrating through her, making her twitch, making her shudder. Searching, seeking more, his fingers curled just right, pressing against a soft, spongy spot deep inside her—

She gasped, her hips jerking, clenching around him. "There," she panted, her voice breaking, her thighs shaking.

His lips curled, his tongue circling her clit, his fingers stroking that spot again, again, watching, feeling her come apart.

“Right here?" he murmured against her, breath hot, teasing, taunting.

"Yes," she breathed, fingers tightening in his hair. "Just like that—oh, God—just like that. Don’t stop. P-Please."

Edward could feel her unraveling. Her thighs trembled against him, her body quivering under his touch, under his tongue, his fingers, every slow, devastating pull of his mouth coaxing her higher, closer to the edge. But he wanted her hopeless. Wanted her to feel him. Wanted her completely fucking broken beneath him. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking hard, his tongue lapping over it, teasing, flicking, dragging out every desperate little moan from her throat. When his fingers curled again, pressing against that perfect spot inside her, stroking her in rhythm with his mouth, Romy let out a choked sob, her thighs clenching, her breath stuttering. She suddenly threw her other leg over his shoulder, locking him in, trapping him between her thighs. He groaned against her, his hands flexing, one arm curling around her leg, gripping her thigh, holding her down, keeping her where he wanted her.

And fuck—the sounds. Lewd. Licentious. Filthy. The wet slurp of his mouth, the obscene suck of his lips pulling at her, the slick glide of his fingers, the low hum of his moans vibrating against her clit.

She was gone. Her moans crescendoed, higher, louder, her breath catching, stuttering, her voice pitching up with every slow, simultaneous pull of his fingers and mouth. Her hips lifted off the bed, her legs tightening around his shoulders and neck, her body rocking into him, chasing, demanding, needing.

"Yes, yes, yes— don’t stop," she gasped. "I—I’m so close."

The encouragement, the sound, sight, and feel of her breaking apart piece by little piece made Edward groan and his lips latchg harder, his fingers stroke faster, deeper, spoiling her completely. He wasn’t stopping. Not until she came for him.

And when she did, he felt it before he heard it. The way Romy’s thighs tightened around his head, quivering, trembling, pulling him in even deeper. The way her breath hitched, turning erratic, stuttering, her hips rocking, searching for that last bit of friction, that final push into oblivion. The way her cunt clenched around his fingers, hot, slick, gripping him so fucking tight, her body pulling him in, taking everything he gave her, needing more, more, more.

The sound hit. A broken, choked sob at first, then a gasp, finally—"Edward! Ah! Fuck!" Her voice cracked, her back arched, her entire body convulsing, shaking apart beneath him.

God—he had never seen anything so fucking beautiful in his life. She was coming undone in ways he couldn’t conceive. Completely, utterly, falling apart for him, because of him. Edward studied her, memorized her, burned every single second into his fucking mind. Her head thrown back, her throat bared, glistening with sweat, her mouth open, lips trembling, moaning, crying out his name. Her fingers curling, clawing into the sheets, into his hair, her thighs shaking, twitching, her hips rolling up, frantic, riding out every aftershock.

The noises she made. The way she whined, whimpered, panted, gasped, breathless praises tumbling from her lips between shattered moans and broken cries.

"Yes—fuck, yes! Oh my god—so good, Edward, so fucking good—"

Her cunt pulsed, throbbing around his fingers, the wet, obscene slickness of her arousal coating his knuckles, dripping onto his tongue, onto his chin, soaking into the sheets. She was drenched. And Edward was drunk on it. On the taste of her, the way her body gave in to him completely, the way she lost herself for him, to him. He groaned, low, deep, his lips still latched to her clit, sucking her through it, drawing it out, making her feel every last second of it.

Her body convulsed, breath shattering, legs tensing, trembling, twitching as pleasure wracked through her in relentless waves. She sobbed his name—raw, broken, his—but it was the next word that sent a jolt through him, burning into his brain, sinking beneath his skin.

"Edward—oh my god—baby!"

That word. That fucking word. His mind blanked, breath caught in his throat, his entire body tightening as if she’d physically wrapped her hands around his spine and squeezed. Baby. He’d never thought about it before, never imagined he’d want to hear it, much less fucking need it. But from her? From her ruined, gasping, trembling mouth?

It was the single sexiest thing Edward had ever heard.

A guttural growl ripped from his chest, his hands flexing against her thighs, gripping tight, holding her open, exposed, his. He had done this. He had destroyed her. And shit—he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop. Didn’t want to stop.

But his cock throbbed painfully, aching, demanding attention. So he slowed, dragging his tongue through her folds, laving over her still-quivering cunt, cleaning her, savoring her, tasting every last fucking drop. He let the aftershocks ripple through her, coaxing every final tremor, every last shudder, every weak, gasping breath.

His baby—completely spent, destroyed, and fucking his.

Beneath him, Romy whimpered, breath shaky, uneven, body slumping boneless against the mattress, completely spent. Her thighs loosened around his neck and shoulders, muscles melting, unraveling, giving in.

Edward didn’t rush. He didn’t pull away. He stayed right where he was, pressed between her trembling legs, breathing her in, tasting the aftermath of what he had done to her. His lips dragged over her cunt, soft, lazy, lingering presses of his mouth against her slick, sensitive flesh, savoring every last drop. A shiver rolled through her, a faint, weak little whimper escaping her throat. He felt it, the aftershocks still fluttering through her, her body completely his, completely at his mercy. Then higher. His lips glided up her belly, open-mouthed, slow, greedy, pressing heat into her skin as she came down from the high he had given her.

Her fingers twitched, flexed. As soon as she found the strength, she reached up, fisting his shirt at his shoulders, yanking him up toward her.

But she didn’t kiss him.

She licked him.

A long, slow, indulgent drag of her tongue across his chin, under his lips, collecting the mess he had made of himself on her. Edward froze. Blinking, stunned, breath caught in his throat, body going rigid above her. It hit him—the way her tongue curled against his skin, savoring herself from his face, the way her hot breath fanned over him, the depraved fucking filth of it all. His cock twitched violently, his muscles tensing, a deep groan tearing from his throat before he could stop it. His body moved on instinct, leaning into her touch, hips grinding forward, aching, hungry for more.

"Holy fuck," he rasped.

Romy hummed, her tongue gliding over his lips next, licking into his mouth, slow, deep, consuming. Finally, after cleaning every last drop, she kissed him. It was deep, rewarding, her lips hot and slick and searching, her tongue tangling with his, lapping, licking, consuming. He groaned into her, his body twitching, his cock pulsing painfully, still aching.

"So goddamn good," she purred, her voice low, syrupy, devastatingly hot. Her hands slid down his shoulders, pushing his open shirt off, her nails dragging lightly over his arms, making him suck in a sharp breath. Her grip turned demanding. "I need you undressed. Now ."

He had no time to process before her hands found his slacks. Yanking. Pulling. Shoving. He helped her, his fingers fumbling to shove his bottoms the rest of the way down his legs, his mouth barely leaving hers, his breath hot, frantic, gasping. Then, as if he weren’t already shattered, she said it—

"I need you inside me, Edward."

His stomach clenched. His cock throbbed so violently it ached. His brain short-circuited. Edward barely had the presence of mind to rid himself of his pants, shoving them down as fast as he could, kicking off his shoes in the process. His movements were eratic, his hands fumbling like some unpracticed virgin. His socks? Gone too—though he barely registered toeing them off as his trousers finally hit the floor with a lost pat.

He hadn’t even caught his breath before Romy moved. Her leg slid between them, shin pressing firm and slow against his stomach, then dragging higher, warmer, deliberate. The feeling of her bare skin, damp heat smearing across his abs made his entire body jolt. His breath came sharp, and he instinctively broke the kiss, chest rising and falling erratically, lips slick and swollen, head spinning. His curiosity flickered. His gaze dropped between them. Hell—her bare, slick cunt was right there, teasing him, nearly pressing against his skin like she belonged to him.

Before he could react—before his mind could fully comprehend how close he was to losing himself—he looked up.

Romy was grinning. Something dark. Something sharp. Predatory. Snapping forward, her arms locked around him. One curled tight around his neck, the other hooking his arm, and before he could even process what was happening—

She flipped them.

A quick, fluid sweep of her leg, a sharp twist of her hips.

Edward’s back hit the mattress.

The force nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. His mind blanked. His vision spun. His muscles tensed.

And there she was.

Straddling his waist, thighs bracketing his hips, her slick warmth pressing against his lower belly, smearing onto his skin, branding him. His body reacted violently, twitching, shuddering, instinct screaming at him to move, to claim, to take.

Edward blinked, stunned, entirely, utterly fucking impressed. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab her, to pin her down and take back control.

"What the fuck—" he finally exhaled, voice rough, raw as he stared up at her, completely at her mercy.

Romy lifted her arms, crossing them in front of her chest before gripping the hem of her tank top and pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. The fabric dropped somewhere, forgotten, unimportant, completely irrelevant to the way she looked now—completely bare, completely unashamed, completely perfect.

Edward’s jaw slackened. His breath stalled. His cock throbbed violently, the ache turning painful, unbearable, insistent. She sat above him, perched on his waist like she owned him, like she had always owned him. Inky hair cascaded over her shoulders, wild and untamed, strands sticking to the sheen of sweat on her flushed skin. Her emerald eyes gleamed, a wicked glint buried deep in their depths, a look that made his stomach drop and his cock twitch all at once.

She was fucking dazzling.

And he hated her for it. Hated how smug she looked, how confident, how completely in control she was. Her smirk widened, slow and knowing, utterly pleased with herself.

"You think you’re the only one who gets to play?" she mused, voice silky, teasing, designed to unravel him.

Edward huffed a breathless laugh, but it came out strained, uneven. His hands snapped to her thighs, gripping tight, grounding himself, keeping her exactly where she was. His mind raced, trying to recalibrate, trying to keep up. He swallowed hard, forced his brain to work, forced his mouth to move.

"You flipped me," he muttered, half-disbelieving, half-fucking turned on.

She ran her nails down his chest, scraping lightly, teasing, watching him shudder beneath her. "You let me do it," she corrected.

His fingers flexed against her thighs, his pulse hammering. "That what you think?" he muttered, his voice breathless, tinged with something black, something warning.

She leaned down, lips hovering over his, breath warm, teasing, smug.

"I think," she purred, rocking her hips just barely, just enough, dragging her slick heat over his lower belly, leaving a wet, hot streak across his skin, making his stomach clench, his cock throb so hard it was damn near painful. "That you like when I surprise you."

"You’re a menace, Winslow.”

Romy grinned, pleased, her nails scraping lightly against his stomach as she shifted. "You like me, Mr. Nashton."

Edward couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Before he could gather himself, before he could even fucking blink, she moved again. She lifted her hips, shifting back, her bare, soaked heat hovering just over his cock, so fucking close he could feel her, feel the radiating warmth, the slick, aching wetness dripping onto his skin. Then—she lowered and he gasped, hips bucking. His cock slid along her folds, the thick length settling pressed between them, slipping through the wet, swollen heat of her cunt, the hot arousal coating him, slicking him up, drenching him in her arousal. His fingers twitched violently, his hands flexing against her thighs as his stomach seized, his hips bucking instinctively, wanton for more.

Keen eyes watched him. Her gaze locked onto his face, studying every reaction, every little way his body betrayed him. Her hands pressed against his abdomen, firm, grounding, keeping him pinned beneath her as she teased him. To make it worse, or better, she moved. She rolled her hips, dragging her soaked cunt along the length of him, slow, deliberate, the sick, wet sound of it obscene in the silence of the room. Balls to tip. Every inch, soaked in her.

He groaned, hips jerking involuntarily, cock twitching violently beneath her, straining against her.

"Dammit," he hissed through his teeth, fingers digging bruises into her thighs, body locked tight as he fought against the instinct to flip her over and fuck her into the mattress until she was screaming.

Romy smirked, tilting her head, slow, taunting, devastating.

"What’s the matter, baby?" she cooed, voice low, sultry, fucking dangerous. "You like this?" She rocked again, another slow, torturous drag of her cunt over him, letting him feel every inch, every pulsing, aching, wet, unbearable inch.

"Y-yes.” His jaw tightened, his fingers sliding up her thighs, gripping her hips, guiding her movements.

She laughed, a soft, mocking sound, her nails scraping gently down his abdomen, watching the muscles twitch beneath her fingertips. "I like you like this," she mused, grinding against him again, letting his cock slide perfectly along her slit, the swollen head bumping her clit just right making her sigh. “Completely ruined. Barely hanging on.”

His eyes snapped to hers, burning, molten. "Ruined?" he murmured, voice low, dangerous. His fingers tightened, flexing against her hips, gripping firm, controlling her pace. "You think I wouldn’t pin you down and fuck you if I wanted?"

Romy smirked, leaning down, her lips hovering over his, her breath teasing, taunting. "Oh, I know you would," she whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. She dragged her slick cunt over him again, harder this time, pressing him against her clit.

Edward groaned, deep and despairing, his hips bucking up, chasing the sensations.

"But I also know," she continued, purring against his lips, "that you like watching me."

She grinned and his fingers flexed, his grip tight on her hips, his cock aching, pulsing, dripping against his belly, slick with her arousal and his pre-cum. She had the fucking audacity to smirk down at him, utterly in control, her hands braced against his stomach, nails teasing over his skin.

"Say please, Mr. Nashton," she crooned.

Edward gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching so tight it ached.

Romy pouted, mocking, playful. "Aw," she teased, tilting her head, her long black hair spilling down over her shoulders. "Don’t wanna beg?" She leaned down, barely hovering over him, lips just out of reach, her breath ghosting over his mouth, her nipples brushing against his chest. "You had no problems making me beg earlier," she whispered, her tone wicked, devastating, completely in control.

He groaned, his hands gripping her hips, rocking her against him again, this time harder, rougher, dragging her slick folds along cock. Romy moaned, sharp and sudden, her breath catching, body twitching. She shuddered, her fingers clawing at his chest, her nails dragging slow, teasing lines over his skin.

"Fine," she purred, her lips brushing the barest, softest tease of a kiss against his. "Be stubborn." She sat back up, her hands pressing into his stomach again for leverage.

Then, she rolled her hips again. Hard. Slow. Dragging his cock between her folds, pressing him perfectly against her swollen clit, sliding up and down, coating him, teasing him, torturing him.

"Fuuuuuck,” he hissed.

She moaned, gasping softly, teasing herself on him, using his cock to push herself closer and closer, grinding, rolling, rubbing. She was soaked, slipping along his length, slicking him up, making it so fucking easy, so fucking perfect. His mind spun, his hips jerking involuntarily, chasing the friction, chasing her. His eyes snapped up to hers, half-lidded, blown wide, dazed and desperate. She grinned, sinful, satisfied, utterly pleased with herself.

"Mercy?" she cooed, rolling her hips harder, dragging her slick heat over him again and again.

"Fucking minx."

"That’s not ‘please,’ Mr. Nashton."

His breath hitched, his cock throbbing, leaking. Edward couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to be inside her Now . His voice broke when he gritted out—" Please ."

Her lips curled at the edges. "That’s more like it," she purred.

Finally, in a rare act of mercy, she lifted her hips, lined him up, and sank down onto him. Edward’s world tilted. He barely had time to breathe, to think, to process the tight, wet, unbearable heat engulfing him as Romy took him in, inch by inch, slow and deliberate, making him feel every stretch, every squeeze, every slick, hot inch disappearing inside her. His breath came hard and sharp, hands gripping tight, anchoring himself in something, anything, before he completely fucking lost it.

The sensation was blinding. Unbearable. Incredible. Overwhelming. She was so wet, so ready, so fucking perfect around him, clenching, stretching, taking him all the way to the base like she was made for this, like she was made for him. His head tipped back, his lips parting, his chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow gasps, a groan ripping from his throat.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he gritted out, his fingers digging bruises into her hips, holding her still, trying furiously to keep himself from bucking up into her and completely losing control.

Above him, she sighed, breath shuddering, sinful and sweet, her nails scraping down his stomach, over his chest, teasing, petting, driving him insane.

"You feel so fucking amazing," she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction, soaked with pleasure, designed to destroy him. “So big.”

Edward’s jaw clenched, his chest heaving, his cock throbbing inside her. "So fucking tight ," he rasped, his eyes snapping up to hers, his fingers flexing against her hips, feeling the way she twitched, pulsed, clenched around him.

Romy moaned, tilting her head, grinning down at him, looking like she had just won something. "Good, yeah?" she cooed, rocking her hips slowly, barely moving, just enough to make him feel everything, to make him suffer.

His toes flexed, his stomach tightening, coiling, his restraint slipping.

"Being inside me," she continued, rolling her hips again, dragging his cock against her walls, making him feel how damn perfect she was.

"Romy," he warned, voice low, struggling to hold onto any semblance of control. He groaned, his hands gripping her tighter, trying to stop her, trying to control the pace, trying to just breathe.

The green light from the flickering neon sign outside seeped through the thin motel curtains, casting restless shadows over her skin. It distorted her, transformed her. She looked inhuman, ethereal, something born of hunger and sin. A fucking succubus, perched atop him, her hips rolling, grinding, dragging him deeper with every slow, devastating movement. She was milking him, wringing pleasure from his body with ruthless precision, working his cock like she was trying to fucking demolish him.

Jesus help him—she was.

"Don't fight it," she crooned, her voice a velvet snare, her hands braced against his chest. Her nails dug in, scraped down, dragging red lines over his sweat-damp skin. Marking him. Claiming him.

Owning him.

Edward tried. Tried to keep his head above water, tried to hold on, tried to meet her, control the pace, keep up—

But she wasn’t letting him. She was riding him. Taking what she wanted. And he was falling apart beneath her. Her hips snapped against his, rough, punishing, pulling his cock so deep it was hitting something devastating inside her, something that made her moan sharp, high, breathless. He arched, his head tipping back, his throat bared, a growl tearing from his chest.

The sounds—the slap of skin, the lewd squelch of her soaking cunt gripping him, taking him over and over and over again. She was using him, fucking him like he was nothing but a toy, a means to an end. His fingers flexed, his breath hitched, his muscles locked, everything tightening, coiling, dangerously close to snapping.

"You like when I take what I want, Mr. Nashton?" She grinned, wild, feral, victorious, sweaty strands of black hair sticking to her temples.

Edward hissed, his stomach flexing, his legs spreading wider, his cock throbbing, pulsing, barely holding on, dangerously close—

"Fuck—fuck, stop—" He snapped his hands to her ass, gripping, digging his nails into the flesh, and lifted her off him.

Romy gasped, her body jerking, her breath hitching, before she whined, her cunt clenching around nothing, slick and dripping down his length as he pulled free.

He exhaled, his head falling back, his body trembling, his cock twitching in the cool air. "Holy fuck—" he cut himself off, panting, holding her up before he completely fucking lost it. He shuddered, his chest heaving, his hands flexing against her ass, gripping tight, holding her still, keeping her away from him just long enough to fucking breathe.

Above him, she was grinning, all teeth and smug satisfaction, her hands gliding over his torso. She laughed, breathless, her hands tangling in his chest hair, teasing, coaxing. "Poor baby," she mocked. "You were about to cum, weren’t you?"

Edward let out a sharp, breathless laugh, shaking his head, jaw tightening. He licked his lips, smirking darkly, his fingers digging into the plush of her ass, spreading her slightly, teasing her, making her shudder.

"You think you’ve won something?”

Romy let out a soft, mocking giggle, her nails dragging over his stomach, teasing, encouraging.

"Oh, Mr. Nashton," she purred, pressing her lips to his jaw, kissing, smiling against his skin. "I absolutely have."

Edward smirked.

Wrong answer.

In one sharp movement, his grip tightened, braced, and then he flipped them once more, reversing their positions. Fast, rough, dominant. Romy yelped, her back hitting the mattress, legs spreading around his hips, body pliant beneath him.

And before she could even blink he shoved himself inside her. Hard. Deep. To the fucking hilt. Her cry ripped through the motel room, sharp, raw, breaking apart mid-sound—a gasp that turned into a pleading moan.

He groaned in turn, deep and guttural, feral, like something inside him had snapped, like he had finally fucking lost it. His hands dug into the mattress, bracing, pinning her beneath him, his hips flush to hers, cock buried so deep he swore he could feel her fucking heartbeat. Romy’s fingers flew to his back, nails sinking in, dragging, her legs locking around his waist, holding him tighter, demanding more. Her mouth fell open, her body clenching around him, pulsing, trembling, completely undone.

Edward tilted his head, gaze sharp, soaking her in—

The way she looked beneath him.

The way she felt wrapped around him.

The absolute wreckage he had reduced her to.

His smirk widened, slow, smug, pleased, victorious.

"Not so smug now, are you, Ms. Winslow?" he murmured, voice thick with amusement, teasing, dripping in sin.

Romy shuddered, her nails scraping down his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Her chest heaved, her lips parted, her pupils blown—then, she grinned. A deliciously taunting grin.

"Just shut up and fuck me, Mr. Nashton."

Edward stilled for only a second, his eyes flickering, his smirk twitching at the edges. He chuckled, something soft, wretched.

"Oh, darling," he cooed. "You’re going to regret that."

He didn’t ease into it. Didn’t let her breathe, didn’t let her adjust, didn’t give her a second to think. He just fucked her. Slow Rough. Deep. Unrelenting. His hips snapped forward with brutal force, each thrust knocking the breath from her lungs, dragging wrecked, helpless sounds from her throat. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, raw, relentless. The bedframe groaned, the headboard slammed against the wall in rhythmic, punishing beats, but none of it mattered—devastate

Not when she was taking it so fucking well.

Romy sobbed, moaning with every thrust, voice climbing higher, sharper, gasping. Her nails raked down his back, scratching, dragging, marking him, claiming him. Her legs locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling his cock deeper, forcing him to demolish her completely.

Edward growled, his control slipping, his blood surging white-hot beneath his skin. His hand shot back, grabbing her wrist, yanking her hand from his spine and slamming it against the mattress. Then, the other. Pinning her down. Stretching her out. Making her take it. Making her take him. Making her fucking his.

"Is this how you want it?" he mocked, his voice thick with condescension, his thrusts deep, brutal, unforgiving. "Getting treated like a dumb little fucktoy?"

Her breath broke in a sobbing gasp, her head tipping back, her eyes rolling, her body trembling violently beneath him.

"Y-Yes—fuck—" she choked out, voice shattering, her nails curling into her palms as his cock slammed into something devastating, something perfect, something that made her entire body seize up.

His smirk twisted, vicious, completely gone. "Yeah?" His voice was low, fucking wrecked, his grip on her wrists tightening, his pace growing harder, rougher, merciless. "Then fucking take it."

Romy gasped, her head rolling back against the pillow, her body rocking beneath him, completely at his mercy now. Her moans pitched higher, her wrists flexing in his grip, her thighs trembling, tightening around his waist like she needed more. Needed all of him. Needed him to break her.

"Edward—" she whimpered, desperate, lost. Her fingers curled, nails biting into her palms as she clenched around him, as he drove into her like he owned her.

"Pitiful," he muttered, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, his cock stretching her open again, dragging a sharp, broken cry from her throat. "I bet you’ll let me do whatever I want to you, won’t you?"

She nodded frantically, her moans turning into lilting cries. "Yes, sir—please—anything— everything."

His grip tightened on her wrists, his lips curling in satisfaction. "Fucking knew it," he murmured, his breath hot against her neck. "Knew you were a filthy little thing."

Romy whimpered, her thighs trembling, her body spasming beneath him, muscles locking up.

"You like getting fucked like this?" he growled, driving into her harder, deeper, making sure she felt every inch.

"Y-yes—fuck—yes, Mr. Nashton—"

He groaned, his cock twitching, throbbing, his head tipping back. "Say it again."

"Yes, Mr. Nashton, sir," she whined, writhing, broken.

He snapped. His hands released her wrists, one snapping to her throat, gripping lightly, the other sliding between them, pressing his fingers to her swollen clit. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders, her entire body tensing beneath him.

"Fucking take it," he growled, thrusting harder, sharper, grinding against her, dragging her closer and closer to the edge.

Edward watched her, felt her, memorized every gasp, every twitch, every pitiful moan. She was his now.

And he was going to fucking break her.

He was merciless. His pace didn’t falter, didn’t stutter—just brutal, perfect, punishing. Every snap of his hips drove her up the mattress, made her sob, made her take it. His hand flexed around her throat—not tight, not choking, just enough to hold her in place, just enough to let her feel the weight of his control.

And fuck, she looked like she loved it. She wasn’t just ruined—she was blissed out, reveling in it, soaking in the pleasure, the filth, the way he was using her. Her eyes fluttered, half-lidded, dimmed with pleasure, huge and glassy, her lashes trembling against her sweat-damp cheeks. Her lips were plump, parted, swollen from his kisses, slick with spit, her breath coming out in little, gasping whimpers. Her hair was a mess, wild and tousled over the pillow, sticking to her skin, the neon green light from the motel window casting the eerie glow over her body, making her look unreal, untouchable.

And yet, she was his.

"Look at you," he muttered, voice low, vicious, dripping with dark amusement.

His perfect little slut.

Romy whimpered, her fingers scrambling at his wrists, her nails dragging down his forearms, her legs trembling as she took everything he gave her.

"You wanted this, didn’t you," he growled, driving in deeper, grinding against her, his fingers flicking against her clit, making her jerk, making her body convulse, making her sob his name. "You wanted me to fucking ravage you."

"Y-yes, sir," she gasped, voice thin, breathless, high-pitched.

“Yes.” Edward grinned, cruel, his teeth flashing as his grip on her throat tightened just slightly, just enough to make her moan. "You walk around in your short skirts, your little heels, all those fuck-me outfits, batting your lashes at me, giving me those looks—" His hips snapped forward, sharp, brutal, making her back arch, making her moan, making her nails bite into his skin. "You’ve been trying to drive me insane, haven’t you?"

She gasped, whimpered, her thighs twitching, her hands gripping him, her body tightening as his fingers worked her clit, his cock stretched her wide, fucking her open, making sure she felt every single inch of him.

"Say. It," he snarled, shaking her neck a little.

Romy let out a shaky, gasping breath, her lips trembling, her body right on the edge. "I—" she whined, her hips twitching, rocking into him, chasing it, chasing more before she finally choked out. "I wanted you to break.”

There it is. His lips curled, eyes wide.

"Fucking brat," he muttered, his pace turning rougher, sharper, his fingers pressing against her clit just right, stroking, circling, teasing her right over the edge.

Romy gasped, her body locking up, her back arching, her thighs clenching. "Mr. Nashton—oh, oh, oh fuck , I—"

She shattered—ompletely, utterly, violently . Her head snapped back, her mouth falling open, her body convulsing beneath him, her cunt clenching down hard, pulsing, throbbing, milking his cock. Edward groaned, his grip tightening on her throat, his body shuddering, his cock twitching at the sheer sabotage of her.

He had done this. He had destroyed her. His hips didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let her come down. His fingers kept working her clit, drawing out every last shockwave, dragging her right back into it, making her sob, making her shake, making her take it. Her body tensed hard and then went slack, melting onto the bed.

"You think I’m done?" he muttered, voice low, teasing, taunting, cruel. "You wanted me to break, Winslow?" His grip tightened, his hips snapping forward, his cock still driving into her, still taking everything he needed. "Hope you’re ready to suffer for it."

His grip tightened, his fingers flexing against her throat, his cock still driving into her, still taking. But it wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t fucking enough. He needed more. Needed her broken beyond recognition, beyond reason, beyond words. His hand moved, fast, rough, one still firmly wrapped around her throat, the other grabbing the back of her knee, yanking her leg up, hauling it over his shoulder. Romy gasped, her eyes widening, her breath hitching as he folded her open, as he drove in deeper, harder, bottoming out completely. Her head snapped back, a loud, broken cry tearing from her throat, something raw and cracking.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his stomach tightening, the new angle hitting so deep, so devastatingly perfect, so much, too much.

Her thigh quivered against his shoulder, her hands scrambling at the sheets, at his hand on her throat, at his forearm, gripping onto him, needing something to hold onto.

"There we go," he mocked, his voice low, wicked. "This what you needed?"

Romy whimpered, nodded, gritted, her nails scraping over his skin, her body taking everything he gave her, her cunt clenching tight, hot, slick, gripping him, pulling him back in. He let out a deep, guttural sound, his fingers tightening just a fraction around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her still, keeping her open for him, making sure she felt everything. His pace didn’t falter, didn’t ease up, didn’t give her a second to breathe. He was pushing her higher again, his cock pounding into her, filling her completely, dragging against every sensitive spot inside her, his grip on her throat keeping her grounded.

“My pretty little slut, so pliable, so willing, so submissive.”

But she wasn’t taking him laying down. He didn’t expect her to. No, the little minx fought him. Trying to wrestle for control, trying to gain some semblance of ground. Even devastated, breathless, undone, she fought him. Her hands flexed, pushing against his chest, her nails digging into his skin, trying to leverage herself up.

"Fuck you," she gasped, trying to buck against him, trying to reclaim control, trying to take over.

Edward’s lips curled, smug, fucking feral. "How cute," he mocked, voice dripping with amusement, his fingers tightening around her throat just enough to keep her in place.

Romy glared up at him, panting, her breath sharp, uneven, broken between moans. Her body shook beneath him, quivering with every relentless thrust, her skin slick with sweat, flushed deep and hot. Her makeup—her perfect, pristine makeup—was ruined. That sleek, sharp eyeliner she always wore? Smudged. Blurred. The black mascara that framed those piercing green eyes? Smeared in streaks down her cheeks, lost to sweat, to pleasure, to him. She was a mess. Completely undone, completely his. She was folded up beneath him, knees pressing to her chest, thighs spread wide, giving him everything. Letting him take everything.

But it was her eyes that fucking got him. Blown wide, dark, glassy with lust, staring up at him with a look so devastating, so raw, it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Defiant, desperate, dizzy. Completely lost in him.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"You look so fucking hot like this, Romy," he muttered, voice low, rough, raw, sincere despite the filth pouring from his mouth.

Her breath caught, her pupils blown wide, her mouth falling open, her hands twitching against him. And still, she fought. Her nails clawed at his wrist, her thighs tightened on his shoulders, trying to drive the rhythm, trying to push back.

He chuckled low and dangerous. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?" He snapped his hands to her thighs, gripping tight, forcing them both higher, throwing them both over a shoulder, folding her in half, pinning her to the bed, leaving her completely fucking open for him.

Romy let out a gasp, her body arching, her head snapping back against the mattress. Edward pushed deeper, grinding against her, watching her come undone all over again.

"F-Fuck, Ed—" she whimpered, her hands scrambling at his arms, her nails digging in.

Edward grinned, feral, watching her try and fail to form words, to keep up, to breathe. "Use your words, princess.”

She whined, her mouth opening and closing, trying to form something, anything. "I—" she gasped, her eyes rolling back, her breath hitching violently.

He smirked, watching her struggle, watching her fight for air, fight for coherence, fight to push words past her raw throat. "You gonna tell me how good I feel?" he murmured, cocky, breathless, smirking as he dragged his cock out of her just to slam back in.

Romy sobbed, her hands gripping his wrists, her body clenching around him. "Yes—yes, sir—" she gasped, voice breaking. "You feel—" She lost the sentence, her thoughts scrambling, her body trembling beneath him.

"You can’t even finish your sentence," he muttered, his tone sharp, mocking, completely in control.

Her eyes fluttered, hazy, dazed, breath shaking, body trembling beneath him.

“Eyes on me.” Edward’s hand snapped up, gripping her face, fingers squeezing her cheeks, forcing her mouth open, forcing her to look at him. His grip tightened, holding her jaw, keeping her right where he wanted her. Her big emerald eyes dilated until the green was a sea of obsidian stared up at him, near vacant.

"Didn’t you say you’d take anything I give you?" he taunted, his lips curling as he drove into her, slow and deep, brutal in his precision, dragging every last bit of control from her body.

She tried to nod, but his grip kept her still, kept her helpless beneath him, open, pliant, completely at his mercy.

"That’s what I thought," he muttered.

Then, he crushed his mouth against hers, swallowing her moans, taking, taking, taking.

The kiss was messy. Frantic. Sloppy. All tongue, all teeth, all raw, unrestrained hunger. He could taste her destruction, taste her surrender, taste how completely fucking gone she was for him. And fuck, it wasn’t enough. He broke away, pulling back just enough to hover over her, taking her in, drinking in her wrecked, debauched, ruined expression. Her lips were slick and swollen, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps, her eyes wide and glassy, begging without words. His grip tighten on her jaw, forcing her open.

Then—he spat in her mouth.

Romy whimpered, breath hitching, pupils blowing impossibly wide as her entire body shuddered violently beneath him. And she took it. Her tongue flicked out, collecting it, tasting him, savoring it, before she swallowed without hesitation.

Happily.

Gratefully.

Edward groaned, completely fucking gone, his brows knitting together. His cock throbbed violently inside her, his blood surging white-hot beneath his skin, his restraint slipping like sand through his fingers.

"You’re so fucking nasty," he murmured, his voice thick, rough, dripping with approval, with possession.

His perfect, depraved, dirty little thing.

A moan spilled from her lips, soft, sweet, and fuck—he felt it. The way she clenched around him, gripping him like she never wanted to let go, like she wanted to keep him buried inside her forever. His jaw tightened, teeth gritting against the sheer force of it, the unbearable fucking pleasure, the way her body milked him, pulled him in deeper, held him captive.

His rhythm fractured, his thrusts turning erratic, brutal—chasing it, dragging her down with him, dragging her right to the edge.

"Romy," he groaned, his fingers flexing against her cheek before sliding down, tracing the curve of her throat, smoothing over her sweat-damp chest, gripping her hip with bruising force. "You're gonna make me cum, princess."

Her breath hitched, ragged and uneven, her moans breaking apart between gasps, her entire body trembling beneath him. But even now, even like this—completely gone—she still found the breath to speak.

To encourage him.

To drive him completely fucking insane.

"Do it," she whimpered, soft, pleading, but soaked in filth, thick with need, her voice a breathless, broken thing.

A violent shudder tore through him, his stomach clenching tight, his hips snapping forward, brutal, deep, driving into her with everything he had left. So fucking close.

Nails scraped down his chest. Over his stomach. Dragging. Teasing. Encouraging.

"Cum inside me, Mr. Nashton," she gasped, voice barely a whisper, barely a breath, but it shattered him.

A growl ripped from his throat, low, guttural, feral, completely unhinged. His fingers tightened—on her face, on a thigh—gripping, holding, keeping her still, forcing her to take it. To take every last fucking inch.

"You want that?" The words came out jagged, torn, choked between gasps. "You want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, yes—fuck—please—"

Romy nodded frantically, her eyes wide, wild, desperate beyond reason.

His jaw clenched, his cock throbbing, twitching, his stomach flexing tight as that unbearable coil inside him drew closer to snapping.

"Such a dirty little thing," he muttered, staring down at her, watching her body writhe beneath him, watching her mouth fall open, watching her beg for him.

"You want me to cum in this perfect, greedy little cunt?"

"Yes—yes, sir, please—"

Romy sobbed, voice breaking, her legs tightening over his shoulder, dragging him deeper.

Dragging him right to the fucking edge.

Edward’s brain, for all its intelligence, for all its knowledge, for all its relentless, obsessive calculation—went blank. There was no logic, no restraint, no control. Just her. Just the unbearable, hot, tight clutch of her wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, keeping him locked inside her, milking him for everything. His vision swam, his mind went static, white-hot pleasure surging through him like a live wire, frying every synapse, unraveling every thought.

His hips snapped forward, erratic, brutal, completely lost. His breath hitched, his stomach clenched, his cock pulsed—

And then, he came.

Deep. Hard.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her as his entire body locked tight, trembling, shaking, spilling himself inside her, filling her up just like she begged for, like she was made to take it.

“Fucking hell, Romy—” His voice came out hoarse, breathless, barely more than a groan.

Romy moaned, low and drawn-out, completely gone, completely spent, but still squeezing around him, still holding him inside her, still soaking him up. His breath broke, his hips still twitching, still grinding in slow, instinctual little thrusts, as if his body refused to let go, as if he needed to make sure she took every last drop.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

His brain was fried. His body, boneless. His mind—static. Nothing but pleasure and demolition and the overwhelming, crushing weight of what the hell just happened.

He just fucked Romy.

His student.

In a dingy motel room.

And it was— goddamn —it was probably the best thing he’d ever experienced in his life. Blinding. Overwhelming. The kind of pleasure that hollowed him out, left him raw and exposed, something deep in his bones permanently altered. His toes curled, his brows knitted, his breath huffed out in sharp, uneven pulses.

He knew. Knew this was never going to be just this once.

Not with her. Not with this.

Romy had carved her way in, dug deep under his skin, embedded herself in places he didn’t know were vulnerable. He had a taste now—and he’d never be the same.

Beneath him, sprawled against the messy sheets, she was fucking glowing. Smug. So smug. That grin stretched lazily across her kiss-swollen lips, the curve of her mouth taunting, knowing, victorious. Her breath still came in shallow, uneven little pants, her body warm and pliant beneath him, her thighs still pinned up tight to her chest.

“Don’t.” His voice came out gravelly, low, already exhausted from whatever she was about to say. He could hear it forming in her head, could already taste the little taunt on her tongue.

“Aw,” she cooed, so sweet, so saccharine, but thick with satisfaction, completely, utterly pleased with herself. A slow, teasing wiggle beneath him—soft, slick heat shifting just enough to remind him exactly where he was still buried. Fingernails dragged up his arms, light, playful, coaxing. “You enjoyed yourself.”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, teeth clenching. Of course she wasn’t going to let this go. “Must have been all your pitiful whining,” he muttered, bracing his weight on his forearms, hovering over her, fingers flexing against the mattress.

A breathless laugh tumbled from her lips, pleased, entertained, entirely unbothered. Her fingers slid into his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, petting, playing. “Whining?” she echoed, her smirk widening, her eyes dilated and gleaming. So entertained. So infuriating.

Edward tilted his head into her touch, letting out a low, satisfied hum, his smirk curling right back into place. “You begged real pretty, Winslow.”

Romy huffed, rolling her eyes, but the act was weak at best. She was too spent, too pleased with herself to pull off anything but amusement. Still, her nails curled just slightly, her fingers lingering in his hair, stroking, teasing.

“You liked it,” she murmured, voice dipping, coaxing, that wicked little grin tugging at her lips. “Didn’t you?”

His sigh was slow and deliberate, but his smirk didn’t budge.

"Yeah…" his voice came out low, rough, honest. "I did."

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t break this.

He just watched her.

The way her chest rose and fell in uneven little gasps, every breath still shaky, still catching up to what they’d done. The way her lips curled at the edges, lazy, satisfied, like she’d won something. Maybe she had.

A shudder rolled through her, her body still twitching with the last aftershocks, a slow, delicious tremor that sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up his spine. Her lips parted slightly, plump, swollen, kiss-bitten, still slick with the mess they’d made of each other.

Romy’s eyes gleamed under the flickering neon light, half-lidded, heavy with satisfaction. That eerie green glow bathed her in something otherworldly, making her look untouchable, unreal, too fucking beautiful to be here, messy beneath him, legs still hooked over his shoulders. Her body, once coiled tight, now loosened, relaxed, sinking into the sheets, into him, completely at ease in her own dstruction. Sweat beaded along her hairline, dampening the strands that stuck to her temples, her cheeks, still flushed from exertion. And her mouth—damn that mouth. Her lipstick was ruined, completely gone, wiped clean by his kisses, by his hands, by his mouth devouring her like she was something holy.

"You look really good like this," he murmured, the smugness fading, something quieter, rawer, slipping in.

Romy’s smirk softened, just a little. "Yeah?" she breathed, low, almost teasing, but softer than before.

Edward’s gaze dragged over her, memorizing, cataloging, burning her into his brain.

"Yeah."

He was never going to forget it. Not for the rest of his miserable life.

When Edward finally pulled out, they both hissed, and his breath hitched at the overstimulation, his hands dragged down her thighs to her hips, savoring the feel of her one last time before rolling onto his back next to her. His body felt heavy, spent, exhausted. His brain? Fucking fried.

"Geez, Mr. Nashton," Romy exhaled, her voice breathy, half-laughing.

"What?" he huffed, still staring at the ceiling, letting his limbs settle, letting reality creep back in.

She let out a sharp, amused scoff, stretching, her bare skin brushing against his, teasing, reminding him exactly what they just did. "What do you mean, ‘what’?" she quipped, turning her head to face him, eyebrows raised, still breathless, still grinning. "You were ruthless."

Edward let out a short, sharp exhale, half a laugh, half an attempt to catch his breath, his lips twitching. "You asked for it."

Romy’s grin only widened, utterly entertained, utterly fucking triumphant. "And you gave it to me," she mused, voice smooth, knowing, self-satisfied. “Hard.”

His smirk curled into something sharper, smugger, pleased with himself in a way he couldn’t quite hide. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Guess I did," he murmured.

“I liked seeing you like that.”

The words rolled off her tongue, low, indulgent, meant to tease, meant to sink into him. She stretched, slow and deliberate, spine arching, her body shifting against the cheap sheets in a way that made something deep in his gut tighten. Her fingers dragged lazily down her own stomach, her hips, her thighs, tracing the path he had just taken with his hands, his mouth, his body.

He watched from the corner of his eye, throat working, muscles tensing, trying not to react, but failing.

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow, casting a glance at the bedside table. He let himself look at her, trailing his gaze over her body, still drinking her in, still committing every inch of her to memory.

The clock’s red digits blinked. Past midnight. She clicked her tongue, tilting her head slightly before looking at him again.

“Well," she mused, feigning casualness, but that glint in her eye said otherwise, "We’ve got the room for the whole night."

Edward’s breath hitched, his stomach pulling tight, his body already bracing—instinct, anticipation, inevitability.

Then—

She moved. Slow. Calculated. Deliberate. Fingertips ghosted down his stomach, featherlight, teasing, just barely grazing the ridges of his abdomen. A soft scrape of nails followed, dragging over sensitive skin, maddening, unbearable, cruel. His jaw locked, breath catching, his entire body tensing, muscles twitching beneath her touch. He was spent—but fuck if his cock didn’t still twitch, still pulse at the sensation.

Romy grinned. Knowing. Wicked. Triumphant.

A rough, strained moan tore from his throat, low and ragged, completely helpless. His head tipped back slightly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, trying—failing—to keep himself in check. "You’re gonna kill me, Winslow," he muttered, his voice nothing but gravel, hoarse.

Romy let out a soft, breathy laugh, pleased, teasing, completely self-satisfied. “And what a heavenly way to go,” she purred, her smirk deepening, nails scraping lightly again, pushing, testing.

A pause. A beat. Then, her eyes flicked up to his, knowing, expectant.

"Guess it won’t be just this once, huh?"

Edward turned his head, locking onto her gaze, his own smirk curling back into place despite himself. No point in pretending otherwise.

"No," he murmured, low, amused, entirely too satisfied. "I don’t think it will be."

#The Edge of Us #Arkham Origins #Edward Nashton #Enigma #Pre-Riddler #Riddler #Edward Nigma #Riddler x OC #Edward Nashton x OC #Edward x Romy #Female OC #Fanfiction #Riddler Fanfiction #Arkhamverse #Arkhamverse Riddler #Smut #minors dni #Banner picture by Anja - Pinterest

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