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megamindsecretlair · 4 months ago

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I See Red

Pairing: Black Noir x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Primal dom Black Noir, Dark elements. Cursing, PIV, SMUT, fingering (fem receiving), bratty reader. Black Noir and reader is aroused by hunting/being hunted. Sorry if I missed others. No spoilers for Season 4.

Summary: You filled in for your friend, working as a server during a party featuring Vought leadership and Supes. All night, you've been playing with Black Noir. Who's hunting who when you lure him out into the garden maze?

AO3 Link

Word count: 2,664k

A/N: WHEW, sometimes when the feral hounds get to howling, I must answer that call. My fam was in rare form tonight so I'll take it as my sign to chill out lol. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Taglist: @chaos-4baby @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @twocentuar @umber-cinders @planetblaque

God, your feet hurt. You had been working the party all night, working hard to keep Supe’s drowning in liquor and drugs and the Vought leadership blissfully in lust chasing after them. This was your last fucking party. Your friend could keep this gig. You didn’t need money that badly.

You’ll miss exploring rich mansions, though. This was the closest you’d ever get to knowing how the other half lived. They took all of this acreage for granted. It was an everyday sight to them. They looked at the lush gardens and intricate pathways and saw the money they hemorrhaged trying to keep it afloat. To impress other rich pricks who had too much money and time on their hands. You’d love to have their problems.

You snagged a glass of champagne from the kitchen, intending to take your break out in the gardens in the back of the mansion. The lighting was softer out here, muted in such a way to give it a hazy, dreamlike look.

The gardens out here boasted rich purples, bright pinks, and summery oranges. There were still some people out here, giggling and glasses clinking somewhere in the distance. The air was chilly, near frigid, but felt amazing on your overheated skin.

The soft, shimmery cherry red dress you wore tickled your thick thighs as you took off your heels and padded down the stone steps towards the maze. You discarded your empty glass on the pillar at the bottom of the steps. The maze had instantly grabbed your attention as you received the “don’t fuck up” talk from the manager, Elliot. He was an ass, thought himself more important than God, but all you did was tune him out as you looked towards the maze.

You took the last step and then hopped quickly onto the grassy knoll, the ground too cold for your aching feet. You sighed as your toes squished in the grass, a light mist making your feet wet. But that was okay. The dew added to the atmosphere and if you closed your eyes, you’d swear that you stepped into another world.

The maze loomed above you, hedges taller than ten feet. Perhaps bigger. You looked behind you to check for anyone nearby. Your eyes snagged on Black Noir standing outside the doors you just exited.

Your heart skipped a beat, drinking him in. He was so mysterious. But with an obvious, dangerous swagger like he could snap your neck in half and then carry about his day like it didn’t faze him. All night, you felt like he was watching you. All night, you dodged from room to room just to see what he’d do.

He’d stalk from room to room right after you. Sometimes you let him catch you. He’d sidle up next to you and tilt his head, never saying anything. It was his whole thing. But you wondered what his voice sounded like. Or what he looked like. He could be horrendous underneath the stretch of black across his face.

No one with that much presence could be ugly right? You blamed your mask kink as you waited for Black Noir to zero in on you before taking off into the maze. You turned and turned, scurrying down pathways whether they lead somewhere or not. You weren’t sure how big the maze was, but that made it more exciting.

Clouds of breath escaped you as your imagination took off. You knew Black Noir was behind you somewhere. When would he catch you? What would you let him do if he did?

You ducked down a few more pathways, nothing but the stars and moon to guide you overhead. This was nuts. This was one of the wildest things you’d ever done. But when would you ever get the chance to do this? Since this was the last party you covered for your friend, you intended to go out with a bang.

You giggled to yourself at your wild thoughts before covering your mouth with your hand. This was a supe you were up against. You weren’t quite sure about his powers and that only added to the thrill.

Did your red dress give you away? A twig snapped behind you and you whirled around, expecting to see Black Noir. There was nothing. Nothing but hedges surrounding you. The light hoot of an owl. A breeze ruffled your flyaway hairs, a sheen of sweat settling between your breasts and on the back of your legs.

A rustling noise made you duck down a nearby pathway, spurned to fleeing at the prospect of being hunted by Black Noir. He was usually quiet as a church mouse. Were these sounds due to natural critters in the maze? Or was Black Noir playing with you?

Your thighs tingled and your pussy throbbed. You thought you took enough turns, you were completely lost. You weren’t sure how he could find you in this. You controlled your breathing, stepped quietly, and you kept your eyes pricked for any sign of movement.

You turned down one final path that led to the middle of the maze. Set in a wide square, the middle had a few benches and a fountain. There was a statue in the middle of the fountain, a young naked maiden pouring water from a giant pot in her hands. Her hair flowed down the middle of her back, inlaid with stone flowers.

Shit like this was wasted on the rich. You could spend eternity here just cataloging all of the details on the statue. Was it Greek inspired? You stepped closer, momentarily forgetting that you were trying to entice Black Noir.

Remembering that, you inched closer to the entrance. You looked both ways and then turned to the fountain. The water trickled and the breeze turned biting.

You sighed. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he was tired of the chase. Maybe you played hard to get for one minute too long and Black Noir found someone more willing. You pouted and gave one final look at the fountain.

The cool smell of leather wafted to your nose as a gloved hand clamped down over your mouth. You tried screaming, but it was muffled by his hand. You struggled, fighting, clawing to get free but the solid mountain behind you was unforgiving.

You looked up and back, into the visor of Black Noir. You still struggled, more excited than scared this time. Black Noir wrapped a large arm around your middle and yanked you from the ground. Your feet kicked, trying to connect with his legs but he was an expert. He held you far enough away where you couldn’t touch him.

Black Noir suddenly let you go. You dropped to your feet with a huff before turning around and backing away from him. Black Noir tilted his head and stalked forward.

“Found me,” you said and smiled, holding up a hand to ward him off.

Black Noir nodded.

“I was hoping you would,” you said. You felt silly, like you were talking to yourself. But Black Noir tilted his head again, like he was questioning your statement. You bit your lip, not answering him.

You really wanted to hear his voice. But then again, half the fun would be gone. Once you knew who was underneath, it’d ruin the mystery and the intrigue. You backed away all the way to the fountain. The edge of the fountain hit the back of your thighs and you stopped. No more room.

Not unless you wanted to try running around him. You looked past him and Black Noir stepped into your line of sight. You giggled. “Not gonna let me get away again?” You asked.

Black Noir shook his head.

“How will you get me to stay?” You asked.

Black Noir cracked his neck, rolling it, before stepping to the side in a wide stance, somehow making himself look bigger. More intimidating. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, thumping harshly in your veins.

You feinted to the left and Black Noir jerked to the side. You giggled, doing the same thing on your right and Black Noir cut off your escape. You grinned as you pretended to run to the right, turning at the last minute, and dodging Noir’s outstretched hands. You did it! You were free!

That feeling was short-lived as Noir scooped you up by your middle, lifting you and walking backwards until you were right back where you started. He dropped you at the edge of the fountain, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanked you back.

The moan escaped you way too fast. You wanted to be coy. Wanted to drag this out and be a smoking hot target. Instead, you were just too damn needy.

Noir put his face close to yours. Not a word. He nudged your exposed neck with his nose while his free hand ghosted across your chest. You stuck your boobs out, wanting him to do more than this.

He ignored you, moving his hand to grab a handful of your tummy and squeeze. You moaned again, rubbing your backside against his front.

Noir moved his hand to lift up your dress, cupping your mound and squeezing. “Fuck!” You moaned out. No mercy. He squeezed to the point of pain, savoring your cries, before rubbing your pussy over your panties.

“More, more, please,” you cried out.

Noir pushed your panties down your legs, only giving you enough slack on your hair to let you kick them off. Your skin was on fire. Blood boiling. Pussy throbbing.

Noir pushed you forward and the palms of your hands stung from the rough stone of the fountain. Your breaths came out in shuddering waves as you were bent over the railing. Noir kept his hold on your hair while you heard his zipper ripping through the night air.

Noir breathed harshly. A sound! It should not thrill you this much to get a hint of a sound out of him, but fuck. This was going to fuel your fantasies for months. Possibly even years.

Noir gasped as he removed his glove. You couldn’t see his hand. It was too dark. But you did feel as he moved his fingers through your dripping folds. You moaned, legs giving out. Noir pulled your hair until you stood up straighter and you cried out.

He wasn’t pulling hard enough to do any real damage. Just a little sting. Just enough force to show you that he was in control.

Noir continued to play with your pussy, rubbing his fingers around your clit and inside your entrance. You leaked all over him, creating a neat little river that began to leak down your legs.

Noir pulled your hair. “Oh god, feels so good. So good. So damn good,” you chattered, not sure what you were saying and not truly giving a fuck. This was the most fun you’d ever had during sex. You wished that you could freeze this moment. Or expand it, stretch time as long as you need to in order to experience this for as long as possible.

You were racing towards an orgasm in no time, screaming into the night like a wild banshee. Who cared who was around at the moment? They were all getting their rocks off, it was only fitting that you did as well.

Noir continued to finger you, continued pumping his long, thick fingers inside and drawing out another orgasm.

“Please, please,” you whimpered, not sure what you were begging for. Each orgasm was too quick, too short. Not enough, not nearly enough. You rubbed onto Noir like a purring cat, rubbed your ass against his armor clad groin.

Another harsh gasp from him. He pushed you forward until you were fully bent over the fountain. He grabbed your hip and pulled you against him. He worked his pants down low enough, slapping a big dick against your wet pussy.

The wet slapping sounds were loud. You had so much slick dripping out of you. He rubbed his dick back and forth, getting the tip wet with your juices. “Fuck me, fuck me,” you begged. Enough with the teasing. You felt ready to jump out of your skin. You were needy. And feral.

Noir’s hold on your hair tightened as he slapped your ass hard enough to make you hiss with pain. You shook with raw need, pussy clenching around open air. He smacked you again for good measure and you moaned, sticking your ass out.

“I’m sorry, I’ll behave,” you whimpered.

Noir continued with coating his dick in your juices before finally breaching your entrance. He stopped short of entering you fully, waiting. For what you weren’t sure. You pushed against him with a deep groan, pushed your ass backwards in an attempt to slip him inside.

It wasn’t until you stopped, until you grew still enough, that Noir slammed inside in one savage thrust. “Oh god!” You screamed, legs shaking on his dick. He was so big, a delicious stretch spearing you.

He drew back until just the tip was inside and then slammed back in. He continued this savage push and pull, driving you insane. You couldn’t pay attention to the rhythm he tried to set. It only felt like not enough.

You tried to slam him back faster, trying to get that lethal recoil going. Noir stopped and yanked your head back far enough to earn him a cry. You bit your lip and looked at him with a sweet smile.

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” you said.

Noir hovered over your back, using his size to cage you in. He nudged your neck with his nose, shuddering breaths quiet in your ear. You moaned as he slid back in, increasing his strokes, hitting a spot deep inside.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! That’s my spot! Right there!” You moaned and cried. He hit a spot so deep you started to see stars.

Noir obliged you, hitting that spot over and over until you were an incoherent mess, dribbling, and mumbling as a powerful orgasm ripped through you. The edges of your vision turned blurry, as you surrendered to the ecstasy.

As you came down, Noir’s hold didn’t lessen as he snapped his hips against yours. Soft, panting grunts in your ear that made your pussy clench onto him tighter, hold him in deeper. He let out a muffled groan and finally spilled himself inside you.

His hot, pulsing cum squelched as it mixed with your own essence. He continued snapping his hips like he couldn’t help it. Like he couldn’t stop. You gripped onto his warm thigh, throwing that ass right back on him so you could milk him for every drop.

Your panting breaths were louder than his as he softened. He pulled out and adjusted himself. You remained faced forward to allow him time to zip himself back up. When you heard the zipper go back up, you dared a glance behind you.

He was right back to the stoic, monolith of a man as he stared in your direction. “Fuck, that was amazing,” you giggled, feeling drunk just off the strength of his fucking. You had enough moonlight to spot your red lace panties on the ground.

Noir was faster, snatching it before your fingers could close around the cloth. You grinned at Noir as he put a finger against his mask and tucked your panties into his pocket.

“You really gonna leave me here like this?” You asked.

Noir nodded slowly. “Asshole,” you smirked.

You walked around him and Noir followed the movement, twisting his body all the way around. You backed away, heading for the entrance. You were thoroughly tired, legs aching, but still, you found that you wanted more. The night was still young-ish.

You blew a kiss at Noir. “Catch me if you can,” you sang as you danced out of the maze, picking up speed when you heard Noir scramble after you.

There will be more! The Secret Black Noir Files

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Black Noir Files #Black Noir x Black!reader #Black Noir x Black reader #x Black reader #Black Noir x Fem!reader #Black Noir x Fem reader #x Fem reader #Black Noir x plus size reader #Black Noir fanfic #Black Noir fan fic #Black Noir fanfiction #Black Noir fan fiction #Black Noir smut #The Boys fanfic #The Boys fan fic #The Boys fanfiction #The Boys fan fiction #The Boys smut

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forthelostones · 5 months ago

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sev x bff!reader (nsfw, 18+) 🧚🏾‍♂️

loosely proof read. wrote on my phone. first sevika writing.

you and sev have been mates for a long time. after a good training session or a meeting, you’d meet up for a smoke and a drink or two. but the way she looked at you this night seemed a little different. her eyes were full of an identifiable glare of curiosity as if she hadn't known you for ages.

“great session today. you kicked my ass.” she chuckled, expelling smoke from her nostrils, nearly shouting over the bass in the music.

“yeah, what’s new.” you sipped some dark liquor from a gauntlet.

“haven’t had a lady handle me like that in … well, ever.” she smirked.

the look in her eyes was dark and mischievous. secretly, you had always found sevika very attractive. her umber skin and toned body left you speechless fairly often. you often thought about her when you were alone and desperate for connection. coming to the thought of her voice in your ear. but you could never truly admit that to yourself.

“i’m sure you get handled just fine.” you nudge, pulling the cigar from her fingertips and bringing it to your own mouth, tasting her drink ever so. sevika was comfortable with you in ways that might have jumped your friend status to best friend. although sev was a busy woman, she managed to court the occasional woman. sleeping with them and that was it. she confided in you with that information and sometimes the descriptions were so vivid that you became steaming with jealousy.

“fine is not good enough,” she rolled her eyes. “i need someone to do it behind doors, y’know?”

she looked off into the distance causally, as if that wasn’t an invitation. well, it couldn't have been, could it? you ignore her usual antics.

“hm, we could find you a girl here, that won’t be hard,” you say, scanning the room.

“i’m sure you’re right. so, why don’t you come over tonight?” she takes a big gulp.

if you and sev were just friends why was her mouth leaving bruises up and down your breasts right now?

the smoky flavor of the cherry in the cigar was now littered on your skin. you were enveloped in the scent of sev — her dark skin glittered with cedar and sage body oil and so were her sheets. how many nights did she come home and lay here alone, you thought.

she trails her hand over your body, from your shoulders down to your panties and she brushes her thumb gently against your wetness. you shudder at the feeling, trying not to show her how much you're enjoying this. just like ignoring the fact of how you didn't protest when she first laid you on this bed, despite the title you gave each other. friends.

“this okay?” she whispered.

“yes, sevika.” you moan.

“good.” she smiles and that gap you’ve learned to like over the years shines from the light emitting from the city. purple and green hues made her look even more beautiful.

her lips come close to yours and you meet her halfway, pressing yourself against that delicious mouth. she feels your hips rise and fall at each gentle stroke. you fell further into the pace she set. and when you can’t take it anymore, she pulls your panties aside to circle your clit.

she was perched on your thigh, slowly riding it, fully clothed, practically begging for relief. her ass bucked upwards and tucked down to stimulate both her lips and clit against the seam of her pants. the woman was too proud to say what she wanted, so you took the initiative and somehow those training moves came to be useful.

sev was on her back, shocked at the maneuver you made, as she easily has several pounds on you. without discussion you unbuckled her pants and pulled them off, tossing them into a corner of the room. you glide your hands up her thighs, admiring her bruises and tracing her scars. you raise your hand to brush a delicate stroke against her hole. her underwear was swallowed by her cunt, drenched, and all because of you. her metallic hand clanked as she guided your wrist up toward her clit. but you weren’t aiming for instant satisfaction, she had to wait. she had to beg.

#sevika #arcane #arcane smut #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane fanfic

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maybege · 1 month ago

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Drained

Summary: Donating blood suddenly has a very different meaning.

Pairing: vampire!Paz Vizsla x fem!!Reader

Wordcount: 3.9k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, explicit sexual content, dry humping, blood

Happy October everybody! I hope that autumn is treating you well and if it is not, that I can make you feel a little better with this Halloween-y Paz piece. As always, this is an AU that has existed extensively in my mind for a very long time, so it was fun to actually write something about it lol I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please leave a comment or a reblog, so we can all freak out about what a hot fun guy vampire!Paz is.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

The night air was crisp as you made your way to one of the most exclusive clubs in the whole city and your choice to wear high heels felt stupider with every step you took over the wet streets of downtown but it was too late to change your mind now. In more ways than one.

You threw another look at your phone, where your navigation app guided you down yet another dark alleyway until you arrived at a door that couldn’t look further from trustworthy if it tried.

But as you pushed the door to Vizsla’s Speakeasy open and made your way behind a deep red velvet curtain, you were suddenly enveloped in pure luxury. You could make out leather tufted booths in the candlelight. The walls were dark but shimmery, looking soft to the touch, and more than one wall was covered in golden picture frames. Jazz music played in the background, though you could not see a live band, though maybe they were just hidden in the depths of the bar.

The place was packed – so packed, in fact, that you were surprised you hadn’t heard the commotion outside. Those brick walls must be very thick, indeed.

Trying very hard not to think about the fact that you were surrounded mostly by vampires, you made your way to the bar which was set up on the long side of the room. A tall woman stood behind the counter, looking busy. The shelves behind her were stacked with easily hundreds of liquor bottles, creating a colourful backdrop.

“Uh, hi, I am here to, uh, to – “

“New donor?” the gruff woman asked, not stopping her work of wiping down the counter.

You nodded quickly, trying to make yourself feel tall and confident and hoping that no one saw how tightly you were gripping your bag.

Marylin had sworn on her new designer bag that blood donating was one of the safest things one could do (“and it gets you bags like these!”). Considering how long you had worked together, it was kind of tragic that it took four years and her floating into work with that cherry red bag that you had seen in a window one day and had dreamt of ever since to ask her where she had all that disposable income from.

After all, you both worked the same job.

“Oh, that is easy,” she grinned, “I am donating blood.”

It was common knowledge that the streets of the city belonged to the creatures of the night. At least it had been that way ever since you could remember. Your grandparents sometimes still talked about the time before vampires and werewolves suddenly appeared at every corner, drastically changing life as they knew it.

The time of change was something neither of your grandparents ever talked about. It must have been rough. But somehow, after years of tensions and deaths and protests, it all settled into something that everyone could live with. And part of that was that the cities were flooded at night with people that previously had to hide. There were establishments specifically for them, where like and like mingled, and from a young age you were taught never to go out at night.

As you grew older and actually moved from your parents' place in the peaceful suburbs to the city, you knew that nighttime was not as dangerous as they had made it out to be. The interest vampires and werewolves had in actually tearing you up was overrated and you could still go out for an after-work drink or celebrate your birthday by going out until the sun rose. There were just some streets you tried to avoid.

But a huge part of why it was no longer so dangerous was because blood banks existed. And not the kinds to save people’s lives. Although, in some way, they did. Vampires no longer having to hunt and drain innocent bystanders entirely of their blood to survive made the biggest difference in being able to share a society.

You could go to any hospital and donate blood just like in old times and, just like in old times, you were compensated with a small fee. Charitable work, truly.

Unless you wanted to get a cherry red handbag, pay off the medical bills inherited from your childhood, finally afford an apartment bigger than a shoebox, or invite your friends out for dinner sometime.

Then, you wanted to go where Marilyn directed you. Into one of the vampire-owned locations where said vampires would splurge a lot of money on getting blood that was not vacuum sealed in a medical-grade plastic bag.

“It is like a very unusual cocktail bar,” your colleague had explained, showing you her neck and wrists to make her point about how no marks were left after a few days, “And I have never felt safer anywhere else. Just try it and thank me later!”

Which is why you were now standing in front of a woman who looked nothing like how you imagined a vampire to look. She was wearing normal clothes, for one, and her tattoo sleeve did not make her look very immortal. “Name’s Steph,” she introduced herself. “Care for a welcome mocktail while you wait?”

“No, thank you.”

She nodded. “Mar sent you, right?”

It took you a moment to realize that Mar was Marilyn and you nodded, nervously looking around. There was no official dress code but you were happy you ended up going with the black pumps and the little black dress. Everyone here looked like they were dripping in understated wealth. “She said she wouldn’t be here today.”

“Nah, she only comes on Tuesdays,” Steph explained and set the glass down, “But you’re not here to see Mar.”

No, you were not, and the reminder made your throat feel very dry.

“There is no reason to be nervous,” she smiled, “The first donation is always with one of your more senior guests. They have more experience with feeding off someone alive and can control themselves if you show any signs of discomfort. If you feel in any way unsafe, just say Geronimo, and I will come and make sure you are okay, okay?”

You nodded, biting your tongue to ask how she was supposed to hear you over the noise.

“I am sure you want to get to know who is going to be assigned to you tonight – Pat!”

A woman turned around with the happiest smile you had ever seen. Her dark hair was in a tousled updo and heavy diamond earrings swung when she turned around. Though that was not what you focussed on. There was a small trail of blood down her throat and you wondered if you should tell her. How hard was blood to get out of clothes anyway?

“What’s up?”

“Where’s Djarin tonight?”

“Oh, he's gone camping again,” she explained, “He asked Mr Vizsla to take over, he should be here somewhere, I just saw him …”

“He is right here, ladies,” a deep voice said right behind you and you turned around.

You were not sure what you had been expecting. Certainly not this specimen. He was tall. And broad. And handsome.

Oh fuck, why is he so handsome?

Mr Vizsla was the biggest man you had ever seen and if you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was a werewolf. He had a strong, stubbled jaw and his dark hair was swept into a hairstyle that made you think of your grandmother's movies. He wore an all-black suit with the first few buttons undone, which meant you got a peek at his chest and the gold chain that was around his neck.

“She’s the newbie that was assigned to Djarin tonight.”

You met his gaze and immediately knew he had caught you ogling him. Shit. But then his eyes roamed over you and you swallowed, trying to stand a little taller even if your feet were already killing you. This was the most beautiful man you had ever seen and everything in you wanted to impress him. The side of his mouth quirked up into a charming smile.

“I'll take it from here,” he announced and held out his hand to you, “why don’t we get you somewhere more comfortable, darling?"

You followed him silently through the bar that seemed to much deeper in the building than you had originally thought. At one point, you even passed the band. You spotted his face in a few pictures, several of them black and white.

He looked older than you but he didn’t look old. Not like he had lived entire millennia. Maybe he hadn’t. Was it considered rude to ask vampires their age?

“Did you read the pamphlet?” he asked when he stopped you both at a small and empty booth. His hand was warm and dry, you could feel a few callouses at his fingertips and you wondered if he worked. Or if he had always been a … businessman? Bar owner?

You nodded, listing off every bullet point that had been on the online info sheet Marylin (Mar, apparently) had forwarded to your email. “I made sure to hydrate plenty, am not taking any blood thinners and my last check-up at the GP did not show anything wrong with my bloodwork. I should be good to donate blood.”

“Good,” he nodded, “do you have any questions before we get started? Anything at all?”

You shook your head. You knew why you were here but why did it suddenly all feel so fast?

His strong hand wrapped around your wrist and you let your eyes drift over the tattoos on his knuckles and the girth of his fingers and … damn it, how could one man be so … handsome? You had always thought of vampires as pale-faced, porcelain statue versions of humans. But he looked … rugged, and warm, and real. And pretty damn sexy.

“Do you have a preference?”

“What?”

With burning ears, you realized you hadn’t listened to a word this handsome stranger had said. He realized it too because he had that cocky smile again. “Don’t get distracted by my dashing looks, sweetheart,” he teased you, “This is important.”

You nodded numbly, still watching your hand in his. “I will take a bite at your wrist first,” he repeated gently, “Some people have a strong preference for where to bite and we find that it is a good test to see how you feel afterwards. I usually suggest the non-dominant hand but maybe you already have a preference?”

“No, uh, non-dominant is fine,” you murmured, holding out the hand in question.

Mr Vizsla did not look away from you though. His dark eyes were filled with mirth as he patted the spot right next to him. “Might be a bit more comfortable if you're closer,” he said and you looked down at the big space between your bodies. He was right, you knew that, but you also knew that your heart was not just racing because you were nervous to give yourself over to a vampire. No, you were pretty sure that the closer you got to him, the likelier you would be to embarrass yourself.

You really did not want to embarrass yourself.

Not even a second later, you could feel his thick thigh press against yours. Your heart skipped a beat and you wondered if he could hear it. It had been too long since anyone touched you and of course, it had to be at the most inopportune moment that you realized that.

“No need to be nervous,” he assured you, “If you feel in any discomfort if you want to stop for whatever reason, just say Geronimo and Steph is right there to punch me off you if you feel unsafe.”

“Steph?”

Who was Steph? All you could focus on was the sight of him gently cradling your hand and brushing his mouth over your palm. The touch was so gentle, yet so intentional, it made your thighs clench. His lips brushed over the inside of your wrist and your breathing stuttered. “Think of nice things,” he winked at you before his teeth sank into your skin.

An image flashed in front of your eyes. Nice might be the wrong words to describe it. You saw him – felt him, more like – bent over you, driving into you from behind. Your eyes rolled back, hands fisted into white sheets. It was warm, you were in the tropics somewhere, but that did not bother you. Because the man behind you fucked you so good you were crying, begging him for more and all you could see was –

“How are you feeling?”

You blinked, feeling dizzy at how violently you were pulled away from an idea that felt so real. What was that?

The dark-haired man still had your hand in his and you could see two little drops of blood forming on your wrist. It did not hurt, not really, except for a dull throbbing in your veins. You frowned, trying to clear your head of the image that had been so real for a moment that your body still craved being filled by … him.

“Good,” your voice felt hoarse and you swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden dryness in your throat. He had no business looking so devilishly handsome with his lips stained dark from your blood.

Your neck would be next, you knew, and immediately your mind was filled with pictures of you in his lap, closer than what was probably appropriate. Then again, it didn’t exactly seem like society’s rules were followed in this place.

He shifted in his seat, his legs spreading and your eyes involuntarily darted to the bulge hidden by his slacks. With the dim lighting, you shouldn't have been able to see anything but still, you imagined to see a very distinguishable something between his legs.

And then an idea popped into your head that you could not get rid of.

“Would it – would,” you swallowed again, trying to find the courage to ask what you wanted.

“What, darling?” he asked, his tongue darting out to lick over the puncture wounds on your arms. You gasped at the feeling. Maybe someone should add spontaneous arousal to the side effects section of that pamphlet.

“Can I – Could …”, you stopped short, frustrated at how nervous you were.

“You want to straddle me?” he suggested his legs spreading the tiniest bit more and you could feel your core pulse at the sight of it. Shit. Fuck. Damn it.

“Is that very inappropriate?” you rushed out, “I am sorry, I don’t mean to put you into an awkward position and –“

“Hey,” he murmured, his hands on your waist gently guiding you to him “Whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, all right?”

You took a deep breath, “All right.”

His large hand was on your neck, gently cupping one side so you could rest your weight against it, offering him up all this space. There was faint music in the background and you could feel his breath wash over the sensitive skin.

Your breathing stuttered, your heart raced and you shifted closer to him, your core settling over his which made you even more.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your jawline, the tip of his nose over your neck, “It is like I can hear your thoughts from here.”

Your laugh sounded breathy even to your ears but before you could worry about how you wanted to make sure you were not being a nuisance; his teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck.

The images returned almost instantly.

This time it wasn’t him behind you in the tropics. This time it was right where you were sitting. But instead of straddling him, you were kneeling between his legs, your mouth wrapped around the girth of his cock. You were caged in by his thick thighs, you could feel the heat of his body at your shoulders, his hand at the back of your head, pushing and pulling you on his shaft.

Good fucking girl, he rumbled in your mind and you gasped out a moan. With a particularly deep thrust, he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes eager to find him even through the tears.

The scene morphed and you were somewhere else, wearing next to nothing. There were people all around you, club music pounding in your ears. You wore a mini-dress with an orange pattern looking like it came out of one of those retro shows. But that was not what you focused on, no.

You were on him, his cock nestled inside you as he faintly talked with other people and you were just there, moving in minuscule thrusts as he kept his hands on you, his mouth occasionally on your neck, whispering things you could not hear but knew were dirty.

Oh fuck. You wanted to pull away, feeling your pussy getting wetter. At this point, you would not be surprised if you had left a wet patch on his pants. But you would be really fucking embarrassed.

The burning in your cheeks made you want to jerk back, get off his lap and run away to move to the other side of the county.

Don’t, sweetheart, you will hurt yourself.

Your eyes flew open, seeing nothing but the dark corner of the ceiling. He was in your head. Was he in your head?

You are in my head?

His mouth did not leave your throat and his other hand landed on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. Right onto the growing bulge in his pants.

Believe me, that’s my first time, too, his voice sounded amused, almost, don’t stop on my account. I quite enjoyed the little picture show.

The hand on your neck spanned wide and suddenly he was tilting your head differently and your eyes fell closed, returning to the images in your minds – and in his, too, apparently.

Your hips started moving on their own accord, grinding against his prominent erection as you found yourself chasing a high you had not felt in a long time.

Fuck, sweetheart. You could faintly hear him groan against your neck and you bucked against him again, the pressure on your clit delicious. The hand on your back wandered lower, to your ass and with how you were moving against him, it was easy for his fingers to slip under the hem of your dress.

Please, Paz, you thought, your pussy aching when his calloused fingertips brushed the lacy edge of your panties before finding the wet spot between your thighs.

Come for me, sweetheart, his voice commanded in your hand.

Countless scenarios flashed in your head, each one more pleasurable than the last but all of them too quick to focus on one. Even if you had wanted to, you would not have been able to form a coherent thought as your orgasm crashed through you.

When you came back into reality, his tongue was on your neck, closing the wound just like on your wrist before. Your thighs felt uncomfortably wet and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Well, that was a first,” Paz breathed and you blinked, trying very hard to be present. The high you were still floating on came crashing down when you realized you were still sitting on his lap and you had just come in front of this, essentially, stranger when that had really not been the plan.

Fuck, you had to get out of here before he kicked you out. How could you have dropped the ball so badly on this?

“No movement,” his hand flexed your back, stopping you from clambering off him, “We don’t want you to get dizzy. Stay here for five-ish minutes and we will see how you feel after some aftercare.”

“A-aftercare?”

He nodded, his fingers brushing over your neck. “A mocktail and the pastry of the day,” he elaborated, “I think it’s croissants today. “

You really liked croissants.

“I am so ashamed,” you whispered, your eyes firmly fixed on his collarbone, “I am so sorry. I promise I will never come back. When Marylin explained donating blood, it didn’t sound like – I wasn’t prepared for –“

“Please do come back,” he interrupted you gently, fingers tipping your chin up until you had to meet his dark eyes, “It – What happened is rare. And I never heard of both happening at the same time.”

Your puzzled expression was enough for him to continue.

“Some people are more … sensitive,” his deep voice sent a shiver down your spine, “When it comes to feeding from them. And I have heard of the odd pair where there was a telepathic connection, but I’ve never – haven’t experienced either. There is no reason to be ashamed. Clearly, I was affected too.”

Your cheeks burned at the memory of that one image that you were certain your head hadn’t come up with.

“Though I have to warn you that if you do come back, I might ask you to be assigned to me every time,” he teased, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. When he spoke, his fangs did not seem all that prominent but would it be different if you kissed?

“I – I wouldn’t mind that, Mr Vizsla,” you admitted quietly.

He scoffed, “Call me, Paz, sweetheart, please.”

The arrival of the waiter interrupted any further conversation and Mr Vizsla (Paz) gently eased you off his lap until you were sitting right next to him. Although the movement was slow and minimal, a wave of dizziness still washed over you and you understood why he had kept you from fleeing.

“Drink,” he offered you the fancy glass and you took it. His arm was draped around the back of the booth right behind you and you felt both comforted and nervous by how close he was.

“Slow and steady,” he murmured as you gulped down the fruity mocktail. His forehead was almost leaning against your temple and you had to resist the urge to just … relax into him.

This felt like the best sex you ever had and yet this man was virtually a stranger. But there was no hesitation in his gentle touches as he offered you the plate with the croissant and there was no flinching on your part when he put his arm around your shoulders.

Was it possible to feel such deep trust in someone you had met only once?

His phone rang and you watched as he pulled it out of his pocket, the sizable screen dwarfed in his hand. A frown formed on his face and your smile fell.

“I am so sorry, but I need to go now,” he announced with a frown on his face. With you still sitting down, he seemed even bigger and you looked up at him with big eyes. Somehow, you had hoped that he would stay. That you could get to know him more.

“So soon?”

“I have to be home in time to feed the cat,” he replied.

“You have a cat?”

“Yeah, her name is Biscuits and if her dinner is late she will start killing any mice she can find and I will not spend my eternal life digging small gravesites.” As if to prove his point, he unlocked his screen and showed you a picture of the fluffiest cat you had ever seen. Biscuits seemed a fitting name.

“Will – will you be here next time too?” you asked before you could lose your courage.

“Oh definitely,” he grinned, “Remember what I said, love, you’re stuck with me now.”

#maybege writes #paz vizsla x reader #smut

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pinksturniolo · 8 months ago

Text

Robbers - A Chris Sturniolo One Shot (AU)

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Chris Sturniolo is a part of The Disciples, one of the most notorious Portuguese gangs in Boston. For the past year and a half, you’ve witnessed him take part in the most dangerous crimes. But what happens when one day, you're forced to participate with him? You know it’s extremely toxic and goes against all your morals. Despite that, you just can’t help the way you love him, the way you would do anything for him. Even rob a gas station.

Content Warnings: smut, raw penetration, fingering, oral, themes of criminal activity and violence, mentions of shooting, guns, and blood. descriptions of gunshot wounds, gun play, drugs and drug use, smoking, use of alcohol, murder, robbery, toxic relationship

a/n: I do not condone any actions in this story or promote gun violence. I do not intend in any way shape or form to offend anyone. This is one is a little dark and has a lot of mature themes as well as a gun kink, which can be uncomfortable for people. Please only read what you can handle. <3

word count: 6,452 (!!!!) ik it's long but pls read it all, i spent a lot of time on this one.

Watch this music video before reading, just trust me: The 1975 - Robbers (Official Video) (Explicit) (youtube.com)

Fall 2025

You drop your cigarette to the ground, your sneaker snuffing out the cherry as you crush it against the wet concrete. There’s a light drizzle tonight, temperatures dipping as early September arrives in the city of Boston.

You sigh, leaning your head against the brick wall and tucking your hands into the hoodie of your pocket. What’s taking him so long?

Your boyfriend had been inside the house for 30 minutes now and it was making you nervous. Each time you went with him to these types of jobs, you were scared. You would never let him see that, but you were always worried something bad was going to happen.

Granted, he knew how to take care of himself perfectly fine, but it was the other people he was meeting up with you didn’t trust. You were constantly on edge every time you would wait for him, anxious whether he would come back to you alive.

He didn’t like the idea of you coming along with him at first, but when you convinced him it didn’t make a difference whether you stayed home and waited for him or if you came along, he eventually gave in, making you take a gun with you just in case you needed to use it.

He had taken his time to teach you how to hold and shoot it properly, making sure you wouldn’t fuck up and accidentally shoot yourself. He taught you a lot of things, like how to throw a good punch without breaking your hand, how to roll a blunt the right way, how to steal from the liquor store without getting caught.

You met Chris almost a year and a half ago now, at a mansion party one of your friends had dragged you to one night. She begged you to go, saying her friend Jonah there knew a guy, who knew a guy, that knew this one guy that had the best weed in the city.

She failed to mention this guy was a member of The Disciples. His name was Chris Sturniolo and he was known to beat up anyone who crossed him. You had heard rumors before about him, he sold a lot of drugs, and he didn’t fuck around when it came to his money.

So naturally, you were a little intimidated when you were introduced, sitting next to him on the large plush white couch. His friends sat around him, smoking and talking amongst themselves, and you noticed the looks they gave you and your friend. You definitely stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Hi, I’m Layla, my friend Jonah said you could get me some K2.” Your friend said, like she had done this a thousand times before.

“What’s up Layla. Who’s your friend?” Chris asked, looking straight to you.

You fought the urge to shrink into the couch, his piercing gaze burning into you. His long hair stuck out from his beanie, smoke filtering through his nose as he inhaled the joint he was puffing on.

“Uh, this is Y/N.” She replies, looking at you hesitantly. “She’s a little shy.”

You smiled awkwardly, the look in his eyes still making you squirm in your seat.

“You look too good to be here, mama.” he says, grabbing a baggie from his pocket, handing it to Layla. She takes it, getting the money from her pocket to give in return but he simply shakes his head. “Keep it.”

She looks shocked, looking at you again and you shrug, unsure why this drug dealer is giving you both a free pass. His eyes haven’t left you, looking you up and down without shame. You feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes but the longer you make eye contact with him, you don’t feel uncomfortable. You feel curious, like there’s a magnetic pull in between you two.

“Want a taste?” he asks, motioning with his head for you to come closer, holding out the joint for you to try.

You hesitate for a few seconds before you scoot closer to him on the couch, your thigh now brushing his. He smirks and holds the joint close to your mouth as you close the gap, leaning forward a little to wrap your lips around it, slightly touching his fingertips.

You take a small hit, inhaling the smoke into your lungs as you lean back into place, his eyes on your mouth as you exhale.

Your friend Laya feels the obvious tension that’s now in the room, watching the interaction between you two. “I’m gonna go find Jonah.” She says to you, and you simply nod, never breaking eye contact with Chris.

The loud music of the party vibrates through the room, making it hard to hear but you don’t need to exchange words to know what you both are thinking. He takes another hit, holding the smoke in his mouth as he leans even closer to you, placing a hand on your jaw, silently telling you to open your mouth. When you do, he hovers his lips over yours, blowing the smoke into your mouth and you inhale, holding it for a few seconds until you blow it out.

He then moves his head down, placing a single soft kiss on your neck, directly under your jaw and whispers in your ear, “Meet me in the bathroom.”

Needless to say, you’ve been attached to each other since that night, a whirlwind romance from the start.

Chris finally comes around the side of the house, backpack around his shoulder. You sigh in relief, and he smiles when he sees you, putting an arm around your waist as you walk next to him towards the car. “Worried about me, baby?” He teases, opening the passenger side door for you.

“Always.” You reply and he closes the door, walking around to get into the driver’s seat, throwing the bag in the back. He takes off, one hand on the steering wheel and the other rests on your thigh. You can’t help but notice something a little off about him though. He’s not very talkative like he usually is, and his hand grips the wheel a little too hard, his body tense.

“Chris, what happened in there? Why did it take so long?” You ask, looking at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. And what you see makes your stomach turn because you see an emotion across his face that you’ve never seen before.

Fear.

He licks his lips nervously, looking back to the road. He knows that you noticed. “We’ll talk once we get back to the house, okay?” he replied, giving a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.

You were only about 10 or 15 minutes away, but you had a strong feeling that something was really wrong. “Don’t bullshit me. Tell me now.” You demand. He looks at you, not liking the tone of your voice. “Please.” You add a little softer and he sighs, knowing that you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“The deal went fine. Jason seemed to be satisfied with the profit from last month. But he wants me to do a job next weekend…” He starts, looking more nervous by the minute.

“Okay? What job?” You pry, not understanding what was wrong. Jason is Chris’s “boss” and usually gives the orders on what to do. He also supplies Chris with all the drugs he needs to sell, cutting him in on half the earnings. Which is considered generous in his line of work. As long as Chris does whatever he asks.

“He wants me to hit a gas station. The one on the corner of South Street. But it’s not just any old gas station. It’s a front for a drug spot and they’re stealing a lot of our customers. So, I gotta bust it. But Jason doesn’t want anyone dead, he’s gonna have some of his guys go in after I’m done and take them to the warehouse. I just gotta get away with the cash and drugs.” He explains.

“By yourself? What about Tommy?” You ask. Tommy was one of Chris’s partners and usually went on jobs like these with him.

Chris stays silent for a few minutes, his eyes focused on the road. He makes a left turn, both hands on the wheel now. The streetlights passing cast a yellow tinted light into the car, and you can see whatever internal struggle is going through his head right now on his face.

“Chris?” You say quietly, leaning forward to try and get him to look at you.

He doesn’t though, his jaw clenching and hands tightening on the wheel.

“Not by myself… He wants me to bring you.” he finally says quietly.

You’re unsure of what to say, not really processing what he’s telling you.

“What do you mean? Bring me with you to the job? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” You ask, utterly confused about what’s going on.

“I mean he wants you to do the job with me. Be my partner.” He replies, now pulling into the driveway of his house and putting the car in park. Now he turns to fully face you and his expression is a mix of anger and regret.

“Ever since you started tagging along with me, Jason hasn’t liked it. He says this work is no place for a woman. I really don’t give a fuck about what he says, I never have. I’m not stupid, I know I’m risking a lot by even having you around someone like me. But I told you from the start, I will always protect you. Nothing and no one is gonna lay a fucking finger on you.” He says, his hand coming up to stroke your face.

You grab his wrist, holding his hand there. “Hold on- he wants me to help you rob the gas station?” You ask, your heart racing as you now understand what Chris means. You knew Jason never liked you, you got a dark vibe from him the few times you had been around him. In fact, you don’t think he liked anybody. Chris told you many stories of how ruthless he could be.

“Baby, you’re not doing anything he says okay? I’ll take care of it.” He said, the tone in his voice making it clear he doesn’t want to discuss this any further.

Before you can question him more, he gets out of the car and comes around to open your door, helping you out and closing it behind you as you both walk into the house and upstairs to his room.

He takes off his hoodie and shirt, and turns on the shower, letting the water run so it can warm up.

“Chris… If I don’t go with you, who’s going to?” You ask, the gears turning in your head.

He shakes his head, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “No one.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, still not grasping the big picture here. “You can’t go by yourself. That would be too dangerous.” You speak.

“Y/N, please stop. We’re not talking about this anymore, okay? I’ve told you enough already.” He replies shortly, taking off his jewelry and setting it on the bedside table.

“Just answer me one thing.” You continue, determined to get the full story. “What happens if you go against what Jason says and do the job by yourself?”

Chris doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at you. You know that you probably pissed him off now by pressing him for answers, but you didn’t care. You deserved to know the full situation. If he was in danger, you needed to know.

A few minutes go by, steam starting to fill the room from the shower. He simply sits at the edge of the bed with his back to you, running a hand through his hair.

“Chris. What are you not telling me?” You say, your voice slightly rising and there’s a hint of desperation as the pit in your stomach grows. There was something completely off here.

“Fuck.” You hear him silently curse before he finally tells you. “If I don’t make you do the job with me, I’m dead. It’s his sick fucking way of showing his power over me. He knows that I won’t put you in danger. So, he’s using my life as leverage.” His head is now turned slightly towards you, staring at the spot on the bed next to you. He’s afraid to look you in the eyes.

You’re speechless as he gets up and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Tears fill your eyes, and you feel sick to your stomach. It seems you’re now faced with an impossible choice.

Either risk your life and freedom to commit armed robbery or have Chris murdered by his sadistic gang boss.

When Chris finally comes out of the bathroom, you’ve created a lake of tears on your pillow from crying so hard. You’re extremely upset with him for dropping that bomb on you and just leaving you there in shock. But honestly, you probably would’ve just argued with him till your lungs gave out and maybe it was a good thing he left you alone to process.

You know Chris too well to know that he’s made his mind up about the deal Jason has given him. He’s going to give up his life just so you don’t have to risk yours. But you’ve just as equally made up your mind as well. There’s no fucking way you’re letting Chris go by himself on that job.

“Baby… I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He says, getting in bed next to you. You’re faced away from him and he lays close to you, snaking his arm around your waist and pressing kisses to your shoulder. “I know thisis fucking crazy, okay? But I couldn’t keep it from you. Don’t worry, okay? Everything’s going to be- “You cut him off, turning around abruptly to look at him.

“I’m going on that job with you. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go alone.” You interrupt. His face is soft, obviously not taking you seriously and he brushes your hair back, letting his hand trail down to rest on your shoulder.

“Just get some rest, Y/N. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” he replies.

“No Chris, I’m serious. You’ve taught me how to take care of myself, right? And we have until next week, we can plan- “You start but he shakes his head, placing his hand back on your jaw, his thumb softly rubbing across your lips, stopping you from continuing.

“No. I don’t want you getting into this. This is not up for debate. This is dangerous now.” He says sternly.

You grab his hand from your face, a little roughly, now placing a hand on his neck, looking deeply in his eyes. “Do you really think I give a fuck about how dangerous this is? Chris, I’ve been by your side through a lot of shit. If we can just get through this job and do what Jason says, we’ll be fine. No one is dying, okay? I love you and you’re going to let me help you. And that’s the end of the discussion.” You tell him, a flicker of emotions crossing his face as you speak.

He doesn’t say anything. He simply wraps his arms around you, pulling him into you and you lay your head on his chest while you both drift off to sleep.

✰

It takes a few days for Chris to accept the fact you’ll be going on the job with him. He’s a little distant from you at first, angry with you for what you’ve decided but mostly just afraid of what will happen. Since he’s met you, he’s wanted nothing more than to keep you safe. He knows his lifestyle is not good for you, not good for anyone. And now that it’s come to this point of putting you directly in the line of danger, he’s scared shitless. And he wants to kill Jason for putting both of you in this position.

But he goes over the plan with you, making sure you know every step.

Tommy will drop off both of you across the street from the store, and once you get inside, you’ll only have 30 minutes to get in and out. You’ll hold the cashier at gunpoint while Chris goes in the back office where the drugs and money is supposed to be stashed.

There will probably be another guy back there, but he’ll take care of him. As soon as Chris is done, a couple of Jason’s men will come in and finish the job, taking the rivals to him, and you both can leave with Tommy. The gas station is only a few miles from the Disciples’ warehouse, so once you get there you can drop off the goodies and be done.

Easy, right?

Chris goes over the steps again at least a dozen times on the day before the job. You start to get irritated, and he notices, giving you a hard look as your eyes glaze over when he’s talking. “Y/N. Pay attention, please.” He says, as he unloads the bullets from his .45, taking it apart to clean it.

You roll your eyes and rest your chin in your hands from where you sit on the bed. “Chris, I know the plan already. Can we talk about something else now?” You whine, watching him as he puts the gun back together.

He smirks at the tone in your voice. “Just making sure, baby.” he replies.

You can’t help but stare at him as he puts the parts of the gun back together, his arms flexing with his movements, veins in his hands popping out. A pair of black sweatpants hangs lowly on his hips, his shirt is off, and his hair is messy from the nap you took together earlier.

Also, the little pink pill you popped with Chris about 20 minutes ago is starting to take effect as you feel a slight floating sensation in your body, your heart rate picking up just a little. The air around you becomes intensified and Chris looks over at you, noticing your longing stare.

“You good?” He asks, eyes travelling down your body to your bare legs hanging off the edge of his bed. The only thing you have on is an old t-shirt of his and your black panties.

“Mhm.” You nod, staring at the gun in his hands.

There was just something so hot about him holding it like that.

He walks over, now standing in front of you, and places a finger under your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. Your eyes are glossy and low, and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, admiring how pretty you look like this.

“You high baby?” He says lowly, and you reply with a nod of your head as he holds one side of your face in his hand, bringing the gun up to lightly stroke over the other side.

This causes a chill to run down your spine, wetness immediately pooling in your underwear. You’re not scared. You trust Chris completely, even if it was loaded.

He then lets it trail down further slowly, over your neck and between your breasts, dipping down your stomach to in between your thighs where he teasingly rubs it over your panties, bumping against your clit.

You sigh into his hand that’s gripping your jaw and his thumb slips into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around him, looking up into his eyes. His pupils are blown out, watching you get pleasure from his weapon between your legs.

You know its crazy but the sexual energy behind it turns you on more than anything.

He removes it suddenly, placing it on the bed and before you can whine in protest, he climbs on the mattress behind you, instructing you to scoot back so he rests against the pillows, and you sit in between his legs. There’s a large mirror in front of the bed and you lean back against his chest and watch while he trails his hands down your arms, and then your hips, resting on top of your thighs and squeezing.

Your head falls back as he places his lips on your neck, kissing softly and sucking at the skin there, leaving his mark on you. He massages your inner thighs, thumbs brushing close to where you need him the most.

“Don’t tease me.” You breathe, gripping his knee, one hand going up behind you to tug on his hair.

“What do you need, baby?” He mumbles into your neck, his hand now pressing over your underwear, palming your heat. You buck your hips slightly, pulling harder on his hair. He grunts into you, his other hand squeezing your waist. You feel his hardness growing, pressing into your ass.

“I need you. Please.” You whimper, your head resting against his shoulder. He gives into you, loving the way you beg for him, and dips his fingers into your underwear, slicking through your folds, arousal coating his fingers.

“So wet for me…” He rasps, rubbing your clit in slow, agonizing circles, making you melt into him. You moan out loud, sinking your teeth into his neck as he pushes your panties to the side now, and moves his fingers down to your entrance, pushing one in all the way to the knuckle and then pulling it all the way out, once again going back up to massage your clit.

He’s torturing you and you’re a mess beneath him, leaking out onto the sheets, squirming from the pleasure and he holds you down firmly. “Chris, please.” You beg, unsure what you’re trying to say as he has you in a state of bliss.

“Be a good girl for me.” He responds firmly, watching you in the mirror as he thrusts two fingers back inside you, stretching you out, wetness coating his hand. He moves at a faster pace now, curling as he pushes them deeper. He holds you tight, your head thrown back in ecstasy, puffing hot breaths against his neck, sweet moans filling his ear.

“Fuck, Chris, just like that.” You whine, feeling a familiar warmth in your abdomen build. He doesn’t stop, his thumb now circling your clit, his fingers hitting your g spot with each thrust.

“Look at me baby.” He demands and you lift your head up, making eye contact with him in the mirror, watching as he fucks you with his hand, your legs spread open for him.

“I’m so close.” You moan, the sparks of pleasure he’s created spreading within you. You move your hips with each thrust of his fingers into you, Chris moaning with you as your ass repeatedly grinds back against him.

“Already, mama?” He teases, unable to hide the smugness from the fact he’s always able to make you finish quickly.

“Chris.” Is all you can manage as his fingers continue to slip in and out of you, pushing you to the edge.

“I know, baby, you’ve been so good for me. You can cum baby, cum on my fingers.” He praises, and his arm is around you, holding you as your body shakes, basically riding his hand at this point. Seconds later, you release the tension that’s been building, crying out loudly as warmth floods your body, thighs clenching and your juices releasing onto the sheets beneath you.

You’re extremely tired now, your body relaxing against him as he slowly moves from under you, getting up from the bed to grab a towel to clean you up.

He does so, rubbing your legs gently, brushing your hair back from your face as you lay against the pillows. He presses a kiss to your forehead, laying down next to you.

“Get some rest, baby.” he says quietly, cuddling close to you as your eyes grow heavy. “But Chris, don’t you want- “you start, knowing he needs to be attended to as well.

He shakes his head softly. “Not now, mama. Too stressed over tomorrow. Let’s just go to sleep.” He answers, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around him and falling asleep.

✰

It’s a dark, cold night in the city, no heat in the van as you sit in the back with Chris, pulling your hood up onto your head. You’re parked in the alleyway across from the gas station, hidden from anyone who might be out on the streets.

You bounce your leg in nervousness, feeling the hard metal of the gun in your hoodie pocket. He places a hand on your thigh, trying to calm you down. “You can still back out of this you know.” He says and you lace your fingers through his, shaking your head. “I’m fine. You’re not going in there alone. I’m just a little nervous.” You respond.

Tommy sits in the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette and passes it to you. You take a drag, trying to calm your nerves down.

“It’s okay, Y/N. 30 minutes, in and out, and we’ll be good, okay? Just remember the plan.” Chris reassures you, giving you a kiss before he pulls his ski mask on. He has a black long sleeve on and black pants, his gun tucked in his waistband.

You tie your bandana on, only your eyes visible, your hair tied back under your hoodie. “Come on.” He says, sliding the door open and helping you out. “Pull up when you see us come out.” He tells Tommy, who nods as Chris shuts the door.

He turns to you, his eyes soft and places his hands on your shoulders. “Last chance, baby. Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m not bailing on you now. Please, let’s get this over with.” You say and he pulls you in, hugging you tightly before you both cross the street quickly.

It’s 1 am, the streetlights glow on the pavement, the open sign of the gas station blinking.

He gives you one last look before he pulls open the door, both of you raising your guns at the man standing at the register.

There’s a pure look of shock and terror on his face as he raises his hands in the air. Your eyes scan the store, grateful to see nobody else inside. “Don’t make one fucking move!!” Chris screams at him as he moves toward the back door behind the counter.

You stand in front, keeping your gun aimed at his head. The man’s eyes flicker between you and Chris, his hands shake slightly. You feel bad for him but then remember how Chris told you he’s involved in one of their rival gangs and probably has done worse than you.

Chris kicks open the back door, and you watch as he disappears into the room, hearing him shout at one of the men that must be in there. You can’t make out what he says though and focus back on the clerk. You keep your expression blank as he stares at you, his arms still raised.

“Did Michael set me up?” He says and he flinches as you move your gun closer to him.

“Shut the fuck up.” You say, refusing to engage in conversation with him. You assume he must be referring to his boss, and he’s unaware that his operation has actually been busted by the Disciples.

As if he can read your mind, he speaks up again. “I just started this job. Michael hired me to run the register here, I had no idea what was going on in the back. I thought he only owned this place, I didn’t know who he really was.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at his words. Was he saying that he didn’t know his boss was actually a gang leader? You now realize he looks very young, like he could still be in high school.

You shake your head, your gun never wavering from your aim at him. “Stop fucking talking!!” You yell. For all you know, he could just be making this up, trying to mess with your head.

What was taking so long?

Chris was still in the back, and you couldn’t hear anything.

“Please, you gotta listen to me-“The clerk starts again but he’s interrupted by a gun shot popping off in the back, making you flinch and your heart instantly drop.

You panic and Chris suddenly runs out, large duffle bag on his shoulder, while you hear the man in the back scream, “Shoot him!” He sounds in pain and you get a glance of him on the floor, his leg bleeding and it’s obvious now that the gunshot was from Chris.

Before either of you can react, the clerk pulls a gun out from under the counter, aiming it at Chris.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

Bam!

The sound of the gunshot rang out, making you lose your ability to hear for the next few seconds as you watched Chris go down, clutching his stomach in pain. Blood started to spill out on his hands, staining his shirt a crimson color. The gas station clerk was as shocked as you were, standing there frozen, gun still pointed.

You don’t know how or why, but you just knew you both wouldn’t get out alive from this if you didn’t do something.

So, you shot back, aiming for his shoulder. It hit him right where you intended as he doubled over immediately, screaming in pain.

You grab Chris who was still on the floor, helping him stand up. “Baby, come on. Please, we have to go now.” You plead. He grabs onto you, able to stand as you lead him out of the store.

He’s moving as fast as he possibly can, one arm around your shoulder, his other hand covering his wound. You see the van pull up on the other side of the street, your heart beating out of your chest.

You’re trying not to panic, looking up and down the street for any signs of police. There was hardly anyone out. Chris almost falls, shouting out in pain. “Fuck!” He yells and you stop him from falling.

You can barely hold him up, but you use all your strength to make it the last few steps to the van.

“I know baby, I’m so sorry. We’re almost there, Chris, just a few more feet. You can do it.” You say, and he’s shaking, still gripping onto you for dear life. You finally make it to the van, the door sliding open, Tommy helping you both in before he quickly shuts it and then hops back into the driver seat, taking off down the street.

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened in there?!” he says, looking at both of you with wide eyes.

“Shut the fuck up. I need to stop him from bleeding out. I’ll tell you later.” You snap, taking off your hoodie and wrapping it around Chris’s torso. You apply pressure, glancing at him.

He’s pale, breathing rapidly and panic in his eyes as he looks at you. You grab his face with your other hand, brushing his hair back. “It’s okay baby. Don’t worry. We’ll get back to the house soon and get you bandaged up, okay?” You reassure him, trying to keep yourself from crying.

He nods his head, grabbing your hand tightly as he winces in pain.

What the fuck did you just get yourself into? The many times you and Chris had gone over the plan, and it still didn’t go accordingly. Now Chris was wounded and the drugs and money you were supposed to retrieve still at the store. You’re not sure how you both are going to get out of this.

You tell Tommy to drop you guys off at Chris’s house instead of the warehouse. Once you get there, he helps you take Chris inside and you tell him to lay low for now, until Chris gives him the next order. He leaves, and you silently pray Jason doesn’t get to him before you guys decide what to do, or worse, get to Chris.

He’s lying on his back on the bed, and you put a pillow under his head, trying to make him comfortable. He winces in pain as you take your hoodie off from around his waist, his hands gripping the sheets harshly. You pull his shirt up. The bleeding is very little now but it’s all over his shirt and stomach, as well as your hands and you get clean, damp towels and bandages for him.

Luckily the bullet only grazed him, you notice as you clean him up, not seeing a deep wound.

You’re almost done putting the gauze and bandage on, making sure it’s tight as he looks at you, and grabs your arm, stroking it softly.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry mama.” He says weakly and you give him a soft smile. “Don’t be sorry. Just be glad we both got out alive. Are you okay?” You say and he nods. You help him pull his shirt off, his wound now clean and bandaged. You give him some water and a left-over Vicodin he had in his stash, hoping that will help with his pain.

You sit next to him on the bed now, running your hands across his chest and shoulders, his eyes closed at the feeling of your soft hands.

“Chris… what do we do now?” You ask, knowing you can’t avoid the inevitable.

He looks at you, his hand resting on your knee. “I never told you this, but I have an older brother who lives in Vermont. I’ve been thinking about going there for a while now… starting over with you.” He responds. “Would you go with me?”

“Baby… I would go anywhere with you.” You say and lean down to press your lips to his.

You kiss him softly, careful not to hurt him. You start to pull away, but he holds your face there, deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He moans at the contact, making you throb in your core, but you pull away, not wanting it to go any further.

“Chris. We can’t, you’re hurt right now.” You say but he shakes his head, pulling you back to him.

“I don’t care, I need you Y/N.” He replies and kisses you again. You give in, allowing him to mesh his tongue with yours again. You suck his bottom lip, nipping it lightly with your teeth and trail your hand down his chest, making sure to avoid the spot where his wound is, feeling his stomach tense under you.

He groans into your mouth as you palm over his crotch, already rock hard and straining through his jeans. “Fuck, mama. Don’t tease me.” He breathes, as you rub your hand back and forth over him, feeling yourself grow wet at the sound of his voice.

If it was any other instance, you would drag it on and make him beg for it like he does with you, but you didn’t want to do that to him right now.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take care of you.” You say softly, unbuttoning his jeans as he lifts his hips, sliding them down his legs and removing his boxers.

His long, thick cock lays against his stomach and you grab it pressing a kiss to the tip and then letting a pool of saliva drip down him, coating him before you take him all the way down your throat, your nose brushing his pelvis. “Fuuuck…” He moans out, his hands holding your hair back from your face, pulling it into a ponytail.

You gag slightly, but quickly adjust to his size, bobbing your head up and down him. Your hands rest on his thighs, and you hum around him as he pulls a little on your hair, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip from the feeling of you taking all of him in your throat.

“Yes, baby, feels so good. You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.” He groans, making you moan again and he’s gently bucking his hips up, already feeling himself close.

You continue for a few good minutes, pausing only to catch your breath, your hand jerking him up and down before he pulls you up, helping you remove your clothes as he gives you a needy look.

“Come here, please. I wanna cum inside you so bad.” He says and you waste no time, sinking down onto him, the pleasure making you both cry out. You lay on top of him, your hands in his hair and kiss his neck, starting to grind yourself down on him.

“Is this okay baby? You’re not hurting?” You check, making sure not to put too much pressure on his lower stomach.

“Fuck no. Don’t stop.” He replies, grabbing your hips and helping you ride him.

He’s moaning in your ear, and you continue sucking and kissing his neck, leaving hickeys on his skin. You clench around him, your hips rolling, the feeling of his tip kissing your g spot making you soak all over him.

It’s only a few minutes before you’re both panting and sweating, the sounds of your wetness and skin against skin filling the room, driving you both to the highest point of ecstasy.

“Shit- feels so fucking good mama. I wanna fill you up.” Chris says, his fingertips digging into you as he squeezes your waist, feeling his release building.

You moan his name, your head falling to his shoulder, fingers knotting in his hair as you continue to bounce on him. “Cum inside me baby, please.” You whimper, and you feel his hips stutter, rhythm becoming sloppy as he starts to release into you. Your orgasm hits as well and he moans loudly as you feel his cum paint your walls, your legs shaking.

You stay there for a little, Chris holding you as you both catch your breath before climbing off him.

You check his bandage, making sure it’s still on good and then grab one of Chris’s shirts throwing it on while he puts a clean pair of boxers on.

The early morning light is now shining through the bedroom window, and you both kiss lazily, exhausted from the events of the night. He holds you close and you try not to think of what will happen next, focusing on the feeling of his hands in your hair, gently massaging your scalp, while he whispers “I love you.”

a/n: omgggg this was a crazy, long one but i really hope you guys enjoyed it!!!! im almost at 100 followers thank you guys so much. pls leave me more messages i wanna know your thoughts!!🩷

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powderblueblood · 1 year ago

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER SEVEN — WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: christmastime in hawkins brings a bunch of cherry bombs in the boy's bathroom, a trip down memory lane via seven minutes in heaven avenue, and the least likely trio this town has ever seen. content warnings: MINORS DNI i'm going to fuck you up and santa isn't real so we've got, smut including references to and descriptions of male and female masturbation, smoking, swearing, a pregnancy scare, era-typical misogyny and ANGST in the form of a flashback!!! word count: 12.5k. merry christmas babies

Dear reader, it takes you less than five weeks to become incapable of imagining your life without Eddie Munson.

Which, given his propensity for being an absolute neanderthal, is concerning.

Eddie Munson talks with his mouth full and plays his music too loud. He never closes a cabinet all the way. He walks through anywhere, literally anywhere, be it a store or the library or Ronnie’s trailer–leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He talks during movies and puts his feet up on the seats at the Hawk. He makes fun of the books you read, but always grabs them away from you to stare at the blurb on the back. He never finishes a cigarette all the way before lighting another one, which is just wasteful. He pretends to be good at holding his liquor, but he’s not.

He stands too close to you in places where he’s got plenty of room to move. He makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to. He holds the door for you in school, at the bookstore, getting out of the van, even though you’re more than capable of doing that yourself. He takes advantage of you when you’re in a good mood, like making you scratch his head as if he were a cat.

Sometimes he calls you ‘baby’, as if you don’t have a nickname already. As if you two are…

You lean toward the only mirror in the girls’ room with decent light, reapplying the red lip stain you’d taken to wearing– it was coming on Christmas, for god’s sake, and despite everything, you’re feeling festive. Quick. Lighter on your feet than you have been in a long time.

“Hey girl, could I borrow that?” an out-of-tune simper rings right next to your ear and you almost jump out of your skin, lipstick clattering into the sink.

“Jesus!” you say, and Eddie Munson cackles. You knock him back with a one-handed shove, face setting into that funny little grimace you’ve taken to wearing when he acts up– and he’s always acting up. You’re gonna get wrinkles if he doesn’t cut it out. “What the hell are you doing in here? Hair in your eyes make you miss the sign that says girl’s room?”

You know that’s not true, because you were the one that just about tied him to a chair in Ronnie Ecker’s trailer so you could trim his bangs last week.

This is a fuckin’ violation of my human rights, Lacy!

Every time I’m seen with you, people think I’m out walking a goddamn Briard. Hold still!

“So, hot off the press, newspaper girl,” Eddie says, leaning against the yellow porcelain, “One, I am literate, much to everyone’s shock and awe. And two, someone threw a bunch of cherry bombs down the john in the boy’s bathroom and the place is fucking Hiroshima, but wet and kinda shitty smelling. So we all got told to use this…” He gestures around at the clean-ish tile. “...salon of iniquity.”

“Was it you?” you ask, plucking a cigarette from the soft pack he’s offering you.

“Huh?” He scrunches his brows, leaning with a lighter ready. He’s taken to doing that; cigarette at the ready, lighter at the ready, low-grade explosives at the ready, probably.

“The cherry bombs, was it you?” you say through a reel of blue smoke.

“For once, no,” Eddie sighs, head slumping forward like a Peanuts character, “Some other gorgeous, anarchistic genius got the jump on me.”

“Oh, god,” a frown sets in; you pick up your dropped lipstick and in its wake, ash into the sink, “There’s no other bathrooms on campus you animals could use?”

“Nuh-uh. Unisexuality, baby, it’s the way of the future,” Eddie tells you, fanning out his hands like P.T. Barnum.

A beat. You think. This bathroom, the unofficially allocated senior bathroom, the one you and the rest of the Hawkins in-crowd had been using since sophomore year, got crowded at the best of times. The fumes of Aquanet were a definite health risk, but that’s an occupational hazard when it comes to being a girl. You add boys into the mix, nay, couples into the mix–

Damn.

“We’re about to witness the conception of so many toilet babies.”

Realization dawns on Eddie, his brown eyes flaring. “Oh shiiiit. I never thought of that.”

“The band geeks alone, Eddie,” you whisper, head tilting toward him all scandalized-like, “We’re gonna show up at our fifteen year reunion and every single one of these suckers is gonna have their own little freshman clones.”

“Spare a thought for Heather Holloway.” Eddie’s face, a mask of mock concern, makes you roll your eyes.

“Why?” you scoff, not a fan, “She doesn’t inspire many.”

“Objection. Her implants do.”

You turn to face him fully. “J’excuse?”

“Swear to god,” and his palms are up, “Just saw her in Chemistry.”

“Good? Bad?”

“Conical. Jayne Mansfield.” Aaand his hands are gesturing, animatedly. Crassly. Pervily. “Take your goddamn eye out.”

“Wow. Christmas came early.”

“Christmas ain’t the only thing that’s gonna be coming early…”

“Ew.”

Eddie smirks and flicks his cigarette into the sink, hitting the faucet to wash it away– there were at least three good drags left in that, you think.

“Heather H, first one to get knocked up in the Great Bathroom Insemination Project of 1984. Mark my words.”

“And you think you’re in with a shot?” Your tone is dripping in sneer.

Eddie regards you for a moment, so you know something deeply annoying is about to happen. His voice goes all serious, barely above a whisper, as he closes space between you like he’s trying to beat a draft.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Lacy baby.” His hands brace either side of the sink you’re standing at, trapping you against him. See? No respect for boundaries. But– Hm. Not… that annoying. “Oversexed teenagers sharing the same bathroom– at Christmas, with all that mistletoe around and shit.” His eyes, searching you with a glint that’s s’posed to be provocative. You, elbow propped up by your folded arm, puff a plume of smoke into his face. He doesn’t even blink. Smirk pursing his lips up. The two of you have established a rhythm. “Anything could happen.”

“Ew, what the hell are you doing in here? This is the girl’s room.” Enter some upstart underclassman, and Eddie’s peeling away from you.

“You didn’t see the biblical flood on the second floor, Pippi Longstocking?” His voice is big and booming and bouncing off the tile, making the underclassman cringe. “Forcible takeover. This is my house now.”

“God, shut up, freak.” She shuffles by the two of you to a vacant stall with a look you recognize– she’s so telling her friends about those two trailer park abnormos just about copulating in the bathroom later.

“Great choice!” Eddie exclaims, door of the stall slamming, “I warmed the seat for ya!”

—

“Watch where you’re going, you almost milled down that stroller!”

“I wouldn’t need to go so fast if you two, freakin’ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Priss Ass, didn’t insist on getting to this place before it closed!”

“We wouldn’t need to rush if you hadn’t spent all freakin’ afternoon at goddamn Lipton landing getting all– all–”

“All?”

“--toked up and shit!”

“Market research, Ecker! And, I’m gonna remember you said that! Later! When you want to get all toked up and shit– woah!”

Listening to Ronnie Ecker and Eddie Munson bicker in the front seat while you balance on a drum stool in the back of his van, clutching onto Ronnie’s passenger seat for dear life– no better way to get into the spirit of the season. You’d be joining in the milieu if you weren’t currently suffering from major motion sickness.

Eddie takes a harsh pull into a parking spot outside of Family Video and–“Go, go, go!”--you three load out like soldiers, locked on the target. He takes the lead, swinging the door open for the two of you ladies, but a voice calls out from the counter before Ronnie can even get a toe over the threshold.

“Oh, no– no way, no way!” Steve Harrington’s yelling from the helm of the ship, waving his hands. “We are– fifteen goddamn minutes away from close, I can’t do this tonight!”

“Highly unwise of you to turn away paying customers, Harrington!” Eddie gasps, Ronnie ducking under his arm.

“You guys come in here and spend honest-to-god hours talking shit in the aisles and– and you never even rent anything!”

“Well, your luck’s about to change!” Ronnie says, and Steve regards her with a mask of total confusion because, well, it’s likely he’s never heard her speak directly to anyone other than Eddie before.

That’s when you roll in the door under Eddie’s arm-arch, color rising in your cheeks that’s not from the cold.

“I am deeply reconsidering my association with you guys.”

“Tough shit.” “Find another trailer park.” “You love it. You love us. You’re obsessed.”

You pinch both of your hands towards them, the universal action to encourage zipping it, and cast a glance towards Steve. His shoulders relax. His vest is green and garish and a terrible color on him and… he’s wearing elf ears. And he’s Steve Harrington. And your stomach clenches, though it’s more muscle memory than anything else.

“Hey, Steve,” you smile, soft and small and not really all that there.

“Lacy. Hi.” He does smile at you, after a beat. “You responsible for these assholes?”

You hadn’t seen him since the night of his party, that grand inferno that had landed you here, standing between Eddie and Ronnie and feeling not entirely awful about it. Well, you hadn’t exactly seen him then either, except for a flash when Eddie was dragging you out of his house.

So, y’know, the blush is entirely justified.

“She’s bankrolling us,” Eddie says, closing the door to keep the heat in and speaking just to break the tension. True, too– you’d scored a part time gig at The Bookstore after a confrontation with the eagle-eyed Ivana regarding certain missing copies of Little Women, The Woman Destroyed and Fear and Trembling. You assumed you were working off the thievery, which you never directly admitted to and she never directly accused you of– but then, she paid you.

Ivana, it turns out, is incredibly pro-workers rights and even more incredibly anti-Hawkins gossip mill. Which works out a treat for you. The bookstore’s become more of a haven than it had been before.

“Can you scatter already?” you direct two thirds of your threesome towards the stacks. “Let’s make this breezy, I feel a wave of mortification rising.”

“No. I was promised in-store bickering,” Eddie says, rooting himself to the spot. You catch a weird flash of– something in his eyes. Ronnie, with her unlikely band geek strength, groans and yanks him toward the horror section. “It’s my favorite part! It’s like the pre-show!”

You take to the counter, gingerly, shyly. Why are you shy? Why, all of a sudden, after showing your ass in such a spectacular bruise-garnering fashion, are you shy to speak to Steve Harrington? Is it because Nancy’s dropped a tidbit here and there that he’s not exactly great boyfriend material? Is it because you sometimes secretly think, good, I hope you two are having a terrible time, even if you and Wheeler are making baby steps towards a friendship?

Is it because you never forget the first person that called you Lacy?

Fuck knows. Some of that.

“So you’re… what, hanging out now?” Steve asks, gesturing to the twin dipshits. There’s a bite in his voice from a former incarnation of Steve Harrington, one with (somehow) bigger hair and an unchecked ego. It doesn’t all shed at once, you figure. He’s sloughing it off and there’s still some left over, judging by the way he’s staring at Ronnie and Eddie.

You look over your shoulder to them. It would be so easy to deride it, right– only due to my unfortunate proximity to them, yes or girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do for a ride these days or it’s community service, I swear.

But you don’t. You turn back to him with a pinchy little smile. “I’m this close to getting them to let me play tambourine in their band. Can you even deal?”

Steve, after a beat and a brow furrow, sort of half nods. “Think I kind of… get that.”

You’re about to answer when another body comes barrelling in through the back.

“Just wanted to let you know, dingus, that I just got off the phone with Keith–you remember Keith, right, our manager who is currently in a war of words with our boss trying to keep this place open–and your little stock-take fuckup has cost us, like, weeks of manhours in work and–” Robin Buckley, complete with a light-up Santa hat, stops dead. Counts every person in the room. Shakes her head like she’s in a dream. “What is…”

“H–hi Robin!” Ronnie calls, her voice all squeaky– due to the scuffling headlock that Eddie has somehow managed to put her in without you and Steve even noticing. “Don’t worry, we– we’ll be out of your hair in a second!”

And Robin– wait, is Robin kind of… blushing? She backs down immediately, putting her Family Video branded binder flat on the counter. “Yeah, no… that’s totally okay, take your time!”

You look at Steve. Steve looks at you. You quirk an eyebrow like– is that, is she… And Steve shrugs like, don’t ask me, sister. Pleading the fifth. Saving Robin’s dignity.

But you’re still you and you’ve been bugging Ronnie about her situation for weeks so you hold up a finger.

“What are you two idiots arguing about?”

“Black Christmas–” “Silent Night, Bloody– ow, Ronnie, don’t pull hair, you girl!”

A swivel back to Robin, who is totally pink-cheeked. “We need a professional to settle this.”

Her mind seems to stutter like a badly wound tape. Oh, she’s suckered. “Uh– uh, Black Christmas, for sure. Not exactly the coziest thing to watch, but–”

“We’re not cozy people!” Eddie yells, Ronnie coming at him with arms like weed whackers.

“--but Margot Kidder, right?” you poke, goddamn Jimmy Page and John Bonham for the Midwest set slamming into the counter on either side of you.

“Olivia Hussey,” Ronnie says breathlessly. Eddie seems to have winded her somehow. “That’s– she’s cool–I heard she was in this–”

“Exactly!” Robin lights up, excited, “She– she played Juliet in Romeo and Juliet–”

“Wait, don’t you see her boobs in that movie?” Eddie jerks in.

“Yes,” Robin and Steve chime in unison. And glance at each other. Telling.

Ol’ Munson there snaps his fingers. “Sold.”

“But not in Black Christmas,” you say, almost gently, so as not to… let him down?

Eddie rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward your shoulder. “I’m a man with an imagination, ain’t I?” he rasps. You pretend-shudder.

“Okay, let’s do Black Christmas and– you got a copy of The Thin Man?”

Blink-blink goes Robin, like a cartoon. It’s nearly audible. “... like, the William Powell, Myrna Loy Thin Man?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. God, you guys love to roll your eyes, huh? “Is there any other?”

“Like the black and white movie. You’re sure? I just didn’t think it’d be your–”

But Eddie cuts right through that assumption that’s making an ass out of you and Robin, because he knows. He knows because you’ve made him sit through Double Indemnity at the Hawk, scolding him for putting his feet up (god forbid, right!) and you’ve even threatened to drag him to some Buster Keaton retrospective that’s playing there after the holidays. He keeps thinking, man, if Wayne Munson ever comes across this girl, he’s a goner, and then he remembers why that won’t be happening any time soon.

“She’s a freak.”

You regard him with a tight smile. Kind of a thanks, kind of a fuck you. Kind of your thing.

“I’ll watch it when these bozos pass out.”

—

Something’s gotten into Eddie.

You three are absolutely basking in the glory of your one night of freedom– see, Granny Ecker’s away on a weekend hotel stay in Indianapolis with one of her special friends from the Hawkins Senior Center. Which, on the one hand, gross, Eddie never ever wants to think about Granny Ecker getting lucky no matter how happy for her he is. But on the other, in the words of her beloved granddaughter–

“God bless the Indiana Sweepstakes!”

Eddie has stolen Granny’s usual spot, the kick-out recliner that seems to sag more with every movement. You and Ronnie are bunched onto the little two-seater together, with Ronnie shyly suggesting that you paint her nails (black, how totally hardcore)– now, Eddie knows this move. This is so she can distract herself from the bonafide creepiness of Black Christmas because while she tries to put on a brave face, Ronnie’s eyes for horror movies are way bigger than her stomach. She’s all nerves. It’s why she’s such a good drummer.

As you’d predicted, by the time the movie ends and you all clear the six pack that Eddie had procured, Ronnie’s nodding off– but Eddie is determined to stay wide awake. You make a move off the couch and she grumbles, having narrowly avoided propping her head on your shoulder. You move to arrange her in such a way that she’s sleeping Nosferatu style, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I spent an awful lot of time on that polish and I won’t see it ruined, not on your account,” you chide, real quiet. Ronnie’s not listening, she’s pretend honk-shooing. Eddie, on the other hand, is.

He likes you like this. You’re sweet to Ronnie, in your prickly little way– making her flustered with your misdirected flirting, bonding with her about things so far out of the realm of his male understanding. Being a girl with her. It’s occurred to him that Ronnie, in her testosterone-soaked world of current comrades, might actually need that. Like, she’s friendly enough with Jeannie and that Vickie girl from band, but they’re not people she’d go out of her way to make a case for so’s that Granny Ecker will let them stay for dinner.

Which she’s done for you. Once or twice now. Which you’ve nervously accepted and even ruined your manicure for, by insisting on washing up the dishes. Eddie dried, because of course he did, because the Ecker trailer is the only place close to home that the two of you can hang out.

You’re, like– friends.

Which is horrible.

Eddie tosses you a cold can of soda from the fridge. You catch it, hands basketing above your head.

“Power forward.”

“Cheerleader.”

You lean over to the TV to swap the tapes out, insistent on watching your dumb little black and white movie. As you do it, your skirt lifts a little bit and–

Eddie’s gotta break eye contact. Stare at the floor for a second. Cock jumping like the fucking mole from whack-a-mole.

He almost hits it.

You bitch, are you wearing thigh highs?

“You need to pull trig, Munson?” he hears you from the kitchenette, clicking the video player’s play button. “You only had two beers.”

God, maybe. Was the room spinning? “Smoked a lotta weed today.”

“Right. Lipton landing,” you smirk. Ronnie’s derisive little nickname for Reefer Rick’s place. “Are you gonna get over here and snore through my movie or not?”

I do not snore, or some muttering of a similar fashion comes out but he’s doing exactly what you tell him to do. He can’t help it. Brain function gone all freaky from that flash of flesh squeezed out the top of your– yeah.

Eddie lands on the floor next to you with a little groan. Your eyes flick between him and the now-empty recliner.

“What are you doing down here?”

Oh. Busted. “I’m a gentleman, Lacy. Take the damn seat.”

Your face screws up in that silly way it does whenever he talks sense to you but you don’t wanna hear it. Brat. “No. I like to sit right up near when it’s something I really want to watch.”

A shrug of your little shoulder as you wrap your arms around your knees like a kid. Face illuminated by the greyscale on the television. Skirt rucking back against the carpet. Fuck.

Eddie lets out an unsteady breath, crawling forward to lie on his tummy. Closer to you. “You’re gonna get square eyes if you keep doin’ that, dorko.”

“Who died and made you my optometrist…” but you say it in this half-hearted, distracted way, eyes on the screen.

“Y’know, if you–” Eddie starts, eyes on the lace top of your–yes indeedy–stockings.

“Shut up,” and you tap him on the shoulder. “I love this part.”

Your hand stays there as some fancily dressed chick totally eats shit in the bar of some hotel or something. Christmas presents flying everywhere as she falls.

Women and children first, boys.

Say, what is the score anyway?

Oh, so it’s you he was after.

Hello, sugar.

Your hand stays there as you’re totally mouthing every single word, you true-blue nerd. Eddie, completely at a loss of how to react to this other than gaze, gaze, gaze at you, snaps his teeth at your hand.

You, so completely embroiled in Nick and Nora’s white hot banter, gasp at the near-bite and swipe at his head. Eddie dodges the blow by rolling onto his back, hair fanning out on the Eckers’ rug. He grins up at you, and all of a sudden the rise and fall of his chest in that worn-out Alice Cooper shirt is very distracting.

Pretty girl.

Yeah, she’s a very nice type.

You got types?

Only you, darling–

“--lanky brunettes with wicked jaws,” you say, beat-for-beat with William Powell.

“Talkin’ about me?” Eddie says, lips peeling back, eyebrows quirking.

“Not in your wettest, wildest dreams, Eddie Munson.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know what happens in those dreams. It’s filthy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s twisted. It’s disgusting.”

“I bet.”

His hand is absent-mindedly stroking his chest, shifting the hem of that t-shirt up a little bit. Brushstrokes. You remember that? Eddie Munson has a happy trail like–

“You’re so nice to me. It’s so fffffucking hot.”

“How wildly out-of-character,” you scoff, and he laughs, and you shift in your spot the teensiest bit. Eyes back on the screen, back to safety.

From here, where he’s lying, Eddie has a fully illustrated view of the flash of skin up your skirt. Now that you’re not looking at him, he’s looking at it. Swallowing back saliva. Ignoring Nick and Nora.

It’d be simple as pie to walk his fingertips along the rug and brush up against you there–oops–by accident or design. Feel how soft that skin is. Feel that heat radiating from your–

“It’s alright,” he hums, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Otherwise, all the blood’s gonna drain away from his head and he’s going to fucking die. “I know I’m not your type anyway.”

Your head lolls to your other shoulder, exposing a flash of your neck. It’s sorely missing a tongue running along it, he thinks, breath shuddering a touch.

“You wouldn’t know my type if it hit you with an eighteen wheeler.”

“Can Steve Harrington drive an eighteen wheeler?”

Lolling your head back in the most exaggerated form of exasperation, you groan. “God. The way you talk about Harrington, I’m willing to put money on the fact that you have a crush on him.”

Eddie shrugs, hand resting on his sternum. You had your hand there once, you recall.

“I got prescribed one on the first day of freshman year, just like everybody else. But it wore off.”

“Sure about that?” Your eyes narrow.

“Sure as I am that I saw you makin’ googly eyes at him at the Family Video tonight.” Eddie crosses his own peepers for effect. Your attention darts back to the screen.

“I was not–”

“You can just say it, Lace.” His face is a twisty little smirk, if you’d care to look. “Regardless of how utterly pedestrian it might be.” That was a dig at you, by the way. That was an almost eerie impression of you.

“The things I felt in seventh grade don’t really have a lot of gravitational pull on me anymore,” you shrug, not giving. Because, when you think about it, you don’t have to give. It was a baseless kind of thrill, seeing Harrington tonight. One hit wonder. “He’s a cute boy. Reminded me I have a pulse. Nothing wrong with that.”

Eddie’s quiet for a few seconds, flicks his eyes up to watch the TV from upside down. Nick places an ice pack on a drunken Nora’s head.

Hmm… what hit me?

The last martini.

He smiles as you smile, and he wonders if you’re thinking of the same thing he’s thinking of.

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Funny you mention seventh grade…” Eddie trails off, tugging at the rug underneath him.

“Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?” Your voice is distant again.

“Little bit of both.”

“Why?”

Well, he thought you might be fucking with him, but– “... God, you really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” He sees your brow pinch, he’s getting to ya.

“Not a fucking clue.” No give, no glory, eyes on the peeling ceiling.

“Remember what?” You’ve snapped your neck and are looking down at him now, thirsty for him to fucking spill it already.

“Total–” he blows a raspberry, “--blackout before freshman year, right?”

“Eddie.”

His name makes him sit up. Pavlovian, sure, and he’s trying to deny the fact that he’ll do just about anything you say when you call him Eddie in that slightly-tinged sour way and not Munson like you’re writing him off. He’s trying to deny that. He swears.

“Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party.”

You two are shoulder to shoulder, him facing the couch, you facing the screen, his breath warming the bare skin of your off-the-shoulder top which is an insane thing to be wearing in the dead of fucking winter, but praise Jesus hallelujah you’re wearing it. Your expression is unimpressed.

“... yeah?”

“We played Seven Minutes in Heaven.” He lays that out a little too plain for your liking. Playing Seven Minutes in Heaven at a thirteen year old’s birthday party is like the non-denominational Hora for pseudo-white bread Christian teenagers, at least in Hawkins. Everybody does that shit. But hold on.

“... you were there?”

“Fucking obviously, dimwit, that’s the setup to the whole story.” He sighs in a puff, and he’s very close to you. Chin almost on your shoulder like that night at the Quarry. “Tommy Hagan ripped into me for like, fifteen full minutes because my spin of the bottle landed on you.”

Confusion is a disease and you’re terminal. “That was… not you.”

Insistence is a disease and Eddie’s fatal. “Yes. It so was.”

“That was John Hudson-Wasserman.”

“That was not–,” Eddie full on splutters, like slapstick splutters, reeling his head away from you, “you’re gonna get me confused with John Hudson-Wasserman? The guy who was like, pathologically obsessed with the Kennedy assassination? The guy who moved to Des Moines like, two weeks after that party?”

Then you’re spluttering back all of a sudden. Everything you two are doing is contagious. “His parents named him after John F., can you blame him? –actually, I can totally blame him, that was bizarre.”

“Lacy.” Well, the way he says that straightens your spine. “Use that pretty little brain to think for a second, huh? There’s one unmistakeable detail I bet I can get to jog your memory.”

But you’re already there. Activated. Like a sleeper cell.

“Your hair was all buzzed off. You had that bandage on your head.”

“I did. And you asked me what was under it, and I said–”

A hole. They cut out a part of my brain so I’d be– The Wheeler’s linen closet was tiny and you were breathing in lavender detergent from all angles.

The boy in front of you, scrawny and angry, had an aura around him like a firework. You knew it was dangerous, but you wanted to look closer.

–less of a freak? you finished. Such was the accusation du jour for this kid.

Less of a danger to society, he said, chest puffed. They let me keep it in a jar. Just in case shit gets really real and I need to shove it back in.

You don’t quite know what to do with that. Like. He is so weird, and his hair is unevenly shaved and he’s got little cuts and scratches and scabs all over him. Like he’s been running through brambles. He looks like a kid someone found in the wild.

Did you name it? you ask, finger drawing circles on a nearby towel. Your jar brain.

Eddie Junior, he told you, crossing his arms.

Aren’t you already Junior? Shouldn’t it be Junior Junior?

His jaw hardened. No. I’m Eddie.

You nudged forward on your toes to get a better look at the bandage– he was taller than you. It lumped out of his head, unmissable. Nothing to be done about it.

He seemed to cringe away from you.

Don’t try anything, skank.

You bounce back onto your heels.

I wasn’t, asshole. We don’t have to do anything– just… like… did it hurt?

He paused for a full ten seconds (you counted) and swallowed real hard. Eyes wide as hubcaps, and dark, and frightened. He craned his neck toward you a little.

Then the door swung open, Tina Burton standing there hand-in-hand with an irritated-looking Steve Harrington. Time’s up, losers!

Al hadn’t asked if it hurt, when he beat the crap out of him for doing something so stupid. Wayne hadn’t even asked if it hurt, when Eddie came back from the hospital like a dog with its tail between its legs.

You were the first, and you were the last, and it was before everything. Before you were even Lacy.

“What happened, anyway?” you ask. Soft. Like that last time.

Now, in retrospect, Eddie sees the error of his ways.

“I lit all my hair on fire with a butane torch.”

“You what?!”

“It’s not– entirely my fault! I think I saw someone with hair on fire in an X-Men comic and I thought, y’know, that’s an achievable look.” That’s a severe understatement. It was Johnny Storm from The Fantastic Four and Eddie believed that he could be like Johnny Storm only more badass and maybe with like a sick motorbike. What, you’re telling me you didn’t go through a pre-teen-to-mid-teen phase where you were secretly convinced you had superpowers? Smarten up.

“And how high–”

“Yeah, okay, I was also hitting a Reddi-Wip can like crazy.” The nitrous oxide did not help these delusions.

“Why the big bandage?”

“Eh, I got some, like, bitsy little burn. Total overreaction.”

“Do you have a scar?” Before he can answer, you’re parting his hair, right near the place you remember that bandage being. Eddie freezes, your frigid fingertips searching his scalp. You are… very close.

“Uh– no, I don’t.” He gulps, avoiding looking at you directly in your bright, curious little face. “Can I tell you something truly fucking dumb?”

“Wouldn’t be out-of-character for you, that’s for sure.”

Deep, deep breath. Fucking shit fucking goddammit fuck. Balls. “I regret it.”

“The hair thing? Yeah, you’d think–”

“No. Not kissing you.”

“Oh.” Your hands drop from his skull but don’t exactly leave his hair. Just kind of wound in there, hovering, the way you feel like you’re hovering now.

“You asked me if it hurt, and then I was gonna– but then, fucking Tina–” Eddie says, eyes dashing to you in these minute little glances. Away, back, away, back.

“Fuckin’ Tina,” you breathe.

“--and Harrington.”

“Ah.” You shut your eyes. He didn’t notice you were wearing green eyeshadow until right now. “The square root of the problem.”

“Huh?” Barely heard it. Too busy looking at the glitter on your eyelids. The way your eyeballs shift around underneath.

“You’re totally lemon sour bitter with Harrington because you think he made you blow your shot with me.” You open your eyes with a squint.

“That is so not–” Break a spell, why dontcha! But then, Eddie takes a bite. “Actually, if you pop-psychology that, there might be somethin’ there, but… I regret it because I didn’t just–”

You cut in. “Go for it.”

“Shoot.” He confirms.

“Power. Forward.” You emphasize, lips curling.

“Cheer. Leader.” Eddie says, gravel in his voice.

Do you know that your hand is still in his hair? Like, are you physically aware of it? (Answer: no.)

Nick. Nicky?

What.

You asleep?

Yes.

Good. I wanna talk to you.

Your head swivels back from the screen. He watched you look away, dart your tongue out onto your lip, look back at him.

“Eddie.” There’s fizz in your voice.

“Yes, Lacy.” He wonders what flavor.

“I think…” and you finally extract your hand to lay it in your lap. Withdrawing, willing to be shot down, but you’re you and you know that you won’t be. “We could make a case for making up for lost time.”

Eddie’s mouth has become very dry. “... meaning that…”

“Eddie, I think that you should kiss me like a seventh grader– eighth grader? So weird, why did Wheeler have eight graders at her bir–”

“Lacy. Back on track, please,” which is another horrendously pin point perfect impression of you. And he needs to be sure that you just said what you just said and that isn’t the ghosts of Lipton landing talking.

“We should try it out. An honest-to-god, never-been-done-before Seven Minutes in Heaven kiss. I happen to think it’d fix something in you.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs.

“No, I’m serious!” And it is kind of fizzing out of you, and you might not be entirely just talking about him for this next part, “I think you’re holding onto a lot of pent up energy that may have just gotten even more pent since we became, y’know–”

“Zoo animals with parallel enclosures?” Eddie says with an arching eyebrow.

“Wow,” you swallow a breath. “That really sounded like me.”

“I’m afflicted with a Lacyism from time to time.”

“Is that like astigmatism? Because you should get that looked at.”

“Who died and made you my optometrist?”

“Eddie.” Your voice, coming from your face, which is all dappled in the unserene technicolor glow of the Eckers’ Christmas lights, highlighted by the blaze of the black and white on TV. You make it look like stained glass. He would walk into oncoming traffic– “You trust me, right?” He would go and play on the freeway if you asked him to.

Eddie, Christ, he’s got to gather himself. Like the sweat gathering on his palms, he thinks, great work ethic, I need some of that. He gets a bright idea, brighter than those twinkling lights. “I think I need full authenticity in order to make this experience worth it.”

“What?”

“We need to find a closet.”

It’s pretty much a hard no on whether or not the Eckers have a linen closet (you’re a long way from Maple Lane now, babe), so it’s agreed that you’ll give Granny Ecker’s wardrobe a shot. You follow Eddie in there with tentative steps, like you can almost feel her watching all the way from the Best Western in Indianapolis she’s no doubt staying in. Trespassing is bad, yadda yadda, but it’s also exciting.

It’s exciting, being in here with him.

He glances back at you, eyes a glimmer in the darkened bedroom. “After you,” and he flourishes a hand toward the open closet.

You two are so not seventh graders anymore– heads bang against hangers, you’re kind of melting into a lot of denim and fleece and you… you don’t have much breathing room. No lavender detergent, just the beer-and-old-weed-sweet smell of Eddie Munson pushed close to flush against your chest. The scent of that shampoo you both use caught somewhere in the middle.

Your breathing is so shallow, you feel like you might be having an asthma attack. You don’t have asthma.

“Tight,” he says, and knits his brows, “I mean–”

“Cozy,” you correct, unsure of where to put your hands.

“We’re not cozy people.”

“So let’s do this,” you attempt to smooth your face into something resembling nonchalance, “Kiss me like a seventh-or-eighth grader, Eddie Munson.”

He clears his throat, shaking his head. A smile keeps flicking and dying on his lips. Heart about to burst out of his chest because of how weird this is, because of how weird you are, because of how– how–

Eddie knits his fingers behind his back in an imitation of you, your girlish pose, and leans forward. About ninety percent, just in case you decide this was a stupid idea, or you don’t like the look of his face up close, or– or–

You close that perfect ten. Your lips feel like flower petals. Light. Baby-soft. Crushable.

It’s so chaste and it’s so innocent. It’s so the diametric opposite of the two of you, brash and harsh in your diverging, abstracting ways– waving only to meet in the middle. It’s pretty, like you are, and Thumper-from-Bambi-thumping-his-foot nervous like he gets around you.

You pull away a fraction, and Eddie swallows a sound. To save face, he is about to say something– I give it a six or that’s what I’ve been missing out on this whole time or you flap that mouth an awful lot for someone who doesn’t know how to use it, something equally goading. Something that would make this… normal.

Until you take his bottom lip between yours. And it’s wet there. And it’s warm. And your lips are so, so crushable–

Eddie’s fingers unweave and find your arms, find your waist. Slow, slow, he takes it slow because he could scare you and he doesn’t want to scare you. You’re curving into him, lips slicking against his, and then his tongue licking it’s way into your mouth which you just fucking open for him and it’s so good–

–and he tastes like salt and smoke and he holds you like he’s anchoring himself against you. Your hands wind on up, up, up his chest, catching on his t-shirt where his chest is (duh duh duh you fucking idiot), where his heart is thrumming under that smatter of a tattoo you got caught staring at that night in his trailer. It’s all you’ve got in you not to tug it up and off him, but Christ, no, because you need to keep kissing him. It’s so nice, it feels so nice, kissing him, when was the last time something felt as nice, that’s all you can think with sensation seeping through your body like a sugar rush. Hands move to either side of his neck and he makes a noise.

Your fingers, fishing hooks in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to you.

The heat. Of his body. Matched only by the heat gathering in the cherry pit that lives in your stomach.

And he needs, god, Eddie needs it fucking bad. It is a lot of things. It includes your tongue so far inside his mouth that you can taste the Tab on his uvula this time. It includes more of your tits pressed against him, so he can feel if your nipples have hardened under his touch. It includes this moment, just this moment, just kissing you as your body winds around him–

But then you pull back. Before he can whisper the little, “No…” that’s coming like a reflex, you cover his mouth with your hand. The mouth that’s all slick from kissing– you.

Jesus Christ. You had really done that. The stupid, idiot both of you.

“Guys?”

Eddie, dizzy and down-the-rabbit-hole tipsy Eddie, gets the impulse to lick your hand, to take your fingers in his mouth and just start sucking, but he doesn’t do it. Because he has now snapped to the fact that that’s Ronnie Ecker calling out for you.

The two of you, twisted around each other like snakes in her grandmother’s closet.

“Go,” you hiss– no, you breathe. He was just expecting you to hiss. But you’re breathy and unsure about the command you’re giving. Still, you jerk your head.

Well, Eddie’s pretty hard up about telling you this, but, “Can’t. Need a sec–” Like, can’t you feel that?

Eddie’s standing more than half to attention, pressing in between the both of you.

You let out a jagged breath that sounds like oh, fuck, and it’s not the kind of oh, fuck he was hoping to hear and his heartbeat stutters.

And then you’re gone.

Eddie stands there, hands held aloft around the ghost of you that was there, that was right there and kissing him. Like you meant it, like it wasn’t an experiment or a joke or a dare or anything other than what you wanted. You wanted him. You wanted him. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he breathes into his hands, dragging them down his face, his lips, the smell of you still lingering around him. “Oh… I am so fucked.”

Kentucky fried fucked.

You make your way back to the living room on trembly legs, reaching for every steadying surface, attempting to destroy the evidence of a swollen mouth and Munson-finger ruffled hair. You find Ronnie sitting upright on the couch. Nick and Nora have nearly solved the case. You don’t give yourself enough time to make a mask of your face that could easily lie to her.

“Munson had to pull trig,” you say, and it’s not steady enough for Ronnie to not call bullshit.

But she doesn’t. Not outright anyway.

“He okay?” she asks, nearly wary.

“I don’t know. Could be comin’ out of both ends, I don’t know,” you start scrambling around for your bag and your shoes and your coat and not your right mind because you left that back in the closet, somewhere between Eddie’s teeth and tongue. “Look, I hate to ditch on you, but my mom–”

“She’ll be on your ass,” Ronnie says, measured like a cup. “Sure. Go on. I’ll think about calling 911 if he chokes.”

Breathing out some piss-poor rendition of a thanks, you dip out of Ronnie’s and past his van and all the way back the lot towards home.

It’s freezing. You’re not. For once.

When Eddie finally reappears from the closet, Ronnie is sitting in the exact same position. Except this time she looks somewhat judgier– maybe because it’s easier to be judgier toward Eddie than it is toward you. Some kind of girl politico he doesn’t understand.

“You feel better?”

“Huh?” Eddie says. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Do you feel better. Lacy told me you had to barf.”

“I… I guess.” Eddie has already cashed in his once-in-a-lifetime lie convincingly to Ronnie Ecker voucher.

“She also told me you maybe shit yourself?”

Alright, well, that was unnecessary. “Alright, well, that was unnecessary.”

“I guess I was just hoping that…” she sighs, crossing her arms, “... that you weren’t puking and shitting yourself…” she sits back against the couch, “... when you were making out with her. In my… bathroom?”

He really does consider leaving out this detail. “Granny’s closet.”

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“She’ll know. She’ll kill me.”

“Oh, she’ll kill ya,” Ronnie mutters, “And then I’ll go to work on ya.”

—

You two have got to stop fucking each other over like this.

Fucking each other over, conceptually, actually, is interesting. Because Eddie’s done a whole lot of fucking you over in his mind since that closet. Sliding your panties aside and fucking you with his tongue, polyester lace of your stockings creating static against his hair, sparks snapping off your inner thighs as you rub against his nose.

Following you back to your trailer and fucking you with his fingers against the cold, metal exterior, your nails digging into his neck and your voice stabbing his name into his eardrums.

Pulling you into his lap in the driver’s seat and tearing through the cotton of your underwear with sheer animalistic fervor, making you lean back against the steering wheel as he sucks your tightened nipples, cock safe and warm in the slick, deep wet of you.

Somethin’ like that. He didn’t sleep much this weekend.

Mind stuck on the one track, your lips smacking against his. Now in fabulous 3D!

In every single one of these fantasies, too, his idiot sap ass is whining your name fifty billion times more than you’re whining his– so much so that it breaks the fantasy barrier and he’s crying, “Fuck, Lacy-yy–,” into his limp pancake of a pillow, cum careening down a fist that should have nerve damage by now.

He is exhausted. And to make it worse, he hasn’t seen you.

He hasn’t even been avoiding you this time. So that’s all on you, you bitch.

“You bitch…” he mumbles, head resting against the cold brick of the newly-unisex senior bathroom, which has become a hellhole in no time. First period on a Monday is usually an okay time to get a bit of peace and fucking quiet, though, because everyone else is at least making an attempt at starting the week off on the right foot.

But not Eddie. Not worn out, prick-tired Eddie.

And not whoever is doing a horrible job of hyperventilating in the stall next to him.

“Excuse me?” a breathless voice says. He thinks he kinda recognizes it but–

Then, ew! Some gagging, some violent coughing, a little ugh, Jesus, please not again–

Eddie slides out of his stall and knocks on the next door– and it swings open with ease.

She’s crouched over the cistern–gross, fucking gross–and tears are streaming down her peachy cheeks, catching on her pointed chin.

“Christ, Wheeler. S’matter, you pregnant?”

Nancy Wheeler’s eyes flash in a flare of rage, a choked scoff spitting out of her. She’s about to fucking cuss Eddie out, it looks like, which he kind of wants to see, but then whatever straw that’s holding that together snaps and she lets out this wild sob of total incredulity.

Ohhh, as much as he would love to bolt out the door like it’s not his problem, Eddie realizes that this has now, somehow, somewhat become kind of his problem.

—

“I gotta talk to you.”

Ronnie Ecker appears like a lightning flash, knocking you clean out of your reverie of slowly crawling fingers and lips and teeth and guilt that had been plaguing you all weekend.

You had spent most of the last forty eight hours staring into the middle distance, ready to glue upright nails into your shoes and walk on them for penance. You fucking stupid slut. Kiss me like a seventh-eighth grader, Eddie Munson. You unbelievable fucking cowshit. See, because, okay, do you know what you’ve done?

You’ve taken the first real friendship you’ve possibly ever had in your life (save for Phoebe, God rest her soul that moved to Saskatoon) and completely entirely fucked it sideways, and sure, you’ve also spent a lot of the weekend thinking about other things getting fucked sideways, like you since you’re now cursed with the knowledge of the vague suggestion of the outline of Eddie Munson’s dick but moreso, foremostly and mainly you want to fucking take a swandive off the edge of Sattler’s Quarry.

Addendum– there’s too many quarries in this fucking county.

A ping-ponging of guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-slinking your way to first period the long way that’s only now broken by Ronnie Ecker coming down on you like an Acme anvil.

Meep meep.

She knows. Of course she knows.

“Ronnie,” you whisper, eyes following her as she lands herself into the aforementioned Munson’s seat behind you, “I can explain…”

“Don’t!” There is this vigor, this knife’s edge in Ronnie’s voice that is terrifying and kind of thrilling but mostly scary and having been in the presence of Granny Ecker even those few times, you knew she always had it in her.

You recoil. A little.

“If Eddie wants to be a fucking moron about you, please can we just let him, and not–” Ronnie’s mouth clamps closed like a Muppet’s might. Like she’s physically trying to calm herself down. “Look. I really like being your friend.”

Oh, Christ, your heart. “I r– I–”

“You’re dogshit with the emotional stuff, I get that, but I’ve been friends with that asshole so long that wearing my heart on my sleeve is like, second fucking nature so I’m not and I’m pissed off, frankly, that there’s a chance of him coming between, like… us.”

You and Ronnie. You, and your friend Ronnie. “Oh, it’s–”

“Because technically, by absolute technicality, I was your friend first, okay? We were lab partners first and I thought we had a vibe goin’ in Biology and I was the first person you wanted to talk to at the Hellfire table even if it was a thinly veiled ploy but you’re so good at ploys and you’re such a piece of work and you’re so funny and I wouldn’t know what Ponds cold cream actually does if it wasn’t for you. Fuck.”

“Granny’s a soap and water girl.” There’s a fluttering in your chest and a thickening in your throat. You swallow big, and you think you might actually start– “This doesn’t mean I’m gonna try fencing, Ron.”

“But it’s fucking cool, even if we do it with sticks.”

You take her in, baseball cap shoved over her coiled hair, darned-all-to-hell sweater sagging out under her overalls and you really feel like something is about to bust out of your chest. Your honest-to-god friend, Ronnie Ecker.

“Miss Ecker, last time I checked, that’s not your assigned seat.” God, Kaminsky’s such a relentless dickwad.

“I’m having a conversation,” Ronnie says, with the kind of as-yet-unheard volume from her that makes the rest of the class go ooooh!

Jesus fucking Christ, have you turned Ronnie Ecker into a bad girl?

“I don’t give a shit!” rumpled Kaminsky says, slapping that dusty chalkboard duster full of dust, “Have it in detention.”

“Hey! That’s–”

But if you can do one thing for Ronnie. “No can doozy, Mr K, Miss Ecker has a prior commitment.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, not you again,” he mumbles not-quite-under his breath. “And what is that? Lacy?”

Before you can even say the words peer tutoring, none other than Eddie Munson is barrelling through the door. He stops comically short at the top of the classroom, gesturing to Ronnie in his seat like what the fuck?

“Lacy!” he eventually says, and he’s breathless and flustered and just like you imagined him in–

“Munson, what in the name of the goddamn Father Almighty–”

“Weekly Streak–” and guy is just snapping his fingers, blinking wildly at you, “–thing!”

You stare on in a state of confusion until you spy Nancy Wheeler right in your eyeline, right through the open classroom door. Her little face streaked with tears, and god, she looks like shit, and she’s beckoning to you with a flutter and a fury.

“No, of course!” a little murmuring, uh, shit, and you hurry to the top of the classroom, slamming the homework that Kaminsky’s obviously going to ask for on his desk with a rattle.

“Kaminsk, my man, the future of print media is forever in your debt!” Eddie calls, ushering you out the door and into the echoey hallway.

“What is going on?”

Both Eddie and Nancy shuffle you down the hallway, avoiding the monitors (rat finks!), dipping under the east stairwell. A great stairwell. So much illicit shit has happened in this stairwell and you have an itemized list of it all, somewhere in your brain. The kind of person people tell things to.

Nancy’s just full tilt gulping like a fish out of water, and Eddie’s all, “Wait, shit, are you gonna barf again?” and you’re all, “Answers, please, tout suite!”

“I’m late.” Nancy’s voice doesn’t even tremble. She’s that scared.

“Fuck.”

“Very?”

“Extremely.”

“You’re sure?” you press, and suddenly you’re the kind of person that grabs Nancy Wheeler’s shoulders.

Her lip trembles. “I mean, I haven’t–”

“Well, we gotta. Right now.” And it occurs to you that Eddie is just standing there, a polite enough distance away that he’s involved but kind of not involved, but respecting the space that you two need. How does he know how to do that? How does he always know the right… “Eddie.”

He snaps to attention, mouth all serious and eyes all eager. You want to kiss him again, but this shit is not about you.

“We need a ride to the drugstore.”

The three of you pile into Eddie’s van, him insisting on doing the honors of opening the passenger door for you again, and Nancy quietly requesting that you share the passenger seat with her. You two are squished together, her spindly thighs overlapping yours. Denim versus dark suede. There is a very tense silence in place the entire van ride there, Nancy digging her nails into her palm and Eddie nervously thrumming against the steering wheel. The tape deck plays resumes mid-play– Metallica’s Ride the Lightning.

For your part, you experience a harsh zoom-out moment– Nancy, who you’ve learned is almost as strong-headed as you, just on a better moral track (lawful good versus chaotic neutral, you think Eddie once framed it), is stranded. She’s the eldest sibling to that little shitstain Michael and Holly, who’s a baby so to you has no discernible personality, and her mother is kind of an airhead and her father… you don’t know shit about, but it’s Hawkins, so dads. The responsibility of everything seems to fall on her all the time, and you can only be so resourceful as a teenage girl in a town like this. Especially when the other teenage girls seem to, at best, keep you at arm’s length, or at worst, ostracize you.

And Nancy had lost Barbara Holland. Who, when she mentions her, is talked about with such a glow that’s followed by such a wave of sadness that it nearly takes you under too.

She misses her so much. She misses her best friend so much.

Barb should be the one dealing with this. Not you. Which sounds like you’re shirking responsibility. But really, it’s because you don’t know if you fully deserve the privilege of helping Nancy.

Truth is, Nancy would probably be okay, handling this on her own. Sure, it’d be another inch of depth added to the chasm of loneliness building in that poor girl’s psyche, but she’d do it, because she’s Nancy and she handles things.

Just like you’re Lacy and you handle things.

But however Eddie Munson ended up as part of this situation… he brought her to you. Because he knew you’d know what to do. So she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Because Eddie doesn’t want people to do things alone.

You only really have that impulse if you know how terrible it feels.

And if you don’t see kindness as a weakness.

Which Nancy doesn’t. And Eddie doesn’t. And you… don’t want to, anymore.

You reach and peel Nancy’s fingernails from the grooves they’re digging into her flesh. You don’t even look at the half-moon marks they’ve made. You just glue her palm to your palm and web your fingers. And over the frizz of Nancy’s perm–the nice kind, salon kind, the kind that doesn’t stink of egg–you look at Eddie, just as he glances at you.

He smiles, small and unsure and wavering. You bite your lips between your teeth and try the same.

“Shit, I don’t think I can go in here.”

The van has skidded into an inconspicuous (but not entirely, because have you seen that fucking vehicle) place near the drugstore.

“Why?”

“People– the pharmacist knows my mom and everything,” Nancy shudders, “There’s no way that people won’t have something to– fucking say.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and you give him a look like, welcome to the Nancy Wheeler Actually Swears Club. Care for a canape?

And y’know, you could argue so what. So what if people have something to say. You’re young, mistakes happen, the world keeps turning. But one skip in a perfect twelve-inch record of reputation like Nancy’s can make her life a living hell. You know that.

Shit, she knows that– you weren’t not aware of that stroke of creative genius vandalism that went up on the Hawk marquee that one time.

And it would shatter Nancy’s mom’s heart. And while you don’t have the same time of day for her, Nancy really loves her mom.

Once you’ve ruined your reputation, you can live quite freely.

That moveable feast motherfucker was onto something.

Click, and Eddie’s glovebox pops open in a clatter of tapes and a one-hitter and other ephemera. You reach in, retrieving sunglasses you’d left in here a little bit ago.

“So let’s give ‘em something to talk about,” you say, sliding on the shades.

Nancy clutches your arm, eyes wide and searching. “Lacy.”

You shrug, like it’s nothing. Except nerves have started nibbling at you. “Spot me a ten. What am I, a goddamn Rockefeller?”

“Not anymore,” Eddie Munson grins at you. Sun breaking through the bleak midwinter. The nerves cease their nibbling.

—

The tension doesn’t exactly ease when you make a beeline for the drugstore (particularly because you’ve just accepted a goddamn miniature hero’s quest and he’s a little… well, he’s not not watching your ass as you walk away, let’s put it that way).

Eddie and Nancy Wheeler are still absolutely enormous universes apart. Not even the same species. He doesn’t mind keeping it that way. This right here is just, like… the right thing to do.

He moves to turn the radio down, figuring that the thrum of Fade to Black might be a little much for her right now. “Sorry. Didn’t mean for–”

“No, it’s okay.” Wheeler smiles that flat, priss smile reserved for the barest of polite gestures.

Eddie nods, propping his elbow against the window, cupping his face in his hand. He keeps kind of sneaking sidelong glances toward Wheeler, because– well, had you told her anything? About… Seven Minutes in Heaven? Does she even remember that, from her birthday party all that time ago? He knew that you two weren’t exactly tight, but were well on your way to getting tight, but not as tight as you are with Ronnie and certainly not as tight as you are–or were–with him and Jesus Christ almighty, he’s got to find a synonym for the word tight.

“You… play Dungeons and Dragons, right?” Wheeler asks all of a sudden.

Eddie glances down– he is in fact wearing his Hellfire shirt. She’s a sharp one, that Nancy.

“I dabble,” he says, a derisive little chuckle that’s not all-the-way mean spirited.

Wheeler bobs her head. “My brother, Mike,” she says, and he sees now that it’s an effort to keep her nerves steady, “he loves it. Like, he’s totally obsessed. Him, and his friends, they’ve got their own little party going. Majorly long campaigns, very involved.”

“Campaigns, parties. Using terminology like that, I’d say you’re something of a dabbler, Wheeler.”

Nancy chuckles. “I– may have dressed up as an elf for one. Or two. When I was way, way younger, though.”

“Well, your brother– Mike?” Eddie checks and Nancy nods, “Once he gets to high school, why dontcha tell him to look up Hellfire. Could be the best-worst decision he’ll make for the next four years of his life.”

“Right, because you’ll be passing the torch,” she says, grinning.

“And possibly to a Wheeler. Oh my stars and garters,” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest in mock-shock.

Wheeler laughs and, okay, maybe she’s not so bad.

“Shoot, we have movement.” And out you come, holding the Advance pregnancy test over your head, gleaming and victorious– but Eddie and Nancy flap their hands, willing you to put that fucking thing away! We’re being subtle!

Climbing back in the van, you announce, “Alright, so the good news– no doctoral interference, obviously. The wonders of modern medicine, everybody give thanks to Johnson and Johnson, et cetera. The bad news– who knows of somewhere we can steal–” you glance back at the box, “--thirty glorious uninterrupted minutes of time?”

“Lacy, I can just–” Nancy starts, but you stop her short with a tap to the head.

“And have you sitting in class all day with your guts churning because you don’t know what’s up or down that spout? I think the fuck not. We’re doing this now.” This is out of the goodness of your heart, you swear it is.

But there might be a fraction, just a generous sliver, that still loves the drama.

Like Steve Harrington, it’s not an immediate shed of the ego. It’s a slough.

“Well, my place is a no-go,” Nancy tells you, shrugging into herself. “My mom will definitely be home.”

“Ditto,” and your mother is the only person you know that loves gossip more than you do. Besides Eddie, of course.

After a beat or two of wondering silence, Eddie raises a hand. “I may… have someplace… we can go.”

—

How many cherry bombs does it take to make a boy’s bathroom look like the bombing of Dresden?

“So fuuun fact, turned out that some nerd swiped a hunk of sodium from the Chemistry lab and just blew this mother to shit,” Eddie brightly informs you and Nancy as the two of you pour over the instructions for the pregnancy test kit.

“While everyone was distracted by Heather Holloway’s implants, you mean?” you murmur, scanning over the small-sheet size booklet.

“Streets are saying she was an accomplice.”

Holy fuck, these instructions were involved. Nancy stands clutching the little rectangular tray that her pee is supposed to go in, nailing Eddie with a look beyond normal categorical nerves. “You’re sure no one’s gonna come in here?”

He shakes his head. There might as well be police tape all over the door of this bathroom, that’s how off limits it is. “It’s cold, it’s broken, it smells gross. Maybe some people are using this place to huff paint, but I can guarantee, Wheeler–” and he bends a little to meet her earnest eyes, “--I will bark like a fucking rabid dog to clear ‘em away if I need to.”

Nancy nods shortly. Jerk, jerk. She disappears into the least dilapidated stall with her pee rectangle.

“God, she is so scared,” Eddie murmurs to you, crossing his arms.

You’re still studying the instructions. This shit has droppers and test tubes and color changing strips, oh my. “Pissing shouldn’t be a problem, then.”

Wrong.

“Guys.”

“Yes?” “Yeah, Wheeler?”

“I’m a little, ahem–” Bladder shy. Perfect. Awesome. Not that you guys aren’t going to be shacked up here for thirty minutes anyway, but that’s only after Nancy Wheeler goes number one and you, like, mix up the pregnancy oracle potion.

Shit. “We’ve gotta do something to like, make her chill out–” Eddie half-mouths at you.

“Yeah, but she’s so high strung, that’s like–” a spark hits you. “Wait, have you got anything on you?”

“Fresh out. Waiting on a shipment from Lipton landing.”

You smack him, not even thinking, and he winces. “And all that shit you were smoking the other day, that was–” “That was market research, babe, and I told you that–”

Nancy clears her throat from inside the stall. “Please, don’t quit bickering on my account. I’m only trying to figure out whether or not I need to start rehearsing lullabies.”

Damn Nancy, Eddie mouths and you almost laugh. Wait.

“Nance, what’s your favorite song?”

“Huh?”

You shake your hands. “Like, the song you absolutely cannot go without hearing? The one that makes you feel, just–”

“Ticklish?” Eddie suggests, the paragon of knowledge, the pinnacle of your annoyance. You thump him again. “I need a safe word.”

“Um– uh…”

“C’mon, Wheeler, the song that makes you feel just… awesome and chill and on top of the fucking world, c’mon!” Eddie encourages, kicking detritus around the bathroom floor.

Nancy eventually, eventually mumbles something.

You pivoting around on your heel by the sink. “Louder, Wheeler, I wasn’t born with sonar.”

“It’s– it’s ‘Just What I Needed’.”

What? Eddie mouths to you, arms binding across his chest.

“What, like– The Cars, ‘Just What I Needed’?”

A pause from Nancy’s end. “... yeah.”

You know this song. You know that song, right, it’s like duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW… Shaking yourself out, you brace up like a boxer heading into the ring.

“Gimme a lead in, Nancy.” Holy fucking shit, you’re really doing this. Nancy hesitates, probably because she can’t believe any of you are really doing this.

A mumble… “I don’t mind you comin’ here…”

“--and wastin’ all my time!” you jump in, “”cause when you’re standin’ oh so near, I kinda lose my mind…”

Visions of a plush lilac bedroom, yours, and a mountain of clothes and makeup and drained wine cooler bottles on the floor. You, standing on your bed in your socks and shorts, vamping– Tina and Carol singing hairbrush backup, Nicole on air guitar and Cass smoking out the window. There were flashes of this, you know, when it wasn’t all boiling vitriol and subtle shivving and one-up-manship. When you and those girls that you wished you weren’t near but knew you needed actually felt like friends.

A memory like that makes you feel empty.

“It’s not the perfume that you wear,” oh my god, “It’s not the ribbons–in–your–hair,” is he really, “And I don’t mind you comin’ here– and wastin’ all my time!”

Why the fuck does Eddie Munson know this song?! Your jaw drops open, your eyes go wide and your feet stamp against the tile like a goddamn kid. Yes! Yes! Amazing! You’re both so fucking out of tune, like there is absolutely a reason he does not sing a single note in Corroded Coffin but by god alive, you’re giving it everything you got in that fucked up boy’s bathroom.

Eddie’s so much better at it than you are, pouring every bit of obnoxious showmanship into it that he possibly can– complete with pulling you in for a fully nonsensical dance number. You spin into him, crashing into his chest with a clumsiness you never thought possible, laughing so hysterically that you can barely get the words out. He’s holding the reins, and holding that falsetto so badly you think the mirrors will shatter.

Your skin is buzzing, your heart is hammering and Eddie is pressed against your back and you are both scream-singing to the door of Nancy’s cubicle– “I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed! I needed someone to feed– I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed I needed someone to–”

“Pee! Pee, you guys, I’m peeing!” Nancy’s voice, bright and high from actually laughing, rings from the busted toilet.

You and Eddie erupt into a triumphant yell, him shaking you like a rag doll against him. The laughter peels away and then it’s just kind of him, looking at you from over your shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around your waist. His lips, a little cracked. Breath a little labored. Lashes still so long. You nearly–

The door flings open and he jumps away from you first. Nancy heads toward the sink and you resume the position, helping her figure out the Chemistry play set that holds the answer to how the rest of her life pans out. Thirty whole minutes, they’ve got to wait.

Nancy notes the time on her watch.

She even suggests that you guys can go at one point, but Eddie reminds her that a) he’s keeping an eye out for paint huffers and b) “... y’know, maybe it’s not so great to…” “Do this on your own,” you finish for him. Nancy nods, silent and grateful and so fucking nervous.

At about the seventeen minute mark, when you and Eddie have smoked four cigarettes each and Nancy has tried a puff of one (“Nope,” she hacks, “still totally vile…”), Eddie tosses this stink bomb between you two. Nancy has excused herself to stand with her head against the cubicle door. Something about calming her nerves. Coming up with a plan. Something to tell Steve, no doubt.

So it’s just you and Eddie, you sitting on the edge of the sink and Eddie rhythmically kicking the wall.

“You ever wanna be a mom?”

“Jesus, what a time to land that one on me.” You almost make a joke like you haven’t even stuck it in me yet, but that’s in bad taste. And implies a yet.

Eddie smiles over his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes. Stupid. Stupid eyelashes. “Grounds of relevance.”

You pinch your lips between your teeth. “... fine. But, I fully reserve the right to change my answer given the fact that we are eight-shitting-teen years old.”

He points to the cubicle and mutters, “Well, she’s seventeen.”

You, wide-eyed at his dumbassery, mouth I know!

“Okay. Sorry. Go.”

“Fuuuuuck no. No babies pour moi, merci, c’est bon, au revoir!”

Eddie turns to lean against the wall, propping one leg up. God, but he does lean great.

“Why?”

“Genetic fate.”

“Huh?”

A sigh flutters out of you, shoulders slumping forward. “A certain… how do you say, thread of assholery runs through my family, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Eddie nods sagely and you kind of want to punch him for it. “Daddy issues. Right.”

“Uh!” A hand flies up in your defense. “Let who among us here without them cast the first stone.”

From the cubicle, Nancy calls, “Not me.”

Surrendering, Eddie grumbles, “Yeah, not me either.”

“Glad we agree.”

There’s another tick and tock of silence, and you get the distinct feeling of something being pried open in the atmosphere.

“... whatever happened with your dad, anyway?”

Ah. The million dollar question. Whatever happened with your dad, so-called upstanding member of the Hawkins community, poor little poor boy done rich, scaling his way up the ladder of property management in this delightful little Midwestern enclave?

“Not a big fan of the news, are we, Munson?”

He seems to grimace at you tugging on his surname. “Print’s too small.”

“Taking offense to that,” Nancy chimes.

“It was the big ‘E’,” you say, kind of not into bantering about it.

“‘E’... ‘E’... ‘E’...” Eddie kicks the wall on each utterance. Possibly forgetting that he could also be the big ‘E’, if he wanted. You wonder if, just in terms of size…

“Embezzlement, Eddie,” you cut that thought off cold.

His eyes widen, eyebrows shooting under his shaggy bangs. “Shooooot.”

“Score.”

“What all did he, like… embezzle?”

The raising of the hackles is not entirely intentional. “Y’know who’d be able to answer that question, Eddie?”

But he sees it. He calms it. In unison, you both shrug, “Al Munson.”

Boom! Cubicle door flies open again. You’re starting to think that Nancy might just love making an entrance. Lot of flourishing happening here. Not entirely unlike Eddie in that way.

“It’s time.”

Each and every one of you beeline to where the test is set up on one of the sinks. Nancy gingerly plucks the offending strip from the test tube and Eddie, a man with money on his mind, asks another million dollar question. “So how do you know…”

You grab the instruction leaflet that you’d been tearing corners off of, making it look nearly moth-bitten. “Wait, it’s white, right?”

“It’s white,” Nancy whispers.

“It’s not, like… off blue, or…”

“No, that is white,” she’s trembling. “Is white– is that good, or– I can’t remember.”

“Nancy Wheeler…” you breathe, peeking over the paper, “Congratulations. You are nobody’s mother!”

She emits a shriek like nothing you’ve ever heard and barrels straight into you, near knocking you off your feet with a strength you didn’t know this little waif was capable of possessing. Her arms wrap boa constrictor tight around you, her words bubbling over like a shook up can of pop. “Jesus Christ, I’m so relieved, I just– I–!”

“You’re relieved?!” Eddie yells, ringed hands tearing down his face, “I’m way too young to be an uncle! Fuck! Thank god!”

Nancy chokes out a laugh through her tears, tears of relief, thank god and– and you don’t know if it’s selfish and you don’t know if it’s possible but you hope… you hope that’s helped close the chasm. Just a little bit. That she didn’t have to do this all alone in a shithouse bathroom that smells like sulfur and piss.

Breaking away from you (damn, you wish you knew how to hug), Nancy straightens herself up. Not that she needs to. She’s a pretty crier, that bitch.

“Just one more thing, you guys.”

“Anything,” you say before you even know you’ve said it.

“This is… between us, okay?” her eyes dart from you to Eddie, and you both take a step closer to her. Ceremoniously, Nancy holds out her two pinkie fingers. You link. Eddie links. His finger looks comically large compared to hers– and yours, when he reaches and hooks it around your unsuspecting baby finger.

“No one can know. No one needs to know.” There’s that headstrong Wheeler reserve you’d been missing.

“Cross my heart,” you proclaim.

“Hope to d– well, I don’t hope to die, that’s a little dramatic–”

“Eddie!” you both bark, varying degrees of amusement. Yours is on the lower end. “Swear on something real,” you push.

He hesitates a moment, then gives Nancy a look. “Alright. Swear on Hellfire.”

“Swear on Hellfire,” Nancy grins all tight, and kisses her right hand, hooked into Eddie’s finger. “Lacy?”

“Swear on Hellfire…” You mumble, rolling your eyes and kissing your Nancy’d hand. You need to swallow, first, before you tug your hand that’s hooked into Eddie’s toward your mouth.

And he does the worst thing. He leans down to meet your gaze, suckering you right in as his lips pout. They’re hungry. You’ve met those lips. “Swea-aar,” he sing-songs.

“--on Hellfire, okay,” you scoff, half-laughing into the little kiss.

“Ha!” Eddie barks, so fucking loud that it jumps off the walls. “Trick! You just made a deal with the devil, ladies, so I hope you enjoy eternal damnation at the hands of yours truly!”

Dumb as he is, Eddie might be right. If the way you’re looking at him is anything to go by.

author's notes: MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS. WE GOT IT WE DID IT WE MADE THEM KISS WE MADE THEM REALIZE SOMETHINGS NOT ALL THE THINGS SURELY BUT IT'S. IT'S SOMETHING. IT'S A START! on to the fun bits, like the jokes in the christmas crackers - absolutely obsessed with the mental image of eddie munson's bangs grown too long and he looking like this - cherry bombs down the john is a reference to the classic prank but mostly to american graffiti my beloved. later in the chapter, eddie says that some kid just threw some sodium down there which is something i read about on this reddit thread when researching cherry bombs. domestic terrorism at hawkins high! - p.t. barnum is that mfer that the greatest showman is based on. horrible man! not a fan! - heather holloway's jayne mansfield titties got me thinking about the jayne mansfield-sophia loren photo which has its own wikipedia page??? anyway, lacy coded! - black christmas is a stunning christmas horror film from 1974, which is loosely in part based on a bunch of murders that happened in the westmount neighborhood in montreal, quebec. fun fact, i just moved back from mtl after living there for a year. anyway black christmas kicks ASS - lipton landing is 100% a juno reference. big up my king elliot page - the thin man is one in a series of fantastic lil films from the 1930s all about nick and nora charles, a married couple that get drunk and SOLVE CRIMES. i'm not doing it justice by describing it that way but myrna loy and william powell are the royals of married banter and i model everything i write after their rhythm, more or less. - you're trying to tell me eddie munson didn't do whippets as a kid fucking wise up - one of my personal precious favourite recurring jokes in this series is 'who died and made you my x' and baby. i love a recurring joke - ronnie saying "oh she'll kill ya. then i'll go to work on ya," is a special reference because a) it's from my favourite film of all time, ocean's eleven and b) ayo edebiri, who i've fancast as ronnie ecker, has an ocean's eleven tattoo. we are sisters and also wives! - meep meep! - all i could think about when writing about how guilty lacy was - another metallica needle drop!!!! - pregnancy tests in the 80s really were that insane and involved! there's a great scene in glow (rest in fucking PEACE! gone but never forgotten) of alison brie's character using one, and here's more of the history - maybe the best needle drop of this whole series imo - finally peeped into those daddy issues. look forward to more of that and with that my hellcats, i wish you the merriest of holiday seasons wherever you find yourself and whatever you're doing. i will be back after the christmas break because i have to fully wreck my bank account and see every single person i have ever known and drink every espresso martini on dry land. sorry if there's typos in this, i have been labouring over it for... ever. reblogs, comments, likes and asks are always appreciated and i love you so much it's bordering on criminal! thank you!!!!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #published by powder

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s-4pphics · 2 years ago

Text

look, wild cherries! 1 (a.a)

wc;cw: 1.4k, cherrychaser!abby, scumbag!abby, corruption kink, descriptions of sex MDNI, mentions of weed n alc, dubcon, my baby sucks in this but she’s hot so who cares <3, smut l8r duh, riley makes an appearance :D

The first time Abby took a girl's virginity, she didn’t leave her apartment for four days.

She hadn’t been… hunting for a virgin that night, it was completely by happenstance: she was a sophomore at the time, and she’d got invited to a party at the girls soccer team’s frat house by one of her friends. It was pretty exclusive, and she was scared that she would be overlooked as a mere plus one by the entire team, but she ended up getting along really well with everyone there.

Including a girl with a number seven pinned on her crop top.

Abby was crossed as fuck, and she barely has any memory of that night, but she can’t forget the desperation on the school’s star goalie’s face when she pulled her into her bedroom by her shirt, asking—no, almost demanding to take her virginity. Please, Abby? Treat me good? Be my first?

It’s almost comedic that she forgot the athlete’s name because she’ll never forget the pink fairy lights twinkling, the array of plushies stacked up on her bed, the glittery duvet; All of it still picks at her brain til this day, and it had been two years since it happened; she was about to graduate, for fucks sake!

The girl’s pussy had been so wet, squirting all over her pillows and blanket, crying out about how her stashed dildo was too big and couldn't take it, but Abby was able to convince her that she could. And she did, she’d took it so fucking good.

Their fucking had started out pretty basic; Abby gave her some nasty, sloppy head, fingered her, made her squirt all over her blanket twice. It wasn’t until she slipped the fat tip of the dildo into the tight entrance and the girl let out a pained shriek of Abby! Oh, God, you’re taking my virginity! that her brain chemistry completely rewired, and her obsession ignited.

She doesn’t know if it was the weed or liquor that made her core clench so tight that she moaned out at the statement, or if she’s always been a goddamn sicko, but she can proudly say that she hasn’t been the same since.

The girl, however, would not leave her the fuck alone after Abby fucked her. She somehow found her account on Instagram and Snap and was obsessed with asking her out on coffee dates and inviting her to watch her practice, in which she politely declined every time.

It had gotten so bad that Abby thought inviting her over for a quick fuck would make her stop, get it out of her system, but she ended up falling asleep in her bed right after she squirted on her dick. What the fuck!

Abby wasn’t an asshole often, but after the girl showered and ate the last of her Cinnamon Toast Crunch four days later, she lost it. She cussed her out and told her to leave. She made the girl cry, before she clumsily put her pants on, and left with a slam of the door. Abby never saw her on campus after that, thank god.

Besides that weird ass experience, she loved fucking virgins. Loved making them dirty with her corruption.

She loves having sex, but nothing strokes her ego—and dick—more than popping a pretty girl’s cherry. She’s seven virginities down, as of now. She loves making them sweat and beg and cry. It makes her so hot—

“Bitch, what the fuck are you staring at?” Her best friend, Riley, leaned closer to whisper to her. Abby blinked blankly as she broke her trance.

Abby hadn’t taken her eyes off you since she walked into the campus library.

Riley had texted her after class demanding that they go study for their chemistry exam. She almost didn’t show up, but she was so close to failing; One more D on a test would completely destroy her GPA and her scholarships would disappear with the snap of a finger.

She wasn’t expecting the study session to consist of her mind trailing off as she stared at you, thinking about bending the pretty receptionist at the desk over and making her scream in front of everyone in here.

You were so fucking cute: circle frames around your eyes, two puffs surrounded by clips atop your head, cropped, purple sweater and jean shorts that showed most of your legs. She could see that you had on a pair of worn sneakers through the little gap of the desk you sat at, and all she could think about was your knee-high socks above her head as she pounded into that tight, gooey cunt—

“Abby, bro, what the fuck. Can you pay attention?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec,” and she shot up out of her seat to walk towards you.

She could see that you had your AirPods in the closer she got, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

She cleared her throat, “Excuse me?”

You instantly looked up when you heard her, and she was met with your bright smile. You smelled like candied apples, fucking shit—

“Hi! How can I help you?” you spoke in a hushed tone, and she nearly went cross-eyed. She could hear you begging for her cock, now!

You can help by letting me rail you!

“Umm… I’m a chem major, and I was wondering if you could help me find something on… like… ionic liquids?”

She’s been in love with chemistry since she was a goddamn freshman in high school, she knew what ionic fluids were! She just needed an excuse to talk to you. She’s desperate!

You nodded immediately, your smile softening, “Of course! I love chemistry, all the books are down this way.”

You stood and walked out from behind the desk, guiding her to a secluded spot of the library, right by the windows. All she wanted to do was press you up against them and dig you out—

“Abby, you okay?” your gentle voice cut through the raunchy visuals in her head.

“Y-Yeah! Don’t worry, did you say something?”

“Yeah… there’s some books right here about ionic liquids!” you said cheerily, a bright smile growing on your face once more.

“Oh, yeah, cool. Thanks.”

“No problem! I’ll be over there if you need anything!” you said to her before turning to leave. She stopped you before you could.

“Actually!” Fuck, come up with something! “I… uh… you said you liked chemistry?”

“Sure do! It’s so interesting!”

“Facts, I love it. I’ve loved it since I was little.”

“Me, too! I used to get picked on for it, but I’m so glad I stuck with it.”

“Oh, wait, do you major in chem, too?”

“Not anymore! I used to before I transferred, but I switched over to sociology when I got here. I still volunteer as a chem tutor, though.”

Her ears immediately perked up. That’s the door she needed; she’d have that cunt in no time!

She smiled slyly at you, “That's crazy you say that! I actually needed a tutor for this biochem exam next Monday.”

She watched your brows furrow as she spoke, “Do you… would you mind helping me study? I’ve been having some trouble focusing, and I think having someone there would be a big help.”

She noticed your hesitation, “Oh… um…”

Fuck! Dammit! “I mean if you’re not busy! If you are, I totally get it!”

You shook your head at her quickly, “No no no! I’m… just a little swamped right now with some other students.”

“… Oh,” Abby said, disappointment evident in her tone before she disguised it. “That’s okay— “

She watched your expression drop at her tone before you shook your head, “I would have to cancel some sessions, but I think I can see you on Saturday! How’s that sound?” Abby grinned widely at your proposal.

Sounds so good, fuck it sounds so fucking good. “That’d be great, I really appreciate it.” You smiled back at her.

“Great! Here, lemme get your Snap,” you pulled out your phone and she pulled out hers. She was locked in, for sure!

After Abby added you, you gave her a gentle wave before walking back to your desk. She watched your ass switch in your shorts with every step you took. She couldn’t wait to watch it clap on her dick!

She smirked to herself before walking back to where Riley angrily sat.

“You’re a cunt, what the fuck took you so long?” Her best friend scolded her with furrowed brows.

“Just talking to the librarian, damn, chill.”

Abby opened her book with a cheerful grin, suddenly in a much better mood.

She couldn’t wait to see you this weekend!

a/n: damn another impulsive writing prompt😳 uhhhh this is gonna be short n nasty :p literally have the whole thing mapped out already LOL just needed to write abby so bad like i couldn’t hold back anymore shes so hot n sexy need her to corrupt me even tho im a worthless slut already <3

pt. 2 :0

#abby x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby x you #abby the last of us #lesbian #black!reader #black!oc #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x black!reader #works 𖧧࣪#*. cherries 𓆩♡𓆪 #scumbag!abby

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stareiiez · 5 months ago

Text

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- four

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. gore. death. gun violence. graphic descriptions of gore. torture. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 3.8k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: another late night update <3 if you're triggered by death/ torture pls don't read! if you do, don't say i didnt warn you! as always, reblogs, comments, and notes are loved and appreciated!!!!

To say soundproofing a basement was a blessing for Simon was a blessing is a severe understatement. Without it, the patrons who were upstairs drinking and being merry in crude ways would be able to hear the gut-wrenching screams and manly grunts over the pain-filled noises that were caused by several weapons of torture and destruction. His favorite had been the cheese grater. A little corny, sure, but god did it do the job to make a man piss himself like a little bitch when it was dragged up the valley of his tender throat. The meaty thwack of blunt force meeting wet skin echoes in the darkened basement. Musty air and traces of liquor tingle upon a twice-broken nose. Bloody knuckles wreak havoc upon the blistered and fileted skin of poor Graves. It's been like this for nearly an hour, the need for releasing pent-up steam and broiling over anger made Simon pull out the big guns and turn the pretty boy into nothing but a bloody sack of crying meat.

Graves was unrecognizable. Both of his once beautiful blue eyes, that you stared at so dreamy-like, were swollen shut. Puffy and purple turning with threats of black eyes and bloodshot irises. Cigarette burns, stab wounds, cuts, and barely forming bruises were littering the bare upper body of the poor suffering sap Simon was torturing half to death. Kidnapping and planned manslaughter were not in his plans tonight, far from it. His plans were innocent. He wanted to watch you and your nightly routine, memorize your little rituals before bed. He wanted to see what you would look like when you were dreaming so peacefully under his watchful eyes that would be at your bedside. He wanted to know what your sheets smelled like, felt like under his rough palms, and get the first touch of pure warmth that radiated off your little body while it was oblivious to his touch.

Now Graves just had to come over on the night Simon planned to. How unfortunate. Truly. If he was any better mate he would apologize for every scream and plea that tumbled out of that broken jaw that once purred into your ear in front of Simon's eyes. It didn't have to be like this, but he had a point to make. He tells himself this when his broad back turns, grabbing at an already stained towel painted red with thick ruby ichor. You were his girl. His pretty baby should be fingered by him and him only. This was only an example for every other son of a bitch you decided that was better to fuck than Simon Riley himself.

"She never even told me she had a boyfriend." cried Graves when he was still pure and fresh-skinned. His eyes flicked down to the dull butcher knife that Simon had been tossing up and down lazily; brown eyes watching the frustration and unease that crept on the other man's face underneath the bleached bone mask of his. "Wouldn't even have thought to touch her, unless she wanted it, and she did want it." Wrong set of words. Yikes.

Rusted metal meets the muscle of Graves' right thigh in one effortless swing of Simon, buried to the hilt. Dark cherry starts to bubble around the plastic handle. Strong metal and even stronger cries of the pretty boy. His head throws back with a growl and a colorful string of curses. Not a very Southern gentlemanly thing of him to do. Very different from the southern hospitality Graves was giving you before Simon got his hands on him. Overly whitened teeth bare out between a grimace and snarl given to the brit. All bark and very little bite. Cute. He'd have fun with this. He always had fun with this type of work, it's why his group always gave him the nitty gritty bloody work. Their hands would be a little cleaner than his, and he could enjoy watching even the toughest get unnerved when they caught the sick glint in Simon's eyes when he brought out new ' toys ' to try out.

Now Graves was on the receiving end of that sick look. Emotionless eyes but smiling lips that peeled a bit too wide under the suffocating balaclava that covered his head and mouth. Bottomless dark pools of his irises reflected the mess of carved-away fatty tissue and the sharp ends of broken bones stretching past the elasticity of human skin. A dead man's masterpiece. Picasso eat your fucking heart out.

The saving grace was the end of a smoking barrel that pressed to Grave's forehead. Hot iron and metal singed away at damp baby hairs and smoothed away the wrinkles of distraught so cruelly. Simon was growing bored of this torture now, he was wasting too much time here messing with a man who had one foot in the grave and the other trying to wedge itself in the doorway of life. He had to make a call and see if his pretty girl was distraught enough for a comforting hand or two to reel her into the snare of his adoration.

"Have we learned our lesson for the evenin' then, mate?" Simon's dark timber of a voice growled into the stale air. The end of his gun prodded at glistening skin for an answer almost immediately. He doesn't have all night.

Grave's jaws couldn't click together enough to help form the bleeding nub of a tongue to form a coherent enough answer to please him. That tongue was cut off with a clean swipe of Simon's blade when Graves still had his energy and was making threats about getting out of there and getting his men to show the Brit how torture worked; then maybe he'd celebrate by fucking 'his' girl all in memorium for his tries. Shame that tongue had to go, he preferred the curses and slew of half-baked 'go to hell's ' Graves let bolster out in the first thirty minutes down here.

He'll settle for a silent answer then. Broken bones popped socket arms and kneecaps would just have to be an affirmative' yes sir ' to Simon. If Dead men can't come crawling back out of their half-dug graves to come to eat some pussy; then mangled ruined bodies of desperate mutts of men can fuck to save their fading souls from descending into the depths of hell.

Thumb cocking back the hammer of his sidearm, pointer finger pressing a little bit too eagerly. The kickback of gunpowder and fire didn't make Simon miss the satisfying spray of pink brain matter, hot blood, and tiny pieces of flying skull shrapnel painting the grungey floor behind Graves.

A mess of gory artistry the man behind the painting would just have to miss being cleaned up and taken out back to be thrown away in a dumpster where all other trash goes to rot away in a marked landfill. The gun of his was tossed next to Grave's bound cooling corpse. He'll get an earful about doing this during working hours of the bar, but he would be damned if he didn't get to release his demons onto Graves before it was too late and his anger chilled to a icy tundra in his chest.

Another cup of coffee, perhaps your fourth of the night cools in your palms again. The caffeine does little to soothe the growing migraine that pounds behind your eye sockets with every microsecond your patience wanes into threads. Angry hornets fester inside your skull, and a jack rabbit's heart inside your chest. Your night is taking years off your life, you can feel it with every monotonous droning of the same questions one of the cops repeats every ten minutes or so. It feels like you're getting nowhere, running on a hamster wheel that'll lead to nowhere and you getting winded in the process. The police make you feel stupid. The moment two cop cars arrived at your residence to investigate the lack of evidence they found from your supposed potential serial killer. They condescended and ridiculed every detail you gave them till your face ran blue and the air in your lungs was nearly gone.

The bloody handprint that was smeared on the greenhouse's wall was already washed away; more than likely absorbed into the greedy grass like a man sucking down water after being in the desert for months. Other than the scratched ' S ' on your porch step there was little to believe you and your cracked-out story. They thought you called just for attention, just to waste gas that was paid for too high taxes. It's been like this for two hours now, repetitive questions and police pulling only yours and Graves' prints off your things and his abandoned truck that was sitting in your drive. Their idiotic conclusion? He was simply lost in the ever-expansive woods. Lost among the shrubbery and shadows, a victim to the unusually cruel predatory gazes of wildlife that watched his every move; ready to strike him down and feast like royalty till their bellies almost popped.

"What did the sheriff make the call on for tonight?"

The cop, who had been interrogating you, turned to address another policeman who was examining your small living room with boredom written all over his young features.

Before the way too young-looking man could answer, an older British voice called out "Why don't you ask 'im yourself, deputy?" The smell of strong cigar smoke suddenly started to assault your senses.

An older gentleman, with ashy brown hair and a thick jungle of facial hair, strode into your home. One of his hands supported the straps of his bulletproof vest, the other held the burning cigar that stunk up the small interior of your home in a matter of seconds. A plume of smoke exhaled out of his nostrils when his beady eyes swept over your kitchenette till they landed on your inquisitive expression. He pressed his cigar to his full lips for another inhale as if he had all the time in the world to stink up your home and trigger your body to sneeze at such an offending smell. "Sorry, sir. " The deputy uttered apologetically, eyes dropping low in embarrassment he was intimidated by such a commanding presence of his superior.

With another exhale of thick grey smoke that makes your nose wrinkle the sheriff approaches you. His right hand extended out for you to shake while he introduced himself to you as if his last name wasn't sewn so neatly into the black fabric of his uniform. "Officer, or sheriff John Price. I don't think we've met." His glove was rough against your skin, but his grasp was gentle while he shook your hand. His free hand plucked the cigar from his lips, teeth leaving bite marks over the damp end he had been sucking on. " Boys couldn't find anything here, miss except for disturbed gravel and prints from the wet grass out back. We can't pull anything significant off those marks, unfortunately. Could have just been a bad attempt of some break-in just to scare a young woman and her guy friend."

Your eyebrows creased, hand slipping out his light hold quickly. Angry hornets in your skull turned into a full-on battalion of those large Asian wasps that had excellent memory. They were banging around against hard bone, buzzing so loud and pissed that they threatened to burst out of your ears and sting every single cop here. Especially Price, they'd sting him right on his stupid gruff face. "But whoever was here, didn't steal anything they just left --"

"The flower behind, yes. The lads at the lab will run it to see if there's any DNA on the stem or even petals. Any clothing fibers or hair strands will be alerted to us right away, but there's nothing we can do. You know how rowdy teens these days are, they'd do anything to scare the grown adults into a heart attack for fun." Price quipped, finishing your sentence.

Your eyes rolled, frustration growing rampant like a disease over your face. An infection that Sherriff Price wasn't so susceptible to being a victim of. One bushy brow rose at your childish irritation from the denial he and his men had rubbed into your face time and time again. "Rowdy teens just don't make a grown-ass man disappear without a trace. Rowdy teens aren't capable of breaking cleanly into my home and not stealing anything of value." Your voice raised, brows pitching up and causing frown lines to crack along your smooth features.

"And rowdy teens don't scare the fuck out of me and make me want to look over my shoulder from now on after tonight. There's someone out there who is taunting me, and I want him or she or them to leave me alone." You're standing by this point. Chair kicked out behind you, your hands slammed down onto your table. Hot black caffeine spills over the dark marble of your dining room table. You're glaring daggers into the older man's eyes and he gobbles it all up without even a reaction to your worked-up outburst. He's not afraid of little girls screaming and trying to embarrass him, he's dealt with all of this before. Not this scenario, but high and haughty women who thought they were number one.

Price blinks, takes a step back silently, and turns his head to address another policeman loitering around; unsure what to do. "Have one of the guys do a stake out for twenty-four hours around her home, if anything is outta place you call me right away." Then he turns his gaze back to you, smiles that forced smile one makes when they're uncomfortable. Eyes crinkled with a lack of warmth that only manages to irk you further than comfort you. Temporary support does little to quell the ball of a bundle of nerves that is your nervous system right now.

"Have a good night, miss." Price dismisses himself. That awful cigar of his shoved back into his mouth and steps back out the front door. His men follow that were lingering inside your space, all except for the deputy that had been interrogating you. That's supposed to be your rough and rugged surveillance system for the next twenty-four hours until you can justify scraping enough money aside to get your surveillance just for this place.

Price exhales a continuous cloud of smokey grey into the night air. His head tipped back enough to trace out a few major constellations in the sky with curiosity, all while the other two cop cars that were parked out front drove off nonchalantly.

Bright teeth, stained slightly yellow from tobacco clamp further into the cigar's end while he fishes out of his many pockets a cell phone. Pretty outdated, the screen is cracked and the little processor moves at a snail's pace. A real piece of shit technology that holds a few private numbers that aren't saved under any typical name.

His gloved thumb jams against the screen a few times on one of those particular contacts and he holds the cell to his ear whilst unlocking the driver's side of his car and climbing inside. Cigar stamped out into the ever-growing ashes of his ashtray, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel in wait. The line rings once, twice, and on the third ring the call is picked up and a deeper British voice answers in a grunt of a ' hello ' to Price.

"You've got one hell of a firecracker there, Riley." Price cracks out, tone joking. "You've worked the little bird up into a tizzy, she seemed ready to jump 'cross the table for me."

The other voice only gives out a scoff, a monotone 'really?' . Price can only picture the hint of a cruel smile curling on the ends of Simon's lips now. "Boys' are none the wiser, I'll tell 'em it was just a bad prank gone wrong. The station will be none the wiser. Poor blokes." He chuffs. The engine of his car starts, and he reverses out of the drive. The silhouettes of his deputy and you awkwardly standing in your living room window bring another good-humored huff out of his ash-riddled lungs. "Don't make me bury your girl under missing person reports if you're too rough with 'er." Price mutters low over the line. Simon only scoffs on the receiving end, like he'd never hurt his precious girl. He'd be damned if you were taken from him by his own hands.

"Jus' keep an eye on her when I can't. " His voice rumbles like thunder in Price's ear, then hangs up the call with a sullen click.

Price sighs, tossing the backup cell in his passenger seat. His dark eyes focus on the lonely road back into the city. His radio in the car is buzzing with life of officer chatter, but he's not paying much attention. He's got to figure out how to stuff this darker piece of work underneath a rug without leaving wrinkles of his involvement behind. The old man was never one for the double life. A charming foreigner passed for a white-collared American who was there for the people at every righteous beck and call of his name. Then a grimy soldier for the kind of men that worked on setting the bastards that cops or other forces of power were too busy or pussy to end the right way; with a bullet in the head and their name smeared in blood as a warning for other bastards to behave or else.

A kind of work he did far before the ' never do no wrong' persona of his was adopted onto him. Now juggling both for one of his boys? Someone that he even dared to be considered as close as family to him? What had he gotten himself into, all for the sake of some weird iteration of what Simon called infatuation and obsession for a pretty little thing he only saw for one night and wouldn't stop planning on when to see her next. Price wanted to call him crazy when Simon opened his mouth and asked if he could do him a favor. Lie. Lie and cover his white English ass as much as he could just till Simon could convince his new obsession to think about him in the same way he thought about her. Convincing was putting it lightly, but Price didn't second guess or even ask. He knew what it was like when the parasitic love bug decided to rear its ugly head and bite you clear on the ass when it wanted to. Back when he was a younger man, back in his prime he had a sweetie. Soft and curvy, supple and sweet under his lips and to his heart. A fond memory he likes to include when he thinks about family from time to time. Something of his past he's left behind for a new rendition of a family that was strong men, sweat, blood, near-death experiences, and bonding over strong liquor after their work.

Anything for them, he supposes while he turns the car towards the station for the biggest sack of shit he could regurgitate out of his aging vocal cords and lets it spill in sticky white lies to doe-eyed men and women who wouldn't think twice to clean record Sheriff John Price.

"If you need anything, here's a walkie. Can't give out personal cells to citizens, but I'll be in range for us to talk." Deputy Dipshit tells you when the loud slam of car doors and the starting of engines signal the squad's retreat along with the Sheriff's.

You frown down at the cold chunk of plastic that was pressed into your smooth palm by the male. You feel immature even to be using this thing. But you don't argue, or say how stupid it is not just to use cell phones for this one dire situation. You accept the stupid walkie with little dignity that was now washed away by telling the police what exactly you and Graves were doing before he was attacked and taken away.

The walkie is tossed onto your neatly made mattress, weariness makes your eyes droop and your hands rub at your face. At least you're alone now, your crappy watchdog is settled inside his vehicle, protected by his sidearm and tazer. Your feet blindly patter against the dark cherry oak of your bedroom floor a ragged breath of exhaustion leaks out of your lungs like a deflating balloon. You pray to whatever gods or goddesses up there in the cosmos, watching over every single little thing with sadistic eyes, that they are protecting Graves. You could never stomach the fact that somehow you managed to get him killed for even touching you or being in your presence. You're not that special or even have that much power to illicit someone to commit manslaughter just because they were jealous or overprotective.

That's something from a fucked up dark romance novel that has mentally ill women squirting over the tall morally grey character that would do anything for their love interest.

Your phone screen buzzes from your bedside table, the obnoxious vibrations and chirpy ringtone of ' Kim Possibles ' phone ringtone blares into the short-lived silence and the even shorter prayer you were making for a man you barely even knew.

" Give me a break!" you groan out between clenched teeth that temporarily bore in a snarl to your lit-up screen. You shouldn't act like that, what if it was your friends reaching out to check in on you? They knew Graves was coming over to visit you and to ' catch up ' in more ways than one, maybe this was them poking their noses into your business and wondering how good Graves managed to fuck you silly five ways from Sunday. If only.

Another deflated-like balloon sigh and you snatch up your phone to see who texted you. Yet as much as you would kill for the spam of messages that would spew from Izzy and Veronica about how well-endowed and lickable Graves was in all his glory, it was far from their girlish text messages. An unknown number glared up at you. The notification on your locked phone screen, which was a picture of you and your childhood dog in your old home smiling at the camera, showed that the random number had texted you.

"Guess the police actually can text you, who knew." You mumbled under your breath, your tone still acidic on your tongue while you unlocked your phone and tapped on your message app to open the chat and read the text without even hesitating to check over the number thoroughly.

"Hello there, pretty girl." the text read.

#cod x female reader #cod x reader #simon x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #phillip graves #john price #little mouse series #little mouse #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat

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absolutebl · 11 months ago

Text

All BLs from 2023

that I tracked, may not be exhaustive for some regions. Only BLs that ended in 2023 are included in this list.

LAYOUT: Title - sub/alt title - rating/10 - where to find it (with a US IP, if on multiples channels only one listed)

China & Hong Kong

Stay With Me AKA Addicted + fuck you fans - dnf - grey

Stay Still - 7 - YouTube

Japan

Blue Sky Complex - cnf - ?

Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? - cnf - ?

Candy Color Paradox AKA Ameiro Paradox - 8 - Gaga

Egoist - dnf - ?

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai - 10 - Net

If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ - 7 - Gaga

Jack o'Frost - 5 - Gaga

Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai - 6 - Gaga

Minato's Laundromat Season 2 AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry Season 2 - 6 - Gaga

My Beautiful Man 2 AKA Utsukushii Kare Season 2 - 8 - Viki

My Beautiful Man: Eternal AKA Utsukushii Kare Eternal - 8 - Viki

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho - 9 - Gaga

Naked Dinner AKA Zenra Meshi - 7 - Gaga

One Room Angel - dnf - Gaga

Our Dining Table AKA Bokura no Shokutaku - 9 - Gaga

The End Of The World, With You AKA Bokura no Micro na Shuumatsu - 6 - Gaga

Tokyo in April is AKA Shigatsu no Tokyo wa - 8 - Viki

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 - 100 - Gaga

Korea

A Breeze of Love - 8 - iQIYI

A Shoulder to Cry On AKA Comfort the Boy - 4 - Viki

All the Liquors AKA - Liquor - 8 - Viki

Behind the Shadows - cnf - ?

Bump Up Business - 6 - Gaga

Happy Merry Ending - 8 - Viki

Individual Circumstances - 7 - Viki

Jun and Jun - Jun & Jun - 9 - viki

Love Class 2 AKA Love Class Season 2 - 8 - Viki

Love Mate - 8 - Viki

Love Tractor - 9 - iQIYI

Our Dating Sim - 10 - Viki

Our Winter - 5 - YouTube

Sing My Crush AKA Follow The Wind - 8 - iQIYI

Star Struck AKA Starstruck - 6 - iQIYI

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner - 6 - iQIYI

The Eighth Sense - 9 - Viki

The New Employee AKA The New Recruit AKA Shinib Sawo - 9 - Viki

Unintentional Love Story - 9 - iQIYI

Why R U? - (Korean adaptation of Thai original) - 8 - iQIYI

Myanmar

The Love Ring - dnf - YouTube

The Philippines

Ever After - dnf - YouTube

My Story - dnf - YouTube

Our Story - dnf - Oxin Films

Stay - dnf - YouTube

The Day I Loved You - dnf - YouTube

Tie The Not AKA Under the Same Sky - 7 - Prime

Singapore

Pure Vanilla - Singapore - 7 - Gaga

Taiwan

HIStory5: Love In The Future (HIStory 5) - 7 - Viki

Kiseki: Dear to Me - (formerly Miracle) - 9 - Gaga

My Tooth Your Love - 8 - Viki

Stay By My Side - 8 - Viki

You Are Mine - 7 - Gaga

Thailand

609 Bedtime Story - (OhmFluke) - 6 - WeTV

7 Days Before Valentine - cnf - One31

A Boss and a Babe - (ForceBook) - 7 - YouTube

Absolute Zero - 6 - iQIYI

After Sundown AKA Saengrawi - (ZeeNew) - cnf - ?

Bake Me Please - 6 - Gaga

Be Mine Super Star Superstar - (JaFirst) - 6 - Viki

Be My Favorite - AKA You Are My Favorite - 8 - YouTube

Bed Friend - (NetJames) - 8 - YouTube

Between Us - (BounPrem) - 8 - iQIYI

Beyond the Star - dnf - iQIYI

Boyband the series - 3 - grey

Cafe In Love - 3 - grey

Chains of Heart - 3 - iQIYI

Cherry Magic (Thai remake) - (TayNew) - cnf - YouTube

Chiang Mai Adventures - 100 - subscribers only

Colorful Melody - cnf - WeTV

Crazy Handsome Rich - dnf - Gaga

Cutie Pie 2 You special - (ZeeNuNew TutorYim MaxNat) - 7 - YouTube

Dangerous Romance - (PerthChimon) - 8 - YouTube

Dear Kitakyushu - cnf - ?

Destiny Seeker - (EarthBank) - 8 - WeTV

Dinosaur Love - Buddy Line Y Animal AKA Buddy Line Y(aoi) Animal - dnf - iQIYI

Friend. Boy Friend - cnf - ?

Future the series - 7 - YouTube

Hidden Agenda - (JoongDunk) - 8 - YouTube

Hit Bite Love AKA - Hit Bite Lick - 3 - YouTube

House of Stars - dnf - iQIYI

I Feel You Linger in the Air - 9 - grey

I Will Knock You - 5 - Gaga

La Pluie - 9 - Viki

Laws of Attraction - 9 - iQIYI

Love in Translation - 6 - iQIYI

Love Syndrome III - characters from Unforgotten Night - 100 - WeTV

Low Frequency - 6 - iQIYI

Make a Wish - 8 - grey

Man Suang - (MileApo) - cnf - ?

Middleman’s Love - (TutorYim) - 6 - iQIYI

Moments Of Love - cnf - ?

Moonlight Chicken - (EarthMix) - 8 - YouTube

My Biker - cnf - ?

My Blessing - 2 - YouTube

My Dear Gangster Oppa - 8 - iQIYI

My School President - (GeminiFourth) - 9 - YouTube

My Universe - Casanova Begins - 2 - iQIYI

My Universe - Fake Love - 4 - iQIYI

My Universe - Pisces of Me - 4 - iQIYI

My Universe - The Camp Fire - 5 - iQIYI

My Universe - Marry Go Round - 5 - iQIYI

My Universe - Right Time, Right You - 5 - iQIYI

My Universe - You Are My Soulmate - 6 - iQIYI

My Universe - Lucky Love - 7 - iQIYI

Naughty Babe - (MaxNat) - 8 - iQIYI

Never Let Me Go - (PondPhuwin) - 8 - YouTube

Night Dream - dnf - YouTube

Only Friends - (ForceBook) - 3 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: A Boss and a Babe - (ForceBook) - 6 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: A Tale of Thousand Stars - (EarthMix) - 8 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: Bad Buddy - (OhmNanon) - 8 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: My School President - (GeminiFourth) - 8 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: Never Let Me Go - (PondPhuwin) - 8 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: Star in My Mind - (JoonDunk) - 8 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: The Eclipse - (FirstKhao) - 8 - YouTube

Our Skyy 2: Vice Versa - (JimmySea) - 6 - YouTube

Pastsenger AKA - Past-senger - 4 - Gaga

Remember Me - (JaFirst) - 5 - Gaga

Senior Love Me - 3 - YouTube

SHADOW - dnf - x

Step By Step - 9 - Gaga

The Luminous Solution - 3 - Gaga

The Promise - 4 - YouTube

The Whisperer - cnf - ?

Till the World Ends - dnf - grey

Tin Tem Jai - 5 - Gaga

Tin Tem Jai special - 4 - YouTube

Venus in the Sky - 5 - iQIYI

Wedding Plan - 7 - YouTube

Vietnam

Love Bill - source title: - LỜI HỨA MÙA HẠ - dnf - YouTube

Mr Cinderella 2 - dnf - YouTube

Stormy Honeymoon - dnf - YouTube

Stupid Genius - 7 - YouTube

The Star Always Follow You - Lấp Lánh Tựa Ánh Sao Trời - dnf - YouTube

Vian the series - (Bah Vinh) - 4 - YouTube

cnf = could not find

dnf = did not finish

requested by @guzhu-furen

#I didn't tidy this up #sorry #just copy and paste and clean it as needed #all the bls i tracked in 2023 #thai bl #korean bl #japanese bl #asian bl #asian dramas #pinoy bl #vietnamese bl #hong kong bl #chinese bl #singapore bl #taiwanese bl

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wild-god-nick-cave · 23 days ago

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I wanna take you out, an innocent and sweet gesture. Wanna take you out to get drinks and watch as you become a slurring mess. Watch as you intoxicate yourself on the shots and the pints. I’ll buy them for you, darlin’. You don’t need to worry your pretty little head over anythin’, you just keep raising the bottle to your pretty cherry lips. You tell me all about whatever your fuzzy mind comes up with, I’ll sit and listen to your slurred speech. You only need to think about keepin’ on pouring the liquor into your mouth. Then I’ll walk you home, watch as you stumble and grip my fingers tighter, trying to feign sobriety for me. When you tumble through my front door and once we’re safe inside, closing the night out. I’ll push you up against the wall, make you feel my erection. Purr in your ear, tellin’ you how pretty you look when you’re all fucked up. How much you turn me on when you’re slurring and lookin’ all dumb for me. I’ll press my body real close to you, make you feel all giddy and excited. Then I’ll pick you up, cos you can barely walk a step without tumbling or falling. Carry you to our bed, and you can leave soppy wet kisses along my neck, and I’ll throw you down upon your back. You can look up at me with your dilated pupils and hazy gaze. You’re so spaced out, huh, darlin? Can barely think? Well that okay, darlin’ I’ll do all the thinkin for you. I’ll pleasure you just how you like it. And I can use you, huh, darlin’? Cos you can’t complain. You’re far too wasted to complain when I fuck you so deep and make you so very full with my cock, huh darlin? I’ll use you like the toy you are. Flip you onto your stomach and fuck your arse u til your screaming my name into the pillows. I’ll use you darlin’. Make you my cum slut. Cos you’re too wasted to complain. You couldn’t complain when i put my shaft into your slurring mouth huh baby? Your eyes will water and you’ll gag, but you’ve been trained for this, huh my little dumb slut. You’re gonna be my good boy. I’ll use you ur body and cum inside you so many times you’ll be able to feel me whenever you move ❤️ you’ll be my good little dumb, slurring slut.

#this is shocking I’m sorry…#it is actually trash but my wife wanted it so…#i had to.

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thedaylighteffect · 1 year ago

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An Unscheduled Encounter

(OC x GN/Masculine-ish Reader)

TW: Smoking, alcohol, “getting high”, flirty stuff, NSFW. It gets a bit shitty near the end. NOT PROOFREAD. Gender neutral due to the lack of pronouns addressing the reader.

The scent of smoke and sweat choked the air as you forced past the partying mass with your umteenth empty drink. You stumbled towards the metallic bar table and set your empty glass on the cold surface with a clink.

“A Manhattan, please,” you muttered, retrieving your box of cigarettes from your suit and igniting the blank rear of the little stick.

The bartender took the cue and began fixing up a drink.

You sat on the barstool and sobered up with a cigarette, your feet tapped to the muted bass of the music. Your gut churned as a cloud of smoke from your lips washed a wave of regret over your head. Going to your high school reunion was a mistake.

Your fingers relieved the tie around your neck, and with a sigh— you freed yourself from the uppermost buttons of your shirt— exposing your collarbones. You watched the bartender's hands as he slipped the drink in your direction; all you did was sit there and blink at the swirling golden-red alcohol, your appetite disappearing in a blink. The cigarette in your hand flickered under the dim lights.

"What? Not feeling like drinking anymore? I just watched you down three of those glasses like it was nothing." A voice dangerously close to your ear spoke up— you could feel the little puffs of breath between each word. You jumped, almost dropping your cigarette on the table. The muscles on your neck tensed. You instantly recognized who it was, so you kept your eyes to yourself.

Little specks of ash fluttered onto your suit as you brought the wrapped leaf up your lips and drew a deep breath. Goosebumps rose on your neck as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to keep your heartbeat from climbing up your ears.

"I never struck you as a smoker," he said.

Your eyes stayed glued on the drink as the voice sat up and posed comfortably on the bar chair beside you. The man leaned forward in your direction, but you instinctively recoiled, avoiding the heat from his body.

You peeled your eyes off your drink, turned at the voice, and met a familiar sight. The soft hair, glowing eyes, and the softest smile— You were sure it was over by now, but your heart had other thoughts.

"Oh," was the maximum reaction you could push through your psychoactive head as the man took the glass from your fingertips and brought it to his lips with a smile.

This certainly wasn't on the agenda today.

You sat in embarrassing silence as you watched him swirl the glass of Manhattan between his slender fingertips. You swallowed as you avoided his gaze, taking rhythmic puffs from your cigarette. A beat later, he spoke up.

"Don't ignore me. Not when you're dressed so fancily in that suit of yours," he said, shattering the loud wall of silence between you. His cold fingers grasped your chin and brought it close to his face, "What's the matter? Last time I remember, you loved looking at me."

Your face flushed a scalding red; you attempted to pull back from him, "That...that-"

He interrupted, "You came here to see me," he said with a confident look, his fingers released your chin.

Bingo.

You rubbed the area where he touched— the place felt like a brand on your chin. Maybe it was the effects of the smoke, but you've accepted defeat long ago, "And what if I did?" you shot back.

“That’d be quite the compliment,” He swirled the glass again and sipped at it elegantly. You watched in silent awe as he wet his lips with the bitter liquor. The neon red maraschino cherry glistened and bobbed in the alcohol as he tipped the glass. He hummed, “You do seem like the person to drink a Manhattan,” he licked the rim of the glass, “It’s bitter-sweet, just like you.”

“Are you inferring I fall into the sentimental category? I promise you, I am quite far from that,” you scowled softly. The smoke was definitely getting to your head.

“And what if I did?” He echoed your words.

Oh, he was teasing you.

He turns away and mindlessly sips on your drink. You silently wished that those lips of his were sipping on something else.

“...says the one drinking a Manhattan right now.”

“It’s yours.”

“It still counts.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly not letting the thought get to his head, “Then how about I order you a Dry Martini?” He smiled, turning towards you. His deep ocean-breeze cologne washed over your nose for a brief second.

It suits him.

You frowned, “Not the best fan, though I do appreciate it if you bought me a drink,” you glared at the martini glass in his hand.

His eyes trace your line of sight, and a dry laugh rings from his throat. He sets the drink on the bar and slides the half-sipped Manhattan back to you, “For you.”

You stared at the mahogany drink and looked back at him, “What’s the meaning?”

“What do you think?” He rests his face on his fist and taps the corner of his lip with another finger. You exchanged over to the drink and noticed the faint prints of his lip on the edge of the glass.

You take out the maraschino cherry and slip the stem between your ring and middle finger before gracefully tipping the glass to your lips. The composure quickly breaks as you toss your head back and down the drink.

You met his eyes, “It tastes good, better, actually. But I’m sure the real thing tastes the best.”

He chuckles at your words, “You’re quite the word wizard when you’re drunk and high.” He turns his whole body towards you and crosses his legs.

Yeah, you were definitely drunk and high. But you didn’t care.

You crushed the half-burnt cigarette in your hand and put the glass back down. Standing up from your seat, you stepped closer and bent down to reach his height, “So when can I get it?”

His icy fingers grace your exposed collarbone, landing a shiver down your spine. With a single thought, he meets your eyes with a sly smile.

“How about you earn it?”

Maybe this wasn’t so much of a mistake.

The bitterness of his liquor stained lips intertwined with yours, creating a swirling concoction inside your heart. Suddenly, it was just the two of you in this little world. The outside world was muted, silent, separated from you.

“Let’s take it to a more secluded place,” his voice felt like a loud tenor in your ear as you nodded mindlessly with his arms around your waist.

–

As soon as the door clicks, your back is pressed up against the wall with a bang, numbing your senses. His face was close to yours as his eyes gazed lustfully into yours. His slender finger caresses your face, “Your lips look so delicious,” with a single breath, he licks your mouth, and kiss you deeply.

Your body twists as his cold fingers travel down your side and slip into the waistband of your pants, “Your fingers are so cold,” you complain under your breath, to which he smiles in reply.

“And you are very warm, darling.” His voice carried a hint of mockery as he eased your pants down to your knees.

Your legs grow weak as his fingers caress your thighs and sex. A soft moan escapes your lips as he grazes the spot that causes your stomach to catch in your throat. His fingers continue to minister the area until you unwind with a soft scream in his hands.

He brings his fingers to his tongue and slowly licks your essence off of his slender hand, "You taste wonderful, especially after that little drink of yours," your face flushes as his voice deepens into a soft growl.

He gets on his knees and begins to unbutton your suit, exposing your chest to his gaze. As the last button loosened, you felt as if your armor had melted away. You felt vulnerable. Your stomach instantly tense as he kisses the middle of your chest, your waist, and your belly, leaving bright red marks as he travels down to your pelvis. You close your eyes as you feel his lips envelop your sex, slowly engulfing you in his mouth.

"Oh..." you whisper as your fingers loop into his hair, his hands keep you from falling. The room echoes with your gasps as your knees buckle from the pleasure; you become undone once again in his hold.

"So cute," he comments as he flips you around so his stomach is pressed against your back. Your legs were still shaking from the pleasure as you felt him enter inside you, stretching your walls with his girth.

Before you could catch your breath, he started moving; you flail your arms, trying to hold onto your sanity before you got drowned by lust, "Wait, wait...please," you gasp breathlessly.

Reluctantly, he slowed down and wrapped an arm around your stomach, nuzzling his head into the crevice of your neck, "Alright, I'll go slow," he muttered into your ear. He stalled for a few breaths, you relaxed around him and he took the cue and began to speed up again. The room was drowned by your whimpers and his occasional grunts, "You're so tight even when you're relaxed."

A hum followed with a broken moan was all you could force out, you were in bliss. He kisses around your back, leaving a trail of bruises in a shape of a heart.

Soon you both become undone in the embrace of one another. He pulls out as soon as he climaxes and lets his seed dribble down your back as you shiver from the stimulation and collapse onto the floor.

“Don't get so sleepy on me now," he says with a smile. You lean your body against his chest as he leads you over to the lounge area of the private room. He sets you down on the sofa, wipes your body clean, and tends to the bruises on your neck; you feel a sudden sense of comfort and warmth. His hands are warm as he dresses you up.

You both sit in uneasy silence as you watch him fix your collar, contemplation hangs in the air. You break the silence first, "So, what are we?"

He stops what he is doing and looks at you with an amused expression.

"Certainly not simply friends."

You smiled.

#gender neutral reader #reader x oc #male reader #bottom male reader #gn reader #x male reader #male insert #mxgn #gnxm #mxm #male x male #gender neutral x male #male x gender neutral #nsft #queer nsft #smut #oc smut

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pink-strawberry-kissess · 2 years ago

Text

a vacation with you (leon kennedy x ada wong)

crossposted on my ao3

word count: extremely long (12k)

warnings/tags: fluff, slight angst, eventual smut, long build up, post damnation, (my other fic “a midnight with you,” was written pre re4r so it might make the timeline a bit weird, but ehhh ignore that), remedy for re4r, within my au timeline, alcohol abuse, leon is a mixture of puppy and cocky, explicit smut, canon compliant, Ada wears pretty outfits and Leon stares, Leon is still oblivious, talks about gun shot wounds, violence. LONG FIC

smut!, switches!, ada still tops from the bottom, oral, vaginal sex, overly emotional sex.

With a pair of smiles and a simple handshake; a civil war finally ends. But he knew that it was never really that simple. That it was all a tangled webs of lies for the sake of peace. For the idea of peace. Leon stares aimlessly at the tv screen, watching as it broadcasted the breaking news. A voice is still projected out from the cellphone on the table. His fingers are tight on the fully filled shot glass in his hand. He can hear her, but the words are mostly going in one ear and out the other. It’s the same.

Again and again.

The tv screen goes black. The now empty shot glass in his hand slamming down onto the wooden table.

“I’m not going anywhere-” he finally responds to her. Hunnigan waits patiently on the other side of the line with a concerned expression. He slowly rises from his seat, gathering the small phone in his hand.

“-in the end, nothing’s really changed,” he mutters, ending the call promptly.

Maybe nothing ever really changes.

Leon spent the last of his vacation days all at once. Choosing to stay at a tropical resort while wasting his nights away at the bar. He’d promise himself he would slow down at some point. He never really sticks to that promise.

The night had gone on far too long. Each new drink placed in front of him were all the same beach themed cocktails, mixed with the same regurgitated flavours with an aftertaste of regret. That’s a problem for tomorrow, he’s on vacation after all. They all taste the same and simply make it easier for him. So he can stop thinking. So he can stop feeling anything.

His speech is almost to the point of slurry. He’s been drunk before, but this was even too far for him. Surely, the blonde bartender would have cut him off by now, but she seemed to be more than happy to be supplying him with more than he can handle.

“Not sure I like you like this.”

A familiar voice. Soft yet firm. Her inviting scent fills his nose almost immediately.

His brows knitted together, a soon to be permanent crease was forming on his forehead. He begrudgingly twisted his head so he could catch a glimpse of her. His gaze is pointed downwards, red heels with delicate thin straps wrapped around her ankles. Without any inhibitions stopping him, he takes the time to eye her long legs until he sees the edge of her short skirt.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” he mutters. His hand still wraps around his glass, his finger nervously tapping against it. He feels the condensation wetting his fingertip and lets go, wiping his hands against his thigh as if to comfort himself in his seat. He reverts back to the same position, keeping himself as steady as possible despite the alcohol coursing through him.

She takes the seat next to him. Ordering some sort of dark red drink with a rum soaked cherry placed in as a garnish. In his peripheral, he takes his time to take her all in. Eyeing the flowing red dress that hugged her curves. The billowing fabric of the skirt creating the illusion of a dance, making each swish and kick of her feet as she crossed her legs all the more tantalizing. Her skin exposed from her dress had a touch of the sun, and he silently wondered if she had been staying here just as long as he had.

Ada’s playing with the cherry in her drink. Pinching the stem between her manicured fingers and swirling it around in the red liquor before popping it between her lips. Bursting the red berry as she twists the stem away and throws it into a dish on the counter.

“This,” she pauses and grasps her glass to take a sip. Gingerly placing it back down after letting out a short exhale. The contents of the glass swirl in her hand as she circles her drink on the table. The ice cubes floating around in the sea of red.

“You’ve been so drunk every night, you barely make it to your room,” she turns her head towards him. A disapproving look painted on her face as her lips flattens into a line.

“What are you, my mother?” he shakes his head and empties his glass, tossing his head back. The bits of ice clinking together as he slams the glass back down.

“Are you still angry with me?” She quips back, still swirling her glass in her hand.

Not waiting for Leon’s response, Ada’s gaze fell onto the bartender as the blonde made her walk back, gathering Leon’s empty glass in a swift single movement along the way. She offers another drink with a sly smile. One that strikes Ada as a bit too flirtatious for her liking.

“I’ll close the tab for the night,” Ada offers. The thin black plastic is pressed loosely between her thumb and finger as she presents it with a flourish of her hand before sliding it closely towards the bartender.

Leon scoffs, his entire chest shaking with his laugh.

“Just a water then,” he asks with a raised open hand.

Ada sips on her drink as they wait in an uncomfortable silence. As the bartender returns with the glass of water and the cheque for Leon’s drinks along with Ada’s. The bartender eyes widen as she flusters, her cheeks growing red as she reads the writing on the bill. Ada’s delicate cursive showcasing a generous tip. A tip that was nearly double the total of Leon’s bill.

“Uhh- thank you,” the bartender mutters with a smile. The holder is tightly pressed between her fingers before she shoves the holder into her apron and nervously grabs a wet towel from behind her.

“I really need to close up soon actually, thanks,” she sheepishly waves at Leon then nodding at Ada. A beat passes before she scurries away to the other side of the counter to clean up. Seeing some sort of prior connection between the man she had been supplying with drinks for the past few nights and the new woman in red- it was not a confrontation she wanted to deal with for the night.

“Do I even have to ask where that money came from?” Leon points towards Ada’s card as she tucks it away.

“Leon, you know I don’t mix business with pleasure,” her hand returns to the drink, swirling the last bit of the cherry liquor. The colour much more diluted with the melted ice.

“Ada… what are you doing here?” He exasperatedly asks with a dejected look on his face.

“Well it’s certainly not for business,” she raises a single brow at him.

His curiosity is piqued, his expression mirroring hers.

She knew better than to wait this long to meet up with him again. Seeing him night after night, drunker and drunker. She was more surprised he hadn’t gotten alcohol poisoning at this point. What a joke.

Leon survives disasters like the 1998 Raccoon City incident but he’s defeated by alcohol poisoning?

It was easy to keep an eye on him and she grew quite fond of keeping tabs on him. Sometimes worrying too much. She often questioned herself on why she took so much time and effort to keep him safe from a distance. Closing that distance terrified and excited her all at once. Her apprehension was cemented on the idea that he no longer wanted to see her anymore. Her distance from him always kept her heart safe. The struggle between choosing what goes on in her head and her heart has lead her here again.

The trek back to his hotel was a also a joke, as the time spent getting him to his room was exhausting for the both of them.

Leon is absolutely plastered. His cheeks red hot and even with the fan above the bed, it can barely cool him off. His only options were to suffer through it all, black out, or empty the contents of his stomach. None of them seeming to be a pleasant way for the night to end.

All he remembered was leaving the bar and somehow he was back in his resort room again. Laying on top of the sheets as he stared at the dizzying spiralling fan above him.

Ada finishes undoing the straps of her shoes, the tiny heels clicking on the tiling as she drops them off near the wall of the entrance room.

The bed dips with her weight as she leans over him. Her face grimaces, trying to determine the same options Leon had.

“Do I need to get the ice bucket?” She asks with a frown.

“I’ll tell you when my head stops spinning.”

“Ice bucket it is,” she begins to raise from the bed. Her movements are stalled she feels her wrist tightly gripped by Leon’s fingers.

“Are you going to leave me again?” His gaze meets hers, a shade of clarity in his baby blues as he stares her down.

She pauses.

“Only to get the bucket,” she finally responds. Her free hand rests against his for a moment before gently prying his fingers away from her wrist.

Standing in the bathroom, she glances around. The towels he had used were hung up still, albeit without the pristine touch of housekeeping. All the necessities are laid out on the counter, hotel shampoos and soaps all lined up in some manner. Some opened haphazardly.

Even with a government salary, he’s still using hotel soaps.

In the heat of the tropical weather, there’s a soft glow to her skin. A sheen she feels against her cheeks. Tapping it away with a tissue, she takes one more look at herself in the mirror. Her expression is vulnerable. Unsure and overly contemplative. Someone who’s letting her emotions take over. The piercing look in her eyes are too much for herself to handle. She turns, struggling to see the reflection staring back at her.

Leon’s head is pounding, his chest and stomach feeling full and like he’s on fire. The fan is circling on the highest setting and it’s still not cooling the room fast enough.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” she whispered and delicately laid an ice cold towel over his forehead and neck. Leon lets out a few groans of relief, feeling the soft cold terry cloth already making his mind clearer.

She takes her time to look over him. His dirtied blond hair matted to his forehead with his sweat. The hot sun had tinted his skin with a warmer glow, giving him a few freckles against the high points of his cheeks. But his blue eyes were tired and lost.

With a large exhale, her chest lowered. Her fingers reached out to flip the towels over, giving him more of the cooling feeling he so desperately needed. He groaned again, satisfied with the relief.

“Get some sleep Leon,” she whispers again. His eyes are still pointed at the fan. Swirling and swirling. A few more blinks and his eyes are shut, his chest rising steadily along with each breath.

The morning light fills the entire bedroom in that pleasantly annoying way. The sun is so perfectly bright and beautiful but Leon struggles to keep the light away, shielding his eyes with his arm as he struggles to fall asleep again. He can’t. His head is still pounding. Albeit more tolerable than last night. But more sleep is exactly what he wanted, he’s on vacation after all. Already regretting his choices yet again, he takes a few seconds to recount his night.

He had dinner by the little restaurant near the hotel, the bar. Drinks. More drinks. Even more drinks. Red cherry. The red drink. Red dress. The woman at the bar.

Ada.

His eyes snap open. The ice bucket is still on the floor next to the night stand. Thankfully empty. A tall glass of water and two round white pills are set onto the table along with a note card. His shoulders sunk, already dreading flipping the card to read it.

He couldn’t remember the night fully. Like it was just bits and pieces slowly coming back to him. All of his questions flooded in waves, pounding against his temples. The tidal wave question is promptly answered as he hears the hotel door swinging open.

His heart pounds as he leans his head just enough to see the door in his peripheral. Catching a glimpse of her dark black hair cascading and framing her face as she plucked off her shoes at the entryway.

“You’re up,” she hummed. Her outfit changed, a plunging halter dress in a subtle floral pattern. In her favourite colour of course. The few flowers were accented in shades of coral, complimenting her skin tone. She looked so refreshed, like how one should on vacation.

“Did you-?”

“Stay the night?” She finishes his question.

Leon nods his head.

“Well, considering you fell asleep right in the middle of the bed and you barely made any room for me,” she smiled and walked over towards him.

“I had to sleep in my own hotel room for the night. Came back in the morning to see you were still sleeping, so-” she pauses as she offers the him the water.

“For your hangover, which I assume you have,” she drops the two pills into his open palm.

He takes them in a few seconds. Popping the pills and downing the entire glass.

Silence fills the room again. The quietness only ending as Leon leans over to drop off the glass onto the night stand. She’s still here. Even if she didn’t stay the night. She’s still here. His hand twists at the sheets that lay underneath it. Wanting to reach over to her. Ada sits just a bit too far away from him. Just out of reach.

“Why are you here, Ada?” He asks in a single breath.

“I thought you were on vacation?”

“You know to be honest, I wasn’t expecting breakfast on the beach,” Leon smiled, chuckling as he dug into his eggs. The table is delicately decorated with an array of breakfast foods, filled with more sustancence than either of them could feasibly eat. Set in middle is a freshly picked bouquet of flowers in a crystal votive. His fork is inching towards a small bowl of freshly cut fruit, the orange and pink colours contrasting against the bright blue ocean in front of them.

“Do you know how to have a vacation?” She asked as she lowered her brown tinted sunglasses, eyeing him as she grabbed her drink. The pinky coloured glass was filled to the brim with ice, topped with a pastel pink paper umbrella and a cherry floating against the surface.

He teased her with a simple shake of his head.

She smiled, her head lowering to take a sip of her drink. She stared as his fork struggled, trying to poke at the fruit in the bowl. With a hum she grabbed her own fork, piercing the tropical fruit and presenting him the juiciest piece. Teasing him as she loosened her grip on the fork, steering the fruit away from him briefly.

His eyes narrowed, smile still on his face before he leaned in further to grab the fruit with a playful bite. Her lips curl upward as she pulls back the empty fork, digging in to grab another piece of fruit for herself.

The ocean is a deep blue. Crisp and clear and goes on forever. A sense of calm showers over them at the sight and sounds of the roaring waves as it continually crashes onto the shore. After they’re both satisfied with the meal, the breakfast table is cleared. A pair of empty lounge chairs are nearby, and little time is spent thinking on it before they occupy the both of them. The hot sun still high in the sky, annoying Leon briefly as he’d forgotten his sunglasses back in his hotel room.

“I suppose we’re just going to sit here all day then? Enjoy the sun?”

“You’ve never just relaxed before, have you Agent Kennedy?” Ada groans lightly, having apparently been enjoying the comfortable silence between them. She hums and sits up straight in her seat. Reaching downward in between their seats, she digs around in a woven beach bag that laid in the sand. Leon squints his eyes, trying to keep the sun out as he watches her rifling through her bag. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her as she chucks over a pair of spare sunglasses towards him.

He holds them, noticing the rather delicate design and some sort of designer logo branding on the side. Still holding them and now staring at her, he blinks a few times as she pulls out a deep blue plastic bottle. The labelling on it is decorated with waves and a happy little yellow sun on it.

“Are you going to keep staring?” She asks with a raise of her brow, flicking the top off of the bottle and allowing a dollop of the lotion to fall into her palm. Tossing the bottle aside in a few beats as she closes it and chucks it back into her bag.

“No, I-”

“Are you blushing?” She smirks as she slathers the lotion between her hands, the semi translucent cream coating her skin as she gingerly applies it onto her arms. Taking care to avoid her dress as she takes the rest towards her legs. Leon’s head is turned away just enough, although his eyes are still peering at her as she lifts the edge of her dress just enough as she rubs the lotion against her thighs.

He swallows, “can I- borrow some?” He clears his throat as he sits up straighter in his seat, his fingers neatly laying the sunglasses on the armrest of his chair.

“Sure, knock yourself out,” she adjusts her sunglasses and lays back down in her lounge seat. Stretching out her legs as she does so. He hesitates for a second before realizing he’d have to do it himself. A second passes before he leans into the side towards her bag. Thankfully the lotion remained at the top, making it so he didn’t need to dig for it.

Ada's proposal for breakfast had encouraged him enough to take a shower in the morning. A contemplative and regret filled shower in the mornings was usually the norm. But the prospects of breakfast with Ada was enough for him to be washed up in minutes.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, Ada caught a glimpse of him as he walked over to the closet and his suitcase. In his haste, the towel he wore was loosely tied around his waist. Only when she let out a brief clearing of her throat did he remember she was still sitting on his bed.

“I’ll be outside,” she smirks, holding onto her bag as she slips out from his room.

He had changed into a light coloured and comfortable fitting t-shirt button down and a pair of dark charcoal swim shorts. The hot sun had already dried his dark blond locks. Making his hair more bouncy and fluffy looking. His feet were bare, his sandals kicked off towards the side of his seat.

Behind the tinted shades of her sunglasses, she peered at him as he struggled to open the bottle. His hand then squeezing an obscenely large amount of the lotion into his opposite hand whilst also trying to close the bottle. Then struggling as he tried to strip himself of his shirt.

“Need a hand, handsome?”

“S-sure,” he exhaled a laugh.

He blushes at the pet name while sitting patiently as she left her seat and crawled over onto his. His eyes drop towards her hips and thighs as she sits dangerously close to his lap. His body reacting as calmly as he could as she begins to pry his shirt off. He watches her as she presented her open palm, seemingly waiting for him to grasp hers with the large amount of lotion still spilling out from his hand.

In an awkward handshake, she gathers the amount and watches for him to give her the go ahead. He gives her a simple nod and verbal hum.

Her hands are so soft and supple, so much smoother than his.

She glides the lotion across his shoulders first and down towards his chest. A playful dab of it is against his nose as he loses focus for a moment. Not catching her as she rubs the smallest amount of the lotion against his nose and the high points on his cheeks.

“I probably could’ve done that on my own,” he refutes with a small pout of his lips.

She simply rolls her eyes and continues, her hands still running along his arms. Feeling every muscle, scar and pulsing vein. Reaching along his arm and towards his chest again she catches a glimpse of his scar. That one that never faded.

The one she knew all too well.

The way her hands move along him is all too familiar, and foreign at the same time. Like he has to remember her again. Like the memory of her is still there, but it’s new also. How she touches him, how it makes him feel. Lost in the comfortable pleasure of it, he barely notices her as she stalls. Her fingers barely grazing his gunshot scar. That little reminder he received those years ago. That piercing wound that rewarded him with two mirroring scars from his chest to back. A single bullet that pierced him straight through.

If it were only a few inches lower or towards his centre, he could’ve had a completely different outcome. Both of them reminisce on this for a moment, remembering how he shielded her with his body without any hesitation. Not caring where any stray bullet could have landed. Any second sooner or later, everything could’ve ended differently. It was Leon’s decision to protect her after all. His choosing hesitate will always change things, alter things. If he choose to hesitate then- everything would be different.

She’s still staring at his scar. A moment that doesn’t go unnoticed by him as the pause lingers too long.

“Anywhere else?” He swallows. His eyes catching hers, that warm shade of honey brown that he can get lost in seconds. The way they glow when the sun hits it, it’s so warm.

Her dark lashes flutter, an anxious tick she has sometimes as she tries to compose herself. Her pink tongue escapes to lick against her glossy red lips, as if to prepare herself to speak.

“Just a bit more,” she lathers the last of the lotion against the exposed parts of his legs. Rubbing the excess of the lotion between her palms.

“I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for lunch any time soon, are you?” She asks, her exposed thigh pressed against him as she stay seated nearly in his lap. The feeling of her doesn’t go unnoticed by him, her warmth from her legs only amplified from the hot sun.

“Normally I would, but with how big breakfast was- I might actually be able to wait for an early dinner,” he chuckled warmly, his eyes squinting at her as the sun shone brighter for a moment. A scatter of clouds cleared in the sky, no longer filtering the sun’s bright rays. She nods, seemingly happy with his answer.

“…And I don’t suppose you’ve already explored the island?” He asks with a raised brow.

“I have, some. I know that you haven’t,” she quips back.

“Should I ask how many days you’ve been here? Watching me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’ve seen the spa, the local shops. I love supporting small business,” she giggles warmly to herself. Her laughter warms his heart in a soft way he didn’t expect. It fills him and floods his chest, giving him fluttering butterflies that spring around wildly inside.

“Well, how do you feel about showing me the best parts of the island then? Since you’re the connoisseur of vacations,” he teased with a cock of his head.

There’s a brightness in his eyes. Maybe it’s the bright blue of the ocean reflecting off of his own ocean blues. The clouds of grey seems to have gone away. A sparkle reignited. The way his smile curves, it’s confident yet he’s hesitant to hear her answer. Like his body is nervously waiting for her reaction. His eyes are only stuck on her. The ocean crashing onto the shore fills the void before her answer reaches his ears.

The waters are cooling to the skin, even against the hot sun. Despite being in the water, Ada wears a beige woven sun hat. One with a wide brim that shields her face from the sun's rays. Leon tries his best to avoid looking at her too often. Occasionally catching the bright red of her bikini top and bottoms in his peripheral It's so absurdly distracting, how thin the straps are, tied in such simple knots that bind around her shoulders and the sides of her hips.

They’ve been walking around in shallow waters, just enough to reach their calves as the water moves towards them. Bringing them closer to the shore as they venture out further and further into the sea. The crystal waters glitter in bright white lights reflecting the sun.

His hands are in the water now, swaying and playing with the tops of it. He has the urge to dive in, get fully soaked. And the urges take over easily as he gives her a playful look before clasping his hands together to dive in. The splash is loud, the water flinging in every direction as he makes a few passes with his arms, his legs kicking about as he swims a few meters into the water. His head is wet with water, his hair soaked as he wrings out just enough to keep the water from dripping onto his face.

“And here I thought you weren’t capable of having fun,” she calls out towards him, still enjoying walking around and dragging her feet in the soft sands.

“I could say the same for you, aren’t you diving in?” His eyes narrow at her, a growing grin on his face. The water feels amazing, and he can’t help but submerge himself again. He rises up moments later, shaking his head like a puppy to rid of the water. His hair flying every which was as he shakes off the excess.

“Oh I’ve done my fill of swimming for now. I’m perfectly happy walking around in the water,” she fixes her sun hat. Lifting her head just enough to see him still shaking off the water from his hair.

“That’s not as fun.”

Leon’s strong arms take him towards her quickly, the waves aiding him towards the shore as he reaches her in seconds. Her voice is caught in her throat as she feels his warm hands around her waist, bringing her deeper and deeper into water. Her laughter fills his ears as she struggles to avoid getting more soaked. Her hands tightly grabbing his wrists. The momentum of the water is too strong for the both of them. A wave splashing them and submerging them in the sea water.

“I’m sorry about your hat,” Leon half grimaces as he sees Ada struggling to shake the water out of her soaked woven sun hat.

“It’s fine. Who knew you could be so spontaneous,” she teased and held her soaking hat in her hand as they walked back towards the shore.

He watches her as they walk. Her dark hair is soaked, some of her fringe stuck against her forehead as the water drips slowly down her temples and her cheeks. He feels the urge to brush the stray hairs away, fix them for her that he knows that surely she would want them to be. And yet he can’t help but see how imperfectly perfect it is. Moments of clarity where she just seems like her most natural self. A smile on her face, a warm blush on her cheeks. The rose colour of her lips. The water droplets that continually drip down her body and along every curve.

“Leon?”

“What is it?” he asks, being shaken out of his trance.

“Still feel like exploring the island?”

The first point of their excursion consists of a small gift shop. Riddled with tropical themed items, ocean related knick knacks and a selection of key chains of various ocean related animals. Leon’s quick to replace Ada’s ruined sun hat, finding one similar and holding onto it. While her eyes are stuck on the keychains, her fingers carding through the animals and palm tree charms that were hooked onto the display.

The rest of the shelves are filled with first aid and emergency items, and an array of sunblock and lotions. The previous aisle he was in housed the clothing; sunhats, bathing suits and beach coverups. Leon is mindlessly walking down the the rest of the aisles in the shop, only pausing occasionally to look for Ada and her whereabouts.

She’s still looking through the keychains.

Standing in front of one of the shelves he looks outside the glass window of the shop. Seeing a few people as they also explored the shops, all decked out in swimsuits and tropical wear. He’s so distracted he barely notices the stand in front of him. Looking downward he’s faced with a line of personal care items. Stumbling, he sees a row of small rectangular boxes of condoms, along with a pink plastic bottle of oil, or something- He’s too embarrassed to acknowledge anything else as he briskly walks as far as he can from the shelf.

Ada’s lips are pursed as she hums and tilts her head from side to side. Her eyes set between two different keychains. Both with adorable little animals attached to them.

“Did you find anything you’d like?” Ada asks him, not even looking away from the keychains between her hands.

“Uhh, well I figure I should get you a new sun hat, since I ruined your other one,” he smiles. Presenting her with a similar style sun hat. Although a lot less refined looking. The bow around the head of the hat is a bit too cheap looking for her tastes.

“You didn’t find anything for yourself that you’d like?” She looks up at him, the two key rings still hung between her two index fingers.

“Which one do you like better?” She asks as she lifts them upward just a few inches towards his face. Leon stares between the two animal charms, his eyes going cross eyed for a moment before he alternates between the two.

“They’re both cute, I guess,” he gives her a half smile.

She pouts and whines, “you guess?” She lowers towards the rack again, picking through them again to see if she had missed any of the other animals. He can’t help but eye her as she bends over slightly. The edge of her dress hitting right at her upper thighs. A cough interrupts his thoughts, the young looking cashier giving him some sort of a sly look; noticing that Leon was clearly checking out Ada’s ass. Leon gives him a sheepish grin before clearing his throat himself.

“Uh pick whichever one you like, I’ll buy it. Along with the hat,” he gestures by raising the sun hat. The little hand written price tag still wagging and twisting on its little plastic thread.

The sun hat is packed in a comically large paper bag, along with the charm that Ada had purchased on her own, away from Leon's prying eyes and despite Leon’s protests. He retaliated by insisting on carrying the gift bag along with her soaked sunhat, while they explored more of the island. Passing by other little gift shops and art galleries, all filled with shades of blues and sandy taupes.

The selection of restaurants were few and far between. Mostly ranging from small mom and pop shops, to a few more fine dining restaurants that lined the shoreline. Opulently styled settings in private sections of the beach that allowed the most romantic outings. Ada had already been eyeing one of the tables as it sat almost too perfectly close to the waters. As if the ocean waves could’ve brushed against their feet. The table is decorated with a few glass votives with candles that burned and illuminated the space. The arrangement of flowers are unique and displayed in an organic shaped vase.

After the few hours of walking around and exploring the island, they were more than eager to take a seat for a bit.

“Let me guess, you want to have dinner there?” He smirked and gestured towards the empty tables that lined the beach. His brows raising as if he were interested as well.

“Well if you’re offering,” her expression mirroring his.

Leon watched her carefully as she sat with the menu. A page of it pressed between her fingers as she flipped it. The ends of her hair were curled inward around her neck as they dried from the salt water and sun. The rest of her hair dried in beach-y waves that framed her face. Her other hand rested against her cheek, her elbow pressed against the top of the table. Her skin was even more tanned, the tops of her shoulders blushing almost pink. The red corals of her dress were highlighted and complemented by the orange sun as it slowly set in the distance.

The skies were painted in shades of orange, pink and purples. The water slow as it moved towards them. The shade of the ocean deeper and darker as night slowly creeped along the horizon.

“Have you eaten here before?” He asks as he plays with the menu before pushing it to the side to relax in his seat. Taking a moment to enjoy the sunset.

“I haven’t,” she murmurs from behind the menu.

“Really? I’m surprised, this really seems like the place you’d want to go,” his lips turned into an upside down smile.

She responds simply by laying another page of the menu down, reading the new page as it listed its mains and desserts at the bottom.

As the night creeps closer, he takes a moment to pry.

“Ada, why did you choose here? On this island of all places?” He asks, sitting straight in his seat. Trying his best to appear as still as possible. The slight change in his tone of voice and the cooling breeze brings a chill to her skin.

The waiter returns. Of course at the most opportune time to interrupt as she lists off their specials for the night. The steak and seafood dish piques Leon’s interest, while more than a few of the specials interests Ada.

“I’ll give you two a few more moments to decide,” the waiter smiles warmly and sets down two glasses of ice cold water onto their table before briskly walking away. Ada brings the water closer to her side. Feeling the cold moisture of the glass in her fingers as she brings the glass to her lips for a sip. Leon follows suite, mirroring her to take a sip as well. The ice cold feeling shooting right through him and towards his chest and stomach.

She lays the glass back down. Her fingers reaching to play with one of the leaves in the flower arrangement on the table, “Can’t a girl enjoy a vacation as well?”

“On the same island that I decided to vacation at?”

“Oh, please, I heard of this place before you did,” she hummed, her fingers pressing into one of the soft petals of the flowers. She’d rather lie than admit she only came here to see him again.

The appetizers arrive quickly. Along with a single drink for Ada as Leon refrained from drinking for the evening meal. Each dish is fresh and tasty, not that they expected any differently. And Leon is more than happy to dig into a juicy steak. The view couldn’t be beat either. The setting sun, the scent of the ocean, the ambience of the waves and the flickering candles on the table. And Ada sitting on the other side of him, enjoying her meal with a smile on her face.

She watches him too. Digging into his meal so quickly, she’s almost afraid he won’t be able to enjoy it as well if he doesn’t slow down. She pauses to sip on her drink. She’s always been a light drinker. One drink for dinner occasionally. Rarely does she have two. The mixture of liquors and bitters in it accents the citrus well in her drink. Making her take her time with it to allow the flavours to mingle together. Her slower pace only encourages Leon to slow his as well, allowing them to enjoy the sun as begins its descent.

The wax melts, pooling into the crystal votives. The shades in the sky are even darker as the sun hits the horizon, creeping lower and lower into the sea.

Leon smiles as he watches her digging into her dessert. A strawberry pierced onto her fork as she takes the smallest bite from it. Savouring every little piece.

“You want any?” She quirks her head. Presenting him with a piece of it. Some sort of cake coated with caramel and some sort of drizzle of chocolate as well.

He hesitates only for a second and silently leans in, jutting out his chin towards her and playfully takes the bite.

“That’s too sweet,” he licks his lips clean. Tasting the sugars and creams on his tongue.

“A bit, but I like it,” she presses the prongs of the fork against her bottom lip. Tapping them against them inquisitively before digging back into her sweets.

They argue over the bill for a while. The waitress finally asking for at least one of them to pay.

“You two are adorable. How long have you two been together?” She asks with a smile, her hands still on the cheque holder as she waits for Leon to finish signing the bill.

Leon’s pen stalls on the paper, his eyes widening as he looks up at Ada, “Uh-”

“This is our first date? Maybe second?” Ada responds cooly, her almost empty glass balanced between her fingers.

“Could’ve fooled me,” the waitress smiles warmly, grabbing the bill from Leon after he quickly scribbled the rest.

“Thanks you two, I hope you enjoy your date night!” she smiles cheerfully. She bids them farewell with a playful wink and then a wave goodbye with the cheque holder in her hands, eager to walk away and see the hefty tip that Leon had left her.

The walk back towards the hotel isn’t too long. But without the commotion of the day, the night is a lot quieter than they expected. The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable. But comfortable wasn’t the right word either.

“So a date, huh?”

“Well, what else was it?” Ada hums and gathers the strap of her bag. Readjusting it on her shoulder. She quietly grimaces to herself. Spending all day with Leon in the hot sun. The fact she didn’t wear her hat for most of the day didn’t help either with preventing the slight sunburn that was forming on the tops of her shoulders and back. Leon catches on quick, noticing the redness slowly creeping onto her skin.

“Here,” he offers with his free hand. The other still holding into the gift bag from the shop.

“What a gentleman,” grins, delicately handing him her bag. She rolls her shoulders, trying to ignore the slight irritation.

“I guess I should’ve applied your sunblock on for you,” he pouts his lips, watching her as she tapped against her shoulders to try and alleviate some of the pain.

“What so you can have your hands all over me?”

Leon’s mouth falls open, “No! That’s not what I meant!” His hands splayed open, innocently facing upwards and out.

“So cute,” she responds with an airy giggle.

Leon’s free hand had been in his pocket for a while now. Palming the keycard for his hotel room as they approached closer towards their pairs of accommodations. His hand sweats as they approach the hallway towards his room. She’s still walking next to him, all the way up towards the doorway.

“I um,” he gathers the gift bag along with her woven tote bag. Both of the straps in his palm. The straps feel hot in his hand. Maybe his hands are just hot. The keycard is still in his other hand. He watches her, all she’s doing is smiling softly. Staring at him and nothing else. He fights inside of himself.

Tell her good night. Tell her you had a good day with her. Tell her that despite everything between them, today meant a lot to him. Tell her good night. Tell her good night.

“Did you want to come in? I might have something for your sunburn,” he gestures towards his hotel door with his free hand.

“Sure,” she responds and turns towards the door to slide a key card into the silver handle. The light turns green as the locking mechanism turns. He takes no time to rationalize why she had a key card to his hotel room or the fact that he’d already forgotten that in the morning that she returned to his room without any issues; and simply twisted the handle to open it.

He waits for her to enter and flicks on the lights afterwards. The entry area that greets them before the bedroom is lit up in a warm glow. The rest of the hotel room dimly lit by the light from the window. Leon isn’t unfamiliar with the sight of her in his hotel rooms. They were the few common places they’d run into together. More often than not with the night ending with them tangled between each other and the sheets; and with him finding the bed empty in the mornings.

Ada makes her way towards the other side of his hotel room. Taking a moment to have a glance outside of the window to see the ocean. “Well, I have to admit your view is better than mine,” she hums and takes a seat on the window sill.

The door closes and locks, and he drops off the bags near the door. Exhaling deeply he closes the distance in a few steps and stands next to her at the window.

“I doubt that,” he exhales a chuckle, his gaze fixated on her profile as she stares outside.

“I love being near the ocean,” she whispers, almost too quiet for Leon to hear.

“Really?” He quirks a brow, taking a moment to look out the window as well.

“It’s so freeing. The waters are so blue. They can be so calming and relaxing with soft waves, and yet can grow dangerous with strong storms. They feel unpredictable yet so tranquil and peaceful at the same time,” she explains with a smile on her face, her eyes still stuck on the crashing waves.

“I didn’t know you could be so sentimental,” he exhales a laugh through his nose. His arms cross his chest as he leans his shoulder against the wall next to the window.

He eyes her exposed shoulder again, seeing her reddening skin.

“Sit tight, I’ll grab something for your burns,” he presses off the wall from his shoulder and heads to the bathroom. The light illuminates from there and seeps into the bedroom as he digs through one of his travel bags.

Ada grazes her fingers along her shoulders again, silently cursing herself for not realizing how hot it was today. It’s tender to the touch and slightly painful each time her fingertips press too harshly.

Leon returns with a few things in his hands. Setting them on the window sill as he pours a clear substance into his palm.

“May I?” He asks firmly this time. Polite but with authority. She responds by slipping the straps down her shoulders whilst holding the bodice of her dress with her other hand. Sitting down next to her, he gently applies the gel. The immediate cooling affects already working as she lets out a soft sigh. His hands are gentle and timid. The sheer size of them taking over most of her shoulder. His two fingers are gently ghosting along the tops of her shoulders, dragging downwards towards the rest of the burn. His eyes trail along her décolleté, briefly catching the way her hands are pressed into her breasts. His eyes snap back to his fingers as they follow along and reach the other side of her chest. He eyes her own scar. A reflection of his. Hers had healed a lot better than his. A mere white circle that most would miss. He coats her other shoulder with the gel, his eyes still on the scar.

His throat is loud as he swallows, seeing her hands as she holds the top of her dress, the plunging neckline showcasing her full breasts in front of him.

“You’re staring, Leon,” she whispers in a low voice.

“I’m just making sure I got all of it,” he narrows his eyes at her. He runs his hand along her chest again finishing as he reaches her left shoulder.

“Here, use this if you want,” he offers a cool towel.

She simply shakes her head, “whatever you used was good enough. I already feel a lot better,” she tilts her upward to meet his gaze. “Thank you,” she hums with an appreciative tone, their faces are only mere inches apart.

“S-sure,” he nods.

They sit together, enjoying the ocean as it continually brushes onto the sands. As the night goes on, they relax in the comfort of his hotel room. The quiet between them slowly growing more and more comfortable. The space between them growing smaller and smaller. The inevitable always happens, and yet they’ve haven’t crossed that line yet. Leon eyes the bed. It’s been made in the same pristine way it had been every day. Crease less and clinical with how the pillows are placed and fluffed.

“Getting tired?”

Leon is not tired. He is in fact, entirely wide awake. Being on vacation, he supposes there is no bedtime. He takes a pause before shaking his head, “are you?”

She repeats his head shaking, no.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Will you stay?”

They don’t remember how they ended up on the bed. Ada’s tucked in between Leon’s arm and chest with her head resting on him. The fan blades are circling above them, fanning them with soft cool air. Leon feels her hand dragging her fingertip against his shirt.

Both of them are still wide awake. The light is still on. Clothes still on. They’re simply silent between each other. Only their soft breathing and the thumping of Leon’s heart is heard from Ada. Leon’s focusing on the fan above them, wanting to focus on anything other than her warm body against him. Her intoxicating scent and the way it tingles through his body.

His eyes lazily fall down from the ceiling and along the wall. His head twists just enough to see her hand against his chest. Repeating the same patterns.

“What do you think we’re doing?”

“I ask myself that quite often,” she hums and twists her head to get into a more comfortable position. The way she sways her head splays more of her hair onto his chest. The soft scent of her shampoo and the air of the ocean still lingers. It’s gentle and fragrant. Contrasting the sweet and dark scent of her perfume that she often wears. He can still smell her, inhaling more of her as his chest rises.

His arm tenses around her, bringing her closer onto his chest. His other hand nervously pressing his own fingers into his palm. Pressure placed onto the meaty part of his thumb. A pressure that’s almost painful before he releases. He repeats the same action a few times.

He remembers one of the times they were in a hotel room together, she had all of the upper hand. Damn the dress she wore. Like it was made for her as it hugged every single curve of her body, like it was a second skin. The glittering fabrics caught his eye every single second he tried to turn away. Like a moth to a flame, he kept chasing her. The very memory of it is in the forefront of his mind. And he’s unsure if he wants to repeat it. She hadn’t initiated anything yet. Simply resting on top of him as she drew nonsensical patterns and shapes on his shirt.

His fingers release from the fist it was stuck in. Reaching to grasp at her wrist, pulling her hand away from his chest.

Ada’s expression is unreadable. In the dim light, he can barely make out anything from her. Any minute detail is hard to see. If the expression in her eyes change. If her lips upturn or downturn. Her hand remains limp in his grasp. Not fighting him, but not giving in either.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he whispers, his fingers are tender on her skin. Pressing his index finger gently into the soft part of her wrist. Splaying his fingers and intertwining with her fingers.

Her fingers are laying straight, taking their time to curl into his. He watches as their hands fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Let’s not make any mistakes then,” she exhales. Her voice shaking only for a second. Almost imperceivable, but Leon can hear it. He can feel her loosening up in his embrace. Her body growing languid as she melts into him.

She’s afraid.

She’s never afraid.

He urges her upward, rising up in the bed with her. Her head questioning him with a small tilt. She stares at him intently, the darks of her growing. With his arm slipping away he hovers above her. His arms on either side of her head, pressed chest to chest. The muscles in his arms tense as he keeps his weight off of her, caging her beneath him. He watches her with an expression he hadn’t seen before. Although he doesn’t have much time to decipher it as she angles her head closer to his.

With the tiniest space between them, she raises her arms to grasp the sides of his face. Reading his expression one last time before she makes the surge forward.

Her lips are soft. And barely there. He can feel her warmth, her soft breath.

It’s timid. Unsure and shy.

He feels his hair falling and cascading onto her face. And her fingers spreading through his hair to push it out of the way. How tender her hands are.

The softest kiss.

Having spent the entire day with her. All he can think of is this moment. Another kiss. The soft presses of his lips against hers. Trailing along her cheeks and down her jawline and neck. He grasps the straps of her dress, watching her with careful eyes as he drags them down. Exposing her breasts to him. She’s a delicious dessert and he’d spent all day wanting it.

She helps him as he tugs and pulls her dress off. Shedding the rest of her clothing until she’s completely bare underneath him. Her bathing suit had left little to the imagination from earlier. But the sight of her like this unlike any other. He takes another moment to memorize her like this again. Remembering every detail he had somehow forgotten, praying he doesn’t forget her again.

He grabs one of the pillows that’s tucked against the headboard of the bed and places it underneath her hips. Positioning her in front of him as he spreads her legs apart. She warm and wet, pink and flushed.

With her thighs resting on his shoulders, he brushes his nose against her. His fingers spreading her open as his tongue prods and licks at her opening. Her taste is divine. The way it fills and spreads on his tongue as her wetness coats his lips. He hears her soft whimpers and whines along with the sounds of the fabrics in between her fingers as she fists the sheets. Dragging and pulling away from the bed as he works her open. Licking and prodding at her, watching as her essence leaks from her. His other hand is wrapped around her thigh, keeping her steady with each little twitch and twinge of her hips. Quivering and reaching closer towards his swirling tongue.

He looks up at her again. Waiting for approval before he slides one of his long fingers inside of her. Curling and hooking into her as his tongue flicks at her wet swollen clit. He gives no time for her to adjust as he spreads her open with another of his fingers, scissoring into her. Her hand is quick to tug into his dark blond locks, twisting and pulling for his eagerness. The pain against his scalp is enough for him to let out a breathy desperate moan.

Leon licks his lips clean, tasting her all over on his tongue. His fingers still curled deep inside of her as he stares her down. His eyes narrow, one of his angled brows raising as he smirks wide. Feeling like he’s had the upper hand for once.

She notices his arrogance. “So confident, hmm?” she tugs at his hair again. Enough for him to let out a softer pleased filled moan, the pain of it just enough to inch his head further towards her belly. He plants a kiss there, trailing his kisses up her torso and breasts. His wet fingers still swirling and thrusting inside of her, his thumb pressing tight circles against her clit. His fingers remembering exactly how she liked it.

He had barely registered what she said as he trailed his kisses back up towards her neck. Her grasp on his hair is still taunt, twisting occasionally between her fingers before letting go lightly. Her sweet moans reflect with the way she tugs at him. Her other hand is clawing into his back, her nails pressing the fabric of his shirt into his skin. But it feels dulled, the sharpness of her nails dampened by the single fabric.

He speeds up his fingers, eliciting a throaty whine from her. His head shoots upward to watch her, his eyes fixated on her face. Transcending into a higher plane of pleasure. Her lips part, more moans and whines echoing. Her eyes are half lidded, her chest heaving and curling into him. Her thighs shake, twitching throughout her body as he feels her falling apart on his fingers. Her head twists, her cheek pressed into the soft fabric of the pillow as she cums, soaking his fingers with her creamy essence.

“Be a good boy,” she breathes and slowly twists her head towards him. He watches her as her eyes darken a shade, her lips bitten red from her attempts to stifle her moans. A desperate moan escaped her lips as she feels his fingers slipping away from her. Leon licks his lips once over before pressing his soaked fingers into his mouth, licking them clean as he keeps his eyes on her. The taste of her fills his tongue again, intoxicating him as he laved at his appendages.

Ada feels more exposed than normal, the fact he’s still completely clothed did nothing to help. Her arms stretch out and grab at the collar of his shirt, hastily tugging at it and pulling it off and over his head. Passion filled and animalistic; contrasting the almost careful and timid way she removed his shirt from earlier on in the day. The rest of his clothing is removed in seconds. Leon helping her to rid the rest of it.

She swallows, seeing the strong muscles in his legs as they moved as he settles back onto the bed. His legs spread, his thick cock leaking against his thigh. He moves as if his body is on auto-pilot, reacting to his inner urges rather than his head or his heart.

“Are you going to behave like a good puppy?” She asks sweetly, crawling onto him curiously. Her hands pawing at him as she makes her way over in between his thighs. Her nails digging into him along the way, giving him jolts of painful pleasure. With his thighs spread she splayed her hand around the base of his cock. A hiss seething from his clenched teeth, Leon’s eyes roll as he feels her giving him a generous pump of his cock. Her hand gives him another faster pump as she palms the tip of his cock, gathering his slick before slathering it down the length. Her fingers wrapped around the base and playing with him. Teasing him in ways that always got him hot and heavy.

“Are you going to behave Leon?” She asks again, stalling her movements with her question.

“F-fuck, yes,” he grunts, his gaze stuck on her hand as she pumps him again.

“Yes what?”

“Fuck, I’ll behave,” he groans, this time longer with more annoyance.

“You don’t sound very appreciative, Agent Kennedy,” she elongates his formal title, her voice sweet saccharine in pitch as she gives him another agonizingly slow pump. The head of his cock is leaking profusely, coating him with his sticky precum.

His groans grow louder, more rabid and unrestrained. A powerful grunt from his chest echos as he watches the tip of Ada’s soft pink tongue swirling the tip of his cock. Her hand is at a glacial pace running up and down, feeling each and every single vein and pulse of his cock.

Her lashes flutter, her cheeks flushing with pink warmth as she hollows her cheek, engulfing the head of his cock with little warning. Offering the same little warning that he did for her. He rolls his eyes, the heat from her mouth spreading throughout his entire body. His face dampens with sweat, the air from his lips hot and releasing in desperate pants for breath.

An audible pop rings as Ada lips release from his cock. Leon’s head unconsciously presses forcefully into the bed beneath him, his hips straining to reach for her hand as she continually pumps his cock at a leisurely pace.

“Ada,” he strains his voice. “Ada, please,” his voice wanes as he whines.

Something in him snaps.

The hold on his head and his heart push forward. Ignoring whatever words she had said.

…

He can barely hear her words, as they come from her lips like a pur. Smooth and sultry. But it’s not what he wants. He needs more from her.

His ears are ringing, his cock unbearably uncomfortable as all pleasure and friction is lost as she unwraps her fingers from it.

“Please,” he begs. Desperately wanting anything she’d be willing to give, but it’s somehow not enough anymore. The desperation in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by her. The routine they had built was shallow. With little bits of the truth slipping through the cracks. She wants more than just this.

The facade drops. As if everything suddenly fell apart between them.

The complicated web they weave is untangled each second they spend together. An innocent day filled with rather mundane activities and yet each time they end up like this. Each time they get closer, there’s a pull. Dragging them away from each other. A fear in their hearts that this is the last time. That the pleasure they want, isn’t what they deserve. She can see it in him. The fear she has all too well. Begging for something as if it’s the last time. Even she knows she’s not strong enough to avoid it this time. That she’s tied to him in ways she can’t describe.

“Leon.”

Her gaze shifts. A glassiness to her eyes that reflects the dim light. A fragility that he always sees in moments like these. A vulnerability that she never lets escape to the surface.

Still tangled in each other’s embrace, Leon finally breaks the silence.

“Let me love you the way I want to,” he asks softly.

His hand reaches to cradle the sides of her face. His fingers tenderly carding through her dark hair to push it away, allowing him to see more of her of the delicate features of her face. His touch is so tender. So soft it nearly brings the tears in Ada’s eyes to the edge. Just brimming the ends of her long lashes. Every time he gets closer to her; and every time she lets him in.

His gentle kiss asks permission for more. Chaste at first. Waiting for her to make the move. Her hands weave and wander along his neck and shoulders, holding onto him as she grows plaint. Letting him easily maneuver her underneath him. He holds her hip gently, spreading her legs around his waist. Letting her lay comfortably on the soft sheets of the bed. Padding the pillow beneath her head with his other hand. Tracing his fingers into her hair as it dances over the pillow.

The moment is tender, careful and all too loving. It’s not a intense rough fucking. One filled with teasing and reward. Nothing to work for, nothing to be earned or gained.

“Don’t shy away from me,” his finger continues to caress her cheek, bringing her back to him.

Ada feels the warmth from her chest growing slowly at first. Then spreading like wildfire throughout her body. It’s a tenderness from him she thinks she’s undeserving of; a love all too consuming. He looks angelic like this, his hair glowing in the light and haloing around his head. With each gentle kiss he places on her, his hair sways into his face, covering his eye. She raises a delicate hand to brush aside his hair. Showing her his loving gaze. It’s so warm. Her thighs squeeze around his hips, bringing him closer to her.

His boyish smile fills his face. His perfect warm smile. He places another kiss on her forehead, his eyes nearly snapping shut as he presses into her. Her mouth falls open in a silent whine. Feeling him as he stretches her open, filling her until he’s fully seated inside. His body falls a fraction, the warm pleasure radiating and taking over as he gives her a tentative pull back and thrust of his hips. His hand tightly grips her hip, nearly blemishing her skin with his fingerprints.

With each thrust he firmly holds onto her. Relishing the feeling of her warm wet walls hugging every inch of his cock overwhelms him ways he can’t describe. The lewd wet sounds emanating from where their cores meet grow louder as he desperately lifts her hips and pushes her onto his cock. A steady pace that focuses on each movement rather than speed. Making sure she can feel every single inch of him.

“Look at me, please.”

Ada’s eyes perk up, catching his gaze. Reaching for him as he chases her for another kiss. His moans against her lips are sweet and addicting. Her kisses are fervent, and still delicately placed against his face and neck. Each one eliciting an intensity growing in him. His hand near her head trails down her shoulder and arm, wrapping around her wrist and pressing into her palm. She mirrors him as their fingers envelope into each others. Grasping each other hands, all the while their bodies mindlessly rut into each other.

He buries his head into the crook of her shoulder, hot breath fanning across her neck as his hips snap faster into her. The angle brushing the head of his cock perfectly into her. He hears her, the sharp twisting of her voice. Crying for more. The airy desire in her moans. The grasping of her hand against him, forcefully digging her fingernails into the skin of his back. Her trembling thighs shake, twitching her body all the way into how she curls her back from the bed. Pressing her full breasts into his chest.

“Look at me,” he begs again.

Ada’s eyes are barely able to open, her mind fuzzy and her hearing filled with the wet slapping of skin, the bed shaking and their heavy breathing. He can barely hold it off. Wanting to bring her over the edge with him. The way her warm pussy pulls him in with each thrust nearly topples him over. His heavy cock begging to spill into her.

“Come with me please,” she whispers in a single breath.

His hips continually snap forward, her own slamming onto him, clinging onto him as she feels the beginning of her climax washing over her. Her steady and rapidly increasing heart beat pumping in her ears. The ringing starts. Her voice quickens and stutters with his name. In mere seconds her slick covered walls squeeze every part of him. Triggering his climax and following in a few weakening thrusts. Slowing in rhythm as his cock spills everything inside of her, filling her until he plants himself inside deeply.

The warmth she feels explodes into pleasure that courses through her, overstimulating her as she clings onto him, shaking and letting go of every single fibre of her being.

His weight grows heavy on her. Her core still tingling and twitching. His seed spilling out of her and onto the sheets.

“Leon.”

He hears her serene voice repeating his name, calling for him. With the bit of strength he has he lifts his head to meet her face. Immediately surging towards her lips at the sight of her smile. A warm giggle tries to escape from her lips, squashed from their kiss. A sloppy one that elicits another deep chuckle from him. Each one peppers more kisses, ones that feel like they’re not going to stop.

His stamina is tested as the night continues on. Hours spent in his hotel bed, wrapped into each other. Going until she nearly begs him to stop. She rides him until he can barely take it, their skin red and flushed. His head reeling with nothing but the chase for the high. The ecstasy of it.

In the late hours of the night, their bodies are satiated. Tingles and butterflies fluttering through every part of them. Hips bruised and imprinted with each other’s fingerprints. Lip prints marked on necks and chests.

Despite her protests, Leon takes the time to apply more of the gel for her sunburn. His hands confident on where to go, and how far he can go.

“I don’t think I have any sun burns there Leon,” she presses her chin lightly against her shoulder, turning her head to scold him with a smile. His fingers are cleaned from the gel and he can’t help but run his palms along her chest, cupping her breasts between both hands.

“Really?” He scoffs with a smile. “Better to be safe than sorry,” he finishes by leaning in for another kiss.

“This,” she simply says, a singular hum following her word.

“Hmm?” He hums as he gathers her into his arms. Pressing her into his chest as he lays down into the bed. Letting her perch herself onto him.

“I like you like this,” she replies and returns to drawing her fingertip against his bare chest.

“Naked?” He teases her with a warm laugh.

She smiles although he can’t see her. He can however feel her rolling her eyes at him.

“I like when we’re both like this.”

“Like what?”

This time she lifts her head towards him. Her expression is alluring and captivating, her dark hair framing her face, the bitten red hue of her lips. The warm flush against her cheeks that remain on her skin. The inviting look of her eyes.

The years haven’t been kind to Leon. But his good nature and strength lingers in him. It wanes and grows with time, running into obstacles but he always overcomes them. He hadn’t given up before, and she didn’t want to see him give up just yet. She watches him as he lazily lets out a soft yawn, the tension in his face released as he grows more sleepy. Closing his eyes briefly, his lashes slowly fluttering closed. He looks so much more peaceful like this, like all the pain had washed away. The tension in his brows released, his lips upturned in an effortless smile.

“Together,” she whispers.

Ada wakes as the morning light greets her. She so often rises before the sun even peeks at the sky. Always slipping away in the early morning or the night. She was never comfortable with goodbyes or overstaying her welcome. It was always easier to leave. But she didn’t want to leave him this time.

The sun is bright. Warm and inviting. Just like Leon had always been to her. She turned towards him, watching him as he slept. Still lost in a dream as he laid next to her. His arm wrapped around her even as he slept.

He looks so free.

Ada let her impulses take over, leaning in to brush his hair away from his face. Her finger ghosting along his cheekbone and jawline, feeling the soft stubble there.

“Ada,” he quietly breathes out, his eyes slowly opening.

“You’re still here,” his smiles somehow grows wider, reaching his eyes.

“You’re still here too,” she quips back.

“This is my hotel room,” he all too easily over takes her, trapping her underneath him.

“One night is all it takes huh?” She tilts her head upward towards him, trailing a lingering kiss against his jawline.

It wasn’t just the night.

The rest of their vacation was spent together. Exploring the rest of the island or back in the hotel room. Ada had shown Leon how to live a little, all the while she was breaking down her own walls. Letting him in bit by bit no matter how much she struggled. That each morning they woke with each other still there, it formed a new bond. A breakthrough was made.

When the vacation was nearing its end. Leon silently knew they would have to part ways again. The pain of it was less gut wrenching this time. The heartbreaking feeling he always felt whenever she left was no longer with him. No longer scarring and digging into his soul; instead as if the ties binding his heart were simply him holding it in place instead.

He held her one more time, breathing in her soft sweet scent to remember for next time. Remembering the feeling of her embrace. Remembering the gentle touch of her hand and the tender warmth of her lips.

It feels easier now.

The few remaining questions that bounce off in his head roll off of his tongue easier now, wanting to have them all answered before they part.

“Back before… on the boat. I said that Raccoon city changed me... and I asked you if you had changed,” he says, his head still pressed against hers.

She merely nods against him.

“I didn’t understand you back then. I’m not even sure if I even do now-” he pauses with a laugh, his hands resting on the small of her back and trailing onto her hips and waist as he held her.

“Maybe you have figured me out, maybe I haven’t really changed,” he lifts his head to meet her eyes.

“But I like to think that I changed you,” he nods with his words.

A smile grows on her face, “maybe you did,” she exhales a short laugh.

The last lingering question he has for her blurts out of his lips before he can stop himself.

“When will I see you again?” he asks, his brows furrowing together lightly, although a smile is still painted on his face.

He feels the soft press of her lips against his. A warm kiss that lingers throughout him, the soft perfume of her filling his nostrils as he drinks her in one more time. Her hands wrapped around his neck and shoulders trailed down to his hand. Her fingers enveloping into his again. It feels natural now, as if her hands were meant to be in his.

She smiles, watching his expression as slight confusion fills it. When she releases her hold from his hand, he feels a paper like texture in the palm of his hand. Before he can react much, he feels another of her kisses against his cheek before she slips away.

“You’ll figure it out. See you later, Leon,” she smiles softly. Giving him a wave before she begins walking away. His eyes are stuck on her form as she slowly disappears from him. Only when he can no longer make her out from the crowd does he look down into his palm. It’s neatly wrapped with a pastel blue ribbon tied around it. He tugs on it, undoing the perfect bow. The paper unfolds neatly by itself. A little green turtle keychain appears from the wrapping.

He chuckles warmly with a grin, “very cute.” He can’t help but eye the key attached to it, along with the zipper enclosure along the side of the shell of the turtle.

He smiles. Knowing that’s all he needed from her. For now.

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