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joonberriess · 6 months

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⊹₊ ⋆ “They can't deny our love, they can't divide us, we'll survive the test of time, I promise I'll be right here, standing next to you,”

TAGS — drunk sex, dirty talkin’, jk’s a pervy mess, oc is smitten this time round bc she’s soft, unprotected sex, creampies, oc rides it nice n good before jk pounds her, tit play(?) not much, anGSTY, like full on crying bro, making out, like a lot, oc n jk go on a date, THERE IS PLOT THIS TIME, mentioned shower sex, messy sex, oc’s got that creamy puss—, soft ;( , sleazy baby daddy au!

WORD COUNT — 6.9 k

The day started out like any other: you woke up, dressed Jiho for school following your usual routine of heading to the gym after dropping your baby off. From there you headed to the office to catch up on unfinished projects, a meeting or two slipped into your schedule but nothing too crazy. You manage to squeeze in a small break at home before having to go and get Jiho.

It’s a Friday and you realize that you don’t have much planned for the day or weekend so you decide on dropping off Jiho at your moms and enjoying a weekend of solitude to yourself. You’re practically daydreaming about taking the biggest nap of your life after this, hell maybe you can finally taste that new wine you recently bought. You practically buzz with excitement on the way, and back home.

Unfortunately life had a funny way of working sometimes.

“Hello?” You sigh deeply whilst pacing back and forth. It was just your luck that your car decided to be a pain in the ass by breaking down on the side of the road. Now you’re stranded outside of the city after dropping off Jiho.

“Baby? What’s up, somethin’ wrong?” Jungkook replies, you can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, “You callin’ cause you miss my dick–”

“No dipshit,” you pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance, “I got left stranded after dropping Jiho with my mom, car gave out on me and now I’m stuck outside the city kinda.” You look around, “Can you come help me out please?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes top. Did you call the tow truck or nah? If you didn’t I can call while I’m on my way.”

You sigh in relief, “No I didn’t, but call your one friend. I’ll send you the location right now, bye.” You hang up and quickly send him your location. There isn’t really much to do so you sit back and scroll through your social medias to pass the time. Jungkook stays true to his word though and shows up in twenty minutes like he had promised. He’s not in his car though because today he’s brought his motorcycle.

“Hey.” You greet calmly and step out of your car. You make your way over to him, coming to a stop in front of his bike with your arms folded over your chest. You would rather not admit to anything (at least out loud) but he looks pretty hot, you can see his unruly hair underneath his helmet.

Jungkook slips his helmet off and shakes his hair out of his face, “Hi baby,” he grins, “so what happened here, hm?” He talks to you like he’s talking to a toddler, all teasing and shit. You don’t bother hiding your annoyance as you roll your eyes, making him laugh, “Alright, alright, but seriously what happened mama?” He leans over to bring you into his side, landing an obnoxious wet smooch over your lips.

You scrunch your face up and nod your head in the direction of the car, “Stopped out of nowhere, turned off and everything.”

He looks over at it and hums, “Pop the hood for me, gonna give it a look before Eunwoo comes.” He lets you go and rounds the front of the car, giving you a thumbs up to pop the hood up for him.

It unlocks and Jungkook opens it up leaning over the car with quiet “tch, tch, tch” noises as he tries to see what was wrong with it. You step out to watch him closely, trying to ignore how good he looks in a white wife beater with his arms and tattoos all out. Jungkook doesn’t even have to try when it comes to getting you hot and bothered.

“Shit babe,” Jungkook hisses and recoils, “you need to get the oil changed, ‘s fuckin burned and dried out. Top of that, I think the battery is either old or it just needs a charge.” He shakes his head with a grimace.

You sigh in relief, happy that it wasn’t anything major, “I’ll get it checked out at the shop then,” you help him slam the hood closed, “thanks.”

“Mm,” he leans against the car staring down at you, “need a ride back home?” He licks his lips, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s checking you out in broad daylight with that lecherous look in his eyes.

You nod, “Please, it’s finally my day off and this happens.” You chuckle bitterly and kick a rock, “Was looking forward to a nap, guess that won’t be happening.”

“Hm, I know a way we could pass the time..” He slides his hand around your waist, teasingly pulling at the belt loop of your jeans, “I can make you forget ‘bout all this mess mama.” He says in a low tone, “Just say the word..”

You bring him close with a hand around the back of his neck, lips inches away and eyes full of lust. “You’re so cute,” you softly breathe out as his eyes light up with arousal, “but no.” You pinch his arm extra hard, listening in satisfaction when he cries out in pain, “I’m not fucking you on the side of the road. Especially since Eunwoo might be close by, yeah no thanks.” You snort.

“Ow you fucking hurt me.” Jungkook hisses, “You left a mark! Look at that!” He thrusts his arm out to show the red mark you left, “Kiss it better.” He huffs quietly and eyes you expectantly.

You look back at him with a blank stare, “No,” you step to the side and look out for the tow truck, “last I checked I’m not the one responsible for kissing boo-boos,” you fold your arms over your chest, “you’re a grown ass man deal with it.”

Jungkook quietly laughs under his breath, “No you’re right—I can give you something else to kiss better.” He dodges your hand, laughing loudly while ignoring the colorful words you spew at him, “C’mon it was a little funny.”

“No it wasn’t,” you hiss while smacking his arm, “you’re so fuckin’ dumb Jungkook.” You try hard to fight off the chuckle stuck in your throat, “Oh my god.” You turn away, shoulders shaking as you quietly laugh to yourself.

Jungkook comes behind you to pull you into his chest while swaying side to side with you, “C’mere,” he leans down to kiss the side of your face, “go out for dinner with me, saw a new place open up and it has a lot of your favorites.” He murmurs in your ear.

“Yeah?’ You reply softly, “Where is it?”

“Gangnam,” Jungkook curtly replies while burying his face into your shoulder, “you down for some fun?”

You haven’t been out since your last girls trip to Jeju and that was like two months ago. Fuck it—you think—it’s friday and you don’t have to worry about work till tuesday. With Jiho being out for the weekend you guess you can unwind too. Plus Jungkook could be fun to be around with..sometimes. You won’t ever admit it though, what Jungkook doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Okay, sounds good. You need to drop me off at my apartment though, gotta get ready ‘n stuff.” You see the tow truck pulling into the side of the road, “C’mon, your friend’s here.” You pull away and start walking towards your car.

In the end Jungkook takes you to his apartment to get ready, he literally has you packing a overnight bag with everything you could possibly need for a weekend stay. You don’t even know why you agree to staying the weekend with him but Jungkook says something about Gangnam being close to his place and how he’d probably not be able to drive you back home if you two end up finishing late at night. You know it’s not that though, but you don’t have the heart to call him out for it.

“Lace,” Jungkook smirks as he looks at the underwear you dropped on his bed after opening up your bag, “red too, damn this for me mama?” He dangles the cheeky pair of panties up in the air.

You hum in response, not really focused on him because you’re trying to fix your grinder, “Gonna pregame or what?” You finally say after getting it to work, “Or you too old Jeon?” You stick your tongue out with a smirk while adding in some bud.

Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, “Babe you trying to get me cross-faded? Fuck I don’t even think I’ve pregamed in a while, don’t wanna get shit-faced just yet though,” he scratches his nose, “so shots? We both need to remember our livers don’t work like they used to.”

“Yeah, yeah hold on.. let me finish real quick.” You mumble to yourself. The blunt hangs from your lips when you finish rolling it, old habits die hard you guessed when you go around picking up Jungkook’s clothes off the ground. You go around cleaning a little bit of his room before heading into his bathroom to start the water.

You and Jungkook smoke about half of the blunt together before taking a shot, which you end up pulling a face at and shaking your head, “Fuck I haven’t drank this shit since college,” you wipe your lips, “ugh, I’m gonna go shower. Bleh,” you try to get the bitter taste out of your mouth while disappearing into his bathroom.

Of course Jungkook doesn’t leave you alone as he follows you into the shower. By the time you’re both out there’s only a hour left before you two have to head out, “Babe I invited Hoseok and Yoongi if that’s cool with you,” he says loudly from inside the walk-in closet, “Yoongi said something about him and your one friend going together.”

“Who Hyejin?” You try to reply while lining your lips, “She’s the one who texted me like ten minutes ago,” you smack your lips together, “or is it someone else?”

Jungkook comes out wearing a black blazer over a white top, “Uhh I think?” He passes by with a cheeky ass grab, “ready for another shot?” He heads out to bring back the bottle, “Or you going to drink from the bottle?” He smirks lazily, you both end up taking a swig from the bottle.

“Okay, I’m ready.” You pull one of Jungkook’s black leather jackets over your body, “I don’t care if you only had one drink or no drinks, we’re both walking or getting a ride got it? I don’t wanna hear you complaining about having to leave the car overnight,” you sternly say to him as you both head out together, “I’m not trying to die in the middle of fuckin’ fall, ‘s freezing tonight.” You shiver a little.

Jungkook snorts, “Babe I’m a little cross-faded, but it’ll go away I promise-” he stops himself from finishing his sentence when he sees the glare you’re sending his way, “okay, okay, fine we’re gonna catch a ride home.” He winds his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in closely, “Nice little date night isn’t it?”

You snort quietly and look up at him in amusement, “Date? Ew, as if. We haven’t been on one of those in ages.”

“Don’t be such a little party pooper, first date and you’re already complaining? I’m hurt baby,” Jungkook holds the lobby door open for you, smacking your ass when you slip past him, “just wait and see, ‘m gonna make this the best night ever.”

His words make you roll your eyes, “Sure.” You’re secretly endeared though, and you can’t help but wonder what has you so soft with him today. Usually you found it annoying when he said corny/sappy shit but for some reason it’s cute? Maybe you really were in a good mood.

“Well don’t you look pretty,” Hyejin grins as she slips her arm around you waist, “you lil’ fuckin floozy, you fucked him didn’t you?” She laughs softly, “Look at all the marks, fuck lemme see,” she tries to take a peek into your dress.

“Hyejin,” you hiss while pushing her off of you, “you’re gonna show my entire tit to everyone around, stop.” You quietly laugh, “And for your information we didn’t go all the way because I didn’t let him, he only ate me out I swear.” You whisper into her ear, jumping in alarm and rushing to cover her mouth when she yells out loud.

She winks at you deviously before going back to her seat next to Yoongi. It’s nice being with friends like this, plus the restaurant was everything you hoped for. The vibes and atmosphere were pleasant, it was kinda reminding you of your college days when you and your friends stayed out late. It brings a tiny smile to your face.

“So how you been y/n?” Hoseok speaks up, “Felt like I haven’t seen you in forever.” His eyes dart back and forth between you and Jungkook, eyes taking in the way you’re both sitting so close.

“Been good, just working nothing too crazy, how bout you?” You nod your head at him, “Still doing that thing you told me about—fuck I keep forgetting what it was—but yea, you still doing that or..?”

Hoseok sips his beer with a nod, “Yeah,” he notices the way Jungkook’s hand tightens around your shoulder, “ ‘s gotten busier but business is good so I can’t complain you know?” He sheepishly smiles.

You briefly look over at Jungkook to see he’s got his tongue poking the inside of his cheek—the thing he does when he’s either angry or bothered—you’re not so sure why he’s pissy but you don’t dwell on it, “That’s good, let me know how it goes though. Can’t say I’m not interested from what you told me.” You feel Jungkook squeeze your arm, releasing it after a couple of seconds and then going back to stroking his hand up and down.

You both stay huddled close the rest of the night, Jungkook keeps his hand over your thigh and you have your head against his shoulder. The night only gets wilder as the restaurant turns into a full party with people singing and enjoying the loud music, Hoseok orders shots for everyone and by the time you check your phone to see that it’s one in the morning you’ve already lost count of how many drinks both you and Jungkook had.

“Another shot or what? You said you could out drink me, I wanna see your ass try,” Yoongi hiccups while sending you a glare, you notice that Hyejin’s already passed out with her face buried in his neck.

You grunt in annoyance and push at Jungkook’s arm, “Didn’t say, I know I can.” You rumble back and manage to take the shot, “Now you asshole.” You nod your head, “Hurry up Yoongi, you’re getting old or what?” You snicker.

He makes a face and manages to down it, “Fuckin’ hell, so nasty.” He shakes his head, “We’re too old to be doing this shit, fuckin’ Hoseok tapped out on the third shot! Look at his ass, he’s not waking up anytime soon.” He groans.

“Yeah I think I’m done too, getting so fuckin dizzy,” Jungkook sighs and looks over at you, “ready to tap out too baby?” He hums as he leans in to rest his face in your shoulder.

You nod slowly, “Yeah, my head hurts too.” You sigh deeply and wave the waitress down. Yoongi generously closes the entire tab and heads out with Hyejin and Hoseok to wait for a taxi. You and Jungkook take a couple of minutes to gather your thoughts before heading out to follow them.

You stick around outside to make sure that Yoongi, Hyejin, and Hoseok get into the uber together before heading back to Jungkook’s. It feels a lot warmer walking hand in hand with him, you find yourself grinning like a idiot, “Hey Jungkook,”

“Hm?” Jungkook stops to look at you.

“Does that playground by your house still have that one swing where two people can go on it together?” You smile.

He blinks a couple of times in confusion before a knowing smile crosses over his face, “Yeah, it does.” He squeezes your hand.

You both end up giggling like children while swinging around in the air on opposite sides facing each other. You squeal when Jungkook pushes you both extra hard, causing you to swing a bit faster as you land on the ground and huff with effort to push the two of you. “Fuck I haven’t done this much workout since Jiho joined soccer,” you chuckle.

Jungkook huffs quietly, hot breath going foggy in front of his mouth showing just how cold it was. “Fucking freezing, gonna get blisters from this shit babe.” He swings you both once more, smiling brightly when he hears you squeal again, “Shit you look like you’re having more fun than I am.”

“Cause I am,” you grin softly and let go of the handles, “but fuck you’re right, my hands hurt and they smell like iron.” You wait for Jungkook so that you two could go inside since the cold weather was starting to get to you. “C’mon I’m cold.” You purse your lips and shove your hands into your pockets.

Jungkook quickly follows after you. You both manage to get in, stumbling over each other with giggles and drunken jokes. Jungkook doesn’t make it before he’s crashing on the floor, sending you into hysterics as you bend over clutching your knees laughing. “Babe help me up!” Jungkook whines.

“H-Hold on,” you wipe your tears, “c’mere.” You haul his ass up, giggling hysterically at his messed up hair.

“And what you laughin’ at hm?” Jungkook wraps his arms around you and tugs you close, “C’mon tell me,” he whines and leans down to slide his lips over yours. Immediately you lean into the kiss, deepening it as you slip a hand over his cheek and cup it gently. His lips move over your own, gliding gently and slotting perfectly over your own.

Jungkook crowds you into the wall as he tries backing you into the living room causing you both to stumble. You don’t seperate from the kiss though even after almost falling back because you’re both tripping over something laying on the ground. Jungkook pulls back briefly, chuckling drunkly when he sees you’re both not in the living room, in fact you’re both heading towards his kitchen.

“Babe,” he softly mumbles as he caresses your cheek, “hol’ on, move that way.” He smothers you in another hot kiss, refusing to part even for a second.

You grumble softly into the kiss and pull away, “Can’t,” you mumble and let him kiss you again, “you’re kissin’ me and I can’t see where I’m goin.” You have a dopey smile on your face, “Lemme,” pause. “lemme take you to bed,” you slur out.

Jungkook nods eagerly and follows after you. His hands are impatient as he works his jacket off of you, he growls in frustration when he can’t quite get you out of the pretty dress you wore tonight. “Fuckin’ hell help me,” he pouts and kicks the door open, “can’t get it off, need to see you naked,” he giggles, “c’mon, help me.” He gives you puppy eyes.

“Paws off,” you growl playfully while stripping from your dress, “I got this.” You send him a pointed look and head over to his large comfy bed. You let yourself fall dramatically on it, arms and legs spread out like you’re a starfish or something.

Jungkook climbs over you a few seconds later, you notice he’s already shirtless as he grins softly down at you and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, “Hi baby.” He whispers softly between the two of you. You giggle quietly and smile back at him with a ‘hi’, he looks funny. The world around you spins in endless circles, fueling your dizziness and motion sickness.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, “best baby mama ever.” He leans down, mouth hovering over your neck as he leaves open-mouthed kisses over the warm flesh. You sigh quietly and lean into his touch feeling all warm inside from how endearing he was being.

“More.” You quietly reply, you want to hear all about how pretty you are to him. You’d never openly admit but Jungkook makes you feel special with the way he’s obsessed with you. On the surface he sure as hell was a dirty sleazy pervert but you knew he was genuine with you, even if his words were a little crude and unsavory at times.

Jungkook hums, “More what baby?” He softly asks while pulling back to look down at you, “Want me to touch you more?” He grins cheekily, “Coz I’m not complaining, love touchin’ and feeling on you.. So pretty,” he whispers as his eyes trail over you, “mine too..”

The ‘yours’ sits on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason it never leaves your mouth. “Stop playing around before I fall asleep,” you smack your lips with a dazed expression on your face, “then you won’t get to touch, only look.”

His eyes light up and he doesn’t say anything else, instead he captures you for a messy little kiss while his chilled hands slide down your sides and to your hips where those red panties sit. He teases you by pulling on the waistband, letting it snap back a few times before he finally pulls them down. You’re quivering in excitement, your own hands come up to unbutton his pants with ease.

Jungkook helps you shove them off, his boxers go with them two until you’re both laid bare for eachother. He lies flat over you with his chest right against yours, he takes his sweet time mapping every crevice and surface of your body. You’re not used to this time of affection in bed with him given that most of your fuckings were nasty and to the point. No, tonight’s different.

“Will never get used to how pretty you are,” he murmurs while laying kisses over your throat and chest, “just wanna keep you like this forever.” He whispers out as his hot mouth envelops a nipple.

He lays his tongue flat over your sensitive bud, lapping at it and teasing around it. Your lips part as quiet breathy sighs and moans leave you, only yelping when Jungkook fully encases your nipple with his lips wrapped around it tightly. “Fuck,” you tangle a hand in his hair and watch with hooded eyes.

Jungkook’s other hand comes up to fondle your neglected tit, pinching and rolling your hard nipple between his fingers in tandem with his powerful sucks. He switches back between both of them, leaving a small trail of spit as he goes. You don’t know how much of his teasing you can take, your cunt’s throbbing and more slick is dripping between your plush folds and down the crevice of your ass no doubt staining his sheets.

“No more,” you say when your nipples were sucked raw, “need you n’ my pussy,” you shift around and roll Jungkook on to his back, “gonna ride it, jus’ the way you like it.” You tease softly and leave a open-mouthed kiss over his mouth, sighing quietly when you feel his hot cock against your inner thigh.

“Mm,” he sighs as his head drops on the bed, eyes slipped in utter bliss as he holds your hips in his hands, “yeah—want you to ride it for me baby, wanna watch you bounce on it.” He rolls his hips upward as his cock bumps and slides against you.

You take his cock into your hand and stroke over it slowly, occasionally tapping it over your folds and smearing your slick over him. You catch sight of his dark cock, all swollen and throbbing in your hold. It makes your mouth water as you eagerly lift your hips and slip the tip between your folds until it catch over your winking hole. Both of your breath hitches as you ease him into you, hissing in pleasure as your cunt spreads around the mushroom-y tip, pink rim spreading and hugging him tightly.

Jungkook’s lips part in a long moan, he scrunches his face up in pleasure and rubs his hands over the swell of your ass cheeks. “Oh fuck baby,” he whispers, “jus’ a little more,” he groans, “fuck!” He hisses when you bottom out with a loud smack, your ass clapping off his pelvis as you seat yourself with his cock stuffed deep inside of you.

“So good,” you hum and give a few experimental rolls, just loving how deep he is from this position.

Your hands come down to settle over his chest for leverage, you don’t wait any longer before you’re bouncing idly over his cock. The excess slick begins rolling down to his balls creating a low audible squelch. Jungkook doesn’t really say much other than a few curses and whispers of your name. Your own noises come out breathy and low, constrasting the fopping sound your ass makes when it smacks against his thighs.

The bed frame begins to creak under your weight, slowly you begin speeding up until you’re full on bouncing on his cock. You ride till the tip remains inside before coming back down and slamming your hips over his. Jungkook’s grunts and moans rise in volume from the delicous pressure around his cock, your pussy grips him so tight he feels your rim hugging him almost as if you were refusing to let his cock go.

“Shit y/n,” the way your name rolls off his tongue sends butterflies deep in your tummy as you eagerly bounce, “like that, fuck it feels so fucking good, gripping me so tight,” he rolls his hips upward to meet your bounces, “oh fuck.” He throws his head back and grits his teeth.

You mewl quietly and switch from bouncing to grinding, you roll your hips back and forth over his cock and reach behind you to stroke and fondle his balls that press tightly against your ass. He moans loud and bucks his hips into you roughly, somehow punching his cock deeper with the tip kissing your cervix.

“Jungkook..!” You gasp out as your toes curl.

He brings his arms up to hoist you off and on to the bed, rolling the two of you over as he hikes a hand under your knee and lifts your leg up while he fucks into your pussy wildly. The new angle has his cock striking your g-spot over and over again with calculated thrusts. He punches loud moans and whimpers out of your lips, the pleasure bubbles over and has your pussy gripping him so tight it’s hard for him to backstroke.

“Look at me baby,” he pants, “yeah, show me that pretty face mama.. Look at you, taking my cock so well in that slutty little pussy. Got you drippin’ for me like I said you would, feel that?” He slows down and grinds into you slowly, hips circling in figure of eights as his cock rubs over your walls slowly, “See what you do to me baby? Got me all worked up for you, pussy’s suckin me in so well can’t help it.” He groans.

Your mouth falls open in a ‘o’ when he plunges into you quickly, fucking his cock in and out at a rapid pace. Slick dribbles all around with some splattering over the sheets and sliding down your pussy to your ass. His balls are heavy as they swing and smack into your ass repeatedly, every so often his cock throbs pathetically from inside of you.

“Oh god,” you whisper and throw your head back, “fuck right there Jungkook..!” You let out a shout of pleasure as he hits your g-spot over and over again without missing. He has you sliding up the bed from his brutal pace, the pleasure rising and rising as you grit your teeth and try to fight off your impending orgasm.

“Go on baby, cum for me.” Jungkook whispers, “C’mon mama, lemme see you cum all over my cock, make it nice and messy for me.” He rasps out and grips the pillow lying by your head tightly as he grits his teeth and fucks into you harder if it was possible.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, your entire body locks up as you let out a pathetic little cry of pleasure. You cum with a loud moan of his name, clinging desperately to him with your arms loosely wrapped around his back and your legs locked around him to keep his cock inside. Your cunt milks his cock for all its worth, squeezing spasmodically from the aftershock of your orgasm.

Jungkook moans low at the feeling around his cock as he slams himself deep a total of three times before he finally cums. His cock pulses, hot cum filling your pussy to the brim with some of it seeping from the sides of your cunt. He sits up to look down at the mess between you, whistling out of breath when he sees the creamy white slick smeared over his pelvis and your pussy.

“Fuck, made a fuckin’ mess.” He chuckles breathlessly and teasingly rubs his thumb over your neglected swollen clit, “Didn’t need to touch this lil thing to get you to cum.” He purrs.

Your thighs twitch and you twist around to avoid any touch to your sensitive cunt, “Stopppp,” you whine softly and bury your face in the pillow, “ ‘m so sleepy Kook,” you smack your lips and blink slowly, “bed’s dirty though..”

Jungkook brings you into his arms and sighs, “Looks like we’re sleeping in the guest bedroom.” He murmurs and rolls out of bed, “C’mon,” he holds his hand out, “let’s get you to bed mama.”

You smile shyly when he says it like that, slipping out on shaky legs and following after him.

“I’m never drinking like that ever again,” you quietly moan while slipping on Jungkook’s slippers and tugging the hoodie over your head, “don’t forget to bring my phone,” you say to Jungkook as you step out of the apartment.

“Got it..” He mumbles and follows after you.

You’re both obviously not in the mood for cooking or anything so Jungkook suggested the convenience store for breakfast (in this case lunch because you two slept in all morning). Jungkook walks hand in hand with you the whole way, only letting go when you both split up to get your respective items. Jungkook of course pays and helps you make both your ramen bowls while you sit by the window poking your drink and mixing it around.

“You look a hot mess,” Jungkook says when he’s walking over, “a sexy hot mess.” He cheekily adds in when you turn to give him a look. “What? I like you with smudged ass mascara and leftover lipstick, gives you that sexy bed look.” He winks.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not looking so hot either with lipstick all over your jaw.” You grin in amusement, “What did you get?”

Jungkook opens the black bag and sets all the snacks he got out onto the table, “This kimchi onigiri, uhhh sausage links, and this rolled egg thingy I don’t know.” He shrugs.

You eye the onigiri in curiosity, “Hm.” You mix your ramen around and open the seasoning packet, “Do you mind driving me to get my car? Eunwoo texted me last night saying it was gonna be ready for pick up later on, said that the battery’s charged now, he’s gonna just change the oil next.” You mumble.

“Yeah, wanna go after this? Eunwoo’s probably out on break, I can do the oil change myself.” He slurps his noodles loudly, cheekily grinning at you afterwards.

“Mm, fine with me. Just don’t fuck up my car or you’re paying for it.” You sip your drink just as loud.

Eunwoo doesn’t end up being there but he leaves Jungkook a key and a note telling him about what your car needs. Jungkook wastes no time in getting to work as he slips his shirt off and works in his white tank top. You sit in a chair just watching him work while singing silently under his breath. You can’t quite shake the uneasy feeling you get in your gut, all this—playing couple and pretending like nothing’s wrong.

It makes your heart twist bitterly seeing him like this, all domestic and shit. Even the night before when you guys were at dinner. Hell the playground was enough for you to realize what was going on. You’re not so sure you can go back to pretending like you two aren’t a thing after this. You can only hold it in so much before it all starts crumbling down.

“Babe,” Jungkook slips out from under the car, “pass me the funnel behind you, I already drained it.” He wipes his dusty cheek, “Babe?”

“Oh yeah, here.” You hand him the funnel, “What, do I have something on my face?” You say after noticing how intently he’s staring at you.

Jungkook shakes his head, “Nah, just admiring how cute my baby mama looks.” He smiles teasingly and goes back to work before you can even reply. “So, you doing anything after this? I was kinda hoping we could spend a day in watching movies and shit, ‘m still pretty hungover.”

“Yeah..” You nod, “Sounds good I’m not feeling the greatest either,” you turn to look at anything but him. You don’t know why but you’re hit with a swirl of emotions and it’s starting to sizzle under your skin and make you irritated. The more you think about it, the more agitated you slowly become.

“Hey,” he suddenly says in front of you, “got something on your mind?” His lips hover over yours before he closes the distance between you two. The kiss is sweet and gentle, it has your poor little heart throbbing inside of your chest. Jungkook’s lips smack quietly against yours, as he brings his hands up to hold the sides of your face.

You softly hum into the kiss and bring your arms around his neck. He makes a pleased noise and caresses his thumb over your cheek and jawline. It’s the sweet moments like this that have you doubting, you’re not so sure you can keep up with him anymore. He does all these sweet things and it just lulls you into a false security with him, like everything is okay and things were the way they used to be.

You want that..

Jungkook parts from the kiss and stares deep into your eyes, “You with me baby?” He say when he takes in how distracted you look.

“Yeah,” you softly whisper, “ ‘m here.” You bring him back for another passionate kiss, this time effectively blocking out all those little voices in your head.

Jungkook grunts in surprsie as he hoists you up with him, backing you into the counter nearby and swiping all the tools clear from the surface. His breath is ragged and heavy, touch quickly becoming possessive and desperate as he paws at your thighs and hips. You part your legs for him and let him step in between them, moaning quietly when his hips press over your sore cunt.

The empty garage is filled with soft panting and breathless sighs, your lips meet Jungkook’s over and over until they’re swollen and glossed over with spit n slick. You attack his neck in a flurry of kisses and pull him closer, practically hugging his body tight to yours as the two of you leave sloppy marks all over each other. You go to leave another mark but Jungkook’s quick to pull away with a quiet ‘wait, wait’.

“Get back together with me,” he suddenly pulls back, breathless and panting with wild eyes, “I want us to be a real couple—not whatever this shit is where one day you let me love on you and another you don’t.” His eyes are filled with hope as he pleads with you.

You stare at him in shock, mostly because hello the timing? You quickly shake those thoughts out and sit up, “Jungkook you can’t just ask me that out of nowhere, especially not with you standing between my thighs.” You sigh heavily, “Let’s just talk about this some other time.” You look away.

Jungkook frowns, “No, I think it’s a perfect time now. You say some other time but then you forget and play it off with work and other stuff. I just..I just wanna know where we stand, I’m tired of doing this back and forth thing baby.. It’s sending mixed signals, can’t tell whether you really want me or you’re planning to cut me out for good.”

You’re at loss this time, for the first time regarding the breakup you don’t have anything to say. It’s not something you easily know the answer to, not when you yourself is still trying to find the answers to these things. Jungkook should know by now this isn’t something that comes so easily. “Why? So you can be happy you ended up winning after what you did? So everyone can see you got your way despite being a shitty person Jungkook?”

He looks surprised like he wasn’t expecting your response, “Baby—no, where is this coming from?” He stands up intending to comfort you because he can see how quickly you’re growing upset with the way your frown deepens and tone morphs to hurt.

“Then what is it Jungkook?” You say in exasperation, “Is this gonna be your ‘I told you so’ moment? You play me like a fucking fool and come back years later with a slap on the wrist and suddenly everything is better between the two of us?” You blink the tears away, “It’s not fucking fair and you know it.” You fold your arms over your chest.

Jungkook shakes his head, “No, no, no, it’s none of that. I just wanted you to know I’m tired of going back and forth and never ending up nowhere with us..”

“Well guess what, I’m tired too Jungkook. Tired of pretending like nothing ever happened, like there isn’t a reason why we ended up like this in the first place.” You wipe your tears.

“y/n, I know things weren’t the best before and I fucked it up, I know—trust me. You don’t think I don’t regret what happened years back? It fucking eats at me every night because you’re not by my side anymore—”

“That’s the thing Jungkook! You don’t fucking get it,” you sob, “YOU were the love of my life, you were everything to me! And for you to do what you did-” you choke up and cover your mouth, “and I’m supposed to heal from that? I never did, and I never will because the person I trusted the most—who I loved so much—fucking betrayed me. Do you have any idea how I felt? You were my everything, and you fucking threw it away!” You scream in anger and frustration.

“Y-You broke me,” you hiccuped, “it’s not fair that you get to come back like nothing, ‘n now everyone’s gonna look at me like a fool because I got back together with my shitty baby daddy.” You sniffle, “I have thought about us for a while, but I’m scared because I don’t know if you’re going to do the same thing all over again.”

Jungkook’s own eyes are brimmed with unshed tears, he quietly sniffs and clears his throat, “I’m sorry y/n, I never did get the chance to but I’m sorry for everything. But not once did I stop loving you ever, you were my everything too—and you still are. Nothing about the way I’ve felt about you has changed, and it never will either. I realize how impulsive I was just now so,” he drops to his knees in front of you and holds your hands, “please y/n, let me prove to you I can still make you and Jiho happy. I don’t care if you wanna make me wait until you’re ready, I’ll be right here waiting for you. Just please, give me one last chance..”

You desperately want to say no, but you’re weak. You’re too busy clinging to every little memory of him in the past to fill that emptiness in your heart to notice that you’ve wanted him back all along. You feel the doubts begin to creep out of your body as you peer down at him, “You’ll..wait..?”

Jungkook nods, “As long as you want me to.” He whispers back.

“Okay..” You softly reply and squeeze his hands tightly, afraid that if you let him go he’ll vanish into thin air.

“Okay.” Jungkook sighs in relief, smiling up at you tenderly. He rises to his feet and brings you in for a tight hug, just relishing in your warmth and softness as he rocks the two of you side to side.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into his arms, “You’ll be here with me right?” You lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll be right here,” he hums, “standing next to you.”

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#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook

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mockingkatniss · 3 months

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NEED A RIDE? - drug dealer!Coriolanus Snow

18+ | nswf | mdni

warnings and tags: swearing, mention of drug dealing, smut, sloppy making out, multiple orgasms, blowjob, mention of gagging, body fluids, use of words like “wh0re” or “slu7”, specific body descriptions. BUZZCUT CORYO (little bit of a jump-scare for some of y’all) MODERN!AU, p in v sex, reader is just soft but not innocent, intese sex, porn without plot. (If I missed anything lmk).

(not proof read because I was tired, I will fix eventual errors <3)

summary: one particularly hot summer evening coryo sees you riding your bike while he’s driving he’s car around mindlessly and he ask you if you need a ride.

words count: 3.109k

Wanted to thank so so much @swiftiekisses because the drug dealer!coryo au it’s hers but she inspired me a lot and I also love so much her writing that I wanted to contribute with this fic! Also a big thanks to @euphemiaamillais because I’m literally addicted to what she writes and for inspirations for the drug dealer! au too! <3

enjoy and support me with a comment or a tiny heart! 💗🎀

coriolanus was driving by the quiet and deserted road of his god forsaken forgotten little town.

he hoped almost every morning to just wake up and found his rotten little city was torn down by some natural catastrophe.

he thought that dreams or ambitions couldn’t come true here. since his family lost everything due to his father's poor life choices, he was now stuck with poverty at 18 years and a cousin and grandmother to look after. more correctly just grandmother, since tigris left for college just the year prior.

to round some money he worked at the gas station, a literal hell hole in summer and plus coryo was sure he left part of his soul here, and sold some drugs to younger kids or kids his age at school or at parties but most of the times they directly came to the gas station.

if a drug had a name it was mostly probable that coryo had it to sell

that summer was cruel, sweat sticking to clothes and the asphalt so hot it could melt shoe soles, so cruel that coryo decided just two days ago to buzz his beautiful platinum curls off. the super short hair gave him a totally new appearance, he noticed that at the last party he went to sell, that mostly girls bought from him, stucking dollar bills inside his front jeans pocket and sometimes begging for a kiss or some good old make out. he accomplished and accepted that he was just extremely hot.

his car moaned underneath him as he drove, that old piece of garbage was still going on but coryo feared that someday he would be left walking.

it was 7:35 pm, his shift at the gas station over since sejanus plinth took his place for the night shift. sejanus was a nice kid, he was rich but decided to take another path just having shitty jobs during the summer like most teens even though for him it wasn't necessary having one. he didn’t sell drugs but he covered coryo so many times at school or at work so he was ok.

coryo had a small joint hanging from his lips as he drove, just one hand on the steering wheel and both the car’s windows opened since his ac was (obviously) broken, but even the air was heavy and warm that night.

miraculously the bluetooth radio was still working so he was listening to some trap rap music on his cracked up phone, the screen broken from everytime he made it fall while running away from cops or simply on the floor on a daily basis. as the music went on he thought about how the suggestion to listen to that genre of music came from clemensia e arachne at school, but it was nice for once not only listening to metal or punk rock.

while he took another hit from his joint something caught his eye on the road. it was a bike, someone was riding it and he probably knew who it could be.

the bike was faded pink with old stickers on it and you were riding it tiredly, legs sore and sweat sticking to your skin.

your tiny tight skirt was riding up a little showing some more of your thighs and coryo swore to god that he saw a glimpse of your pink panties.

sometimes you bought from him some weed and nothing more. you were a literal sunshine and at school you talked to everyone, being friendly and helpful. coryo still remembers how you helped him with physics the first year of highschool. you both were still young but nature obviously blessed you donating you such a sexy body.

he instantly felt his cock gently twitch into his jeans and he made the smoke from the joint exiting his nostrils in annoyance. don’t you get coryo wrong, he had sex and sure plenty of it but since the hot sticky summer he wasn’t feeling like it to just screw some girl even though he just needed to say the words. it was peculiar how his cock woke up just by seeing you.

he drove nearby you slowly to keep up with your velocity and you looked over to acknowledge the presence of a car and as you recognized the driver you smiled throughout puffed breaths from hotness and the riding.

coryo made a small smirk while pulling the joint away from his lips to talk. “hey bunny, need a ride?”. you slowly stopped your bike, tippy toes of your pink vans scratching on the asphalt. coryo stopped the car too and since the streets were dead he just got off his vehicle to look at you while positioning the almost finished joint on the car roof.

you panted lightly as you talked as you examined his presence. “it would be so nice coryo, I think I’m about to faint because of the heat”. he nodded understandingly with his head to the car behind him. “get on, I’ll get the bike” coryo thought he was going crazy when you got off the bike seat revealing more of your thighs. you collected your backpack and lifted yourself up on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, strawberry lip gloss scent evident on his skin too now. “thank you coryo you’re my savior” you said before going to the opposite back of the car.

once the bike was fixed in the back he turned the car back on, securing his joint back around his lips once again while grabbing his lighter inside his jeans front pocket.

“where am I taking you?” he asked while lighting the joint to take a long drag before passing it to you. “I’m going to my dads house, it’s near the football field, 32nd house” you explained as coryo nodded knowing where it was since he spent much more time driving around in his free time than anything else. you also accepted the joint starting to smoke with relaxed muscles.

coryo looked over at you while driving, there was a peaceful silence. his elbow leaned outside the car’s window as his slim fingers tapped the steering wheel gently while driving. you noticed his rings decorating his fingers and his new buzz cut hair made his features even more sharp. you took three puffs from the joint handing him it back while caressing your naked thighs trying to pull down the miniskirt.

coryo savored till the last minute your lucid lips around the filter that he made, somehow the sweat made your skin warm and inviting, the blonde felt his cock twitch again and he fixed himself on the seat while trusting with his hips forward. he coughed a bit taking the last puff while tossing the dead joint outside the car. “how's it going in general?” you asked softly feeling already your head light but not too much, it was pleasant. “mh it’s ok, it’s too hot to work or to do anything else, I just want winter back” coryo explained briefly, voice slightly rough from smoking. you chuckled while leaning over to him to pinch his cheek softly. “awww snow wants his snow back doesn’t he?” coryo smiled while looking over to her, instinctively he turned over his face to scratch your fingers with his teeth playfully as you kept messing with him. “by the way, you look good today, bunny, but riding that bike with just this tiny skirt? a little bit dangerous don’t you think?” he asked while gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “how is it dangerous? riding my bike won’t stop me” you felt like wanting to touch him so much, so you placed your hand on his thigh. coryo was one of the hottest boys at school and his reputation made him even hotter and you were a total slut for bad boys.

at your gesture he stiffened a bit looking down at you delicately manicured hand and you kept caressing him going higher and higher but stopping just before his crotch. “can’t keep your hands to yourself now?” he tried to be ironic but just your presence had made him incredibly hard and it was difficult to not stop the car and fuck you in the back seats, your pretty head pressed into the plush of the seats. “maybe I don’t want to keep them to myself” you shrugged while pulling away your hand as he stopped the car in front of your dads house.

he exited the car while trying to hide his hard on while pulling his jeans around to crotch to fix the situation but nothing was effective. coryo pulled your bike outside the back of his car and you thanked him again while kissing his cheek but making the kiss longer. he sighed with a smirk while placing his big warm hand on your hips. you caressed his chest while looking up at him, a small pout on your lips. “you’re busy?” you asked, your long lashes batting at him inviting. “mmh no bunny, i’ll probably just go home, smoke again and collapse on my bed” his thumbs caressed your exposed skin just a little bit above your skirt. “why don’t you come inside? my dads busy he won’t be home till tomorrow noon” you swayed your hips a bit with pleading eyes. “fuck bunny you’re truly tempting but-“ you interrupted him while taking his hand, pulling him towards the house. coryo gave in, closing the car with his keys by distance and following you inside. you were making him feral with your temptations and soft eyes.

thank god the house had an ac so it was cooler inside. you tossed your shoes away together with your backpack and went to the kitchen to collect some water for you both and coryo looked around noticing how the house was elegant and well kept.

he slipped off his beaten up black combat boots and just sat on the big couch. he almost sunk inside it, noticing it was a water couch and smirked as dirty thoughts filled his head.

“the water couch is amazing isn’t it?” you giggled while handing him a glass of water while bouncing next to him making the couch move in small waves. “yeah pretty comfortable” he said as he leaned the glass to his lips not looking away from you for any second.

you then smiled mischievously while slipping down the couch, your knees sinking in the soft fluffy carpet. you positioned yourself between his legs while going for the zipper of his pants pulling it down with pure eyes. coryo almost choked on his water as he looked at you with pleased eyes and a big smirk on his lips. “what the fuck are you doing bunny?” he breathed out a laugh as you tried to pull down his pants together with his boxers. “I want to suck you off so bad so lift up your butt now” your tone was playful and demanding and he did as you said making you able to pull his jeans and boxers down making his pink cock sprung to life. it leaned against his tummy perfectly. “what did I do to deserve something like this without even asking?” he placed his hands behind his head pushing his hips up so he could sink more into the water couch. “nothing special but you’re fucking hot and I can’t wait anymore,” you paused to spit on his tip gently while pushing some curls behind your ears. “and I just know you’re good at selling as you’re good at fucking” you giggled while finally gripping his base. “I knew you were big, shit” you were already fantasizing about taking him deep and hard inside your cunt. “you knew?” coryo laughed again but his breath was getting ragged slightly.

you just didn’t respond, kitten licking his tip and collecting precum as you looked up at him. he bit his bottom lip harshly to just concentrate not to burst his cum all over your pretty glittery makeup and long lashes.

you kissed his length till the base then licking a long stripe back up till you swallowed half his cock allowing space with your tongue and cheek. you started to suck and lick and the moans he was making were pornographic.

after a while saliva was dripping down your chin mostly when you decided to deepthroat him with a fluid movement making the water couch sway gently. “ah fuck bunny, you’re so fucking good” coryo moaned, lust clouding his blue eyes as he gripped your curls to buck into your throat just two times just to hear you gag shamelessly around his cock.

you smiled through teary lashes and bubbles of saliva and lifted your head to just suck at his tip harshly.

“shit- I’m gonna come bunny” coryo announced as you jerked off the rest of his cock while concentrating on the tip. at his words you pulled away standing up and his angry cock just leaned against his tummy as he bucked into air. “are you completely mad you fucking slut?” he said impulsively, the ruined orgasm hitting something into his mind profoundly.

you just smirked while slipping off your crop top and miniskirt. “what did you just call me coryo?” you asked while undoing your bra and slipping off your soaked pink panties. his mouth was slightly agape at your naked body, eyes obsessed. “I said you’re a whore, a slut” he said slowly and challengingly, lips mimicking each final letter. “oh yeah? let this slut show you how much of a whore she is.” you walked on the couch standing above him both of your feet planted on each side of his legs making the water couch giggle.

he was completely transfixed as you opened your legs leaning one of your knees on the headset of the couch. you grabbed his head from behind pushing his mouth on your dripping core.

coryo thought about cumming just from that, just from the smell of your juices and the taste of it.

it was so intense, his tongue lapping at your folds once in a while stopping to suck on your lips or clit while humming. his big hands gripped your ass squishing the plush meat here to push his face further into you.

you were a complete mess as you scratched his head and moaned shamelessly and loudly, hips bucking as you trusted him keeping you up to not let you fall.

“fuck coryo! fuck I’m coming!” you chanted as you gripped his head, legs quivering as your juices splashed into his face. coryo felt on cloud nine as he gripped your hips to not let you fall as he lapped at your juice like the starving dog he was. dying by suffocation from your pussy seemed the only best thing he could think of at the moment.

you came down from your high slipping down as you sat on his lap, grabbing his neck to kiss him sloppily to taste yourself in his mouth. you sucked his tongue, licked the roof of his mouth and even licked his teeth while he playfully rubbed your clit. “mh! I’m sensitive-“ you lamented while pushing his hand away, your lips glistening with his saliva. “I need you inside now coryo” you gently kissed his jawline and neck while rubbing your pussy onto his still angry cock. “your wish is my demand bunny but you’re not gonna come again sooner or later” as he said so with his low voice he pushed his cock inside of your thigh pussy helping himself with his fingers and you laughed a moan while arching and sitting fully on his hard member. he immediately hit your cervix so good you felt helpless.

it was the most passionate and sloppiest sex of your entire life. you rode him like your entire existence depended on it, you knees sunk into the water couch as you bounced on his cock helped by the gentle waves. his hands were placed right on top of your ribs as your hips were too quick to control anyways. you pushed your head so hard against his that your noses squished together as your forehead and your moans and shouts tangled together. both mouths opened, eyebrows furrowed.

coryo didn’t even remember his name anymore when you clenched hard around him signaling somehow that you were close. “stupid bunny thought she could come yeah?” he murmured around a moan as he gripped hard your ass to stop your intense riding. “what the fuck coryo? don’t stop please, fuck!” you lamented but when he pushed your back into the couch your eyes rolled in the back of your skull. coryo fucked into you helplessly, his orgasm close. your back arched and he massaged your breasts cupping them harshly. “shit fuck! I’m coming” he moaned, eyes fluttering close for a minute. to make you pay he pulled out, cum splashing on your tummy and even on your breasts from the intensity of it and you cried out loud from the loss of his cock inside of you. you even laughed a bit through cries because of where his cum landed but then you gripped his ear angrily. “make me come coryo, make me fucking come” she arched rubbing her pussy against his worked out cock. coryo panted a laugh and gripped your jaw with his hand tightly before leaning over to bit and pull your lower lip. he massaged your clit with all of his hand opened while looking at you. “look at your fucked out face, you’re completely drunk on my cock” he laughed again mischievously just to degrade you. he rubbed your entire pussy quickly, slapping your clit once in a while. “now you’re gonna come and admit that only my cock can make you this fucked up mh?” you nodded, eyes rolling once in a while. “yes, yes coryo, only you, only want your cock” he chuckled again while his hand kept going. “that’s what I wanted to hear bunny” at his last words you came, the orgasm making your entire skeleton tremble in pure bliss. you cried his name with your mouth wide open.

when you calmed down a bit he was just caressing your thighs while admiring your body painted with his cum and you smiled while stretching out a bit. “next time you’re gonna come inside coryo” you said it so naturally with a small smile and a yawn and coryo playfully slapped your sensitive clit with two fingers making you whine a bit. “I'm looking forward to the next time in like, 10 minutes, bunny.”

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 days

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance.

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy.

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless.

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one.

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death.

But it was closure.

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted.

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room.

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video.

It felt fresh. New. Clean.

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months.

At first, he dreamt of death.

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance.

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red.

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes.

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before.

It didn’t even really look like a gate.

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods.

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean.

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms.

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth.

Pomegranates.

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home.

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them.

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of.

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there.

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up.

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too.

He knew her. He knew her.

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before.

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you.

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it.

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap.

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came.

You were always alone.

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work.

Not yet, anyway.

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back.

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm.

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet.

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night.

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really.

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes.

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security.

Safety - an unknown feeling.

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place.

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too.

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it.

Then one night, he saw himself.

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked.

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up.

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm.

Safe.

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be.

Certainly not 1988.

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before.

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting.

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello.

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright.

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy.

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper.

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia.

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get.

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before.

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you.

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one.

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep.

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s.

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington.

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee.

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate.

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit.

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington au

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pinkrelish · 1 year

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Eddie's month began with a rough start, but as the days passed, and your time together grew, his mood improved. He opened up to you, and you listened. Then things escalated. Slow dancing in the garage? Openly flirting while hanging Christmas decorations? This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his coworker who was leaving in a few months. And to make matters worse..

"I swear I didn't hang that," he promised while Adrie held both your hands, giggling under the mistletoe.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, mild sexual tension, light angst, depictions of poverty, mention of blood, reader wears eddie's work jacket, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 6/20 [wc: 16k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 6: May I Have This Dance?

Eddie opened the cabinet above the coffee machine in the breakroom, and took out his mug to replace it with a themed one of Garfield attempting to coax Nermal under a sprig of mistletoe for a kiss. He stepped back, admired the change in seasons, and clung onto the giddy elation before the impending stress wove knots into his muscles.

He’d be getting a lot of use out of that mug in the coming days..

————

Eddie disguised his crisis well.

He knocked on your desk while keeping the glass door open with his foot, “Hey, can you make me another pot of coffee?”

It was a favor you were happy to oblige. Pausing from thumbing through the filing cabinet, you smiled at him over your shoulder. “Sure!”

And later, he came to you again–diverting the stress from entering his eyes by focusing on the kindness in yours.

“Do you mind if I eat alone today?” he asked, flopping his black notebook back and forth for you to frown at.

“Fine, but you owe me.” And of course, he made it up to you the next afternoon, eating his sandwich made with the scraggy ends of the loaf, and no side container of leftovers, and downing it with a mug of coffee.

Adding onto that, Eddie concealed his problems through other means. Blocking out his suffering, disallowing it from bothering others, but to you, it was no bother.

You leaned over your desk to look into the garage, and asked Mr. Moore when he was passing by on the way to his office, “Did Eddie leave somewhere?”

“Awh, he’s probably out on a smoke break,” he said, rubbing his knuckles along his grayed beard.

“Another one?”

“Yeah, guess so.” He shrugged, inadvertently confirming your fears. “Been takin’ alottavem the past couple’a days.”

You had an inkling of what was going on when you caught Eddie eating his lunch earlier. Alone, scribbling in his notebook for the third time that week, dipping a knife into an unbranded metal can labeled PEANUT BUTTER and slathering the Government supplied commodity on a plain saltine cracker.

Sustenance to live, and hardly at that. You weren’t about to let him hide his misery behind excuses meant to keep you ignorant.

After closing, when everyone went home but you and Eddie, he poured himself the last of the coffee to stave off his hunger, and you shot up from your desk.

“Hey! I’m going out for a sec. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”

He backed his lips off the mug mid-sip in order to remind you to be safe because it was dark out, and you really should wear brighter colors for cars to see you, and to slow down before the sharp turns because there could ice on the road and you could get hurt, and, and–

“Bye!” You cut off his worrying by riding past the doors with your eyes on him, not where you were going, narrowly missing a street pole by centimeters.

~~~

Back in record time–beating the previous record by default because you’d never had this idea before–you hopped off your bike, loaded your hands with the two paper bags sitting in the handlebar basket, and ripped the stapled receipt off them. You finagled your way into the garage.

“Eddie!” you shouted his name as you entered. And louder again as you approached him from behind. Tempting as it was, you didn’t want to scare him, but part of you hated raising your voice, as well. It felt blasphemous to disturb the scene which captured your heart time and time again.

He was at the workbench in the back corner, sat on a stool with his heavy boots on footrests, knees angled out, bouncing his legs in a rhythm offset from one another–most likely parroting the drumbeat of the tinny music funneling from his headphones so loud he’d surely lose his hearing one day.

The smooth expanse of his shoulder shifted and flowed under his coveralls as he worked, hunched over a set of parts he was cleaning. He settled his forearms on the edge of the creaky wood and swirled an old toothbrush into a bowl of cleaning solution, and scrubbed at the hunk of metal in his hands, setting it aside on the stained towel when he was finished to let it dry. A diligent worker, through and through. Tendons in his tired hands straining to hold the next slippery piece as he circled the bristles over the grooves craggy with grease. Muscles in his jaw tensing from the way he clenched his teeth in between mouthing the lyrics to the music vibrating his brain.

Concentration bundled itself between his eyebrows and above his scrunched nose.

It was endearing to watch him work; watch the menial things he was good at for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with all assets of him.

But good things must come to an end, for you had a better one in store.

You caught him right as he was dropping into a reserved headbang on a chord progression you could hear wailing from where you stood. “Hey there, handsome.”

He panicked, and knocked the headphones around the back of his neck. “Shit, I didn’t hear you come in.” He paused the cassette player clipped to his pocket with a sharp click, and after fixating on your sly grin for a second longer, he dropped his gaze to the oil-soaked paper bag in your hand. “Food?”

“The burger place down the street messed up my order,” you replied in soft amusement. “Do you want the extra?”

He didn’t need convincing.

~~~

The sounds of your togetherness filled the open room–wheels rolling on concrete, crinkly wrappers in your hands, and the grateful noises of him devouring his dinner. Sitting parallel to one another on the creepers, you rolled back and forth, brushing shoulders with Eddie on each pass, stuffing your faces until your taste buds dulled with french fry oil, and sparked with blooms of tangy ketchup.

Wordlessly, he told you he was ready to talk by coming to a stop past the point of your shoulders touching, and resting his arms atop his wide-spread knees, holding the last bites of his burger in front of his face.

You twisted around to observe the width of his back rise with a deep breath.

“Child support is late again. Happens every December, but it’ll come a day or two before it’s officially considered late in January.” Deepening his voice, he put an edge of distaste when speaking about Adrie’s mom, “She has the money–her and her husband have good jobs–so it’s just to be petty and get back at me, or whatever. Like being tied to me years later should affect our kid when I don’t even speak to her.”

“Eddie..”

He shook his head to dismiss the pointless pity imbued in your tender whisper of his name. “Doesn’t matter. Money’s tight, but we get paid tomorrow, so that’ll help.. I figured you knew something was up when I stopped eating with you, but anywhere I can save helps. I want to make sure Adrie has a good Christmas this year.”

Realizing something, he raised his hand to ward off any criticism you were about to give him, having been trained to expect it from others since his daughter was an infant. “I want to make it clear.. Adrie always has food,” he stated slowly, and from a place of loathsome apprehension in his chest.

“It never crossed my mind she wouldn’t.” You pushed yourself backwards on the rolly board, and leaned into him, bicep to bicep, gazes met. “I know you’re a good dad” –He glanced away– “You are, Eddie, and I know how well you take care of Adrie, even when shit like this happens. And Christmas will always be special because of how much you love her, not because of what you buy her.”

“But I want her to keep up with her friends, and bond over whatever they’re into.”

“I know you do..”

Even to his detriment, through the sacrifices he made, he’d make sure his daughter had whatever she wanted.

You ran a purposeful knuckle along his tensed tricep. It didn’t earn his eye contact, but he did relax his hand, dropping it to peel down the rest of the wrapper and finish his burger while you spoke. “Maybe they’ll mess up my order again tomorrow, and we can eat lunch together.. And maybe Robin’s mom will make an extra casserole for dinner tonight, and I can leave it in the breakroom, if that’s okay?”

“I’d appreciate it.” No malicious pride. No toxic masculinity. No senseless denial. Eddie accepted your offer with gratitude, and packed his trash into the paper bag while you still ate, settling in with his arms hugged around his knees, ensuring some part of your bodies remained touching–in this case, it was your shoulders again.

The sweet, trusting pressure of yourselves melding into each other’s comfort.

Then, while the candidness was raw, it was your turn to point your attention elsewhere as you asked something you were shy to voice out loud, “Uhm, when we were at Adrie’s school, her teacher kept saying something about, like, you not carrying her, and babying her, or whatever.” You gestured vaguely as if you weren’t eavesdropping the entire time. “And I’d been meaning to ask if I’m–uh?–too affectionate with her? Like if it’s weird, or something I shouldn’t be doing? You’re the parent and I never really asked if it was okay before picking her up, and hugging her, and–”

He cut you off.

“No, no, no.” His assurance was delivered swift, and earnest. “How you are with Adrie is fine by me. More than fine. It’s–It’s–Seriously, it’s great having her look up to someone who isn’t me.”

“What about what her teacher said?”

“I don’t care,” he scoffed. “I know she means well, but it’s not like Adrie’s going to be a kid forever, and if I want to coddle her, who gives a shit. Now, her teacher is great, and I don’t want to diminish what my uncle, and people like Steve and Nancy have done for my family, but for most of Adrie’s life, it’s just been me and her, and even if she annoys the living fuck out of me sometimes, she’s all I have, and if I want to carry her around, I will.”

“You have me now, too.”

You heard yourself say it.

You heard yourself say it aloud, after he said his daughter was all he had, and now you had to follow it up with a tongue-tied spew of clarifications.

“Just, you know, it’s not only you, Adrie, your uncle, Steve and Nancy, and her teacher. You have me now, too, as your friend.. I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Warmth spread through your body. From your ribs, outward, where he jabbed his elbow into your side. Thrumming where his weight pressed into you, sending his hip into yours. Pleasure–blooming–from his silly grin to your romantic heart, to your platonic fingers snagging the fabric of his coveralls around his thigh to stop him from shoving your board away. Yearning. Sprung from the grease dirtying your skin being the same as the black streak above his eyebrow where he wiped his bangs off his forehead.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I think after this, you’re my friend,” he agreed, accidentally kicking over the takeout bag in his teasing. “No qualifier of reluctancy, or addendums, or prefaces. We’re friends.”

Yeah, definitely friends.

Friends who could calculate the exact degree of the arc of the other’s smile through memory alone, having stared at their lips for longer than friends ought.

————

And you played the part of companion quite well, you thought, when Eddie cursed as he came in from the garage with his hand cradled to his chest.

He ducked into the bathroom, and before the door closed, he was pushing it open on his way to the breakroom sink. “Shit. Don’t we have a first aid kit?” he asked.

“Oh! I left it in the women’s restroom after I got a paper cut.” You pushed yourself away from your desk, and found it in the cabinetry, bringing it to him as he scrubbed Dawn soap over his left hand, from upper wrist to fingertips. “Is it bad?” you asked cautiously. Blood was.. fine. But anything needing stitches was more than your red zipper pouch could help with.

“I’m okay,” he grunted, voice deep with the resonance of an inconvenience, more so than true pain. “Just one of those shitty surface cuts that doesn’t stop bleeding.”

The moment Eddie’s hands were dripping with diluted red water instead of blackened motor oil droplets, you tore a paper towel from the roll, cupped his palm, and folded it over his pinky and outermost knuckles. You bent over to keep his hand over the sink, and accepted the sharp jut of his elbow tucked into the softness of your waist.

The scrapes were shallow, as he said. You pressed your thumbs over the superficial wounds until the white paper dotted bright crimson–same color as his cheeks–and he remained silent. He didn’t deny your doting. Didn’t disrupt the gesture, nor break the spell.

It was a nice moment. Until you opened an alcohol wipe and swabbed it over the afflicted area. His mouth twitched at the stinging liquid cooling on his skin. As it dried, you made brief eye contact and shied away from his suspicious squint, like you had a secret to tell him sealed behind your lips all morning.

“What’s that look for?”

While pulling out two beige bandages for his knuckles, you answered in feigned indifference, “Oh, nothing. Just.. y’know.. Mr. Moore promoted me to Office Administrator, and maybe it came with a little raise, and who knows, an extra sick day or two.”

“Nice!” He angled his hand so it was easier for you to wrap the Band-aid around to the side of his palm where there was a wet, angry cut. He was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and relief he didn’t get more injured from his strained muscles giving out while wielding a power tool without protective gloves on.

“So now I have the confusing job of being both the person who cleans the toilets, and also organizes payroll.” You drew your eyebrows in. “Whatever organizing payroll means.”

Eddie watched you turn over the pouch to shake out the slots where the more grown up, adult bandages usually resided, and came up empty. Instead, a metal tin with Sesame Street characters clattered on the countertop. You popped it open.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you said.

Cookie Monster and Big Bird were gingerly wrapped around his pinky, protecting him from further harm.

Bright, cheery colors in contrast to the grime nestled into the crevices of his skin, and the dark blue coveralls he wore today. Your delicate touch. And his rough calluses. Your soft, chapstick-slick lips. And his cold-weathered mouth lifted at the corner. Your obedient body turning with his. And his face drawing near. Your tender, weak grip on his injured hand. And his sneaky fingers reaching past you.

He took three extra Band-aids and put them in the pocket below his embroidered name patch.

Eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of your forearm resting against his stomach, you chided him in the faintest exhale, “That’s stealing from the company, you know. I could write you up.”

Pleading with you amidst a persuasive smile, he begged, “If Adrie sees I have a cool Band-aid, and she doesn’t get one too, she’ll be upset.”

“That’s not fair.” Not like you cared if he took things from work, but if the Band-aids were for Adrie, you’d give him the entire tin, and he knew it. “You play a mean game, Eddie, using my greatest weakness against me.”

He took another Bert and Ernie, and slipped them in with the others, patting his pocket flat.

In a defeated sigh, you crumbled under the smug display of his proud chest, gaze trained on the cursive lettering composing his name, the motor oil blackening his cuticles, and the grease stain on his coveralls from the french fry he dropped earlier.

“Who’s the pushover now?”

“Considering you’re robbing me of Sesame Street Band-aids to bribe your daughter out of a tantrum?” You looked him up and down, from his half-closed eyes to the ketchup stain. “Still you.”

He hummed a warm reply, and twitched his other hand closed, curling his fingers over yours for a split second. A movement stunted by the bandages. Likewise, you drummed your fingertips on the heel of his palm, and let go.

“Wear your gloves next time, idiot.”

“Yes, dear.”

————

Taking on the role of Office Administrator meant one thing to the both of you: less time together.

The interactions were fleeting; sneaking a glance at each other when Eddie made an unnecessary trip to the breakroom to get his jacket for an equally unnecessary smoke break. But it meant he’d pass by Mr. Moore’s office twice while you were being taught how to fill out ledgers and spreadsheets. Two possibilities for you to become enamored with his hair flowing from underneath his bandana, and two chances for him to capture your interest with his charm–his larger than life presence stomping past the door with his chin held high and his hands in his back pockets, looking at you out the corner of his eye, and giving you that tight, knowing grin.

It was lonely working in the mornings, having a short lunch at your desk while scheduling business meetings with salesmen for Mr. Moore, and clocking out at 4PM to help take care of things at home while Robin was managing the night shift, and her dad was on bed rest.

You missed Eddie.

Eddie missed you.

————

It was a cold, bleak mid-December night after a dreary day of clouds and wind. The service bay doors were closed, except for one to allow the draft to carry out lingering exhaust fumes. Darkness smothered the world beyond the auto shop, interrupted intermittently by the odd car stopping at the streetlight. Turn signals blinked. Headlights peered into the warehouse, shining light on the single truck in the empty garage.

Blissful, tranquil winter. Crisp, throat-aching air. Bites of frost sinking into flesh. Numbed fingers. Frozen teeth nipping at the bone. Undisturbed. Quiet. No music.

“Man, it’s freezing in the lobby,” you complained loudly upon entering Eddie’s domain and crouching in front of the space heater next to the workbench.

The pair of legs sticking out from under the truck shifted.

Surprised by your sudden appearance, and grumpy about the loss of hot air directed at him, Eddie beat his wrench on the wheel axle to show his annoyance when you giggled and refused to move. In fact, you hunkered down, rubbing your palms together, hogging all the warmth while having the audacity to wear his tan work jacket.

He tapped the heel of his heavy work boot at you. “I thought you left for the day.”

“Did you really not notice me at my desk for the past hour?”

After waving the tool at the underside of the truck he’d been staring at for the better part of the evening, he then tucked his chin to make a snide remark, “Do you think I keep track of your whereabouts at all times?”

“Yes.”

No response except for a sour expression. Predictable. It was in his best interest to roll his head to the side, and pretend to be working by muttering mathematics to himself. You, however, stood up, and sidestepped the heater to read the buttons on the stereo radio, and dug for the cassette you slipped into the jacket’s pocket before coming out here.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

The black tape spun on the wheels, and from the speakers strung at the back corners of the garage, music began.

Eddie’s groan rose above the plucky piano keys. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re subjecting me to Christmas music.”

You shushed him, “It’s just jazz.”

Ella Fitzgerald’s warbling hum filled the concrete walls. Her stunning voice and evocative, blunt lyrics soothed your eyes closed. Face-burning words you weren’t ashamed of. You let them take you. Dipping and swaying your shoulders side to side as the piano lulled you into its drunken blitheness. Guiding you two steps to the left, the right. A lazy turn. Paused on the cusp of anticipation. You stopped. Blinked lovingly at the boots beneath you.

“May I have this dance?”

Metal clinked to the ground. Eddie gripped the edge of the car, and pulled himself out. Pushed himself into a sitting position on the creeper, focusing on your hand extended to him, and climbing his gaze upwards. To the smudges of pencil lead and blue pen ink on the inside of your fingers from where you gripped the writing utensils, to the coffee stain on the cuff of his jacket, the name patch, the roundness of your cheeks from your hopeful smile.

“My hands are dirty,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You urged in all gentleness, “Don’t turn me down because you’re shy. I’ll teach you.”

Teach me, he mouthed.

A delicious secret emerged.

Excitement, charismatic boisterousness, unhesitating–eager–sincere excessive vulnerability, bursting to be the shameless youth he used to be and oh so endearing–Eddie sprang into action at the upkick in tempo. The namesake of the song vibrated under his ribs–I’ve Got a Crush On You–and the garage blurred in your dizzy eyes.

Eddie, Eddie, eddie eddie eddie, eddieeddieeddie. Hawkins’ reject, the town’s outcast, Eddie, in all his awkward, standoffish exterior built to protect his sensitive heart, swept your right hand into his left. Raised them. Compelled you into a fast, tight spin under his arm, and at the rotation’s completion, you sank into each other’s embrace like a released breath.

You used the solid curve of his shoulder as leverage, and fit your other hand in the space between his thumb and index.

Eddie didn’t lead.

He demanded you follow.

His muscles were braced with ego as he ushered you backwards. Large advances towards you, forcing you away from the truck, and half-turns to the side with an appropriate pressure at your waist to follow him to the unoccupied center of the garage. But his modest hand grew longing in the distance as you struggled to keep up in the short chase. The thick jacket meant for durability kept him wanting more, and he used it to reel you in. Draw you near. Bodies untouching, but radiating heat in the hushed sigh of winter rolling in from the service door.

Not once had you managed to sound the question on your parted lips, but he understood it, and answered.

“You’re not the only theater kid,” he said softly. “It was the only elective I liked. Had to learn to dance for a few parts over the years, and if I may judge by your reaction, I’m not half-bad.”

You laughed, “Wh-Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The smug grin he wore waned to something more humble in nature. “Mm-nn. I never wanted to interrupt your stories. It’s more interesting listening to you talk about how you played a witch in a slutty Off-Off-Broadway rendition of Macbeth where you managed to snap both your stilettos in the first Act, than it is for me to go on about how I played background character #4 in my second senior year of high school and mostly used the class as an excuse to make props and shit.”

“Eddie,” you whined. Once upon a time, during your first days working here, he told you to leave him alone for jabbering on about the theater works you and Robin were a part of, and now he reveals this? “I didn’t even think you were listening when I told you those stories. And again! Why–didn’t–you–tell me?” Your words were minced from you shaking his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it’d be relevant,” he explained, speaking in that shy mumble of his.

“We could’ve been dancing this whole time.”

Eddie hung his head back, and bounced his brows upward. “Mmm. You make it sound like you’ve been wanting to do this since we met.” His hum, his words sent his Adam’s apple crawling up the deep shadows his jaw cast on his throat. Vibrating from within his alluring chest, and coming from the plump lips which appeared less blemished since the last time you were blessed with studying them up close.

The tube of Carmex you found in his pocket was doing wonders.

Basking in the overhead lights as flowers did in the sun, he listened to the end of the song fade. He willed his eyes half-open as it switched, dropped his face to lock onto your gaze, and obeyed the slower rhythm. Languid lurches into your compliant hips to the smooth saxophone. Step, step– With a pivot, guiding you around the floor in an unpredictable routine. One which kept you guessing. Had the rolled cuff of his pants brushing against your ankle, and his body coaxing you into a quick reverse turn at the piping trumpets on the following track. Broached the intimacy of his scent in your nose. Of course he didn’t smell great after a long day of working, but.. By your racing heart rushing blood in your ears, you had to admit, you didn’t find it as gross as you should, either.

Breaking you from your trance of staring at the frizzy baby curls sticking to the dried sweat on his neck, he suggested, “Dip?”

Your surprised shriek bubbled into a scathing yelp of Mother Fu–.

Impatient, ineloquent, and forgetful of manners. It was by the grace of your muscle memory you grappled for his upper body before your eyes could adjust to the upside down car cruising by the shop, puttering to a stop at the intersection. The arch he put in your back was wicked. Sinful, even. Supported by his strong arms.

Merciful, he righted your world. And in reconciliation, he observed you with the same obsessive interest he showed when he made you laugh. Watching for your reaction, and when it was adoring, he relaxed the apology from his features.

He hooked a finger around the lock of hair stuck at the corner of his mouth, and pulled it free; clasped your hand again–the other was slipped under the back of the jacket, and he settled his forearm around your waist, hot palm on your spine.

You took the cue. You climbed the scope of his shoulder to wager your dignity on the tight muscle at the crook of his neck. When he didn’t object, and his easy grin remained, you ventured under his unruly mane and found the back of his neck. You slipped your thumb into his collar, and rested it along the naked skin of his nape.

He shivered.

A car passed by.

The gossipers of Hawkins watched a mechanic and his boss’ receptionist-turned-Office-Administrator stare into each other’s eyes, and sway.

The distance between you two was unassuming, except for the tastes of more when the music encouraged, twirling yourself under his lifted arm as two separate beings, and rejoining as a pair, rocking back and forth, side to side, smiling from the exploration into something new.

The drum beats ebbed to a drowsy cadence.

Minutes passed. The embrace became familiar. Your held hands were sticky with shared dust and nervous sweat. His exhale mingled with your inhale. The steady sway was a polite shuffle in either direction, any direction. It didn’t matter. The embrace was the point.

“As Office Administrator,” you started, “I wanted to throw a party next week, the day before our holiday off. It’d be right after work, if you wanted to hang out, eat, and maybe bring Adrie?”

Before he could answer, you lowered your voice to an all-too-candid beg, “Please? I promise it won’t be boring. Mr. Moore said no one’s thrown a work party before, and I’m terrified no one but Kevin and his three dogs will show up.” You put a compassionate squeeze on the back of his neck. “Please don’t let it just be me, Kevin, and his three dogs.”

The bottom of Eddie’s two front teeth showed as he spoke on the verge of a grin, “I thought he only had two.”

You whispered dramatically, “It’s three now.”

He pretended to think over the offer, shifting from foot to foot.

“Eddie.”

As if he could keep up the act when you craved his name like that. “I’ll go,” he placated you, but not before inclining his head, viewing you through his messy bangs and long lashes. “And of course I’ll bring Adrie.”

You celebrated by punching up your linked hands–yours smelling of pencil shavings, and his of burnt brake pads. Eddie used it to maneuver you into another turn. Smooth, suave. A true gentleman.

“Would you help me decorate too?” you dared ask. His answer was an apathetic grumble. “And maybe bring any non-denominational wintry decorations you have because all I could find in town were very red and green, and very Christmas-leaning.”

“You’re not sweetening the deal.”

“But it’s a ‘yes,’ isn’t it?”

Another dissuasive grumble.

Whimsy, breathless lyrics about fresh love trilled from the speakers. The cassette was on its last song before needing to be flipped.

“Do you really listen to jazz?” he asked, skirting into the territory of curiosity as his frame rocked you to the left.

“I listen to a little bit of everything,” you answered honestly, engaging in a fluid stride to the right. “Are you asking because of the music you listen to?” At once, your expression went wry, and his widened to barely constrained intrigue, like you were two steps ahead of him, reading his private thoughts. “The kinda stuff you blast when you think I’m not around.”

“You’ve heard that?”

Not helping the pink hue stemming from the hot base of his neck beneath your palm, you were quick to tease him, “Well, I’m not exactly competing in the Tour de France, y’know. You don’t wait for me to ride away before starting up your little concerts in here when you tell me to leave early. Bet you play air-guitar ‘nd everything when I’m gone, like a dork.”

Visibly curbing his habit to lick his lips, not desiring the swipe of dust it’d come with, Eddie narrowed his eyes, and cocked his head back to regard you down the slope of his nose. “Yeah? And what do you think of the music I listen to?”

“Unsurprising. Suits your image.” Engaging in a bit of intentionality, you worked your hand from his nape and introduced your fingertips to his other shoulder, wrapping your arm tighter around him, and you were enveloped by his warmth doing the same. The waistband of his coveralls rubbed against the metal zipper of his bulky jacket you wore as you moved in unison. “I recognize the big stuff. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest..” You shrugged. “Accept?”

The tip of Eddie’s nose came into focus, then his big eyes searching yours as he turned his face side to side, examining you up close. “I wasn’t even playing Balls to the Wall. No one just casually names Accept like that. You like them!”

“Okay, okay, slow down, don’t get too excited,” you calmed him before he strained a tendon in the very finger he pointed at you. “I’ve couch surfed with a lot of weirdos, and lived with six roommates at one point. I’ve listened to my fair share of music through thin walls whether I liked it or not.. But yeah, I like metal enough, I guess.”

Though he unlinked your waltzing hands in his rush to assert himself in your personal space, his arm around your waist persisted–and if he were wary of crossing boundaries, he showed no heed when he employed his strength to press your chests together through the layers of clothes in a sense of spontaneity.

Your view was eclipsed by the thrill in his boyish grin, and then, his hair was slipping from your curious fingers.

“Wait here–!”

And he was gone. His body heat bounded away and out the back door. You were stunned with your hands still posed as if he were there.

You dropped your arms to your sides, and clutched the rugged canvas jacket around you, waiting, listening to the gravel crunch and a car door slam, peering out into the dark to see what became so important he left his dancing partner in the middle of the warehouse in utter confusion.

“Got it,” he said in his stride to the stereo.

“Got what?” It was rude enough to abandon you, and now he was ignoring you in his frenzy. You followed him to the workbench, and turned to the side to rest your hip on it. The heater thawed your shins while Eddie pried open a cassette, but you couldn’t read the front from how he held it in his palms.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

He leaned his ass on the table top and folded his arms over his chest, instilling a narrow distance between you two. His gaze was on the floor. Eyes falling closed. For once, he did not want to see your reaction.

The speakers crackled with static.

You startled.

It was a hard left turn from the somber jazz from before.

Drumsticks crashed on cymbals, setting the aggressive pace for a piercing guitar to enter on a screeching note, quickly devolving into thrashy chords sure to make the fingers sore, along with a bass and rhythm guitar that were getting lost in your pounding head.

Though he wasn’t watching, you schooled the surprise from your features, and relaxed your shoulders. The music wasn’t offensive in the least, but it was loud.

After the initial assault, and a quick bass solo, you were nodding along, enjoying the overwhelming beat pulsing in your throat making it difficult to breathe.

The shredding guitar wept to a softer bridge, and the vocals began.

The vocals began.

The vocals..

The lyrics were spoken–sung–with the last word being dragged into a melodic ballad as the instruments went silent. A rich note held by a man whose voice was neither deep, nor falsetto. Perfectly in the middle. Perfectly fitting your preference. Perfectly matching the one you heard most days, and thought about at night, when your bed was lonely and your body was flushed with heat.

Perfectly matching..

You snapped your attention to Eddie’s face. His eyelids twitched with movement. Individual curls of his hair swung in time to his head dipping to the tempo. His cheek jumped at the start of the next verse, and he dug his fingernails into his sleeve until they turned white.

“This is you,” you expelled in pure infatuation. “Eddie!” You clasped his bicep, and leaned in to him, excelling at matching his enthusiasm from earlier, and surpassing it. “Eddie, this is you!” He opened his eyes and slouched away from your efforts in a laugh, angling his face into his hair to hide his shy grin.

You ran your hand along his forearm and tugged, wheedling him out of the tight hug he had himself locked in, urging him to open up. “This is you singing, isn’t it? This is your band.” The cassette case was behind him. Corroded Coffin. Same name as what was on his sweatshirt on Halloween.

The second button on his coveralls snapped open, below the one he always kept unfastened. You didn’t know at what point you were bold enough to put your hand on his chest, nor gather the fabric into your fist while shaking some sense into him, but you did. You really did expose the tight white shirt clinging to his sticky skin. All for the sake of validating Eddie.

When he continued acting far too humble–shrinking into himself, and mumbling how it wasn’t that cool–you wasted no time embarrassing yourself by jumping on your tiptoes, telling him just how cool it was, you promised.

Reaching behind him, he slapped the volume knob down so you both could stop shouting.

“I appreciate the groupie attitude, but it’s not like we’re a big deal, or anything,” he said, awkwardly folding one of his arms on top of the workbench as he surrendered and turned to you. His other hand hesitated near the bottom of the jacket. “About once a month we get a gig in Indy. Doesn’t pay much, but it covers the cost of the trip, and we get a decent crowd, I guess. Uhm, the venue sells out.. sometimes. People know some of the lyrics. We sell a couple of shirts..” he trailed off upon making eye contact. “We only get to practice on the days I leave work early. Maybe on the weekend.. so.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you trusted your hands to behave themselves on his forearm, laying your decent fingers over the tensed muscle above his wrist where he wore his watch.

He canted his head, and gave you a cynical look. “It’s not like we’re famous or anything.”

“I think it’s so cool you’re in a band,” you stressed. “How come you never told me?”

Shrugging, he glanced elsewhere. “Being you, and being from New York, you probably know hundreds of bands who’ve made it big. I’m sure you’ve met way more impressive people.”

Is that what this was about? Not sharing his theatrical past, and now his band because he was insecure about not impressing you, of all things? Using a resentful tone when speaking about his life versus yours, as if the comparisons mattered when it took all of your willpower to not stare at his lips in this proximity.

“Who cares who I’ve met. You sound amazing. The music, your voice. Everything. It’s uniquely yours, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”

Eddie sighed.

Cozying into the position, he leaned his weight on the arm you cupped your palms over, and there was a pull at the hem of the jacket. You shifted closer. He looped his finger into the pocket and rubbed his thumb along the edge of it, seeking an absent-minded distraction as he explained, “I also didn’t want to, ah–I don’t know.. Scare you off. Like, if you didn’t like it, or thought heavy metal was Satanic, or some shit.”

“Scare me off?” At least, you intended to repeat it back to him as a question, but your laugh interrupted you. “Oh, Eddie. Light of my day, my neverending fountain of mirth, a true joy to be around,” you gushed at his exaggerated sneer. “If you didn’t scare me off the first week of meeting you, where you made it a point to glare at me for the mere act of speaking in your direction, I don’t think your very obvious music taste would.”

He looked at his boots for a moment to reflect on his behavior, but forwent an apology, and instead asked, “So, you don’t think it’s lame for me to be pushing 30-years-old, and still playing in a garage band?” There was a truncated tension at the end of his question, like he wanted to add more self-deprecation to it, but stopped himself. Good thing, too, because you were about to voice your adulations until you were rendered to a puddle of embarrassment.

Sparing no sarcasm, you furrowed your brows and screwed your mouth into a snarky grin as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, girls find it totally lame when hot guys with long hair drive fast cars and play loud music and are in a band. It’s totally the most unattractive thing, especially when they have tattoos and are good singers. Definitely isn’t a turn-on at all.”

Too far, too much, too inappropriate–

The last sentence was over the line, and you could see it in his surprised eyebrows wrinkling his forehead, and his wide pupils boring into yours, and his cheeks reddening as your words sank in.

The garage went viscerally quiet.

He stopped fidgeting with the jacket pocket.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

“Not just the vocalist,” he said, voice cracking on the whisper. “I play lead guitar, too.”

You spat out, “Very cool,” desperate for the relief of his face cracking into a flattered grin.

But no, Eddie didn’t grant you such comfort. However, he did spare you the chance to scratch at the anxious sweat dripping down your back when he rearranged how he was standing, and spun around to the stereo. “It’s pretty late, huh? We should probably get going.” He pressed his hips to the workbench as he organized the tapes into their cases. Then, he paused.

The case yours went to was blank. Nothing written on the dotted lines on the back, nor on the front of the tape.

“I need my jacket back,” he reminded you.

“R-Right.”

You shimmied it off, and handed it to him. He draped it over his arm, and clutched the bulk to his stomach, covering his front as he turned to face you again. “Here.” Holding out the black and white cassette with a stylized logo he drew himself, he gave you his personal copy of Corroded Coffin’s first recording session. “You take mine. I’ll take yours.”

“Are you sure?”

Staring at the mixtape compiled of the cheesy love songs you made over the course of a few nights, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” And as he dragged his feet backwards–avoiding the space heater without looking–he said on his way to the tray where he kept his rings, “We should do this again. The whole.. dancing thing.” He gestured with the tape. “I’ll pick the music next time, too.”

With his back to you, he cleaned up his station, and let you know you could go. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

“You never answered if you were helping me hang decorations,” you found your voice. It was hiding behind a hammering heart, and shallow-filled lungs.

Outside, a car honked at a truck to take their turn at a green light.

The metal teeth on his jacket ground together as Eddie zipped it up. He sank his heavy hands into the pockets to weigh them down, and crossed his work boots at the ankle to about-face in a sort of pirouette, pinning you with his lopsided grin and mellow demeanor. “You know, I thought with all the life lessons I’ve had to learn over the past five years, I’d be able to resist a pretty girl asking me to do things for her.” He snorted and flicked his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “But when they’re as beautiful as you, I just can’t.”

His gaze came crashing down onto you, and your tongue froze at the tip of your teeth.

“Alright, Casanova,” you let out in a shaky breath. “I’ll take that as you agreeing, and will see you bright and early, and without any complaints.” You left as fast as you could.

No, really. The Tour de France better have a spot open for you, with how fast you pedaled home to sit on your bed, cross legged, happily ruining your hearing from having the volume scrolled to the max on your Walkman, listening to Eddie’s voice, wondering at what point the endorphins would wear off and you were stuck agonizing over how blatant you were about calling your coworker hot. And how he called you beautiful in return.

————

Talking amongst the sputtering coffee machine beginning its brew:

“The fourth one–uh–Solivagant, is definitely my favorite!”

“That one’s instrumental,” Eddie pouted. “And here I was under the impression you liked my lyrics.. Mm, a little lower on your side.”

You put blu-tack on your end of the banner, and pressed it into the wall. “I do! But that one really got stuck in my head. The way all the guitars came together to play the harmony was just–Eddie! You did that on purpose.”

Stepping around to the other side of the lunch table, you threw your head back in a groan at the glittery Happy Holidays sign you wrongly assumed he would help you hang without turning it into a way to tease you.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled on your way to fix the banner so it was even, and his side wasn’t higher by a few inches.

“Sorry,” he said weakly between his snickering. “Let me.”

There was no letting him do what he wanted. He was going to push his way into your space, regardless. Literally, shoving a chair out of his way with his hip, and standing behind you to peel the sticky tacky off the wall, and raising it from your face’s height, to slightly above your head, needlessly, infuriatingly, unhelpfully helping you. Barging in with his hand on your shoulder, and his body at your back. Closer, more intimate than the time at the grocery store.

His inhale swelled his solid chest against your shoulder blades, and his hum rumbled down your spine. “Am I supposed to dress up nice for your party?”

You twisted your head back to admire the underside of his freshly shaven jaw smelling of astringent spice. “Only if you feel like it,” you guessed. “The dress I’m wearing is pretty casual, but you don’t have to do anything special if you don’t want to.” After circling his thumb over the tacky corner of the sign, he dropped his arms, grazing them over yours, if only in passing. “I think the other guys are wearing button down shirts.”

His gaze drifted as he visualized his closet.

You stared. “Do you really not have one nice shirt?”

“I might still have the one from my job interview,” he said, tucking his chin to look at you, creating a silly amount of wrinkles along his burgeoning grin.

The front door chimed. Either Carl, Kevin, or your boss just walked in, and it was then Eddie realized the position he had you in. It struck him when his peppermint-candy-and-cigarettes breath caressed your fluttering lashes, and he could discern the bubblegum flavored chapstick on your lips, just like you could observe the balm on his.

If someone saw him trapping you alone in the breakroom against the wall with your backside pressed to him, there would be no delicate conversation about consensual workplace relationships. He’d be gone.

“Sorry!”

Eddie made his swift retreat–three, no, four steps away.

You widened your eyes at him, at his obviousness, and tried to communicate through your facial expression you knew what he was thinking, and everything was okay. You two were a bit too comfortable around each other, that’s all. It wasn’t something serious he needed to explain away. No one caught him. It was innocent, like slow dancing when no one was around. Innocent. Teasing.

“I, uhm– Y-Yeah, the shirt.” He forced his fingers to unclench into limp fists at his side. Face pale, yet hot. “It’s–I’ll wear it.”

Wringing your hand around the fridge door handle, you bent towards him, and raised your eyebrows higher, imploring him to chill. “Eddie, you can come in a t-shirt and jeans. It doesn’t matter. Adrie can wear whatever she wants, too. It’s just a casual thing.”

Totally casual. Like the body heat fading from the back of your green knit sweater where his chest became acquainted with the acrylic. Dissipating on his skin beneath his coveralls where the crown of your head met his shoulder. Very casual.

“Uhm–”

“So..”

You both started, and ended.

“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore’s gruff greeting came from the hallway.

Treating it as a warning, you each responded with an acknowledgement of your boss’ appearance as he walked into the room. “Good morning!” and “Salutations!” To which you shut your eyes in exasperation at Eddie’s unusual welcome, begging him to act normal while Mr. Moore poured sugar in his coffee.

After stirring in complete silence, he took turns smiling at you both, and meandered to his office, closing the door behind him.

Eddie shifted topics to the table where piles of garland remained coiled.

“Should we–?”

“Wanna just, uh, forget decorating for today, ‘nd do it tomorrow?” you spoke over him.

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding too enthusiastically. He tossed his hair out of his face, revealing the red tips of his ears for a split-second, and said, “Tomorrow, yeah. We can do the rest of this shit tomorrow.”

A very graceful conversation between two people who just had a very ordinary interaction without any explicit implications.

“We’re still having lunch together later, right?” you asked.

“Duh. You’ve gotta finish giving me your thoughts on the rest of our EP. The chorus for Taladasian Empire has some meta references to the other songs, I don’t know if you caught onto that, but the second verse mentions..”

Oh, he was adorable when he hyperfixated. Not only did it steer the conversation away from the previous blood-scorching incident, but it was rather nice to have a reason to stare at his lips move a mile a minute as he conjured an unprompted dissertation about his music’s lore, even as you were sitting at your desk, pointing at your ringing phone, and suggesting he should also get to work.

There were only two days left before the long holiday, and customers needed their cars before the shop was closed for the break.

————

Kevin sipped his coffee in the early morning sunlight filtering through the garage.

You garnered Eddie’s help whenever he was available, and the current task was dressing up your receptionist desk to look like a big present, complete with a gold bow flowing over the ledge where the candy bowl sat. Eddie crouched at one end holding a roll of wrapping paper while you unfurled it to the other, and measured it to the side facing the lobby.

Kevin watched the interaction through a unique lens, noting how Eddie bounced on his heels, appearing both bored and anxious to get back to work, but when he glanced over at you–at your face pinched in concentration as you fought with the tape dispenser with one hand–it was as if his worries melted away.

The boy calmed down.

Though Kevin didn’t come in often, the effect you had on the misfit was overt in the sweetest way. It reminded him of his first and last love, who had since passed.

~~~

Carl sipped his coffee as he stood in the doorway to the breakroom.

The lobby was taken over by a cheerful wonderment.

Eddie was hanging white and blue streamers from the drop ceiling tiles, while you decorated the windows with silver snowflakes. At first, Carl thought Eddie was pinning them up around the perimeter of the room because he lacked direction, but then he saw why he insisted on following you around, setting up the step ladder directly behind you.

Without discussing it, you reached out for Eddie’s arm as you stepped onto the cushiony lobby chair customers sat in when waiting for their cars, and he was at the ready. He lent his balance to you, crooking his elbow for you to slot your fingers into, and once steady, you let go.

The conversation picked up where it was left off, and the decorating continued.

Now that the glass door was unblocked, Kevin shuffled inside with his cold mug to get a refill, and stopped next to Carl on his way to the coffee machine.

“You sure those two ain’t datin’?” he asked.

Carl shrugged with his mug on the way to his mouth. “Apparently not. Ed said they’re just friends.”

At a sound in the lobby, they craned their heads to the furthest wall to witness Eddie beaming down at you. His smile was a rarity, and watching the enormous emotion take over him when you touched his arm and laughed at his joke; it was a sight worthy of remembering.

Kevin scratched at the side of his head, then straightened out the bill to his baseball cap over his wispy white hair, and squinted at the mischievous glint in Carl’s eyes.

“But David did say he walked in on them looking mighty flustered yesterday.”

“Did he, now?”

Swallowing the hot coffee with a wet smack of his lips, he emphasized a drawn out, “Yep.”

Kevin suggested, “Maybe the holiday spirit will take over, and they’ll confess their feelings under some mistletoe.”

“Uck,” he replied with a disgusted noise. “You’re always such a romantic.”

“You’re the one starin’ at them,” Kevin countered on his way to the coffee pot, shuffling from the arthritis in his knees, and focusing his energy into keeping his trembling hand still as he poured his drink. “Besides, I think his little girl would appreciate having someone like her in their lives.”

————

Four hours before the party, the auto shop was swept into a flurry of activity.

Carl and Kevin each had vehicles to work on; driving a truck out to the parking lot for a customer to pick up after you called them, and driving a car in. Working in tandem to the jolly Christmas music on the radio. Crowding the garage with discarded packaging from parts that would be gathered to be burned later.

“Guh–” You hung up the phone, and pressed a button to erase what you previously recorded after you stuttered over part of your script.

This outgoing message thing wasn’t going well.

Sighing, you picked it up and pressed the record button again. “You’ve reached David’s Auto Shop at..” you enunciated the number and address in an even tone. “We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–”

The smell of cigarettes should’ve been your first warning. The hand tipping your office chair back should’ve been the second. The general Eddie-ism of it all should’ve been the third.

Eddie blew a raspberry directly into the receiver.

“You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..” Fuming, you hung up, and glared at him.

He cackled on his way to the garage. “Hey, since you’re not busy, can you help me roll this stack of tires to the Buick over there?” Before you could share the choice words you had prepared for him–before you could process the droplets of spit drying on your cheek–before the door could hit him on the way out–he spun and caught it and ducked his head back in. “Oh! Don’t forget your policy. Can’t say no to helping me, huh?” On his smooth exit, he winked and made a clicking sound with his mouth, flashing a gratuitous amount of teeth on the smirk.

“You are the absolute worst.” You grabbed your hoodie and followed him, pointedly not thanking him for holding the door open for you. “And you know what? I seriously regret ever telling you about my dumbass policy.”

“Really? I’ve only just begun to actualize the potential for making you do things for me. I’m loving it!”

~~~

Three hours before the party, you put the finishing touches on the breakroom before Robin arrived with the food you ordered from the bakery and deli at the grocery store. Some was excess that would’ve gone to waste; extra cupcakes, and cookies. Other things were ordered, like finger sandwiches, veggie trays, and an arrangement of cheese cubes with those cute toothpicks that have red and green cellophane at the top. You also gave her money for the makings of smores, bags of pretzels, and crackers, themed plates and cups to match. The works.

You cleaned the countertop free of appliances, putting them away in the cupboards to make space and give outlets to the crockpots Mr. Moore’s wife was bringing later.

Otherwise, you shoved a tall stool borrowed from the garage in the corner of the room, and placed the small TV from Mr. Moore’s office on it, intending to play Holiday programs while people funneled in and out.

~~~

Two hours before the party, the sun was setting on the horizon. Eddie moved his car to the end of the alleyway, and Carl rolled out a barrel to be stuffed with leftover cardboard boxes, and firewood he brought from home.

He and Eddie moved the workbench to the service door, and set up the bigger TV so people could watch the football game while standing around the fire.

~~~

One hour before the party, the garage was cleared of anything that a child could hurt themselves on or with, and the shop was hushed in wait. Eddie left first to get Adrie from school, and go home to change. The other guys did the same, leaving to collect what family they were bringing, while you stayed behind to stress over having enough food to feed everyone, even after Robin dropped off more snacks than you remembered listing, along with your party clothes.

————

The evening began trepidatious.

Guests filled the lobby like a sea of warmly-dressed sardines. Scarves, mittens, jackets brushed necks, hands, shoulders. Those recognizing each other hugged, while three rambunctious dogs wove through their legs. You introduced yourself to Mr. Moore’s daughter, Misty, and waved at her newborn. Carl’s teenage sons took the opportunity of their mom being busy to throw pebbles at each other outside. Mr. Moore’s wife and her brother and his eldest son were either setting up food or starting the fire. There was a moody girl of unknown origin moping in the corner. You lost track. It was hard to concentrate in the excitement.

You tugged your sleeves into your palms, and looked around the room for what must’ve been the hundredth time..

Eddie was late, and it was difficult keeping the concern off your face.

“Don’t look so worried,” Kevin said, landing a hand on your back as he shuffled by, carrying the scent of lighter fluid and smoke. “Your date’s still in his car. Probably workin’ up the nerve to come see you.”

“He’s not my date,” you corrected with a comically repulsed frown, hoping he’d buy it. “We’re friends.”

A twinkle danced in his stark blue eyes, and his open-mouthed smile peeked from beneath his thick mustache. “Look out.”

Look out?

A pair of tiny arms hugged you around your ass, and if it wasn’t for the tell-tale giggle, your stomach would be flipping with a much different emotion.

“Adrie!” You twisted and subtly scooped her arms higher on your hips before cupping the back of her head, and hugging her to your leg in the warmest greeting you could muster while your brain went to mush.

“You made it,” you said, staring, staring, staring.

Eddie pressed his lips together as he looked from his daughter to you. Happiness etched itself in every facet of his expression; in the tight smile he failed to control, to the tenderness of his half-closed eyes shining behind his lashes, his confident stance with his hands slotted into his work jacket pockets, in his washed hair falling to one side as he let his head loll from the heavy thoughts swaying his shoulders in a slow rocking motion. Everything about him was relaxed upon seeing you.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented with a magnificent amount of ease, as if he wasn’t a bundle of anxiety minutes ago. Yet, he didn’t withhold his praise. In gradual seconds–each longer than the last–he beheld your appearance in the highest regard, noting the vast departure from the jeans you usually wore.

The burgundy pinafore dress fit you snug, and the hem stopped high on your thighs. The thin white turtleneck underneath clung to your figure, and your black pantyhose matched your chunky Mary Janes.

It was one beret and a baguette short from being an outfit you wore for a skit with your comedy troupe, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Really beautiful,” he said to himself, taking you in, his whisper lost amongst the beginning strums of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree playing from the garage.

Adrie grabbed at the dress around your waist, chaining herself to you in a needy act for attention, and you stroked your thumb over her hair in return, eyes refusing to leave her father.

“And what about you, handsome?” You signaled it was his turn to show off.

So far, the formfitting gray slacks with a faint plaid pattern were doing him justice, but you wanted to see the whole thing.

Peacocking, Eddie lifted an arrogant brow on the same side of his smirk, and put some confidence in how he unzipped his jacket, savoring the anticipation. Opening it slowly to unveil, unfathomably, a button up shirt. White with blue stripes. Untucked, of course. Dropping the jacket from his shoulders, he strutted in a circle, giving you the full view of his back–no rugged coveralls, no leather, no durable canvas, no sweatshirt–just thin polycotton blend stretched over his frame alluding to his musculature.

Working the jacket back up his arms, he presented one of his legs forward. “Think I gained some weight since I last wore these. They used to fit better.”

Oh. Oh, no. They fit perfectly.

While he was busy looking at where the slacks tapered to his black boots, you were commending other areas. Like his thighs, where the pants gave a slim shadow where his boxers ended. And a little higher, to the place the fabric bunched around, and forced the zipper to curve outward. The real deal. The whole package. The big show.

Jesus..

“You look good,” you croaked out with the last of the air in your lungs. He jerked his head up, and smiled his usual way–too wide, a little askew, showing more teeth on one side than the other. “Should’ve known you’d be just as handsome dressed up as you are in a t-shirt and jeans.”

“You hear that, Adrie? It was worth it being late, because I look extra handsome.”

“I didn’t say extra–”

“Who cares,” she whined at him. After demonstrating an ounce of patience while her dad took a shower, washed his hair, shaved, spritzed on too much cologne, and stood in front of the mirror debating over wearing his nicer clothes or his usual ripped jeans for an excruciating number of minutes, she was at her limits. “My outfit is way, way, way cuter,” she argued in her kid-like way, fighting for your approval.

You crouched to her level, and she twirled in a circle, copying him. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! Your sweatshirt is way, way, way cuter than his boring clothes. What does it say?” Somewhere above you, you heard Eddie suck his teeth.

Adrie pinched the red pullover and held it out for you to read along with her.

“Santa’s.. Widdle helper.” The pronunciation wasn’t her fault. Upon closer inspection, the text did indeed spell ‘little’ as ‘wittl’.’

“And who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the character jumping out of a Christmas stocking on the front.

“Tweety Bird!”

“Alright!” You held your hand up, and she high-fived you.

Thrown back into reality at a dog’s yip, and Mr. Moore’s survey of heads, you let go of the romanticized bubble you surrounded yourself in, where it was just you, Adrie, and Eddie, and took heed of the packed room lurching towards the smell of cooked meatballs wafting in the air.

“Everyone here?” Mr. Moore asked, and when a murmur arose, he rubbed his hands together, and announced, “Let’s eat! Game starts soon.”

The sardine conglomerate moved as one, making a concentrated effort to form a line from the breakroom, down the hallway, and ending where you stood at the glass door. Adrie struggled to accept being last in line, but you prepared many distractions for her; the first of which being Eddie’s present.

“I got something for you,” you said, and reached over the ledge of your desk, patting around in search of the special item. He expressed an unreasonable amount of suspicion. “You have to promise to wear it. Or else..” You gave Adrie a look, and she had a pout at the ready if he didn’t comply.

“I don’t like it when you two gang up on me,” he mumbled, eyeing you.

“Too bad. Here.”

Eddie snorted at the red, white, fuzzy, jingly accessory in your hand. “Really?” he asked, and laughed, “Would’ve worn it anyway.”

After a pause where he held the Santa hat in strange contemplation, he humbly knelt on his knees to Adrie, and asked her to do the honors, “Wanna put it on for me?” She did so enthusiastically, jamming the hat on his head, rattling the bell at the end of the cap, and calling him Daddy Santa while roughly combing his hair. He was sure to hold your gaze as he prompted Adrie, “Not real Santa, right?”

“No, you’re Daddy Santa. Real Santa is coming in two days! And he’s bringing me lots of presents because I’ve been good.”

You understood, then, the glaze of fatigue in the look he gave you. It’d be a few more years until Adrie thanked him for the miracles in her life, the food in her belly, the roof over her head, and as a father, he only hoped he’d fix his situation before she learned the full details of his sacrifices to raise her, to give her a room, to provide her with a bed of her own while he went without.

Still, he was in the constant battle of yearning for the acknowledgement, while fearing her growing up and discovering the real world.

A complex set of emotions to parse for both him and his daughter, and he had to do it alone.

“Ow, Adrie..”

Coming to his rescue when she began pinching his cheeks to a rosy state, you got her attention, “Don’t think I forgot about you, cutie pie.” From behind the ledge, you pulled out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband, and slid them on for her, doubling as a way to keep her bangs out of her eyes.

Glee burst across her face in a smile which rivaled the dawning rays of the rising sun. Deep-seated satisfaction erupted in your chest at her joy over the small gesture. Her immediate desire was to be picked up by you, ready to be doted on, and in that moment, you wanted nothing other than to gather her in your arms. But Eddie stole her for himself. You were left Adrie-less. And the fact it bothered you, and the fact making his daughter happy affected you in a way you’d only begun to unpack last week when you asked Robin to drive you to the toy store at the mall, was complicated.

“You can’t coerce Miss Mouse into picking you up at your command,” he told her in a playful tone. “You’re a big girl now, and only Daddy’s strong enough to hold you.”

“Oh, puh-lease.” As if your tongue wasn’t already stuck out in disgust, it certainly was when he made a show of flexing his biceps. Under his jacket. Like that would prove anything.

Now, if he were wearing less..

You latched onto the change of subject in your mind, and moved on with the night, away from the poignant feelings of longing for something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

For now, you made a sardine family. You, Adrie, and Eddie. Your hand in hers, she on his hip, and his kiss to her forehead, fond of one another. Huddled in shared conversation–the type where everything faded away. No one else. Just you, Adrie, and Eddie.

You volunteered to make their dinner. With Adrie clinging to his side, she was able to boss you into putting whatever she wanted on her plate, and you checked Eddie’s amused face every time she added another carrot or ham pinwheel, knowing he’d be the one to eat it when she was full. After hers, you made his, and after his, you made yours. Balancing them all on your palms and forearm, and bringing them to your desk, assuring Eddie he could have the office chair while you took the black stool.

Poor him, though. He sat with Adrie in his lap, desperate to maneuver around her antlers to get a mini cupcake in his mouth while you freely ate your sandwiches, and answered her questions about if reindeer were real, and if they could fly. (Yes, and yes.)

Other guests were present in the lobby, you knew, but at the impact of your knee prodding Eddie’s thigh, and his sly grin over Adrie’s head, they faded away once more.

Until a flash startled you both from your ga-ga gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Just saving memories!” Kevin exclaimed, scrolling his thumb over the disposable camera’s film cog.

And before you could blink away the spot invading your vision, he was gone. “Hope we looked good, at least,” you said to Eddie, not having a candid picture taken since you moved to Hawkins.

He snorted, and leaned around Adrie to see the meatball he was quartering for her with a plastic fork. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered at the endearment. He said it in a casual manner, not like when he was trying to fluster you. And the compliment was sincere, not teasing. It was sweet, with his arm around his daughter to keep her from squirming away, and the warm comfort of his leg against yours, body heat transferring from his slacks through your thin pantyhose.

A moment you’d like to remember. Including..

“Here,” you giggled.

He looked at the napkin you held out to him, and where you tapped at the corner of your mouth. “Oh.”

In true Eddie fashion, he used his tongue to edge at the green icing, following it with his thumb to get whatever he missed and sucking the rest from his fingers while still managing to entertain Adrie with questions about what she did in preschool today, and dipping a carrot in ranch, dropping some of it too onto his pinky and licking that off without hesitation too. A chaotic mess of a man.

~~~

As predicted, it didn’t take long for Adrie to get bored, and she wandered off to play with Kevin’s dogs. Eddie took it upon himself to finish the monumental task of eating the assortment of leftovers she surrendered on her plate. A real hero of the times, scarfing down the butter ring cookies she wore on her fingers, and downing the sip of juice she didn’t want.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Simple, flowing. He slouched to the side with his elbow on the desk, cheek to his fist, legs spread, listening to you talk about nothing.

“And as you can see” –You pulled open the second drawer to the short filing cabinet under your desk– “I’m all organized for the new year. Got my Post-it notes, a new set of highlighters, some of those fancy pens that make my handwriting look nicer. Living a life of luxury over here.”

“Very cool,” he replied in a hollow tone, implying it was in a mocking ‘you’re adorable’ kind of way, and not a ‘wow, you bought the Bugs Bunny themed sticky notes, that’s very cool of you’ kind of way.

You pushed the drawer closed with your foot, and rocked on your stool, grinning.

Beyond the circle of touching knees, fluorescent lights, and brave glances, there was an abrupt cheer at a scored touchdown. In the lobby, the mothers grouped the chairs together to adore the hiccuping newborn. In the parking lot, the teenage boys drove a remote control car around. The moody girl brought a skewer and marshmallows out to the fire. A Jack Russell terrier panted at your calf. Kevin patted Adrie’s head, and stooped to whisper a secret in her ear as they passed each other outside the glass door.

Eddie took the pom pom end of his Santa hat between two fingers and rattled the bell at you. He looked like he was about to speak, but someone special interrupted him.

“I’ve been sent on a mission. You have to come with me!”

You both turned to Adrie.

When neither of you did anything besides raise your eyebrows expectantly, and she didn’t give more context, nor information, she got impatient. “Come on!” she pleaded with a stomp, and grabbed your hand, and you grabbed Eddie’s sleeve on instinct, practically tripping him over your stool while she dragged you into the hallway.

After several feet, she stopped. You stopped, Eddie stopped.

“What’s the mission?” he played along, linking his hand in hers so you were one big circle. A sardine family.

She didn’t speak. Only grinned, and giggled.

Not catching on, you exchanged a confused shrug with Eddie, and asked her, “Is it a riddle?”

More laughter. Harder, more persistent tugs around your pinky and ring finger where she snared you. And a direct, focused smile aimed above your heads.

Slowly–slowly–slowly–

You straightened up from how you were bent over, and listened to Eddie’s clothes shift as he did the same. You followed the invisible line to where she was looking, tipping your head back in curiosity to see what was taped to the doorway exactly between you, and her beloved dad.

There was silence all around.

From the sharp leaves and red berries of the mistletoe, your gaze began its slow descent to Eddie’s. Passing over the red hat, the wrinkled forehead with messy bangs flattened onto it, the worried eyebrows. His sickly pale cheeks, flushed red lips. Suspended in time. Heart in your tight throat, pounding pulse, stomach twisting.

You searched the frightened sheen in his eyes.

“I didn’t hang that, I swear,” he whispered.

“I didn’t either,” you promised just as quickly.

It didn’t matter who did.

There was noise all around. The football game turned to a commercial, and heavy feet announced people entering the garage, and approaching the glass door, coming inside to refresh their drinks and nibble at the cheese cubes.

Quickly–quickly–quickly–

“She.. We’ve been watching a lot of Christmas movies, and she must’ve seen it in one of them.” Lowering his voice, he brought his hand up in a sympathetic gesture, trying to explain her behavior. You let go of his sleeve. “She doesn’t understand.. The meaning, and everything.” He paused. “Us.” Another pause, a tic in his lower lip like a tremble. “Working together, and stuff.” Voice almost mute. “That w-we can’t..”

As much as you wanted to smash your lips on his to stop him from overexplaining the multitude of reasons you two couldn’t, or shouldn’t kiss, (you’re at work, this place smells like meatballs, his daughter is right there, Mr. Moore’s shadow breached the lobby, the fact Eddie chose listing coworkers as his rationale for not kissing you and not because you two were friends, but then again, what if he was about to say that, that he only saw you as a friend, and maybe being coworkers was an easier excuse than saying he wasn’t into you like that, oh god–), you had to get out of this situation with grace.

“No, yeah, I get it. Uhm.” Think fast, think fast, think fast. “You know who else is under the mistletoe, hmm?” you drew out the hum to build tension, setting your sights on your target.

Adrie squealed when you snatched her up and spun in a circle, attacking her cheeks with an unrelenting amount of kisses; the type that were quick pecks with lots of kissy noises, so saccharine and fawning and annoying to listen to. Tender and pure and tempting to the man who made a conscious effort to release the pinch of frustration from his face, and remorse from his discontent sigh before answering your question.

“Can she have one of these chocolate snowmen?”

“Only if you’re willing to tire her out before we leave,” Eddie said, taking intentional steps towards you and Adrie on your hip, leaving the mistletoe and its implications behind. He placed a friendly hand along your shoulder blade. His other hand was more menacing on her back, as indicated by her eyes growing large.

He warned her in a stern tone, “If you have too much sugar and keep me up all night, you’ll never have another dessert again.”

She called him out, point blank, nose turned up in triumph. “You’ve already said that before, and I got cookies anyway.”

Your cookies, he said in a quick glance and eyebrow wag at you, before speaking to her again, “You got me there. However.. I would hate for Santa to find out you stayed up past your bedtime.” He sucked his teeth with a pitying shrug. “The consequences are steep. He’s very strict, you know.”

Adrie’s frown was serious.

Eddie was having too much fun using his one seasonal threat to get her to behave.

“Aw, don’t listen to him,” you soothed her. You lifted your chin so she could burrow her head against your neck, and amended, “Well, do listen to your dad, but I have something special planned for us, Adrie.” She roused out of her heart-wrenching pout, and hugged you harder, kicking her feet around your waist in excitement.

You smiled at him, but your gaze fell elsewhere, passing over the men in the hallway, and taking a last, long look at the mistletoe, seeing it for the confusing event it created, not the romantic scene it was known for. “I’ll take her for the night. You go watch the game, or something. Hang out with the adults. I’ve got her.”

The tiny room became overcrowded. Someone whispered, “Oh, aren’t they cute together,” and Eddie chewed on his inner cheek. He removed his hand from you, fingertips slipping over the back of your dress, catching the strap, then your side, below your ribs, above Adrie’s leg. Measured, methodical touches. Not accidents.

While his face lacked strong emotions, there were words in his eyes. Maybe they were an apology for the weirdness you now found yourselves in, or a thank you for taking her off his hands for a bit, or they were something else entirely. He didn’t say.

“You two have fun,” he expressed in his soft voice, and grabbed a cold soda on his way out.

~~~

A cold soda did not unwind him like a beer.

Eddie warmed himself by the barrel fire while the game played. Though any opportunity to talk with his peers rarely expanded past the usual topics of work and raising his daughter, and were frequently shadowed by what was happening on the screen, he didn’t mind the interruption. He knew the rules of the game enough to feel a sense of camaraderie when they celebrated. And really, he just wanted the time to think. Or not think. Definitely not think about how he reacted earlier, stumbling over his words to assure you he wasn’t some creep who hung mistletoe as a way to trick you into kissing him. Absolutely not agonize over his inability to articulate himself, and provide you with an out while also reminding himself why he shouldn’t listen to his impulse clawing to be released, and kiss you on the spot. And certainly not consider your mild response to the whole thing, and how your gaze lingered–for a millisecond–on his lips before you scooped Adrie into your arms.

Eddie ran the heel of palm along his jaw, back and forth, and worked it to the back of his neck, wringing his nape in tight squeezes to release the tension.

A beer was definitely better than soda, but so be it. He downed the rest of it, and justified going inside for another. Of course, his motives for going through the lobby weren’t to quench his thirst, but as he almost ran face-first into the glass door, his mouth went dry.

Your ass in the curve-hugging dress was the first thing he noticed. Noticed it because you were curled into the fetal position on the floor, pretending to die a dramatic death. Oh, and you were wearing a black cape adorned in shiny gold stars, and your mouse ears from Halloween, along with a crown.

The loud crunch of him crushing his soda can got your attention.

“You don’t always have to dress like a mouse for her; she knows who you are,” he said in cool nonchalance on his way to the fridge.

You pointed a pirate’s cutlass at him, regarding him down the plastic blade. “I’m the Rat King.”

The music on the portable radio changed moods from a battle march to a victorious, slow piece.

Ditching the mouse ears by throwing them aside into a small pile of other props, you instructed Adrie to exchange her rapier for a flower crown. “Ooh, ooh! And this is where Clara and the Nutcracker Prince dance. Yeah, hold my hand, lift your leg in arabesque. Just like that.” You walked around her, spinning her in a circle while she posed with her leg behind her, and when you let go, you granted her the stage to improv what ballet moves she knew through pop culture osmosis, clapping and gasping and cheering her on, both of you panting from the exertion of playing an entire cast of characters.

There was a pang in Eddie’s stomach. The usual stuff: wanting to watch, wanting to join, wanting to stop it. The jealousy of being left out of the intimate moment, the yearn to add a third to his and Adrie’s life, the grief of when things don’t work out and this was a mistake. Decisions, daydreams, the reality of you maybe moving away, maybe not. Maybe dating him, maybe not. Maybe making work a place he dreaded coming to again if he tried something and it ended in disaster.

He had no other job options.

And yet..

“Hey.” Eddie traced the rim of the chilled soda in his hand, collecting condensation. “Ah, the TV in there is playing those old claymation Christmas movies in a marathon. D’you guys wanna watch them with me?”

Teaching her to put her toe to her knee in the passé position, you asked, “Don’t you want to hang out and watch the game?” When he didn’t respond, you looked up at him. Immediately, your focus honed in on his shy habit of chewing on his bottom lip.

“Nah. Not really. I’d rather be in here.”

~~~

The breakroom lights were off, save for the dim set on either side of the sink lighting the buffet, and the air was humid from steam curling off the crockpots. On the table were three marshmallow snowmen held together by melted chocolate and pretzel stick arms; remnants of an impromptu competition of which he lost.

It was a warm and cozy affair, made more so by the three of you squished together to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the small TV in the corner.

Adrie nestled deeper into her baby blanket. She had the quilt cocooned around her, running her fingertips over her mouth while she watched. Beside her, you sat with your hands laced in your lap, and at the end, Eddie slumped diagonally in his seat, propping his elbow on the back of your chair. Half paying attention to the stop motion film, half congratulating himself on getting this far. It took all of Jack Frost to work up the courage to daintily set his elbow at the very corner of your chair, almost making contact with your shoulder without worrying if he sweated through his deodorant or cologne yet..

But what if his breath smelled bad from the weird combination of food he ate?

Fuck–

The golden retriever lounging on the floor behind Adrie wagged his tail. Kevin’s distinct shuffle came down the hallway. “Well here’s where you three gone off to,” he said. His dog lifted his head, and licked his lips in anticipation for a pet. “Don’t mind me, just came in for another pepperoni slice, isn’t that right, Coop?”

Cooper panted at his name.

Adrie mumbled around her fingers, “I love your puppy. He’s the best.”

“Yeah, she adores him,” you added.

“Aw, you’re a good boy, aren’t ya?” Kevin bent down to praise his dog with a couple of pets under the chin. And when he was finished, he made a fuss about his old knees, and the cold weather affecting them, and the–whatever else he said.

Upon struggling to stand, Kevin sought a place to put his hand for assistance–and wouldn’t you know, the perfect spot was right in front of him. He clutched Eddie’s forearm for purchase, which incidentally took him off guard before he could brace his muscles, and pinned it to the back of your chair. Once the move was complete, Kevin stood and patted the spot he held until Eddie’s arm curved flush against your shoulders. Then he winked and walked off, no longer shuffling. Eddie stared open-mouthed at the determination.

His insides clenched with unreleased tension. The holly hung in the doorway. Things he wasn’t supposed to do. Anxiety, nerves heightened with the sensation of your solid body breathing beneath the weight of him.

Adrie mumbled something about what was happening on screen, and you said something back, nodding.

It’s not like this was the first time he put his arm around a girl. But it was the first time he did so with the burden of pessimism warning him not to.

He scrutinized the side of your face for any sign of acknowledgement that his arm was around you, but if you cared, you didn’t show it. You remained poised as ever.

You didn’t mind, outwardly.

So he didn’t either.

It was only in front of his boss that he lifted his arm to comb the hair off his neck when Mr. Moore entered. And as soon as he was gone, Eddie strung it casually across the back of your chair again, twirling a curl of Adrie’s hair around his finger.

And when Carl came in, you sat forward for the entire duration of his stay, eating a marshmallow while he was in the room. And when he left, you sank back into your seat.

The third time someone came in, neither of you moved. You followed each other’s lead and did nothing. Subconsciously–or consciously–finding the courage to fit your bodies together in a purposeful way, relaxing towards one another, and slotting into the cushiony space his arm allowed against his bulky jacket.

Time went on like that.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Wordless, intuitive. Exchanged in the permanent grin affixed to his face, and your tender hums of affection when you looked at him or Adrie. Somewhere in the silent conversation, he summoned the balls to stroke his thumb–only once–over the soft slope of your bicep, and coped with the aftermath of studying the profile of your lips tugging up at the corners.

~~~

The party came to its natural conclusion when the game ended. Eddie scooped what was left in the crockpots into mismatched tupperware he brought from home, filling up an old butter container with chili, and rinsing out the cookware to give back to its original owner. He placed cupcakes in their plastic clamshell packaging, and downsized the veggie tray into a manageable load. You played the part of an amiable host, and wished everyone a happy holiday on their way out, insisting you’d take care of cleaning up. Really, it was no problem. You had Eddie with you, and Adrie was helping by falling asleep with a crayon in her hand.

Eddie listened to you usher them out the door, and lock it behind them once they drove away.

In truth, he preferred them gone when you both made trips to his car, loading the backseat with the leftovers. Didn’t matter if they were room temperature carrots, or the mangled overcooked meatballs from the bottom of the crockpot, he accepted them.

He took inventory of the last containers on the breakroom table while you woke up Adrie, and for once, he felt okay.

Normally stress chewed holes in his stomach this time of year, but knowing the panic of not paying the electric bill before incurring another late fee would be eliminated by the generous bonus Moore gave him in the white envelope tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, Eddie felt.. alright. Like things would be alright. He put enough aside for his daughter to have one big present this year, and things would be alright.

“Ready?” you asked, holding Adrie’s hand in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s just these two containers, and we’re good. Were we doing anything about the decorations?”

“Nah.” You waved him off. “We can take them down after the break.”

More than happy to get home and reap the reward of a full night’s sleep, he picked her up mid-yawn, and you carried the last of the containers to the car for him. While you found available space to shove the tupperware without it spilling, Eddie swayed with Adrie. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and closed his eyes, feeling himself meld into the drowsy moment, comforted by her weight in his arms.

He heard the gravel crunch from your movement, and your shivered exhale beneath your jacket. It was his turn to put Adrie in her carseat, but when he caught the dewy glimmer in your eye, he thought he might hold onto her for the next eternity if it meant he could earn that soft awe from you again.

However, it was cold out, and he should hurry up.

“Uh, there’s uh,” you started, standing back while he buckled Adrie in. “There’s actually one more thing inside.”

“There is?” he questioned dumbly. He glanced at your incessant finger guns pointed towards the back entrance door, and tried to picture what he left behind.

“Yeah, if you could just help me real quick.”

He shrugged and tucked the quilt tight around Adrie. “I’ll be right back, okay?” She nodded, and covered the lower half of her face with the blanket.

Still cool, calm, and collected, Eddie followed you into the garage, through the glass door, into the lobby, down the hallway, and stopped when you stopped. In the breakroom doorway. Under the..

He struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Adrenaline raced to his nerves, to his brain, to his heart jumping in confusion. The addictive buzz enabled him to remember each detail of your lips parting, the sound of your shallow inhale, and the sting of doubt on his cheeks when you spun around and pried out the noisy keyring from your pocket, shaking them until you found the one to the storage closet.

You turned the key in the door opposite him in the hallway, and reached inside, into the dark. “I, uhm.. I got a present for Adrie, if that’s okay..”

“You..?” He went silent at the large gift bag you held out to him, with the giant portrait of jolly Saint Nick on the front bulging from what was inside.

Second guessing if you were overstepping boundaries with the gesture, you faltered, “If it’s not okay, I can, I guess–?”

“No, no,” he finally said, screwing his eyes shut at realizing he just stood there like a moron. “No, that’s, that’s so nice of you. I-I don’t even know what to say. Just, yeah.. You didn’t have to do something like that.” He accepted the bag, and hugged it to him, crushing the decorative tissue paper sticking out the top.

“I signed it as being from Santa. I figured that was appropriate.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect. Uhm.. wow.”

He was doing his favorite trait–where his smile evolved into an open laugh; a little obnoxious, and a lot flirty–and he could tell when you beamed up at him and your cheesy grin overflowed into a giggle, it was your favorite trait too.

And you kept the presents rolling.

“As Office Administrator,” you said with a spry loveliness in your sidling up to him, “I have some insider knowledge that someone put in a good word for you, and uh, it looks like you’re getting a pretty nice raise at the beginning of the new year.” There was no mistaking who. “And I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Moore is going to start pulling from his retirement in June, and Misty isn’t interested in running the family business, so he’s seeking out a new owner,” you put more than a hint of inflection on the end of the sentence, and gave him a look.

You shrugged your shoulder to your chin. “Anyway, do with that information what you will.”

Eddie stayed stupefied, speechless, staring down at the bag. Because you were you, you ended the conversation with a weak punch to his arm when a car drove into the parking lot.

“That’s Robin,” you said.

He watched you walk away. Down the hall, into the lobby. Putting distance between him and the doorway to the breakroom, where his regrets taunted him.

The sharp leaves and red berries were lost amongst the shadows, but their warning rang true. The reasons he shouldn’t kiss you. The talk he never had with Adrie, the potential expiration date even if things did work out between you two, the issue of seeing each other every day and knowing he couldn’t handle the habitual rejection of ignoring the other’s existence if things went bad.

New year, same old coward.

Except.

An idea.

An impulse.

A vicious desire.

He rejected the rejection. “Wait!”

You turned, and jumped at his sudden appearance. Eyebrows raised in surprise, a fresh smile lighting up your face in the gentle moonlight.

Eddie stopped you by grabbing your hand, wielding you closer with his rough fingers pressed into your sweaty palm until your arms entwined, and your jackets rubbed. He dropped his head to the side with a shameful shake, and ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, building to an apologetic admission. “I’m doing that thing again where I forget to thank you,” he said, not needing to speak above a whisper as he gazed down at you, unafraid.

“Then thank me,” you replied, curling your fingers around his.

His wavering voice went deeper in his chest, “Words don’t feel good enough anymore.” The bag under his arm crinkled as he lifted a finger at Robin who had come to peer inside the window, and very quickly made herself scarce after witnessing the moment she was intruding on. “You’re too sweet, and I don’t even get to drive you home.”

You encouraged him in a laugh. “Then think of another way to thank me that’s not transportation based.”

A bad thought bloomed warmth across his cheeks. “I will,” he promised, nodding. “I’ll find a better way to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Adrie. Something good.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You lingered for a second, waiting, and when you both remained kissless, you rocked your body into him, cozying your sides together with your joined arms squeezed between in a sort of goodbye hug. “Speaking of Adrie, you might want to get back to her before she becomes a popsicle.”

He inhaled sharply and snapped his head up. “Yeah, I should probably go start the car.”

“Have a good holiday, Eddie. Get lots of rest over the break, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

With an absolutely astounding amount of memories made today, you were both content to step away from each other and go home to begin the tossing and turning, sickly sweet, cold-side-of-the-pillow reminiscing about the brave glances, and daring touches.

You reached for the door handle.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You stalled with your back facing him. Thinking you were sly, you checked the reflection to see what part of you his gaze was admiring, and you laughed.

Finally. He was making eye contact with you through the glass.

“Goodnight, handsome,” you answered, and left with your smile ducked into your collar.

The evening ended spectacularly.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Text

Black Metal and Bourbon (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, smut, NSFW, sex & intimacy, praise kink, brief thoughts of exhibitionism, p-in-v, fingering, hand job, some sub/dom dynamics, sub!Simon for a bit, soft!Simon, property damage, bike crashes (wear helmets everyone), violence, past toxic relationship, sabotage, attempted murder, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your fingers tighten around Simon’s waist, the helmet you’d been given pressed into his shoulder as the both of you slice through wind—an engine roaring below you from the Honda Rebel 500. The fit was a tight one, Simon not having a proper second seat beside the passenger kit he’d been quick to install not a few hours before when you’d hesitantly asked for a ride into a neighboring town. Your body was directly above the back tire, and Simon had been firm in his words when he’d been adjusting the back suspension in the bustling shop.

“You’re not lettin’ go until we get there, copy? I feel your grip loosen, I’m pulling over.”

You had begrudgingly agreed, needing the high-quality art supplies a twenty-minute drive away. The stores here didn’t have what you needed, and, not owning a car as this town was entirely walkable if need be, this was your only option.

Once you’d gotten on that bike though, Simon hadn’t needed to reiterate himself about holding on—you did that all on your own. Yet, that wasn’t to say you weren’t enjoying this.

Lips peeled back into a smile, your eyes stare out across the unfolding hills and mountains in the distance; fields of verdant grasses and trees. The vibrations of the Rebel left your head jittering, but this view was the clearest you’d ever seen.

Chuckling, the driver under your rib-cranking hold blinked at the nearly missed sound, only able to tell from the movement of your chest at his spine. Simon’s sunglasses glinted over the thin sliver of flesh that would otherwise be the only piece of his face visible, and his fingers twitched as he stared ahead at the open road. The man had given you his leather jacket, taking a spare of black coloring like an all-dark cat, his boots and pants matching the theme that carries over.

You shout above the whipping of the airways.

“This is amazing!” Simon puffs a laugh at that, though his heart patters ever faster like a dog at the turn of a key. He doesn’t answer, even if his lips itch into a smirk to tell you he’s appreciating the spinal re-adjustment you’re giving him.

Your laugh echoes out through the scenery, and your heart has never been more full.

It had been a decent amount of time since Simon and the others had come into town—three weeks since you’d been hired on your off days to go and paint the mechanic’s shop. A base coat had already been applied, then the secondary and the final with the help of a very animated Soap saying that no one could get to the tops of the walls better. Gaz had seen him hit himself with the soggy paint roller not five minutes later after trying to flip it, and that had been the end of the interference on your work.

All that was left was to start the mural.

There hadn’t been a peep from Graham or his goons—they’d even left you alone on your walks back home. As much as you wanted to be elated about it, there was a brief stint of paranoia in the days that had followed the party. Graham Whitaker was a coward, but he didn’t…let things go.

But holding onto Simon Riley as he pulled into the nearby town made that sharpness at the back of your mind flee in an instant. The mountains and fields dissipate to tiny houses and long stretches of connected businesses—sun-washed bricks surround you as Simon shifts the tires to dodge potholes.

His head moves slightly to the side, and you hear the call through your borrowed helmet.

“Where am I headed?”

“East side!” You rest the bottom of the helmet on his shoulder, seeing a sliver of his October browns through his sunglasses as he rips his eyes back to the road. “Look for the rose bushes!”

“Makin’ me go deaf,” Simon mutters to himself, but he does as you instruct. Parking in the street outside of the art shop, he moves out the kickstand with one foot—the other resting on the ground so you don’t tip. He gives you a look over his shoulder to get off first as the engine cuts and the jungle of keys comes to silence inside of his pocket.

Giggling, you let go of his hard waist and step out to the concrete of the sidewalk, turning around and fixing the strap of your carry bag with a hidden grin.

“I think I just found a new form of transportation.”

“Then you can forget about it,” Simon smirks, taking off his sunglasses and sticking them to the neck of his compression shirt. “Helmet, Sunshine.” He reminds, looking around for a moment.

You slap your hands to the side of the item around your head as you continue to giggle like a child, elated and feeling the throws of wanderlust—you’d never felt so alive than when watching the world pass by at your sides. How quickly you can form a routine of boring days, one after the other. You felt…light again.

A finger grabs at the visor, flicking it up as your crinkled eyes come into view for the gruff man and his raised brow.

“You drunk?” Simon stares, tilting his head as he looms closer, studying you up and down.

“No, Brown-Eyes,” you roll your eyes teasingly, waving his hand away as you unclip and pop the helmet off before it’s leveled back to him. He takes it and holds it loosely in one grip, blinking at you slowly. “I’m excited. Can I not be excited, then, huh? Not happy seeing me enjoy your company?”

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” Simon shakes his head but his amusement is heard, slipping past as you eagerly follow after, expression airy.

You hum, leaning into him and smirking.

“C’mon Simon, you’re completely taken with me—I can see it.” There was no question that the two of you had become close. There was rarely a night when he didn’t come to visit you at the bar; had even taken up walking you back home too, though there was little need to. Simon had said it was because he had nothing else to do, but you doubted it. Since the shop had opened, there had been no shortage of work.

The man grunts as he opens the door for you with a shoulder, sending you a blank eye. “Taken aback.”

“Fucking jerk,” you grin at him as you slip inside, face loose with banter. Simon chuckles lowly and follows, standing behind you as his boots clop to polished tile floors.

This place was exactly how you remembered it—holding an old feel with the beams in the ceiling and the raw brick walls. There are tables with paints and brushes, all neat and orderly with unique looks and designs to them, even the wall has shelves of old wood holding hidden nicknacks and unique wonders.

Simon gazes around with a glint of interest in his eye, understanding now that the painting was better off in your hands. He has to wonder how you managed to find a place like this.

“Over here,” you say. Walking to the very back, your hands are already reaching for the quality brushes you’d need for the mural. Simon’s hands slip into his pockets, stance casual in a way he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago.

It was no secret that Simon trusted very few people. It wasn’t just because of his past military experience, it was his life in general—each turn led to something that could go wrong like a gun in the hands of a criminal. But you had been nearly sly in the way you’d grown on him.

The quick-witted comments, the way you spoke and carried yourself; your light and unapologetic attitude. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d stared at the bar from his shop’s garage—under the body of some car with grease up to his elbows, legs dangling as his back was on top of the creeper. Brown eyes that can pinpoint your form before his mind blanks and sweat pools at his collarbone.

It was something that Simon was afraid to name.

“Bloody expensive,” the man mutters in the present, fingers pushing at the price tag of some paints nearby. “You sure you need this shit?”

“It’s not shit, Riley,” you scoff, grabbing two large brushes and three smaller ones from wall buckets, pointing one at him. “But I have to agree on the expensive part. You should see how much I would spend when I was really into art. You’d puke your blackened guts up.”

Simon hums, giving you his attention as you peer at a table of rich paints in smaller cans a few feet away.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, the soft tinkling of piano music coming from somewhere in the back.

You pause, your back turned to him as you look at the label of a small aluminum container of enamel paint for vehicle detailing. Licking your lips, you clear your throat and ease out a nonchalant, “Graham,” and end the conversation there with less blood spilled.

Your Ex had almost sucked all of the individuality from you—you’d barely made it out as you are.

Simon’s eyes darken, clenching his jaw after a moment as looks away. It's only when you put back down the enamel paint can that he speaks again.

“He wasn’t worth your time,” he eases out, giving firm advice like orders. As if he wants you to believe what he’s saying to the fullest degree. “You know that?”

You snort, turning back around. “Yeah, I know it. Why do you think I threw the guy out? He ran through women like a damn kid with a stack of new playing cards.”

Simon blinks from over his mask as you walk to the counter, putting down your brushes and adding in a few containers of nice pigment. As your fingers ding the bell up front, your free hand digs for your wallet.

Before you can pull out the wads of cash that you’d need to pay, smelling of booze and all, a credit card hits the table. You stare at it in silence for a moment.

“Simon?”

“You’re putting it on my wall,” he rolls his shoulders to dispel tension from the previous conversion as the employee comes out from the back. “M’not going to make you pay for the tools to get the job done. Not a fuckin’ heartless bastard.”

“Heartless? No,” you tease, though your face burns and crashes with a fiery inferno of adoration. Inside of you, your stomach flips and your throat tightens. Oh, it was coming on bad, wasn't it? “A bastard…?”

“Shut it,” Simon glares from the corner of his eye as you raise your hands innocently.

“Alright, alright. A very handsome and generous bastard, better?” You hear a hum, a huff of breath.

“Getting there.”

The ride back was much the same, but it still filled you with awe. Your hands were looser now, even with the added weight from your filled bag, but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware of Simon’s presence. Once more your helmeted head was set at his shoulder blade, resting as your lungs pulled in fresh air even if it was a bit heated from the barrier. Simon had pushed the thing back onto your head the minute your leg was about to straddle the bike, firmly grabbing your chin and tilting your face forward as he shoved it on.

“Safety first, Sweetheart.” You had sworn you nearly went weak-kneed at that.

But the sturdy presence before you made a very comfortable headrest even if the longer ride was beginning to make your legs ache and give you a migraine from the noise.

Your hand was flat to the man’s covered flesh, the oversized jacket around your frame, and in that moment you discovered that you were almost entirely submerged in Simon Riley until it became impossible to remember who you’d been before him. You were drowned in his scent—his presence an ever-present weight of purpose and prospect.

Blinking over the view and feeling Simon’s pulse under your fingertips, you realize with a start that Graham had never made your stomach fill with butterflies over a simple word; never made you pause or have to re-think your thoughts because you’d entirely lost them when he entered a room.

With so much going on, and at the same time so little happening…what exactly were you supposed to make of it? There was no question you liked Simon—there was no question he liked you, either. It was obvious by the looks Price would give the two of you when you came by with lunch for them all; free drinks.

How the both of you would sit and talk, exchanging stories while Simon showed you the adjustments he had made to his bike. The issue was that you and Brown-Eyes were stubborn. Pigheaded.

Emotionally constipated.

Your eyes drag along the view, but they always shift back to the body that’s stuck in your grip; how his heat moved through his clothes, warming your wind-beaten hands. You’re right there at his back, hanging off him and you feel…good.

There just had to be something to make one of you snap.

Entering the garage, Simon once more parks his bike and lets you get off first, and you unclip your helmet and slip the object from your head with a puff of air.

“Thank you, Simon,” you breathe, watching him stand. “Drinks on me tonight, okay?”

“No need for that,” his brows pull in, confused. “If I didn’t want to, I would have told you.”

Your hands pass the helmet, which he takes as your fingers brush one another's lightly. You repress a sharp inhale, scoffing playfully at him as your eyes soften.

“I’m not going to leave without saying thank you and you taking it, Brown-Eyes.”

“Well, then I just took it, Sunshine.” Simon motions his head outside. “Now get going ‘fore I come to my senses.”

Laughing, you shrug and take your leave, all of your items safe in your bag for a time when you could use them next.

“I’m already gone,” you breathe, and a soft brown gaze sticks to your form as you cross the street and slip inside to clock in.

A truck parked down the street has its window glinting in the sunlight. It seems to agree.

—

Simon tipped back the last of his bourbon and sighed, putting it down on the bar top as you polished glasses.

“Anything happen today?” He asks you as you put the sparking material to the light, tipping it to try and find smudges before it passes your acute inspection.

“Nothing interesting,” you respond, humming. “Had to kick a few guys out, but it was nothing big.”

Simon’s interest makes his eyes shift to you like a wave, head tilting to stare as the warm light cascades over your figure. He waits for you to continue, but when you don’t, he prods with a slightly concerned undertone.

“Why?” Your lips twitch as you turn to look at him, exasperated.

“Put a cork in it, Big Guy, it was just a few who had too much to drink—I cut them off and sent ‘em home.”

Simon grunts, “That’s a girl.”

You ignore the way your heart jumps to your throat and the tingling of your arms. “Anything with you?” Your voice is higher than it should be. “Beat off any bartenders from your property?”

“Can only think ‘o one,” he speaks slowly, his voice wafting about as the both of you were the only people here. Your chuckle makes his heart constrict in on itself.

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in with mock confusion. Your body moves closer as it leans into the wood. Simon’s lips twitch from where they're visible, the fabric of his balaclava pulled over his nose. “Tell me about her.”

“Yeah?” He speaks in a low murmur, eyes half-lidded in that dead-and-buried kind of way—only he could pull that off and still look so handsome. You had said once that he felt like danger, and you suppose that had to be true. Simon Riley was danger, and you had taken those snake fangs and put them directly in between the cross-hairs of your neck and your pulse, waiting, wanting for that fatal strike.

You had bet that the sting of those fangs might just be the best pain you’d ever felt.

Simon Riley was unabashed freedom.

“She likes to think that she’s the bloody boss o’ me,” Simon grunts, scars, and tattoos on full display; there’s blackened grease on his fingers, under his nails. You listen with bated breath. “Comes ‘round all the time now, hangs like she’s under a noose. I can’t figure her out. Not for the fuckin’ life of me.”

Simon doesn't know what he’s saying, but he can’t quite help himself when you’re looking at him like that. Your eyes going wider, your usually snappy and quick tongue silent as you take his words in like law. It was addictive to see you gobsmacked—the man has to stop himself from thanking Graham Whitaker for being such a fucking fool even if the thought of ever being near that man again made him want to clench his fists.

“And?” You push, trying to force your mouth into a playful smirk, but anyone can see it for what it is. Your faked emotion falls short, leaving behind only that which Simon can claim to be the sole owner of.

Astonishment. Admiration down to its base form—a woman gazing at something that should not be, and yet is here among the ashes and ruins of broken earth and open roads. A sliver of sky between the rain clouds.

“And?” Simon mirrors, that numb mock.

The both of you are closer now, puffs of air hitting the other. Everything in this bar became a backdrop, shifting colors and images like some dream. The dart in the ceiling was nothing to you—the tables that needed to be buffed, the bottles restocked; even the trash that you usually took out at this time was only a shape in the corner of your vision. It all blurred around him, and while you spoke again, Simon understood that he had left the city for something new; something that he could revel in and worship like he had his guns and his duty.

Your sentence is whispered.

“Why did you come here?” To this town? There was no answer for that. It was picked at random—even Price knew that. It was nothing special, not even to the bugs. But here…

Simon parts his lips and utters on the lightning of the air particles, all rushing past as if he was still on his motorcycle with you—your hands around his waist and your nails digging into his flesh.

“For a bartender that keeps making my damn head spin.”

For a long minute, there’s nothing that happens. The AC whirs and the lights outside flicker over the stretch of the empty street. In your chest, your heart hammers with the strength of the Titans. A mechanic, a veteran; a man with broken, October eyes.

How could he be the one thing you were looking for?

Your eyes stay locked, those shredded flecks of color holding secrets that you want to know instantly—you want to learn his tattoos and the way he thinks, know Simon's dreams and aspirations. To you, that was better than any physical destination or journey because it was one in and of itself.

Simon was an enigma.

“Keep talking,” you mutter, lips so close now that they brush the man’s own. He doesn’t blink as he watches you, his lungs unsteady in his chest as he takes down a deep breath.

“Why’s that, Sunshine?” His voice is raspy, and his accent makes you shiver.

Simon’s tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, sneaking back in as your gaze flickers down to watch pupils blown. “Because I like it when you speak to me like that,” you have to admit, a whine trapped in your throat that you won’t let out.

There’s a low chuckle that makes your legs close together, moving like honey through your veins.

“Can do more than talk.”

This is a game—a test—can either of you go this far? Is it more than lust, is it more than some strange attraction between two people who don’t belong here? A relationship of need rather than want?

You don’t care enough to test it, because if there’s one thing that this town taught you, it's that you don’t need to worry about the future so long as there’s something promising right in front of you.

And Simon Riley was as promising of a man as you had ever met.

Your lips meet his, and his hand is eager to snap to the back of your skull, pushing you into him as your eyes pull shut and the edge of the counter digs into your guts. Air is exhaled from your nose, mouth heavy, and skin hot as it digs and molds to the rough scrape of Simon’s stubble. His fingers pulse into your scalp, waves of something sawing you open as he stands quickly from his stool and pulls away only to push right back in.

Your hands move into fists on the counter, stuck in this dance of wet lips and shaky legs.

Simon groans into your mouth, shifting his head as a purr emanates from his chest and makes you respond with a silent gasp that he takes advantage of. A tongue slips to run over your own as the lights glint outside, pushing itself in before retreating just as swiftly before teeth nip at your swollen bottom lip. Your eyes snap open, locking with deep wells of brown that seem more endless than the depths of space.

You both breathe heavily, the bar silent to the two souls that seep into one another. Not once do either of you look away from one another.

The man seems hesitant, and before he speaks, the rasp in his voice is felt as he blinks.

“These parts in me have been shuttin’ down, Sunshine.” Your brows slightly pinch in for a moment, confused at this turn in tone—cocky had gone to still-stone as if Simon had laid eyes on Medusa herself.

But you know what he means. You’d seen it in his stature and how he spoke to others; you knew nothing much of his past beyond a handful of stories from his service and none of them had been pretty. And of his childhood, you knew nothing.

You know it can’t have been good.

Your head softly tilts, a small, delicate smile forming the words of some long-lost deity.

“I’m sure you have the tools to fix them, Simon.”

He blinks at you, fingers still stuck to your head. “Don’t know if I remember how to use ‘em.”

Simon’s giving you a way out of this if you want to take it; you know that he thinks you should.

“...Then you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?” You whisper, stubborn as always. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets, right?” He hums, eyes the most open and soft you’d ever seen them as he melts—forehead connecting to yours as your smile grows wider, truer. “Then I’ll keep yours closest, Brown-Eyes.”

You both kiss once more, more delicate as the man takes a deep breath of you. Your smirk pulls along his flesh like a brand as he holds in a quiver.

“What’s a bartender without a bottle of Bourbon on her shelf?” He growls into you, and not wasting a moment rips his lips from yours and wipes at his face with the back of his arm.

“Such a mouth,” he mutters, moving as you stand there to push open the half-door to let him get to you. You stand waiting, pulse wild and lips tingling. “Cameras?”

Your head shakes without you knowing it, and a finger is hooked under your chin, maneuvering it as he sees fit. Another grabs onto your hip, kneading it slowly as you melt into him. Your hands grasp into the back of his belt and his eyes spark—hips canting instinctually.

There’s a hard prod at your inner thigh.

“Only one at the door.” You set your chin to his chest, gazing up. “Back room?”

“Won't have you on the floor,” Simon says bluntly, unphased. Your core pounds, stomach tightens as you have a sudden need to get rid of your pants and touch yourself as dampness pools through your underwear.

“Such a gentleman,” you’re breathless, voice airy. “Guess I’ll have to be on top.”

Simon’s breath gets caught as you slip past him, sauntering to the back door and pushing it open as you slip inside. You had already started fumbling with the zipped on your pants as the man pushed on the barrier just before it could close, coming in and letting it slam behind him as the click of a lock could be heard.

With your shoes off, you can feel Simon’s eyes burning into you as your fingers send the zipper down your navel, the sound of the metal teeth being separated from one another a call to action. When your thumbs hook the top, ready to send the fabric down, you let the man watch before your eyes shift back up to lock together.

Simon’s gaze was intense—unblinking and unmoving beyond the slam of his heart and the pulse of the erection in his pants, begging to be palmed as you stood only feet away. The man’s hands clenched, knuckles going white.

While holding eye contact, you let the pants—and your panties—drop to the ground with a whoosh of fabric. Simon tenses, but doesn’t look away.

You smirk, taking a few steps forward.

“I’m surprised.” Your hand captures his waist, one moving to stroke along the prominent v-line that’s hidden by his shirt. Simon’s heavy breath meets your head as his blown pupils make his eyes look black entirely. He’s almost in a trance. “Usually I’d be having to snap my fingers.”

“Better than that,” he grits out raggedly. You have to agree.

Your mouth finds his neck as he leans back against the door, letting you do what you wish as his hands settle on your hips once more, rubbing up and down as your own eagerness drips from you. Simon clenches his jaw as you bite down, taking and sucking on the skin as he hisses when you give him hickeys, eyes fluttering.

“‘Such a mouth’ you said,” you comment, hand falling lower to hear the jingle as you unclip his belt. He stares off as your hand rests and cups him, sharply inhaling when you rub your palm over the large tent. Simon fights the sway of his hips, but the widening of his legs is telling enough, pelvis knocking forward as you groan, a line of slick falling down your thigh. “I’d bet you’d like my mouth, Brown-Eyes, wouldn’t you?” Your joke and your teasing of his dick—your hickeys and your sly eyes—they all at once snap something inside of him.

You find yourself manhandled with a squeak of shock and a jump in your gut as your legs dangle, moved back, and pressed into the very door where Simon had been moments before. Your feet settle as his figure descends.

“Your mouth, Sunshine?” Brown eyes glint, staring you down from where he taps your legs open to the air, kneeling with an open belt and pre-cum staining his pants. “Want to see what mine can do?”

There’s no more than a dangerous smirk before his face slots itself into the clutch of your pussy.

You gasp, hands going down to his covered hair as his nose slides along your clit, making lightning go up your spine as you push down on him, grinding as a long stripe is licked, tongue flattening out at the nerve before a loud groan makes Simon’s mouth vibrate as it attaches itself to you.

Giving you your own medicine, teeth lightly bite, tongue flicking as your cunt clenches over nothing, fingers grasping guilty as your head knocks back with a loud whine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, toes curling as your hips move back and forth.

Your body can feel his smirk, your juices leaking out to drip at his chin, falling down his throat as this beast of a man sucks and mewls around your clit like he’s possessed. Hands grasped your thighs, holding them open. Well, one anyway.

Lost in the movements of his mouth, cursing and gasping as he keeps trying to build you up to the point of rapture with every hard flick and measured nip, there’s no way your dopamine-addled brain can comprehend the fingers at your cunt before they’re already inside and curling outward.

You moan out his name pleadingly, the pace of your hips instantly increasing as Simon’s chuckle makes your lungs constrict. A separate heart-beat lives in your navel, skin sweaty and slick making its way down his fingers.

“Being so good,” your voice breaks as Simon’s wide eyes from below meet you as your head lolls forward. He stutters, hearing the wet squelching of your pussy as his movements cease for a moment. You whimper, face pulling in, and he instantaneously gets back to it with increased fervor and ferocity as if he’d never just felt his cock twitch in his pants and his abdomen bunch up.

Your eyes widen, rapturous moans falling from your lips in blown-limpness as his mouth and fingers do sinful things to you.

The sounds coming from below were feral and animalistic at best, sopping wetness and loud groaning—it makes it all so much better.

“So thorough for me, Simon. Making me feel so good Brown-Eyes,” you babble, tightening your core and palming hands shoving him impossibly farther into you. “Such a fucking perfect mouth—perfect fingers, knew you could make me cum on ‘em, please, Simon, fuck, oh God right there,” you break off of the praise into desperate whines. Your quivering body shakes and ruts faster, Simon’s stubble making it all burn in such a way that leaves you gasping, back begging to arch as everything comes to a tipping point.

Simon can feel it by the way your walls flex and pull in, how their slipperiness gets so loose it’s not even a problem to finger-fuck you even as your cunt bares down like a noose. Your fluids drip past his elbow, falling to his pants as his pelvis involuntarily tries to get friction from his zipper by humping the air in broken intervals.

He’s breathing heavily, but not as much as you are, broken up by groans, grunts, and his open mouth licking of your engorged clit. He’d never admit to you how much your praise was making him want to bust in his own fucking pants.

“S-Simon,” you knock your head back into the wall, eyes going glassy as the knot in your navel goes painful, a vile itching so very close as your spine begins to arch for the man’s viewing pleasure. “So close, oh God, so fucking good. Need it, Simon, need it from—”

Your breath hitches, fingers twitching into tight fists of fabric and the hair underneath as your walls clamp down.

Orgasm ripping through you, your voice lets out broken, airy, moans of Simon’s name like a prayer, hips continuing to spasm and toes curling inwards. Not letting up his assault, the smug man’s tongue and fingers draw the entire experience out until your legs are too weak to hold you, having to be pressed back into the wall by white knuckles and fingers stained with your cum. You hear it drip to the floor and see it when your half-lidded eyes blurrily make out the ragged appearance of an arrogant Simon, clear beads falling off of his chin and his lower face decimated by your pleasures. The bottom of his balaclava is stained—sopping with absorbed juices.

You both stare—you, lust-blown, and Simon, ready to grasp at himself and stave off the near-painful erection that needs to be taken care of.

But you’re true to your words.

Not seconds after your release had flooded him, your hands pushed at his chest and shoved him to the floor. Simon grunts but lets your hands quickly fiddle with his zipper and send it down. Not a moment is wasted, and the man’s hands move your hips higher as you pull his pants and boxers down just enough to let his dick spring free and slap his abdomen.

Your hand curls around it and he groans long, pushing up into your hand as you stroke him quickly and mercilessly with the spread of his weeping tip. Simon’s words come out as a way to steady himself, but the work of your hand is easy to get lost in as his voice is a growl.

“Tase so bloody good, Sunshine, yeah? Be needin’ that every day,” his mouth is taken in a kiss, and you tase yourself on his tongue as he shakes and his fingers flex into your flesh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says as you lick his lips, panting below you as he quickly loses himself. “Not gonna…”

Simon’s orgasm builds incredibly fast—and not once does your hand slow in its course. He blinks in a blind panic, mouth letting off soft sounds of confusion as he looks down to see his red cock and how you play with it like a toy. You chuckle at him as his sounds get louder, legs rising, and the slapping of skin on skin addictive.

“You are good with your mouth—and your hands. Should have guessed really, you are a mechanic after all. Got yourself all worked up.” Simon's hand comes up to your head pressing your lips back to his as his abdomen tightens and quivers, thighs shaking as his hips try to meet your break-neck pace but just can’t.

What were you doing to him? Why can’t he last longer than a few mere minutes?

You break off and connect your forehead to his, brown eyes fighting to not go blurry and his mouth open with fast breaths. You push out as you feel his tip twitch and spurt prematurely, “Be a good boy and cum, Simon.”

He groans loudly, eyes fluttering as they try to stay locked to yours before the wet splatter of his rapid ejaculation layers yours as well as his abdomen sticky and soaked. It keeps going, not stopping until Simon’s eyes have come back down from where they had fled to the back of his head and his small grunted whine lets you know you should stop pumping him so violently.

You release his member and go to rub along his abdomen, massaging the skin and laying kisses on his clothed chest slowly. His hands loosen on your hips, thumb pulling back to carefully run circles into the flesh as you hum in appreciation.

Simon's quivering slows to a stop.

“You sure you only work a bar, then? Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Simon hisses, looking down at himself. “Made a fuckin’ mess, yeah?”

“Only fair,” you mutter, moving up to press your lips together as you both sigh. Simon’s breath hitches as your stomach rubs him. “I like having you under me. It’s nice to see you look confused.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, and a red sheen comes to his flushed face. “Won’t happen again.”

Your face goes mischievous, head tilting. Simon growls a weak, “Don’t.” You chuckle and hide your face into his neck.

“Don’t test it?” You ask into his flesh, your body still pulsing and needy at the display you’d managed to pull from the stoic man. Your tongue licks over your placed hickey with a newfound appreciation for the black and blue mark, blowing on it as Simon feels himself harden again. “Or don’t acknowledge that Simon Riley has a praise kink and when a woman tells him what to do he—”

Your spine settles to the floor, hands stuck on either side of your head and digging into the wood. Simon’s eyes glint primarily, and you keen to him as your arms move to wrap around his neck as your cunt tightens.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me on the floor?” He grasps your chin, moving his face to be above yours so he can speak plainly and dead-like. A surge of power takes over his voice, and you yield with a rising of your legs and a shiver as his fluid-slick abdomen slides over top of yours.

“That was before you made me cum in a matter of fuckin’ minutes by just stroking my cock. Now,” he breathes, “now I’m going to fuck you how you deserve.”

He grasps your legs and pulls them around his waist, locking them as he lines up his half-hard dick and bullies it inside of you, your arching back bends into him, but your shocked moan is cut off as Simon starts to move. The pressure inside of your pussy is tight enough to feel like it could snap—your gummy walls taking the curve of his veins and the grate of his head as the tip curves upward. On girth and size, Simon is the largest you’d ever taken, and your face pulls in with a mix of pain and pleasure before the latter takes over completely.

“Get me to be your toy, eh, Sunshine?” Simon keeps your chin grasped, not letting you look away as you try to garble words over the heavy slap of wet skin. “Keep me ‘ere so you can play with me like you’ve been doin’ from the start?”

“So full,” you seem to have lost that edge, staring up into brown eyes as your spine digs into the wood below you, your cunt taking the fast slaps of Simon’s prod as it reaches every part of you that you could ever ask. Every trust makes your legs tighten, clamping down to keep him there and ring pleasure like water. “Such a big cock, Simon.”

He huffs, but his pace increases, panting at you as your lips meet for a sloppy and slobbering kiss of teeth and saliva. Sweat falls from both of you, coating your faces and lower halves with more liquid to make this dance easier—staining already ruined clothes.

“Splitting you open, am I? So tight,” Simon grumbles, grunting as his elbows shift to stay beside your head. “Gettin’ me off so easily, need ta return the favor for making me feel so good, Sunshine. Bloody perfect cunt, takes my cock like it was made for it. Hear that?” Your skull moves to push into the side of his face as he bites at your neck, ravishing you as the forward and backward motion of his body makes your mouth hold back mewls of raw need. So many sounds—so loud and wet it was lewd, borderline obscene with every pump of the man’s hips that more just spilled out of you, pooling with every back and forth spreading of your hole.

Simon bites a long whine back and angles himself higher, making you shout and cry as a burst of white light explodes in your eyes.

“Making me want to fill you full of myself. Over and over, make you drip with it—go until you can’t walk. You’d take it too, yeah? You’ve got such a good look on your face, you bloody love it when I stretch you open like this—takin’ my dick so well, Sweetheart.”

You were both animals trying to get fix after fix—drunk off scent and a biological urge.

At the words, your pussy tightens around him even more, Simon holding back a loud groan and letting your little puffs of air grace his ears along with the ravaging dig of his fucking.

“You like that?” You whine, face burning as a hand descends to play with your clit. You gasp loudly and moan, not hiding the way your hips jump and rut and fight to keep Simon’s cock taking you raw.

“Simon!” You call loudly. “I like it—fuck I love it, Brown-Eyes. Keep touching me, please, please keep going. Keep talking, love it when you talk like that.”

“Makin’ fun o’ me,” he scoffs, “but the little temptress has the same bastard kink, eh? It’s alright, then. I’ll just help me get you off—”

The front door of the bar opens from beyond the wall.

The both of you stop all carnal desires instantly, wide eyes snapping back and locking with each other. A pin could drop, fast breaths and fast hips held back even as you both quiver and your nerves plead to keep going. The need doesn’t last long. Simon's fat hand covers your mouth as your eyes glint with panic before getting right back to it.

You try to speak, to get the words out that you should go out there, but it’s all cut off by the way he rubs you every right way. Your hand anchors to his back as someone walks around the bar, their voice muffled just like yours is, but this person has no idea you’re getting railed in the back room by the mechanic from across the street.

Simon’s eyes are dark and urgent, but his hands can't as the slap of skin that’s still incredibly loud, and the wetness that follows all but telling. Your moans and whines are hidden, kept back by a tight palm as he smirks down at you. His hips are bruising yours and you can feel the hard bone of his pelvis as it slots itself fully into yours.

“Good girl,” he whispers, accepting the words with hard thrusts that make you whine like a dog, pawing at his gargantuan shoulder blades. “Keep quiet. I’ll make you feel good.”

Your heart hammers, walls flexing and clamping at the words. Outside the walking continues, searching for you, no doubt. Simon's hips increase, almost cruelly, and your cut-off cries spill from between his fingers.

The bastard chuckles and watches, letting your hips meet his as your release builds with the added need to finish quickly.

It was rabid now your back arched, how the person outside mattered so little to you now, in fact, maybe you even wanted them to hear you like this—being fucked so perfectly to the point where you had tears in your eyes and your body was growing numb; mind blanking to only pleasure and the grating press of a foreign entity all the way to where it digs at your cervix and makes you see starts with every addictive thrust.

You can’t hear anything over the previous sounds, that and rough breathing are the only things in this hot room—the air tense and ready; anticipation a drug of the highest order.

“C’mon,” Simon grunts into your ear, hand flexing as his lungs burn. He wasn’t far away either. “Let me see it—how your face screws up all nice and pretty for me.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you can only stare at the ceiling as the door of the bar slams shut once more, whoever there leaving. Simon releases your mouth and you fall apart with a spine-breaking arch and a high, feral, keen.

Your release is subsequently followed by Simon’s own, his body spasming as he gives three more violent pumps before the warmth of his cum seeps into your womb with a loud groan and a pound of his fist into the floor. He grinds you both through the aftershocks, the sparks of electricity that make both of your hips jerk just a few more times before you fall limp and useless.

Simon stays inside of you as he shifts to the side, hooking one of your hips over his thigh as you stay face-to-face as your bodies gasp and pant for air.

When the two of you come back to yourselves, some delirious minutes later, the first thing that you both notice is the tightness of your clothes and skin. Glancing down at the mess you’ve made of yourselves, you both slowly look back into each other's eyes, pausing.

You’re the first one to snort, before you have to hold your loud laughs back behind your hand.

“Well, I sure do have some more secrets to keep,” you say through your fit, knocking your head to Simon’s chin. The man is smiling, his eyes crinkled and mouth jerking in a series of chuckles.

“Proper few.” The laughter died down to a simmering emotion of amusement.

You smile at Simon, and he stares back, a hand coming up to touch your cheek delicately before it traces the lines of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?” You ask him, and those browns blink at you in question. “What I said before we decided to fuck. About keeping your secrets.” Simon’s face gets slightly more serious. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the stubble on your fingertips.

“Simon,” you say, “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, okay?”

He watches you for any glint of hesitation—of a lie. But there is none.

“Why,” Simon asks. Your answer is simple as you smirk, recalling words from a while ago.

“You’re just going to have to stick around to find out.”

Simon shoves his lips to yours and drags you back on top of him.

—

You both exit the back room two hours later, clothes ruffled and bodies far dirtier than ever. You have a limp in your step, a pulsing ache between your bruised legs, and yet you’d never felt better.

Simon presses a kiss into your temple.

“Walking you home,” is what he says, and you sigh through an adoring look. You were tired, incredibly tired, and you hoped that Simon would share your bed tonight so he could hold you like he did back there.

“Deal,” you wink, and the man huffs a chuckle, back to that same stoic mechanic that you knew.

It’s only then that you realize that Celina had never shown up for her shift. Pausing behind the counter, you blink and look around, confused as you flatten out your clothes. Simon catches on quickly, brows pulling in with concern.

“Something wrong?”

“Celina,” you tell him, “she never showed up.”

A beat.

“...Probably kept away,” Simon tries to lightly say, implication enough to make you scowl.

“No,” you utter. “She would have tried to break the door down if she actually came in. She never would have walked away.”

The man hums, pulling down his balaclava and looking about.

“What do you want to do about it?” It wasn’t mocking—he was being honest. Your lips thinned out in thought.

“Well…I can’t leave the bar unattended, she needs to be here in order for me to go home.” You motion a hand helplessly, shaking your head and walking forward. Through a sigh you grumble, “I guess I have to call her or I’ll—” A shadow darts from across the street and your head snaps to the dark window.

Words coming to a swift stop, you gaze outside with blank eyes, mouth open in confusion. Simon stands taller, not having seen the strange event but not liking the shock on your face as he pivots to the view to study it.

Brown darts over the street lamps and the closed body of his shop, along the sliver of the obsidian street and the tops of bushes in the plant boxes. But there was nothing there and Simon glanced back at you from over his shoulder with furrowed brows.

“Thought I saw someone in a…” you frown, eyes not leaving the window as your heart tightens. “In a mask.”

“Mh,” Simon watches for a moment before he grunts and tension seeps into his muscles. “Mask?”

“Like yours,” you say quietly, suddenly very still. “Without the skeleton.”

Simon moves back slowly, one foot backing up before he’s behind the counter again and shifting nearer to you—your eyes flicker upward but swiftly return to the view. He pulled out his phone from his wrinkled pants, and no sooner had he put it to his ear that you saw the individual again. This time it wasn’t just one shadow, it was three, and there wasn’t just a flash of black mist and then poof gone again—it was worse than some schoolyard prank.

There was a bat. There was the swing of a strong arm. The glass explodes with a resounding shatter and the shrill yell falls from your mouth not milliseconds later.

Getting tackled down, Simon keeps your head to his chest as he shifts to hit the ground first, body sliding slightly before you’re forced under him and protected by his bulk. Grasping at him, you clench your eyes shut as large projectiles are hurled through the broken window and make contact with the bar shelf right above the two of you.

But Simon doesn't move for a second. Not as the bottles shatter and drown him in alcohol and colored glass, not as the bricks fall back from gravity and strike his spine with a loud thump. He holds you to him, curled over your body as if in reverent worship, grunting as he takes the beating without thought to anything else but your safety. Loud shouts and laughter echo in from outside, but your wide eyes only stay and focus on Simon, his fingers gripping across your back and creasing your shirt. You flinch as a spec of glass knicks your arm, slicing through it with a sharp drag of an uneven edge.

Simon growls into your scalp, but as he attempts to squish you farther into him, the barrage, just as it had come, entirely stops.

Staying there, breathing heavily and your mind panicked, you have no time to think before Simon shoves himself up and snaps his enraged eyes forward. Like a large beast, his hands are in shaking fists, alcohol dripping from his shirt and glass pinging against the wood. You can smell blood.

“Simon,” you say in concern, moving to stand up quickly as you try to get your breath back.

What the hell had just happened?!

“Stay there!” he barks, eyes tight as they dart back and forth to nothing until they find something.

No one was there anymore, but in that absence, the true damage was brought to light. You ignore Simon’s words and shift until you can peek over the top of the counter, fingers shaking and mouth dry. The man beside you is stone-still, his darkened eyes lighting like fire and brimstone as the anger can all but be tasted in the air.

The mechanic’s shop across the street. Seen through the broken remains of the bar as if a tornado had come through on the dusty air.

It had been ransacked.

—

The illumination of the police lights takes over everything, pushing the dark away as Sheriff Russel tries to get statements from the two of you. But your attention keeps getting brought back to the stiff-standing presence of Simon.

He hasn’t spoken beyond clipped sentences, even when he’d called Price, Johnny, and Gaz to explain the situation.

“Can you explain what you saw?” The Sheriff eases, and your attention is drawn back.

“It wasn’t much,” you stutter, shaken. “Shadows—men wearing masks. One had a bat and hit the window before they started throwing bricks.”

Simon’s eyes shift over the damage, numb gaze finding more broken glass, thrown paint, and dents in the garage door. The front had been trashed with garbage, and the lobby was ruined—it was by some miracle that the bikes had been left alone for whatever strange reason.

It didn’t make him any less full of wrath.

Your hands are still shaking, and your arm still leaking small droplets of blood down your flesh. Simon’s injuries were worse; he’d taken the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all, even as the crimson liquid stains his wet back.

“Simon needs medical attention,” you speak lowly to the Sheriff, head moving forward. “Can we do this later at the station?”

“I’m fine,” the man in question grunts, voice deep with anger before turning and walking back to the two of you. Not once do his eyes stop searching the area; on high alert even now and not eager to be out in the open. Those old instincts were creeping back over him, and he wanted to get you somewhere safe so he could handle this situation himself.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who was responsible and while property was one thing, your comfort was another.

How dare anyone do something like that to you.

“You’re bleeding,” you explain, eyes tight. A hand brushes over your arm, taking it up and inspecting the small cut that you wear.

Feet shift, and through a clenched jaw Simon utters, “So are you.”

“You know what I mean, Brown-Eyes,” you try to make him listen, but it’s fruitless.

“Don’t worry about me,” the Sheriff walks to assess the damage, letting the two of you speak in hushed whispers and firm looks.

“You sound stupid,” you hiss, and Simon’s fingers rub your skin softly, his study of your body taking place in a slow sweep. “Of course I’m going to worry.”

“Need to stop shaking.” Your face creases at the comment.

“I’m not shaking.” Simon grabs your hand and puts his fingers through yours, raising it between you so you can look. Your eyes shift down, and your limb can clearly be seen vibrating like an engine in his hold; the fingers unable to close fully.

Not speaking, Simon cups it with his other hand and presses, grounding you as your lungs take a deep breath before you can clear your throat.

“I’m fine,” your words barely make it to the air.

“...Now who’s sounding like me?” The man mutters eyes creased as he stares. “Breathe.”

You listen, taking another deep breath and staring at Simon’s chest.

“Up ‘ere,” a finger moves out to tap under your jaw, making you tilt your head up to lock with his browns. “There we are, then. Focus. M’right here.”

“You’re good at this,” you grumble, put off by your own separation from your body.

Simon tilts his head. “Had to be.”

You spare a strangled huff at that.

How quickly things could go wrong—you had thought that tonight would be the best night of your life, but now it was just one single instant that things had made sense, the rest a stain on your memory.

“You know it was Graham and his friends?” Simon nods, still watching you and making sure you’re calming down properly, waiting for that adrenaline crash. He knows. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Right now?” The man pauses. “Nothing. You’re coming down with me to the Bed and Breakfast. Staying there.”

So that was how Simon shifted his priorities, walking you down the road as more and more police showed up—there would be more talking in the morning, you had given them everything you’d known so far. It was also how you were mobbed by three more concerned mechanics as you entered their temporary living situation until houses were purchased, blue and brown eyes blinking at the two of you quickly.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Gaz had asked, but you were much too tired to speak beyond leaning into Simon’s shoulder and grunting.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny had muttered, only in boxers as he’d shoved out of his room. “Heard the sirens—what’s been happenin’ without me?”

Price had been the one to finally settle everyone and push out a stiff order to leave Simon and you alone for the night. With various glances and tense looks, you were both allowed into your room with little more trouble.

It was tiny but clean, and Simon had locked the door with a grumble and moved you over to the bed so you could sit, moving off to run a bath.

You heard the pipes squeak—the whoosh of water as it entered the tub.

Your mind has still not entirely caught up to itself as Simon leads you forward and begins undressing you; taking off your top and letting you shift out of your own pants. The bathroom tile is cold, and you wrap your arms around yourself when you’re entirely bare as you can’t find the words to speak. That is, before Simon takes his shirt off and you see the damage that’s been done.

You gasp, hand reaching out but stopping above the cut skin surrounded by a million bruises and large welts.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, delicately touching the skin. None of the slices were deep, but the horror was still there. “Simon…”

Brown eyes soften, and the balaclava is removed as well before a kiss is dug into your forehead. The shade of his hair matched his eyelashes, and now with the full picture, he was as handsome as you imagined him to be, though to all others the scars and the crookedness of his nose might be a shock. You hadn’t expected anything different.

“Just bruises, Love,” he pets your neck, thumb running over your pulsepoint.

“You’re all cut up,” your eyes water, but your stubbornness holds them back as you try to take everything in from his willingness to show you his face to the events of tonight. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that he would do something like this, really, he was always a jerk but he was never…never bold like this.”

Cupping his cheeks, you kiss his jaw, salty water tracking down your face as you hear Simon take in a breath. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly, curling over you as if another barrage of bricks was imminent.

But there wasn’t going to be any danger here. Not with three other veterans down the hall.

“He ever…?” You shake your head, shakily uttering a quick response to Simon’s trialed-off question.

“No. No, I’d never stand for that.” The man’s broken body loosens, a long sigh exiting his nose in blatant relief.

“Good,” is all he says. “Deserve better.”

You sniffle, getting a reign on your emotions. “I’ve got better.”

During the shared bath, you clean the others’ wounds, your back to the wall as you run water over the stretch of Simon’s shoulders, washing away the blood. Your nails drag over his skin as he shivers, not looking back at you as he reaches behind and takes one of your hands into his. The black stain of his tattoos rubs along your bare arm as fingers intertwine, your limb moved and held to his abdomen as you kiss one of the knobs in his spine softly and hum to him.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin.

Simon doesn’t respond, only leaning back into you more.

—

Two days pass with no sign from Graham or his friends—Celine, either. Everyone in town was on edge, and in that time you’d been put on paid leave from the bar on account of your involvement and the potential involvement of your coworker. So, you spent most of the time at the shop with Simon, as he’d asked you to so he could keep an eye out.

You had thought that maybe this was a one-time event, and had believed it, as well. Graham had made a point, and being the idiot that he was, he’d pay for it. If he was smart, he’d be out of the country by now—there was no mistaking Simon’s vendetta now. Price had to reel him back in the day after the vandalism.

You’d woken up to an empty bed, having been fitted into one of Simon’s incredibly large shirts and sweatpants for pajamas, and heard arguing. Feet padding like a cat, you had pressed your ear to the door and listened with held-back breath, as if only a peep would make the heated conversation stop.

“He made her bleed, Price. He put her in danger!”

“Get your head on, Simon, you aren’t in the service anymore,” Price had hissed, shadows slinking along from under the door. “You can’t do anything about it.”

There had been a low growl, an aggravated breath.

“I can’t sit ‘ere when he’s waiting like a fucking robber. This is my responsibility— happened on my watch.”

“Since when did that fucking happen, Simon, eh? What’s been going on with you two?”

A pause. “...It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it—you’re thinking like a damn soldier.”

So here you are, fixing the streaks of miscolored paint that had been spattered over the mechanic’s shop as Simon comes out, wiping his hands with a rag.

“Good thing I didn’t start on the mural yet,” you comment to him, stepping back and putting your roller down. The rag is offered and you take it with a small smile while you slide it over your fingers. “Else I would have tracked him down myself.”

“Would ‘ave helped.” October eyes flicker along the drying paint—the marks still visible. “M’sorry.”

“If you won’t let me apologize,” you raise a brow in challenge. “I won’t let you either.”

Simon’s eyes crinkle from behind a new balaclava, missing the skeleton details. “Cheeky.”

“It’s called being truthful, Riley.” You sigh through the tilt of your head. “But the bad news is that I had to use up the paint, and I’m not even halfway done with this. It didn’t help that they used a darker color than what I wanted as the backdrop.”

“Want to take a drive out, then?” The question is swift and honest as it's aimed at you like a distraction from the anxiety. Simon motions his head to the garage. “Got a bit before I’m needed, m’sure you could use a break, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” you utter, moving to rest a hand on his bicep. He almost purrs at the touch, leaning in.

“Want to,” Simon grunts slowly. “Bikes are still good. Bastards knew I’d skin them if they touched ‘em.”

“I’m sure,” you chuckle, teasing him through a smirk. “Big Bad Simon Riley.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes at that, turning back around as you follow after, laughing.

You both get onto the Rebel, and the brown leather jacket moves your way along with the helmet, slipping it over your head not seconds later as Simon grabs his spare.

“Are you sure you shouldn't ask for another helmet?” You had brought it up the first time as well—the prospect of a crash.

“Only a small ride—I’ll go slow, Sunshine.” Knuckles tap the top of the helmet in reassurance. “Matters more that you’re the one wearing it.”

Your face creases up, but you sigh and nod, wrapping your hands around Simon’s waist and tightly holding on as the engine starts rumbling below you. Moving your feet up to the rests, you scoot closer as the man pushes off the ground, flipping the kickstand back up before he leans forward slightly and lets the bike do the work.

As before, the two of you get out of town and nature opens up—but as soon as you really start to let your worries slide away and focus on Simon’s pulse and the freedom he gives you, there’s a cold wind from the west. Coming up and dragging along with it, a dark rain cloud sits over you both about a seven-minute drive in.

“Should we pull over?!” You shout in question as raindrops begin to patter off your helmet. The bike makes a strange chirping sound, and you blink over Simon’s shoulder until your attention is taken away by his answer.

“Soon!” You nod, trusting him to know, and ease back. Your fingers trace the small bulge of scars at his waist, shivering.

One minute later, you’re about to say you can see the town ahead when that chirping starts again. Brows furrowing, you grunt in the back of your throat and yell, “What’s that sound, Simon?”

He glances back briefly, unable to hear you.

“The sound!” Simon’s fingers flicker, head moving down to the bike below him—the hum of the engine was too strong up here, he can’t hear anything out of the ordinary.

“What are you—?!”

There’s a great shriek of black metal, and the Honda Rebel 500’s front wheel breaks off from the motorcycle fork and the bike flips.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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lanadelnegan · 22 days

Text

Ghost - Part 3

Negan x Glenn'sSister!Reader

Part 2 here // Part 4 here

Warnings: 18+, negan masturbating, negan being all sweet and protective

A/n: I thought this would be the last part, but it was so long I had to break it up. Part 4 will be posted soon!

Negan’s POV:

I waited all night for her but she never came. Hopping back on my bike, I drove back to the sanctuary the next morning. I spent the next few days drinking in my room and missing her. Trying to give her space was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Two of my wives came to check on me, and I rudely dismissed them. And told them to kick rocks, for good. I wouldn’t even be able to get my dick up with anyone else but her. This girl has me wrapped around her goddamn finger and I don’t even know her name.

I sat on the couch, closed my eyes and imagined her face. Our night together. How I fucked her through her little shorts. I imagined her lips between mine and the little sounds she made as she scratched my back. Fuck.

I rubbed myself through my pants, imagining myself between her legs before I got impatient and pulled my cock out. I spit in my hand and began stroking it, focusing extra on the tip. My head pressed against the couch and I groaned, jerking my dick faster. Fuck, fuck fuuuuck.

"Boss, we've got a problem." Fucking Simon.

Tucking myself back in my pants, I walked over and flung the door open, clearly annoyed with an extreme case of blue balls. We walked towards the back exit quickly while Simon filled me in on the situation.

“Rick and the rest of them are outside." Simon explained. "He said he only wants you.”

“Of course he does.” I chuckled before walking out onto the balcony. “Well, what a nice surprise. This better be good Rick. I was right in the middle of something.”

Her silky black hair caught my attention almost instantly and I couldn't take my eyes off her. She stood beside Rick and my heart sank for two reasons. I couldn't let her get hurt in the middle of all this. And what the hell was she doing? She couldn't seriously want this.

I leaned next to Simon's ear and whispered. “Make sure everyone knows that one is off limits." I nodded towards my girl. "If anyone harms a hair on her pretty head, it'll be the last thing they ever do."

Your POV, earlier that day:

“We go in quick, and we don’t leave until Negan is dead. Understood?” Rick’s voice sounded far away and I realized my mind had been wandering the entire time, not able to concentrate.. Or accept Rick’s plan for Alexandria to go after the Saviors. I couldn't lose someone I...

Care about… again.

“Y/n?” Rick asked, tilting his head at me.

“Yes, understood.”

The ride over took ages it seemed like. My head rested against the window of the truck while I watched the sun slowly start to disappear. I should be thrilled. This is what I’ve wanted for so long - to get revenge.

So why did I want to save him?

“I dunno if I can do this.” Daryl’s focus remained on the road as I spoke. “I know you don’t understand it, but there’s good in him. I’ve seen it.”

Daryl scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

“I just don’t wanna see anyone else die, Daryl.” I wiped a tear from my cheek.

“Some people deserve it.”

“And we don’t? Think about all the ones we’ve killed.”

“Not the same.” Daryl mumbled.

“But it is. That’s the world we live in now. We do what we have to to survive. We’re all… psycho murderers, really.”

“Listen to yourself. What do you think Glenn would think about you defending the man who killed him?”

I sat quietly for a few moments, focusing my attention back on the clouds. “I think he’d be proud of me.” The gravel suddenly rumbling beneath the truck let us know we were getting close to the sanctuary and Daryl pulled over, parking near the others.

“You’re either with us, or ya aint. But you need to hurry and decide.” Daryl warned before he quietly exited the truck and met up with the others ahead.

I owe them for everything they’ve done for me. Everything they did for Glenn. I closed my eyes before hopping out of the car and quickly caught up with the rest of the group. Daryl gave me a nod and the rest of the tread was quiet. I tried focusing my mind on anything but Negan, disassociating to the best of my ability - a skill I’ve perfected over the past few months.

“Negan needs to surrender. This has to happen now. This is the only way.” Rick’s voice rang through my ears as I stood near him, shielding myself with the metal that stood between us and the Saviors. Peeking out, I watched Negan appear behind the railing, an arrogant smirk forming on his lips.

“You’re gonna make me count?!" Rick shouted. "Okay, okay. I’m counting. 10….”

Negan eyes traveled to mine and his gaze softened. I stared at him, silently begging him to surrender while Rick counted. He studied me as if he wondered if I wanted this.

Of course not. Surrender, goddammit.

I watched him lean over and whisper something to Simon while his eyes were still on me. Simon nodded and took out his radio, signaling something to the others that I couldn't hear.

The sound of Rick's gun cocking distracted me, and without thinking, I jumped in front of him, pulling the gun with with me. A bullet went straight through my foot, but I barely felt it.

I heard Negan cursing in the background amongst all the other chaos transpiring. Walkers were filing in now and everyone eventually scattered. I limped as quickly as I could, trying to escape before my feet lifted off the ground. I quickly realized it was Negan and he rushed us to an empty trailer nearby, shutting the door behind him when we made it inside.

“Oww.” I groaned, limping over to the wall and sliding down it. I pulled off my bloody sock and shoe and cringed at the bullet hole in my foot. The pain was starting to set in now.

“Shit.” Negan grabbed a first aid kit from a cabinet above and kneeled down, wrapping my foot. “The hell were you thinkin' darlin'?.”

He looked up at me, slightly grinning and I rolled my eyes. He finished wrapping it up, kissed my forehead, and sat next to me on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. His hand rested on my thigh protectively and I wanted to reach for it and hold his hand but I couldn’t. We both sat in silence for a few moments before he finally spoke.

“You never came. I waited on you all night.”

My heart ached at the thought of him there alone. “I told you, Negan. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Yet.. you just took a bullet for me.” I could hear the cocky smile through his voice.

“Why did you want to meet?” I asked.

“I guess I thought maybe if we went back to our place, you’d see me differently. The way you did that night, and I’d actually have a chance to win you over.”

When I looked over at him, I saw the man he was that night. Before I knew his name and all the horrible things he had done. I replayed everything in my head - the steam from his shower, our deep talks about our old high school days, his wife Lucille and how her death broke his heart, and how he read to me. And then I remembered him in between my legs, but stopping before it got too far because we were both tipsy.

How could the same man who bashed someone's skull in be the same one the had enough decency not to take advantage of a woman? I wanted so desperately to believe in the man he was that night - for that to be the only version of him.

“Listen baby, I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have." His voice was lower than usual when he spoke. "I get that you don’t wanna see me anymore and I’ve gotta learn to be okay with that. I don’t want to be a constant reminder of your brother’s death.” He leaned his head against the wall. “Fuckin' stupid of me to think this could ever work, huh?”

With every word he spoke, my heart broke into smaller pieces. If Negan would have died today, I’d hate myself for the rest of my life for not going back to the cabin and meeting him that night. As difficult as our life would be together - for so many reasons, I can’t live without him.

“Negan..”

“Yeah?” His hazel eyes met mine and he looked like a sad puppy that I desperately wanted to comfort.

“I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

He nodded, clearly hurt and I watched his eyes fill with tears before he looked down.

I sighed, hoping I wouldn’t regret what I was about to say. “But I love you. And I want to find a way to make this work.”

His eyes darted back and forth between mine before his hand cupped my face and he kissed me all in one motion. I've missed his lips so much. His mouth was gentle, like he was scared to break me, but I wanted him to, so I pulled him closer and opened my mouth slightly. His tongue slipped in and collided with mine, making me see stars. After a few moments, he pulled away, breathing heavily and resting his forehead against mine.

“I love you so fuckin’ much, sweetheart. I’ll never disappoint you again.”

“I know.” And I did. I believed him. Gunfire in the distance quickly snapped us back to reality but we held each other, neither of us willing to let go first.

"Negan, I've gotta go back with them."

"No. Stay with me at the sanctuary until we figure out a plan? I'll take care of you and-"

"We can't. You can't stay here, Negan. It's not safe, they'll come back for you. Rick won't stop until you're dead."

"Then I'll kill him first, doll. Simple."

"No. You're not killing anyone else - none of my people. I can't lose anyone else. The only way everyone survives this is if you surrender."

Negan scoffed. "And then what? Be a goddamn prisoner and Rick's little bitch for the rest of my life? Not gonna happen, darlin'."

I sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

"Hey, you're not giving up on me already are you?" Negan's hand rested again my cheek as he urged me to look at him.

"No.. no, I just, I dunno what to do."

"We've got all night to figure it out, doll. We don't have many options. There's no way you're going back to Alexandria on that foot. Come on." Negan stood, holding his hand out to me and I took it. "Stay close behind me, baby."

I nodded, gripping the back of Negan's shirt as he kicked the door open, flinging a few walkers in the process. I helped as much as I could, stabbing a few with my knife as Negan worked our way through the crowd.

Luckily the sanctuary itself seemed untouched. The walkers were only outside in the yard while a couple of guards secured the entry to the sanctuary doors. They opened them quickly as Negan and I tumbled in. His hand wrapped around my waist, helping me walk with my hurt foot.

We could hear Simon and the others around the corner. Turning the corner, Negan whistled his favorite tune and I watched in awe as the rest of the saviors bowed before us.

"I bet you all thought I was dead, huh?" Negan chuckled. "Here's a little refresher on who the hell I am. I wear a leather jacket, I have -“ He paused, leaning into you. "Hell’s your name darlin’? You never told me.” You whispered your name in his ear and giggled. He turned back to the saviors, finishing his speech. "I have y/n, and my nut sack? Is made of steel. I am not dyin' until I am damn good and ready."

What a dork. My dork. I thought, looking up at him as he spoke.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a honeymoon to get to. No one knocks on my door. Simon, you're in charge. Don't make me regret it."

Simon nodded and Negan lead us down the hall to a large door at the end. He held the door open for me as I walked through. A bachelor pad of the apocalypse. Exactly what I imagined. I smiled at him and he returned the gesture, flashing his white smile before he walked towards me and immediately wrapped me in his arms. My head rested against his chest and I felt his heart beat. For once, I felt safe.

Part 4 here. If you’ve read this far, thank you. 🥹💗

tag list: @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown @munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @startwinklekitty @darlingmadelinee @oceandeepthirst @jschlattsqtip @lavenderchai @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @neganswoman @n7crophiliac @cats-writing @alldevilsarehere90 @natykacenka @queermilfs @stasiaangelsinner @lupa-03 @sadgirlzluvdilfs @pamago-bb @javier-penas-wifexx420 @motelprincess444 @thatonefroggirl @myhappyplaceofstuff @darlingmadelinee @used2beee @easystreet07 @princess-23-xoxo @twdxtrevor @dilfsandmartinis @sarahhxx03 @minaxcarter @kukka-roo @rinsdesires @6kaja9 @sasiiik9174

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obaex · 1 year

Text

anything but you - rafe cameron

summary: when sarah and the pogues steal barry's money, he concocts a plan to take the one thing the oldest cameron loves most to ensure he gets repaid in full

word count: 8.8k

warnings: canon-level violence, kidnapping, guns, anxiety/panic attacks followed by the sweetest fluff ever.

a/n: I had originally planned to split this up, but honestly love it as one big fic! hope y'all enjoy! Xx

Barry limped up to his front door, clutching his side as he struggled to breath through his nose, which was clogged with blood. The door hung open and as he shuffled inside he reached for the piece he kept taped under the kitchen table, grasping it firmly and pointing it around each corner as he made his way into his bedroom. He looked around at his clothes and belongings scattered everywhere before making his way frantically to the closet. His duffle bag was gone. As was the $25,000 in it.

His blood was boiling, partially at the thought of the pogues rummaging around in his shit, stealing his money, and partially at the cocaine that was pulsing through his veins, letting his mind run wild. He knew these kids, Maybank, Routledge, but he cracked a smile thinking about little Sarah Cameron. Rafe's sister. Country Club. And suddenly he knew just how he was going to get his money back.

Several Months Ago

Rafe tossed a large wad of cash down on the table in front of Barry. "We're square" he said, his tone serious.

"Damn, Country Club" Barry said, picking it up greedily and flipping through the bills. "I'll give it to you, you did come through. How much do you want for this weekend?" he asked, reaching over to the drawer in his side table.

Rafe's fingers twitched at his side before they came up to wipe his nose as he sniffled, a nervous tick. "I'm good, Barry, I'm done." His head was pounding, his mouth was dry and he was exhausted. He knew release could be found in the little baggy in Barry's fingers, the sugared crystals tempting him, calling him. He squeezed his eyes shut, driving the heels of his palms into them, forcibly rewiring his brain to focus on the only thing sweeter than the euphoria in front of him: you.

It was like a movie in his brain, he saw you running into the ocean before turning around and reaching out for him, pulling him into the waves with you as your laughter rang out. He saw your head resting on his lap, lingering between awake and asleep as he ran his fingers gently through your hair, eliciting the sweetest smile on your lips. And your lips the feeling of them dancing over his, your arms wrapped around him, the way you looked at him like he hung the damn moon when in reality he was a screwed-up cokehead. He promised you he was done, promised you he would quit and it was a promise he was fighting against every urge in his body to keep.

"We're square, man. I'm done" he said again as he released his hands and made his way quickly out of the trailer.

You had just finished your afternoon of babysitting and hopped into your jeep. You were going to run home to shower and change before meeting up with Rafe and your friends. You checked your phone to see a few missed texts from Rafe.

You smiled, shifting your car onto the road, winding down the narrow streets along the beach before calling Rafe via your Bluetooth. The phone began to ring just as you heard the sound of dirt bikes kick up behind you. Ring. Thinking it was Topper and Rafe, you slowed down before realizing that it wasn't them, and wasn't their bikes. Your heart began to race and you could feel your hands clamming up on the steering wheel as one of the drivers pulled alongside you. Ring. You tried to steer him off the road when you saw him reach into his jacket and pull out a gun. You screamed, squeezing your eyes shut as you heard a shot ring out and your car involuntarily skidded to the side of the road. You let go of the steering wheel, feeling all over your body. You felt okay? That's when you heard air hissing angrily from your front tire as your car sagged to one side. He had shot your tire. Ring. Your phone was still connected and trying to reach Rafe. You frantically unbuckled your seatbelt as the two men pulled up next to your door. You grabbed your phone, hands shaking and tears pooling in your eyes "Rafe RAFE please pick up" you cried to the void ringtone. They ripped your car door open, yanking you onto the street as your phone fell from your hands and into the grass, bouncing beneath the car.

"What do you want from me?" you cried, punching and kicking furiously, you weren't going to go down without a fight. Strong hands circled you from behind, pinning your arms to your chest as the other man began tying your hands in front of you tightly with a piece of rope. Its frays burned against your wrist, instantly agitating your skin.

"HELP!" you cried before a large hand covered your mouth.

"You've got to shut her up" the one man said to the other.

He pulled a bandana out of the back of his shorts and shoved it in your mouth. It tasted like sweat and dirt and the feeling of it on your tongue and the roof of your mouth made you gag as you continued to cry, each of you too preoccupied to hear your phone...

"Yo this is Rafe, leave a message"

You continued crying and squirming as your captor put you on his bike and then settled behind you, nuzzling into your hair and bringing an arm around your midsection. He smelled like body odor and the feeling of his sweaty body pressed against yours made you cry even louder, muffled by the bandana.

The other man closed your car door, locked it and took the keys. To anyone else it would look like a car parked on the side of the road. They revved their engines and kicked off, dust clouding your eyes.

You had spent your whole life on Kildare Island and had never once been to this part of town. No one will ever find me here is all you could think as the homes got further and further apart and gave way to overgrown marshland spotted with trailers. They pulled into the makeshift driveway of a decrepit trailer with a screen door hanging off its hinges. Your captor pulled you roughly off the bike and inside. It was dim and musky and stank of mildew and stale beer. The floor and countertops were littered with beer cans, takeout boxes and drug paraphernalia. Or, so you thought, you had never so much as smoked a cigarette in your whole life. They pushed you roughly into the back of the trailer in a dingy bedroom covered with lude posters of naked women and dirty clothing. The shorter of the two men shoved you to the floor before ripping the bandana out of your mouth. You sucked in a deep breath and coughed, your mouth dry and sore.

"You know who I am, Mrs. Country Club?" he said, grinning at you, a gold tooth gleaming in his mouth.

You took a moment to look at him, his face, his clothing. You had never seen this man in your life. You shook your head, your eyes filling with tears again.

"'Course you don't. No, your boy wouldn't tell you about me, would he? This is a dirty little secret he wants to keep all to hisself" he said as he gestured around the trailer.

"His family owes me money" he said, his demeanor shifting back to anger, "and you're going to help me make sure they pay me every last dollar.” He laughed to himself as he walked out of the room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.

The plan was underway and Barry was ready to light the match that would ignite the fire. Thankfully, he knew exactly where to find Country Club on a day like today: dicking off with his friends at the yacht club, spending his daddy's money on overpriced beer. Not working, just pissing away money on booze, boats, bikes and cars, walking around like he owned the damn island.

"Rafe Cameron!" he called, "get over here!" Rafe came sprinting out to him, clearly embarrassed that his dirtbag friend was addressing him in public, addressing him on this side of the island, the two sides of his life colliding.

"What are you doing, man? You good?" Rafe asked, quickly grabbing Barry by the shoulders and leading him away from prying eyes, though Topper trailed closely behind them.

"Nah, I ain't good man. Why is your whole family thinkin' I'm just some bitch that they can shit on, man? First I gotta deal with your dad comin' in and breakin' in and kneecappin' me in my house-"

"You got your money" Rafe said quickly, interrupting him.

"That aint the point, man!" Barry continued, raising his voice, "I'm asking you what am I? Am I just some lil' bitch? Is that what your family looks at me like?"

"No, no!" Rafe replied.

"No? No? Okay, so then why is your little sister and her little surf rat friends runnin' around stealing 25k out of my house? Can you tell me that?"

"My little sister robbed you?" Rafe said in disbelief.

"Yeah, Sarah robbed me. That's why I'm here."

"She won't pick a dollar up off the street, man, what are you talking about?"

"Do I look dumb to you? You think I don't understand what's goin' on here? Cause I'm tellin' you right now you better sort this out with your sister or else I am. 'Cause I want my money."

"Listen, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Enlighten me.”

"Enlighten you? So the Pogues are all around Outer Banks stealin' shit out of everybody's house and you got no idea what I'm talkin' about? Your sisters involved in it!"

"Sarah Cameron, home invader?" Rafe said. "Do you know how stupid?a—“ but before he could finish his sentence Barry shoved him roughly.

"How many times I gotta deal witchu!?" Barry shouted angrily. "That's 25k! Sort this shit out with your sister!"

"Alright! Alright!" Rafe said, holding up a hand in defeat.

"I'mma get my money. Don't forget I know you, Country Club" he let the threat hang in the air for a moment before he continued. "Let's just say it would be within your best interest to get me my money. Quickly. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt. I'll see you boys around."

"What did you just say to me?" Rafe pressed angrily, following Barry as he walked to his car, yanking the door open and closed before Rafe could reach him. As Rafe pounded on the window, Barry threw it in reverse. "What the fuck are you talking about Barry!" Rafe yelled as the car pulled away.

"Hey," Topper said, coming up to him, trying to put a hand on Rafe's arm before getting shrugged off, "what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know man" Rafe said, the panic clear in his voice as the gears turned in his head. "No no no. This guy is nuts."

"What is it?" Topper asked as Rafe yanked his phone out of his pocket.

"Y/N" Rafe said quietly, reaching to call you when he realized he had a missed call and voicemail from you over an hour ago. He quickly opened it and hit play, putting it on speaker, expecting to hear your voice, his face scrunched in confusion as he tried to make out what was going on.

Ding, ding, ding he could hear the sound of an open car door and muffled voices

"-on the bike man-"

"-'fore someone sees-"

"close the door, take the keys"

Followed by a muffled moan and the sound of someone crying. "Don't cry, just be a good girl for me, we'll take good care of you. You like that?"

The sound of dirt bikes. Then, silence. The voicemail continued for another two minutes but as he fast forwarded through it, all he could hear was a deep, empty silence.

Rafe realized he wasn't breathing. His whole body was shaking. He couldn't hear anything except the roar of blood rushing in his head, in his ears. He could make out the look on Topper's face, he had his hands on his head, a look of panicked fear in his eyes. He grabbed Rafe by the shoulders, shaking him but his voice sounded far away, like he was underwater. "What the fuck, Rafe, what the fuck!" his voice was pitched high with worry. "What was that? Did they take Y/N? What the fuck. You have to call her, man." Rafe's limbs felt disconnected from his body as Topper ripped the phone out of his hands and called your number, pacing back and forth, one hand on his head, the other with the phone pressed to his ear. "She's not picking up dude." Rafe moved without thinking, crossing over to his own dirt bike, pulling his helmet on haphazardly without bothering to strap it in place, kicking it off the stand and gunning it, nearly spinning out in the parking lot amidst a cloud of dust.

He was pushing 60 miles an hour down neighborhood streets. He was hopping onto sidewalks and ripping across pristine lawns and flowerbeds leaving deep tire marks as he made his way to the house where he knew you had spent the day babysitting. He was hyperventilating now and his helmet was fogged with his breath, making him feel like it was closing in on him. No no no was all he could think. Not you. Anything but you. He was about two blocks away when he saw your jeep on the side of the road. He jumped off his bike, tossing it down and yanking off his helmet as he ran up to your car, hands pressed against the glass to see inside. It was empty. Locked. Your purse sat on the front seat. He circled the car, pulling at all the doors and looking in all the windows, looking for any sign of you when he heard a faint buzzing. He crouched down and saw your phone lying in the grass under the car and it was then that he saw the bullet lodged in your front tire. They had shot at you. The sight of it pulled a guttural yell from deep within him. He had been trying to get clean, had been trying to be better. You made him want to be better and he was on the right track, desperately trying to run from his dark and fucked up past. You were his light and now he had put you in danger. He had never hated himself more. Not the time he had made Wheezie cry, not the first time that he met Rose and she looked at him with masked distain, not the thousands of times that Ward yelled at him, told him he was a disappointment. No. This was his new low.

Barry threw open his front door as his phone began to ring. "Right on schedule" he said, grinning, showing the phone to his accomplice. He swiped to pick up the call.

"Country Club-" he started.

"I SWEAR TO GOD BARRY IF YOU HURT HER I WILL KILL YOU. I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? THIS ISN'T A FUCKING GAME. WE WERE SQUARE, YOU GOT YOUR MONEY, WHAT MY SISTER DOES HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME!"

Rafe was absolutely unhinged. Barry had him right where he wanted him.

"See, that's the problem, Country Club. She's your sister, and your family has a history of tryin' to screw me over. So, this is your problem now. We want $50k. You bring that here and we're all good bro."

"$50,000?" Rafe said incredulously. "What are you talking about? I thought you said they took $25k?"

"Interest, Country Club. For my troubles. Plus, I think she's worth it, don't you? You got yoself a fine lady, my friend."

"Barry, I swear to God-" Rafe said, his voice low, trembling.

"$50k, tonight Country Club. Come alone. You remember my cousin Marco, yeah?"

That was a threat in itself that had Rafe's blood running cold. Marco was Barry's supplier. They had only met once but Rafe could picture the thuggish look of the man he knew served two stints in a maximum security prison. A long scar ran over one eye, his neck, arms and knuckles covered in gang tattoos. It was enough to make Rafe feel like a little boy dealing with the big bad wolf.

Barry continued, "If he sees a cop, he'll shoot her and dump her body in the marsh. 'Gators will have her before you can do anything about it. If you don't come alone, he'll shoot her. If there's anything less that $50k, well, I think you get the point. Tick tock, Country Club." And with that, he hung up the phone.

Rafe called back immediately. Barry sent the call to voicemail. Now they waited.

By the time Rafe got a hold of Sarah it was too late. JJ had already spent every last dollar on a generator, hot tub and booze. It was late in the evening and Rafe was running out of time, too frenetic to expend any energy being angry at the pogues. He had to focus on you. How was he going to come up with $50,000? He refused to go to his father again to fix his mess.

He climbed into his truck and gunned it. He had gotten his truck as a 16th birthday present. He vividly remembered his dad surprising him with it as it sat in the driveway at Tanneyhill, a big blue bow on the hood of the car. His dad had smiled and clapped him on the back and they had driven around the block together, laughing and listening to music. It was one of his favorite memories. He remembered driving his truck to pick you up for your first date, he had been so nervous on the way to your house his hands were slick on the steering wheel and he had to keep wiping them on his shorts. You wore a stunning white dress and he could barely keep his jaw off the ground as held the truck door open for you, helping you into his front seat, the vision of you riding shotgun too perfect words.

It didn't matter now.

He pulled into the car dealership with 15 minutes to spare until closing and raced inside. The owner used to be his little league coach and he prayed the whole way here he would be able to negotiate a fair deal.

"Mr. Bennett!" he said, catching the man as he was closing up his office for the day, "I'd like to sell you my truck. Please" he said, trying to hide the urgency in his voice and failing miserably.

"Rafe! It's good to see you. We're closing up for the day, why don't you come back tomorrow? I'd love to take a look at it, and I can let you know what we can do?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it's urgent. I-I need the cash... and I need it now."

Mr. Bennett took in Rafe's mussed hair, the sweat stains on his t-shirt and his labored breath.

"Son, is everything alright? Does your father know you're here?"

"Yes, he, uh, sent me actually. He asked me to do this for him. Very important. It's very important that I do this for him, please."

Mr. Bennett remembered vividly how hard Rafe had vied for his father's attention and approval throughout his childhood. Maybe he could help him out.

"Alright, let's take a look."

Mr. Bennett circled the car agonizingly slowly, lifting the hood, opening each door. "It's in good condition, you've taken good care of it. I can offer you $35,000."

"OK - great - perfect" Rafe said, shooting Topper a text to come pick him up while eagerly ushering Mr. Bennett inside, haphazardly signing away the title to one of his most prized possessions.

You were huddled on the floor, your arms numb from being tied in the same position for almost 5 hours. Your wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding in some places. You sniffled quietly, run dry of tears from exhaustion and dehydration. You knew Rafe had struggled with a drug addiction, but you had never seen this side of it. The squalor, the desperation, the filth of where he would go to feed the beast inside of him. It scared you. Like the man had said, this was Rafe's dirty secret and the idea of that roiled your stomach, breaking your heart.

You saw how committed he had been to staying on the straight and narrow. It hadn't been easy for him, but day by day you had seen the life come back into his eyes. He was able to focus and manage his anxiety and his anger. After a month it felt like he was fully present with you, mind, body and soul and you had both been submerged in that feeling with one another, like you were falling in love again for the first time. He was a sweet boy at his core and that sweet center was able to shine when it wasn't ensnared by his addiction. He would leave flowers on the hood of your jeep to surprise you, tuck love notes into your drawers when you weren't looking to be found days later, knowing they would make you smile. Whenever you were out in public, his hands were on you, somehow, resting on your thigh, tucked in the back pocket of your shorts, resting on your lower back or more often than not tangled with your own. He was constantly stealing kisses, on the cheek, on the forehead, on your nose and when any opportunity presented itself, firmly against your lips, in the bathroom hallway at the Island Club, in your kitchen when your parents sat one room away, in his bedroom, tangled up in his sheets, he couldn't get enough of you. You were clinging to that image of him, fighting the urge to picture him here, doing drugs, when you heard voices pick up outside the door.

"It's 10:00 man, you said he'd be here. Where's your boy?"

"He'll be here, man, just relax, take a bump."

Marco leaned over the coffee table, sorting a line of cocaine before inhaling it aggressively and throwing his head back to rest on the couch, the drug rushing to his brain.

"Maybe he needs a little motivation to pick up the pace?" He stood up quickly, jittery from his high and pushed his way towards the back bedroom.

The door flew open, the light from the living room nearly blinding you in the dark as he yanked you harshly to your feet. "Come here, sweet thing, don't you want to smile for me, huh? Smile sweet for your boyfriend baby girl, go ahead." He held you tight to his chest, one arm wrapped around your neck, forcing your head up, the other resting uncomfortably against your ribcage as Barry snapped a photo. You wiggled, uncomfortable in his grasp, disgusted by the feeling of his hands on your body. "Aww, you wanna fight me again, huh? That's okay, I like a fighter, I like it a little rough" he taunted. You wiggled harder, willing this to be a dream that you could wake up from as he pulled you closer, his face pressed against yours, his disgusting breath hot on your cheek. You moved without thinking, a survival instinct, doing anything you could to get out of his grasp as you stomped your heel heavily onto his foot. He cried out in shock and pain before grabbing you, turning you to face him and slapping you hard across the face. You fell to the floor, the skin on your flesh burning. You could taste blood on your lip.

"What the fuck are you doing, man!?" Barry yelled.

"Someone's got to do somethin’ here! Where is my money!?"

"Come on" Barry hauled you up by your arm and at least had the decency to look sorry before throwing you back in the bedroom and locking the door.

Rafe slid into Topper's truck, talking animatedly on the phone and motioning for him to drive, "Pawn shop on Meeting Street, drive, go Top!" Topper sped off as Rafe returned to his call.

"Yes, Kelc, $5k and you can have the bike, do we have a deal?" He paused, listening to the other end. "Do you have cash? Can you meet me at the pawn shop on Meeting Street?" A pause. "What? No. Right fucking now. Meet me right fucking now, don't be a dollar short" he said, hanging up phone.

"Rafe, what the hell is going on man" Topper asked.

"Just drive, Top.”

"What's wrong with your truck?" he asked, motioning to the dealership in the rearview mirror.

"I sold it.”

"You what!? Why? You love that truck."

"Please, just drive.”

"Did you just sell Kelce your bike? Is this about money? Are they ransoming her? Oh my god, Rafe. We need to call the police. My grandfather's a judge" he said, reaching for his phone, "I'll call him, we can have this sorted out.”

Rafe grabbed Topper's wrist hard enough for him to drop the phone. "No fucking cops.”

"Rafe-" Topper tried.

"They will kill her Topper" he said, his voice stone serious. "They will shoot her and they will throw her body in the marsh and we will never see her again. These guys do not fucking mess around and I'm not taking any chances."

Topper pulled his car into the pawn shop parking lot and Rafe was out of the front seat before Topper came to a full stop. He ran inside. Topper could see him begin to wedge his Cameron family signet ring off his finger. For as long as he had known Rafe he had never seen him without it. It was extremely valuable and meaningful to him and he couldn't believe he'd be parting with it. From the look in the woman's eyes across the counter from Rafe, it didn't look like she could believe it either. She held it up to the light, weighed it and examined it closely. She said something to him and he began arguing with her. Clearly, he didn't think she was offering him a fair price. They haggled for a moment and eventually she looked resolute. Her final offer. Rafe looked destroyed as he hunched over the counter, his head in his hands before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box and slid it over to her like he was giving her the last piece of food on a deserted island. Resigned, depleted.

She opened the box, eyeing the contents closely, eyeing him closely and closed it, sliding it back to him. He pushed it back to her aggressively. Though taken aback, she carried the box into a back room and disappeared. She came back with a man dressed in a suit, clearly a manager of some sort. They talked for several minutes before shaking hands. They disappeared again and returned with a large envelope. Rafe took it, quickly signed a few pieces of paper and began to walk out to the car just as Kelce was pulling in. He ran over to him, accepting another wad of cash before getting back into the car.

"Top, I need you to drive-" he was cut off by his phone chiming. He pulled it quickly out of his pocket and slid open the text from Barry. Tick tock Country Club it read with a picture. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of you, your arms bound in front of you. You looked filthy, your normally perfect hair was tangled, your eyes were scrunched in discomfort, your eyeliner smudged and mascara running down your cheeks. Barry's cousin was pressed against you, his cheek on your cheek, his hands on your ribcage, dangerously close to your breasts.

"No, no, no, no, no" he said repeatedly, the only word his brain could conjure at the sight of you. He felt physically sick and he started to shake, shoving the heel of his hands into his eyes and rocking back and forth.

Topper recognized all the signs of one of Rafe's panic attacks but had never seen one this bad. He didn't know what to do. "H-Hey come on, man, it's going to be ok, she's going to be ok. Do you have the money? Let's go. Let's go get her."

"Y-you n-need t-to drive to the f-fucking cut" Rafe eeked out, barely understandable.

"What?" Topper asked.

"DRIVE TO THE CUT, TOPPER!" he roared.

"Yes, got it, driving" he said, throwing the car into gear.

Rafe pulled out his phone, quickly typing a response.

He threw his phone down on the floor, cracking the screen.

You heard a phone trill.

"You hear that, princess? Country Club is comin’ to get your ass. I told you you was our golden ticket." You heard them laugh before they turned up the music and cracked open beers.

You sat up from where you were laying on the floor. Rafe was coming here? To get you? You wiped at your eyes and gingerly touched your lip, wincing at the swollen tenderness. You couldn't imagine how terrible you looked right now. You also couldn't imagine why you were thinking about how you looked at a time like this. Your limbs ached but you tried your best to maneuver into a sitting position as your mind tried to work out what was happening. Rafe was coming here. Was he coming by himself? He would be outnumbered. What would stop them from taking the money and killing you both anyway? These were two coked out drug dealers, there was no way to know how this was going to play out and they clearly had the upper hand. You began to feel around the floor in front of you. You wanted to gag at the feeling of running your hands through the shag carpeting, sifting through dirty boxers, women's underwear and food containers. You needed to find something that could help. You weren't going to let Rafe face this alone. You reached under the bed, feeling a lot of dust and empty space until you hit a cool metal container. You paused, straining your ears to ensure the men were both preoccupied as you pulled it towards you. It was small, maybe a foot wide. As you opened it, you found a wad of cash, several pill bottles and a small gun. Bingo. You had gone to the gun range a handful of times with your dad, you knew how to see if it was loaded. It was. You knew how to check the safety before sliding it into the front of your jean shorts, the cool metal resting against your skin. Your shirt barely covered it. It would be risky, it would be risking everything, but you had to do it.

"Pull over here" Rafe instructed.

"Here?" Topper asked. They were squarely in the middle of nowhere, deep in the marshes at the far side of the cut. The only light was coming from the dim porch light of a trailer 50 feet back from the dirt road.

"Yes, park here. Cut off the engine. Keep your phone on you. Don't follow me, Top. I mean it."

"How long should I wait before...?" he let the question linger, unfinished.

Rafe looked up at him and for the first time Topper saw unbridled fear in his best friend's eyes.

"Rafe, man, look, we can still call the police. You don't have to do this by yourself."

"15 minutes" Rafe replied, ignoring him at first. "If you don't see her in 15 minutes you can call the police. And, yes, I do have to do this. It's my fault she's in this mess, I'm going to get her out of it." He scooped his phone off the floor, wrangled the wad of cash into his pockets and stepped out of the truck, using the flashlight on his phone to jog alone down the street into darkness until Topper couldn't see him anymore.

You heard him. Over the godawful rap music that was playing through tinny speakers outside your locked door, you heard him.

"BARRY! BARRY, GET THE FUCK OUT HERE. BRING HER WITH YOU. LET ME SEE HER RIGHT NOW!"

Your heart squeezed at the sound of his voice, familiar and comforting but full of a rage the depths of which you had never heard before.

The music cut off and you heard shuffling and muffled voices in the living room. Your heart was in your throat. You heard the front door open and close as Barry walked outside and you heard footsteps headed in your direction. You checked the gun in your shorts one more time before the door burst open and he rumbled over to you, pulling you to your feet, through the doorway, through the kitchen and living room to the front door. A sense of relief washed over you. You were free, Rafe was here, everything was going to be okay. Then you saw the gun in his other hand and began to shake.

He shoved you through the front door, hand gripping your upper arm so tightly you could feel a bruise already forming. A few weak lights were scattered around the property buzzing with mosquitoes, making the yard hard to see, but your eyes immediately found Rafe. He had been in a heated discussion until the door flew open and he caught your eye. It was like time ran in slow motion. His skin was slick with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, his shirt stuck to his skin, his cheeks red and voice hoarse from yelling, but when he saw you he stopped.

"No, no, no, man WHAT DID YOU DO! LOOK AT HER! SHE'S FUCKING BLEEDING! WHAT DID I TELL YOU!" He tried to run towards you and Barry stopped him with both hands on his chest.

"Not so fast, Country Club.”

"No, I need to-" he fidgeted around Barry's grip, "I need to see her" shove "Need to touch her" shove "Need to make sure she's OK" shove "Baby, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby, I'm here, I'm here, It's going to be okay." His eyes were fixed solely on you as he fought Barry back, clawing, desperate to reach you.

"That's enough, Country Club, where is the money?"

"I'm not giving you the money until I can see her, I need to make sure she's alright."

"Let me see it."

Rafe reached into his front pocket, pulling forth wads of cash bigger than any you'd seen in your life.

"65k" he said, shaking it in Barry's face, "interest, you know? To make sure you never do anything like this, ever again. Now let me see her."

Barry took a step back and nodded to Marco. Marco tucked the gun into his waistband and untied your hands. As soon as you were free you turned and ran, Rafe meeting you halfway as you slammed into his chest, your arms too weak to do anything but wrap around his middle as you sunk your face into him, crying anew.

"Oh my god" he said, his hands coming around you as he buried his head in your hair. "Thank God. Thank you, God" he repeated. "It’s okay, it's going to be okay.”

You pressed into him further. "Rafe" you whispered, barely audible, "gun, in my shorts, quick-"

"Money, Country Club" Barry said.

You tried to turn around but Rafe held you firmly in place, your head against his chest as he slowly pulled the wad of cash out of his pockets, handing it over your head into Barry's outstretched hands.

"Woooo, would you look at this, Marco? This is what interest looks like right here." They were both transfixed, unraveling the wads of cash. Rafe took the opportunity to slide his hand slowly down your stomach, into the waistband of your shorts as you shivered involuntarily, his hand resting on the gun, shielded by your body against his.

"This is nothin' to you, Country Club" Barry said. "This is just your daddy's money. Money means nothin' to you. Maybe we outta hold onto your lady here and see what another day buys us?"

A gun cocked behind you and you both froze. You felt Rafe's fingers work around the gun, clicking off the safety.

"Barry. We're square man" he said calmly despite the feeling of his heart thundering in his chest as he stared down the barrel of the gun in Marco's hand. "I'm going to take my girlfriend and we're going to walk away now, and you're going to let us go. And on top of the extra $15k I gave you, we won't tell anyone about the felony kidnapping you just committed."

Barry bristled at that.

"We're the one calling the shots here!" Marco said gruffly, unphased as he pointed the gun at the back of your head. Rafe put his hand against your head protectively, pulling you towards him as you squeezed your eyes shut and his hand shot out from between you, brandishing the gun at the two of them as he slowly began to walk backwards, pulling you with him.

"I said, I'm going to take my girlfriend and we're going to walk away now" his voice trembled, with rage, with fear, with both. "Give me a reason, because I will shoot you both where you stand. I'm begging you to give me a reason so I can bury this bullet so far in your heads." He was shaking, his arm crushing you to him as you took each step together.

"It's all good, Country Club" Barry said, one hand raised in surrender, the other on Marco's arm.

Rafe walked with you all the way to the end of the driveway before grabbing your hand and taking off in a sprint. You ran for what felt like miles, your body exhausted, his fingers entwined tightly in yours before you saw the outline of a truck on the side of the road.

Topper saw two figures appear out of the misty darkness, his finger hovering over his phone, ready to call 9-1-1. When he realized who it was, he quickly started the engine, his headlights kicking on, blinding you both as Rafe threw open the back door and helped you in, crawling in beside you.

"Is she okay? Is everything okay?" Topper asked frantically, working to turn the car around while also trying to eye the backseat.

"She's... okay" Rafe replied, panting, as he finally let the gun in his hand drop to the floor of the car. His back was against the window and you were curled up against him, head nuzzled into his neck, one of his hands around your waist, fingers brushing your bare skin where your t-shirt had been rumpled, the other moving to hold your head against his heart. You were shaking and the vibrations against him splintered his heart like a shattered windshield. He pulled you impossibly closer and whispered into your hair the entire ride home, "It's okay, it's going to be okay, I'm sorry baby. God, I'm so sorry."

By the time Topper dropped you both off at Tanneyhill it was nearly morning. He slid out of the driver's seat to give you a hug, holding you gently in his arms, "I'm so happy you're okay Y/N" he said earnestly. The fear and relief evident in his voice. When he let you go, Rafe pulled him into a tight embrace as well and as they let go they exchanged a knowing glance before Topper nodded and pulled away.

Rafe made sure you got food and plenty of water before helping you up the stairs and into his bathroom where he gently peeled off your filthy clothing before running a shower for you. The hot water scorched your wrists and burned against your cut lip but you were so desperate to rid yourself of that trailer that you didn't care. When you were finished, he wrapped you in a warm towel, holding you against him again. He had been looking at you in a way he'd never looked at you before and you struggled to put a name to it until you felt him exhale shakily. It was fear. You had never seen Rafe Cameron afraid in all your life, and now he was looking at you with pure fear, like he was afraid you would disappear in front of his eyes. Wordlessly, he gave you a pair of his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts and sat you on his bed as he gathered a first aid kit. His hands were shaking as he rubbed ointment on your bruised and burned wrists before turning attention to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hands, trying with all his might to avoid eye contact, feigning a deep focus on the cut on your lip. He was doing everything he could to tamp down his emotions. He could count the number of times in his life that he had cried on one hand. It had only been three times. Once, when he had fallen out of a tree and broken his wrist. Once, at his mother's funeral. And once the first time his father had hit him, tears flowing first in surprise, then in pain, then in shame and embarrassment. It wouldn't do any good for you to see him like that now, he told himself. You needed him to be strong, to let you know that you were safe. He pulled your lip gently with his thumb, rubbing something on it before letting it go.

"Rafe" you whispered as he moved to put the first aid kit away. You stood up to follow him.

"You need to lay down, you need to rest" he said, urging you back towards the bed.

"Rafe, I'm okay" you said, trying to meet his eyes as he avoided yours. You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, gently turning it to look at you. "I'm right here, I'm okay, everything is okay thanks to you."

He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, the only way he could think to avoid your gaze. The only way to stop himself from breaking. You moved to your tiptoes to wrap your arms around him, nuzzling into him as his arms wrapped slowly around you. Here you were bruised and bloody trying to comfort him. He was such a fuck up. He almost lost you. He was almost the reason you were gone. What did you see in him? His mind was racing and you could feel him tense in your arms.

"Hey, hey it's okay" you said, your body responding to his tension as you nuzzled closer, rubbing circles in his back. "I love you" you said. And he broke, his shoulders shaking as tears flowed freely from his eyes and he pulled you into his body in a crushing grip. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Rafe, there's nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes there is!" he said, reluctantly letting you go to look at you incredulously. "If you weren't with me that would have never happened. I put you in that situation!"

"No, Rafe, you had no part in this, no idea what those men were capable of. We can sit here all day and play 'What If'. What if I had left babysitting an hour later, What if Sarah and her friends hadn't taken that money, What if I had driven faster and outrun them, or worse! What if I hadn't found that gun, What if you hadn't come up with that money. Rafe, we can both spend time beating ourselves up or we can be so damn thankful it turned out the way that it did. We're here, together, and that's what matters. I love you, and I wouldn't want to be with anyone else."

He looked down at you, eyes still shining with tears and cracked a small abashed smile. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" he replied. He leaned down to kiss you before stopping and pulling back, eyeing your lip.

"Just kiss me already" you whispered, and he smirked, pressing his lips gently to yours. The feeling of your bodies and your lips pressed together made the world feel like it was put back on its proper axis. Everything that was wrong was right again. Everything was going to be okay. You deepened the kiss, pulling him into you and he lifted you up, laying you down gently on his bed as hovered on top of you, his kisses never faltering as your tongues tangled and he wrapped you in his arms. After a few moments he pulled back, his nose brushing yours. "You need to rest" he said, resigned but firm. He tucked you in and you were overwhelmed with the feeling of his soft sheets and the undeniable scent of him. You were warm and safe and loved and you were asleep before you could feel him kiss your forehead and whisper, "I love you."

E P I L O G U E

You didn't stir again for hours, your limbs heavy with deep sleep. Your back was curled up against Rafe's bare chest, his arms circling around you snuggly. You sighed contentedly, lacing your fingers through his when you noticed his ring was missing. You pried your eyes open and looked down at his one hand, then the other, turning them this way and that. No ring. He stirred into consciousness, nuzzling you and pressing kisses into your hair.

You turned to face him as his eyes fluttered open, a soft smile on his lips until he saw the look of concern on your face.

"S'wrong?" he muttered sleepily.

"Rafe, your ring is gone" you whispered. He flexed his fingers, running his thumb over his bare knuckle reflexively.

"S'fine, baby" he said, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"It's fine?" you said, flabbergasted. You had never seen Rafe without his ring. It was a deep source of pride for him.

"It doesn't matter anymore" he said, trying to change the subject, "why don't we go to the beach today? Just have a chill day. Topper can give us a ride."

You thought about it briefly. "Why does Topper need to drive us? Where is your car?" You didn't recall seeing it in the driveway last night, but then again, last night was a bit of a blur. Rafe's eyes shifted slightly and he started to say something and then stopped himself and instead brought one hand up to rub his eyes. You could tell he was hiding something.

"Rafe" you pressed, "what's going on?"

He sighed heavily. "I don't have my car anymore."

"What happened!?" you said, propping yourself up on your elbow, concerned. His truck was his everything, you knew how much it meant to him, one of the few gifts Ward had ever given him.

He met your eyes and took his time responding, studying your face, his hands cupping it gently, his thumb rubbing your cheek as a small smile began dancing across his lips.

"I sold it."

You were about to launch a cavalcade of questions when the lightbulb went off in your head the ring, the truck, the money. You gasped slightly, your hand coming to cover your mouth.

"Rafe, you didn't!"

"I did" he said, the smile lingering on his lips. He looked... happy? Had he lost his mind? "And my bike" he said. Your eyes were wide with shock "And-" he started, the smile on his face sinking into something more serious as he paused.

"And what?" you said, your heart clenching. That was literally every one of his most valuable possessions. His golf clubs? His watches? You started looking around the room as if you could spot what was missing, did he sell his furniture? What else was possibly left after all of that?

"My mom's ring" he said quietly.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you sat straight up in bed.

"Rafe" you said, stone serious, your hand clamped over your mouth, a look of horror on your face. "No, oh my God, no."

He sat up next to you, leaning against the headboard. He still had a smile on his face as he peeled your hand away from your mouth to hold both of your hands in his, his gaze meeting yours fiercely. "There isn't anything I wouldn't have given Barry to have you back in my arms safely. I would have given him Tanneyhill if he asked for it. Nothing matters to me more than you do. No truck, no bike, no ring, nothing. You are everything to me. You are priceless. I love you so much... Plus.." he said, pausing slightly, weighing his next words carefully as he met your eyes, "my mom's ring doesn't mean much if the girl I wanted to give it to wasn't here to take it."

Your heart thundered in your chest as the realization of everything that had happened caught up to you. He had sold every last thing he held dear, the only gift his father had ever given him, the only thing he had left from his mom. The weight of his last statement landing heavily "My mom's ring doesn't mean much if the girl I wanted to give it to wasn't here to take it." He wanted to give you his mom's ring? He wanted to propose to you? Your bottom lip quivered as you took a shaky breath.

"R-Rafe what are you saying?"

He had a lopsided grin on his face as he pulled you into his lap to straddle him. The feeling of his body pressed against you sending a warm wave of comfort over you as you took in his blue eyes, glinting at you as you pushed his tousled hair off his forehead, drinking in the face of the boy that would do anything to keep you safe as his hands rested on your hips.

He was quiet for a moment, smiling at you, looking at your face, taking you in before he spoke. "I'm saying that I want you to be my Mrs. Cameron someday. But, I've gotta get you a ring first. I had been keeping my mom's with me in the glove box of my truck for a while now, just in case."

"Just in case?" you asked, laughing sweetly.

"Yeah, just in case I couldn't wait any longer. In case there was a moment..." he paused as he took your left hand in his, looking down at it as he rubbed his thumb over your empty ring finger. "Wish I had it right now, I'd give it to you."

"I don't need a ring, Rafe" you said quietly, and the look you gave him nearly knocked the wind out of him. You were serious, your gaze transfixed on him, unblinking. And he was serious too. What this happening right now? Like this? This wasn't how he planned it in his head, he had devised a plan in meticulous detail, a thousand rose petals, a hundred candles on a moonlit night on the beach... not with him in his boxers and you with a busted lip and bruised wrists. But none of that seemed to matter now. All that mattered is that you were here, that you were safe. He had been so damn close to losing you, he didn't want to waste any more time.

"Marry me?" he asked point blank, serious, but smiling, hopeful.

You nodded slowly, laughing then laugh-crying as you muttered "Yes!"

He pulled you into him, kissing you as one of his hands came to cup your cheek. You could feel his hands shaking as he kissed you with abandon in a way he had never kissed you before, deep and desperate, loving and possessive as he rolled you over onto your back to feel you beneath him, his lips never leaving yours. You had lost count of the number of times you had kissed Rafe Cameron, but there was a weightiness to this kiss that was new. This was forever. His lips were forever, his hands on your body were forever, this feeling, like you were soaring, the pounding in your chest was forever. And for only the fifth time in his life, Rafe Cameron cried. This time, small, happy tears that trickled down his face as his lips captured yours, breaking only slightly to whisper, "I love you, Mrs. Cameron."

taglist: @ietss, @diary-of-jj, @jasminxts, @burn1ngw00d, @boo22sstuff, @anthgoldenhrry, @h34rtsformilli, @louie-bug, @bibliophilewednesday, @glame, @m-indkiller

Want some more? obaex masterlist

#rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx imagine #obx x reader

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cevheris · 2 days

Text

Abby Anderson.

Fucking you on her motorcycle ☺️

tags: no need to sugarcoat anything she eats you out on her motorbike, semi public sex, she's kinda rough with it, dom/sub undertones.

You were riding on Abby's motorbike, been so needy lately but she was a busy woman, so you weren't able to play around as you'd like. You had missed her touch, the way her muscles would flex when she had her strong hold on your flesh. But now you were alone, well on the road, no less. Your tits behind the flimsy material of the shirt you were wearing pressed against her back as you hold onto her.

Arms wrapped around her lower belly, playing dangerous but it was worth it, traffic safety be damned you were fucking dripping for this woman, head too fuzzy for consequences.

She was taking you to a friends house or whatever, you weren't listening when she told you that, instead you were busy grinding yourself on the seat of the bike like a pathetic little slut, but you pay no mind to such labels anymore. I mean if the shoe fits.

But you weren't completely stupid, obviously, so you wait like a good girl for a red light to strike, your hand drawing closer to her parted thighs once she stops the ride you are onto her.

"Abby-" delicate fingers playing with the material of her pants, near her inner thighs earning a surprised gasp from her. And as if taking that as your cue you press against her further and cup her clothed pussy.

She involuntarily drops her head back, with a heavy whine she spells out "What are you doing-?"

"You know exactly what," you apply pressure with two fingers on where you know her clit to be under those layers.

"Are you out of your mind-" her hips rise a little to gain more friction from your palm involuntarily, you take your hand away just to be a little shit. Making her groan at the lost.

"Maybe i am," but before you can do much else the green light is on and your time is up. She pushes on the engine and you almost fall back with the momentum, barely finding the time to hold back to her. "Whoa- hey- hey" maybe she was the crazy one.

Now you weren't the only one playing said dangerous game, her's were deadly though, nowhere near close to your little teases of cat and mouse. You realize she's changed routes, and her grasp on the handlebar lever a little too strong for the speed limit.

"Wait where are we even-" she cuts you before you can finish.

"We will play what you want, how you want bunny."

Abby pulls near a back alley, without telling you anything she spins you around and you brace yourself against the stone wall of the shady corner, only support being her motorcycle.

"Acting like a cheap whore will only get you so far you know," she gives a little slap at your butt, so rudely "Good thing i'm here, yeah?"

Goddamn, seeing her mean like this was something new, but fuck was it a welcome surprise. You whine then, she presses you further into the wall with your cheeks squashed and her hand on your ass.

Abby's next move was simple, pulling your pants down together with your underwear, bunching at your bent knees, leaving you open on display. The cold air of both the alley and reality of being bare in public, well, semi public but still, was making you drip down hard.

Abby kneels down, presses her face to your cunt, laps at your slick as if honey, only getting you wetter. Eating pussy from behind felt dirtier, cheap.

She spreads your lips to lick deeper into your wet hole, teething on your slick pearly clit. Kissing your puffy lips and playing on your rim, she knew how you liked it best.

Well she also knew she had to keep it short, unfortunately. If it was up to her she'd keep you open on display like this and lick you clean until you were out of it and spent, but alas, you were getting your ass ate in a back alley for fucks sake.

Her tongue continue it's magic for some more, enough to get you off for two times, your hole leaking down like some fountain of youth.

But before giving you the pleasure of a third orgasm she pulls back, slaps your pussy from the back and pulls your pants back up. A needy whine slips your lips while you move your hips together to feel better. That was not enough.

As if reading your mind, "Look at the mess," trust she was no different under those clothes, "We'll continue later baby, when we get back."

Yeah and when you do get back, she'd split you apart with her eight inch strap, well lubed up and well pampered until you can't remember ever feeling so needy.

#need her viscerally #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x you #abby anderson smut #abby the last of us #abby tlou #cece writes #cevherudite

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 month

Text

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (2 of 4)

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, briefly implied future physical injury, protective / possessive Soap, hand job, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

You and Soap might no longer be together, but he is your "safe space", and you need to vent. While raging over the phone about your boyfriend, Soap arrives at your door.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

The anger and hurt in your voice are the only fuel John needs.

You have no idea that he is already on his way to you, that he hooked your phone call up to his helmet. That, even now, John is on his sportbike zooming down roads and weaving around cars in an effort to get to you.

There is a fire under his skin. It burns away all other concerns. Every word you speak is a blown furnace, the destruction mounting until each utterance infuriates him further. This “boyfriend” of yours, the one you started seeing after the two of you broke up, deserves a fucking sharp punch to the jaw. He deserves missing teeth and broken bones.

Men like him aren’t men at all. They’re rubbish, only valuing women as objects, seeing them as their housekeeper and not their partner.

In his ear, you’re hardly taking a breath. Your words are a stream of consciousness, each word angrily pushing into the other until it’s a jumbled mess. John listens to it all, using that as motivation to get to you. It’s doesn’t fucking matter that you’re not his anymore.

John still cares. He still loves you. The need to protect and defend you is innate. One teary-laced word was enough for him to drop everything and head in your direction. Doesn’t matter that you and he ended things a bit messy. It was simply complicated. The two of you needed to work a few things out but broke it off because that was the easy thing to do.

He regrets that. He regrets not fighting. Not getting his shit together.

The engine revs, and John turns onto your street, almost throwing himself off his bike to get to your front door. In one hand he’s holding his helmet. In the other, he’s holding his phone, the device pressed to his ear as you keep talking. Reaching out, he pounds on the door.

You immediately pause on the other side of the phone. “There’s someone at my door,” you murmur, voice slightly distant.

“I know,” he replies. “It’s me.”

Silence on the other end. But then he hears it—the familiar click of a lock. Following that is your front door opening, revealing you.

The two of you stand there, staring at each other. Your momentary shock slips, dipping into confusion.

“What are you—” you begin but promptly stop as John pushes past you and into the flat.

“Is that fucker here?” John strides into the kitchen, placing his helmet down on the counter before ending the phone call and slipping the device into his back pocket.

“John.”

He glances down the hallway and then turns to you. “Is he here?”

You shake your head. “No. He’s not here.”

John’s chest heaves with relief, some of the tension receding.

“John,” you repeat, the concern in your voice enough to smother some of that fire burning beneath his ribcage.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks softly, approaching.

His gaze roams up and down your body, searching for signs of injury. There is none, at least not that he can see. That doesn’t mean there aren’t marks somewhere hiding beneath the clothes. The very thought fans the flames, charging John’s nerves until they crackle like lightening.

“No, Johnny. I’m fine.”

Johnny.

Only two people are allowed to call him that and one of them is standing right in front of him. The use of it, the way it falls from your lips, is enough to slightly quiet the anger. He sighs, expelling some of that smoky frustration. But then his gaze flicks to a spot just over your shoulder, and a new feeling emerges.

There are fist-sized holes in the wall. Four of them. Much too large to be your hands.

“What the fuck are those?” John’s voice drops as he nods toward them.

The sadness that forms on your features nearly rips his lungs from his body. John has never seen you like this. Never this defeated.

“They happened after,” you answer.

“After what?”

“The argument.”

You and John have had your fair share of arguments, but he’s never punched a wall. He’s never thrown anything or threatened you.

Never. Fucking never.

No. Fuck this guy.

“You’re breaking up with him.”

“What?” you ask, flustered by his sudden outburst.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. To kiss your lips. To be in your presence.”

You deserve so much more than whatever this fucker is providing. Which is apparently nothing served alongside fist-sized gapping wounds in the plaster.

Your mouth opens like you’re about to reject the idea, but it’s not a suggestion. You are breaking up with him. You will leave him even if that means John doesn’t get to have you. That’s fine. That’s okay. He can live with that. What he can’t live with is knowing you’re with someone who treats you like rubbish.

He needs to get this off his chest, to make you understand that you are entitled to more.

“I listened the whole way here and you know what I heard?” He pauses and notices the slight quiver in your bottom lip. “That you’re unhappy. Have been for some time.”

You blink and fresh tears form there. John has to bite back the instinct to kiss them away. It’s what he would do if you were still his.

He licks his lips, a large sigh leaving him as he points over your shoulder. “He treats you poorly.” John’s hand slices through the air. “Walks all over you. Doesn’t answer you for hours and then gets angry with you when he finally makes contact.”

As John talks, even he can hear his voice thickening. This always happens when he gets worked up, and you’ve always playfully teased him about it.

“He’s a fucking waste of space.”

“John—”

“Break it off. And—fuck. If you can’t face him, then let me do it.” He places his hand on his chest. “Allow me to defend you.”

Your features soften and John wants to drink it in, to remember the way you’re currently looking at him. He remembers this side of you, the one that easily pierces him like a needle breaks skin. A look like this will put John on his knees if you ask him to.

“Johnny.”

He’s done. Gone. There is no coming back from this. Whenever you say his name like that, you’re either annoyed with him, wanting him to listen, or you’re just about ready to kiss him. It momentarily rips away all the thoughts in his head, leaving him temporarily mute before his brain can catch up again.

“Listen to me,” he says, gripping the sides of your face. “Get rid of him. I—I know you don’t want me but fucking hell. Don’t pick him. Don’t—”

John is silenced.

Not by your words leaving your mouth but from your lips pressing to his. It startles him—shocks him that you’re kissing him. Leaning into him. John responds, kisses you back, his tongue exploding with the remembrance of your taste.

But you’re still not his. You belong to someone else still and this isn’t right, no matter how much he fucking hates it.

“Stop, love,” he murmurs, pushing on your shoulders.

John loathes telling you to stop. To move away from him. Doing so is like fish hooks caught in the skin. He wants to reel you right back in, to taste your lips again, and fall into memory.

“I ended it,” you reply softly. “It’s over. That’s why there are holes in the wall.”

John pauses, his gaze growing serious. “What?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t like that I wanted him to leave. That I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

Your fingers dig into the back of John’s neck and that one touch is enough to dissolve his resolve about not kissing you into dust.

He closes the distance, and you welcome him in, opening beautifully.

“Am I your rebound?” he teasingly asks between kisses.

You laugh against his lips and kiss him again. “Why did I ever leave you?” Your question is a sad murmur tinged with a regret that leaches off your words and floods into his heart.

“Because I was an asshole.” He believes these words completely but you’re shaking your head.

“No,” you reply. “You weren’t. Never that.”

The kisses between you, which at first were soft, quickly develop into deeper passion, twining like a spool of thread around a bobbin. John drags you against him, tasting over and over until you are imprinted on his memory.

Your arms drape over the back of his neck to pull him even closer, and John snaps. That gentle resolve is gone. He needs you.

Reaching down to cup your ass, John lifts you off the ground until your legs naturally wrap around his waist. He knows where the bedroom is but that’s too fucking far. The desire writhing between and around his bones is a blood-beast. A feral thing that calls out for your skin against his.

Setting you down on the counter, John shoves his helmet out of the way. You’re already reaching for him, undoing the front of his pants, slipping in to palm him. The inhale you make when your fingers wrap around his cock is sweet and John breathes it in as if that one sound makes up his entire lifeblood.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s going to taste you everywhere. His lips and teeth will mark your skin. His tongue will find a home between your legs. You’ll forget this fuckers name. He just needs a few hours and it’ll be his name you’re screaming.

You stroke him again, and John drags you right to the edge of the counter, intending to sink to his knees to worship between your spread thighs.

Your knees lock at his hips and with another stroke of your hand, you tell him what you want. “I need you inside me. I want to feel you.”

You ask so sweetly. He can’t say no. He doesn’t want to.

John helps you ease his pants down to his thighs. When he goes to undress you, he only finds underwear under that large, oversized shirt.

“Fuck, love.” John’s finger drags that fabric aside and he groans at the sight.

You’re already wet. Aching. Ready for him. Begging him to bury himself inside.

This one will be quick. It’ll be rough and he’ll probably fucking spill within a minute, but he has the whole night to take you over every surface in this flat, to make you writhe and moan beneath him.

Placing one hand on the counter and one on your thigh, John starts to ease in. Inch by inch, slowly, he disappears until there is nothing left for him to give. He has a perfect view of how you stretch around him. How you slightly clench and unclench, the pleasure of it shooting to the base of his spine.

“Don’t leave me,” you murmur as Soap begins to thrust into you.

“Never,” he replies, nuzzling the side of your face as you pepper him with kisses.

John anchors himself, snapping his hips, chasing the end just so he can get you back into that bedroom to do so much more.

“You’re mine,” he groans as your fingers dig into his skin, pulling him closer. “Always have been.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @keiva1000 @miss-mistinguett @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg

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writerslittlelibrary · 2 months

Text

The coolest mom

masterlist

summary: you and your mom had always been able to bond over your shared love for motorbikes

pairing: Natasha x daughter reader

warnings: none

genre: fluff

words: 1020

a/n: This was inspired by a request I got and I just found it adorable! I’ve always went on rides with my dad on his motorbike and it is my favourite thing ever. last year we went on a road trip to Sweden and it was so much fun!

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Your mom had always been a big lover of her bike. She had always preferred riding her bike over taking her car. When you came into her life that didn’t change, and it didn’t take long before her obsession with motorbikes rubbed off on you.

You loved going on rides with your mom and you couldn’t wait until you could ride yourself.

When you were younger you used to be scared when Natasha went faster. You always felt like you would fly off, and that thought scared you.

However, Natasha was always there to reassure you. When you would wrap your arms around her waist a little tighter, she’d lay her hand on yours to let you know she knew how you felt. Sometimes she’d slow down a bit if that’s what you wanted.

However, now you were older, and going fast was your favourite thing. Riding at high speeds simply made you feel free, and there was no better feeling.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey mom, we have to go! I’ll miss class!” you yelled through the house as you stuffed your lunch into your schoolbag.

“One second!” you heard a voice yell back.

You sighed as you rushed to put your shoes on, knowing it would definitely take longer than a second. You liked being on time. There wasn’t a single occasion where you were not on time. However, Natasha felt a little different about that.

She wasn’t a late person in the slightest. She was more of a, perfectly on time person. Something that bothered you beyond beliefs.

“Mom!” you yelled once more as you went to pull your jacket on.

Natasha walked into the room, putting her jacket over a chair as she reached for her shoes. “Calm down, sweetheart. We won’t be late, I promise,” Natasha smiled gently as she tied her laces.

“You don’t know that, mom. Traffic is terrible at these times,” you explained as you crossed your arms, waiting for your mom to finish.

“Traffic won’t be a problem,” Natasha simply stated as she reached for her motorbike jacket.

“Put on your jacket and change your shoes,” Natasha stated as she walked towards the garage, taking your backpack and grabbing her keys on her way.

You smiled excitedly as you quickly changed your shoes, grabbing your jacket and rushing after Natasha. It wasn’t often that she took you to school on the motorbike, so when she did you were more than happy.

When you walked into the garage you saw that Natasha had already put on one case on the back of the motorbike. She put your bag into it before she opened the garage, rolling the motorbike outside while waiting for you to grab your helmet and your gloves.

Once you were all dressed up in your protective gear (because no matter how experienced Natasha was with driving, she would never ever drive herself, or let you drive, without protective gear on) Natasha helped you on the motorbike, starting it and driving it to school.

Everyone at school knew who your mom was. I mean, obviously they did. Their class mate had the actual Black Widow as a mom.

Of course, Black Widow or not, Natasha was still the coolest mom at the whole school. Nothing beats that feeling of everyone staring while you have the coolest entrance to your school day.

-------------------------------------------------------------

School itself was boring, to say the least.

Luckily, when it was finally over Natasha had driven back to school to pick you up, and instead of driving home, she drove the bike to the beach.

Once she parked it she helped you off, locking the case at the back of the bike to keep your bag safe.

You took her hand as you walked onto the beach, heading for the beach cafe to grab some hot chocolate.

“How was school?” Natasha asked as you were walking over the sand, the beach cafe already in sight. You simply shrugged in response.

“School was school. Some assignments here, some homework there, you know, the basics,” you told Natasha as you kicked some of the sand. She simply hummed in response.

“So what do you wanna eat? We can do dinner at home, or we can grab some fries here?” Natasha asked.

“Can we eat fries and watch the sunset?!” you questioned excitedly, hugging Natasha’s arms and looking up at her with big eyes. Natasha let out a laugh.

“Of course we can my love,” Natasha stated as she gave you a kiss on your forehead.

“Go pick out a spot. I’ll order us some hot chocolate,” Natasha said when you arrived at the beach cafe, motioning her head to the soft couch like structures outside.

You nodded as went to pick the best spot, giving you the perfect view over the ocean, and hopefully, the sunset.

Once Natasha came back with two hot chocolates she settled into the seat beside you, enjoying the little warmth that the sun still radiated even at this time of day. She sighed contently as you cuddles up into her side, laying your head on her shoulder and crawling as close as you could to her.

“Hey,” Natasha started, nudging you slightly. “You know I love you more than anything in this world?”

You giggled and blushed slightly, lifting your head to give Natasha a kiss on her cheek. “I love you too,” you told her, laying your head back down and snuggling into her side again.

After eating your dinner and watching the sunset, you drove home in the nice cool air of the spring evening, enjoying the slight afterglow the sky held as the sun fully disappeared out of sight.

You wrapped your arms around your mother’s waist just a little tighter, laying your head on her shoulder as she drove through the small roads that led from the beach to the big roads. You knew that you would never feel as content as you did right now.

(I’m so sorry I feel like this is trash. It’s messy because I didn’t really have a storyline. I promise I’ll have something better for my next fic)

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey @lorsstar1st

#marvel #black widow #natasha x reader #avengers #mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader platonic #natasha x daughter #marvel reader insert #natasha romanoff x teen reader #natasha romanoff x daughter #natasha romanoff x reader platonic #reader insert #natasha romanov #comfort fic #natasha fluff #natasha x daughter fluff #teen reader

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m-jelly · 1 month

Text

Playful arrest

Levi x fem!reader

Modern AU, small town, sheriff Levi, married, roleplaying, handcuffs, smut, oral, public smut, slight hair pulling, safe word, unprotected sex, aftercare.

Levi is having a slow day and decides to hunt his wife down, you, on his rounds of the tiny town. When he spots you, the two of you start a fun roleplaying session together.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @pennylanewrites

The moans you let out this morning were on Levi's mind all day. A craving for your body was getting stronger by the minute. It didn't help that today was very quiet. Most days he had some old neighbour complaining to him about someone or something.

He perked up when he saw you on your bicycle with your cute basket full of goods, your pretty summer hat on and your summer dress. Arousal shot through Levi as he admired you. Every single day Levi could not believe that he was married to you.

He slowed down next to you in his sheriff's car and lowered the window. "Tch, oi? Civilian."

You glanced over and smiled knowing Levi wanted to play. "Hello, Sheriff."

"What you transporting, huh? Suspicious materials?"

You hummed a laugh. "Maybe."

"I'm gonna need you to follow me, little missy."

You giggled. "Yes, sheriff." You watched Levi drive slowly down a dirt road to a secret spot you two went to on dates sometimes. The spot was hidden from the road, up high and had the most beautiful views. "So many memories."

Levi climbed out of his car, adjusted his tight sheriff uniform and showed that he had a semi pressing against his trousers. "Miss, please step off the bike."

You climbed off and placed it against a tree. "Yes, sheriff."

He eyed your basket. "What are you transporting?"

"Food. It's for my hungry husband who I love deeply."

He walked closer to you, his aviator shades showing your reflection. "Nothing...suspicious."

You nibbled your lip as your heart raced. You pushed your breasts together and leaned up. "You suspect little old me? I'm very innocent." You ran your hands up his chest. "Just give me a little spanking and send me on my way."

Levi grabbed your upper arm and shoved you against his car causing you to squeal in delight. He pressed himself against your back as you moaned. He whispered against your ear. "Assaulting an officer, that is punishable. You're under arrest."

You mewled. "Oh dear, poor little. I'll be a good girl, sheriff, I swear."

"I'll have to pat you down, and do an inspection to make sure you're not concealing anything." He whispered softly. "Safe word?"

You purred. "Matches."

"Matches." He pulled back. "Now." He handcuffed you and then turned you to face him. "Now, are you going to talk?"

You giggled. "No."

He pushed you down onto your knees. "Kneel, criminal."

You felt so excited as you fiddled with the cuffs and gazed up at your husband. "Yes, sheriff."

He pulled on his belt, yanked his zip down and pulled out his big, thick and hot erection. The tip of his cock was pink and desperate for your touch. A vein wrapping around the shaft throbbed with each pulse of his heart. Excitement consumed him when he saw you lick your lips and lean towards him ready to take his incredible penis into your mouth.

"I'll give you something to make you talk." He tangled his gloved hand into your hair and tapped his tip against your lips. "Look at you. So desperate to suck me off. You make me suspect you're misbehaving on purpose."

You gave the slit of his tip a little kitten lick. "Maybe."

He tugged your head back by your hair. "Open your mouth. If you're refusing to talk I'll give you a reason why."

You opened your mouth and sucked on his tip. You closed your eyes and hummed in delight as you enjoyed the taste that was him. It made you melt at how hot he was in your mouth. You rolled your tongue around him and sucked hard as you felt so hungry for Levi.

Levi let out a guttural moan. "Look at me, criminal. I want you to look up at me as you suck my cock."

You opened your eyes and looked up at him through your lashes. As you gazed at him you sank further onto him. You took as much as you could possibly take of him. When you couldn't take anymore, you rolled your tongue and massaged him. You gently sucked on him as he gripped your hair a little tighter.

Your thighs started shaking as arousal built up between your legs, your panties becoming soaked. You tugged on your cuffs as your head moved slowly on him. The way Levi's chest rose and fell with each lust-filled pant. You wanted him to stay in control and punish you a little, so you gave him a cheeky wink.

He gripped your hair tighter. "Tch, cheeky criminal." He started pumping his hips and began fucking your mouth. "Keep those pretty eyes on me as I fuck your cute mouth."

He grunted and moaned as his cock throbbed with pleasure. Your mouth was so hot and wet for him. The way your tongue moved against him was electrifying. A shiver ran through him as he kept gazing deep into your eyes as you took all of him in your mouth. He smirked a little as he saw your drool all over his cock.

He groaned. "Tch, shit, fuck. That's it, take my cock. You can be a good girl. Your mouth feels so good." He felt his cock twitch. "I'm gonna cum deep into your mouth. You better swallow every single drop."

You mewled in delight as your pussy ached with need. Your walls clenched and begged for Levi's cock to be pounding into it, but it was so empty. You squeezed your toes as you tried not to roll your eyes back into your head in pure euphoria as Levi fucked your mouth so perfectly.

He slowed his hips and pressed in, but not too far that it would cause you discomfort. He moaned as his cum pumped into your mouth. He panted a moment before dragging his cock away. "Show me."

You stuck your tongue out to show a big load of cum on your tongue. You moaned as he gripped your face and inspected it. You were desperate for praise from him.

He purred at you. "Good girl. Now swallow." He watched you close your mouth and gulp. "Mm, you gonna talk now?"

You chewed your lip. "I've been very naughty, sheriff. I have something bad hidden in me."

He yanked you to your feet and pressed you against his car again. He patted you down and kicked your feet apart. He slipped his hand up your thigh and to your clothed heat. "I think I know where you have something hidden." He gently ran his fingers up and down your slit slowly. "I bet you have something here, huh?"

You panted a bit as you rested your cheek against his car. "Maybe."

"Let's see what contraband you have deep in you." The tips of Levi's fingers lightly played with your clit. As he teasingly played with your clit his other hand groped your breast. He slowly moved his fingers to your pussy. "You're dripping wet.Seems like you really enjoyed sucking my cock, huh?"

You pushed your hips towards him. "Yes, sheriff."

A blissful moan escaped you as he sank two of his leather-gloved fingers deep into you. Each drag and push of his fingers were painfully slow, you needed him to go faster and touch your clit a lot more. The cuffs clinked a little as you shifted and lightly touched Levi's pelvis.

Affection and love took over Levi's actions a little leading him to nuzzle the crook of your neck and softly moan your name against your skin. He snapped back into his role and opened his mouth a bit before biting the crook of your neck. As he sucked your skin he began pumping his fingers and rubbing your G-spot. His thumb started caressing your clit.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as drool dribbled from your lips onto the car. The nerves in your legs were popping and dancing in pleasure causing your legs to shake and become weak. Levi noticed you were getting weak, so he pulled you against him and held you in place.

Your legs shook and started to buckle under you as electricity started to spark within you. Pleasure ripped through your body as your orgasm consumed you. As you became lost in your euphoric bliss Levi kept moving his fingers so you could experience every single drop of pleasure.

Levi pulled his hand from you and licked his fingers clean. "You still keeping quiet, criminal?"

You hummed a bit. "I'm a tough one."

He slipped one arm around you allowing him to lift you causing you to squeak. Every stomp of his boots was incredibly sexy to you. Levi moved to the front of the car and sat you down on the bonnet. He eyed you for a moment as you sat there with the most adorable look in your eyes.

You rubbed your thighs together and mewled at him. "Sheriff."

He uncuffed one of your wrists. "Arms up front." He smiled as you did what you were told. "So, you can follow orders, huh?"

You giggled. "You've won me over, sheriff." You watched him clink on the cuffs. "I have nothing, no contraband. I just acted suspicious to get your attention."

"Well, missy, you have my full attention."

You looped your cuffed arms over his head and pulled him close. "Have I been good enough for a reward?"

He pushed your legs open, tugged your underwear to the side and ran his tip up and down your opening. "You have." He pressed his tip in a bit before holding your hips and slamming deep into you causing you to scream out in pleasure. "Maybe a bit of punishment."

You leaned your head back as Levi dug his fingers into your hips and pumped his cock deep, hard and fast into your hot pussy. A pop of ecstasy shot through you as soon as Levi bit the top of your breast and sucked. It brought him joy feeling your legs wrap around him and tug him closer.

Passion and pleasure consumed him, it drove him to move. The bonnet of the car was warm against your back when you were pushed back. Slaps of skin and cloth became louder and echoed in the open space. Moans became a prayer as they dripped from your lips and your God was each other.

Levi's lips crashed roughly against yours, his teeth pulling on your lip. As soon as your mouth opened Levi's tongue pushed in and moved against yours. A primal growl emitted from your husband as he kissed you with all his possessive love and his cock stretched and rammed deep into you.

Your fingers tangled in Levi's soft raven hair. A playful tug from you earned you a delicious growl. As soon as he pulled from your lips you gasped at Levi. You shifted your hands a little and managed to knock off his glasses so you could see his incredible steel-blue eyes.

Levi moaned your name. "I've got your reward for you, missy."

You arched your back. "I want it all, sheriff."

"I'm going to fuck my cum deep into you. You're going to take it all, aren't you?"

You nodded. "Yes, sheriff!"

He tangled his fingers in your hair and tugged. "Cum for me, criminal."

Your toes clenched tightly as you felt like you were on the cusp of pleasure. "Y-Yes."

He dragged his tongue up your neck slowly to your ear. "Cum now."

You felt the snap, your legs shook hard as you felt your orgasm rip through you due to the command of your husband. "F-Fuck."

Levi took your arms from around his neck and then pinned them above your head as he moved as fast as he could. He panted as he gazed down at you, your breasts bouncing with his harsh movements. He grunted a bit before pressing deep into you and pouring his seed. He bucked a little making sure everything he had stayed within you, not a single drop was to be wasted.

After the last few twitches of his cock, he felt his energy drop. He panted and dragged himself out of you. He tucked himself away before tending to you. He adjusted your panties and dragged you to sit up. He uncuffed you and showered your wrists with kisses.

You hummed in happiness. "Thank you."

He glanced up at you. "Are you alright, my darling precious wife?"

You giggled. "I'm perfect."

He wrapped his arms around you. "Are you sure? I was a little rough."

"Did I use the safe word?"

He pouted. "No."

You cupped his face. "I wanted it and it was incredible. You're such a naughty man and I adored it." You showered his face with kisses. "You were incredible and perfect. You made me feel so good."

He perked up with a smile. "I'm glad! I just want you to be happy and feel good."

"You always make me feel good." You kissed him and hummed. "Are you okay? Being a dom is a lot sometimes."

"I'm good because you're good. Plus, that was a lot of fun."

You nuzzled your nose against his. "It was."

He pulled back. "Do you want some water? I have some in my car."

"Oh, please."

He hurried to his car and returned to you with a bottle. He opened it and helped you drink. "All good?"

"Mmm, thank you."

He downed some water too. "Do you need a massage as well?"

You laughed. "You are so wonderful with your aftercare."

"That's because I love you." He picked you up and carried you to a nice spot on the grass. He sat down with you on his lap and squeezed. "You're so wonderful. I'm so lucky to have you as my wife."

You smiled as Levi squeezed you. "I'm lucky to have you." You hugged him back. "My handsome and cute husband."

Levi smiled at you. "That's right. I'm your husband."

"You are!"

312 notes · View notes

somnambulic-thing · 1 year

Text

Eddie Munson x gn!reader with vagina&boobs

Rating: E, nsfw, 18+ Words: 3.9k read on ao3

smoke and cherry pop rocks Summary: You’ve been silently in love with Eddie for years and he’s leaving Hawkins soon. You want one kiss before he does. He gives you more than that.

CW/tags: no upside-down, angst, fluff, first times, grief, open end, reader has regrets, coming of age (everybody is over 18 though), smut, piv penetration, oral for everybody, lovemarks/bruises, rough sex, sex in public places, nicknames

A/N: In case: Pop Rocks are candy that pops and fizzes in your mouth. I hurt myself with this one, but growing pain is what it is.

If you like and enjoy this little story, let me know. I’d love to hear from you.

It had been dry the past few weeks. So dry that your feet are kicking up small clouds of dirt where the paved roads of Forest Hills trailer park turn into gravelled paths, making your throat itchy and the inside of your mouth feel just as dry.

You’ve been to the trailer park before but never figured out which trailer was home to Eddie Munson. Had, in fact, avoided finding out. You have a rule when it comes to Eddie and you are about to break it.

The rule was simple enough: Don’t.

Don’t get too close.

Don’t get lost in those eyes, that wit, that kaleidoscope mind.

Don’t let him get too close.

Don’t.

He had been a Senior and you a Sophomore when you created that rule, your crush at first nothing more than a light tickling on the back of your neck and some innocent thoughts about a kiss from those ever-smirking lips. He’d been prickly, snapped at you more than once when he caught you casting not-so-secret glances across hallways until one day, he didn’t. Until one day, he said hi.

And then he had been a Senior and you a Junior and he had given you a ride home, picking you off the street with sweet words and gentle hands after your bike betrayed you and the asphalt scraped the skin off your knees and palm. He walked you to your door to make sure you wouldn’t faint or something even though you clearly felt alright, insisting on taking care of your bike.

“I know what I’m doing. That way I’m sure it won’t give up on you again. Don’t want this to keep me up at night.”

His graduation had been only a few months away that day - or so you‘d thought - and as he stood there, so close, smiling at you, arms crossed over his chest and unable to stand still your whole body had screamed Don’t. He’ll be gone and it will rip you apart.

And then he had been a Senior and so had you and Eddie slipped you pieces of paper during class; little silly drawings to make you smile on days you didn’t feel like it. He held doors for you when you were still half a hallway away and remembered your birthday without you ever telling him the date, singing for you in the school parking lot.

Despite your best efforts to stay away, there had been many and many small moments that had felt like lurking avalanches - a few close calls - but one way or the other, you had walked away unscathed. Right?

You had both graduated three days ago.

Eddie had walked the stage, snatched his diploma and raised two of the happiest middle fingers you had ever seen into the air and bolted like the devil was behind him. You wanted to kiss him. Kiss him so badly. While you still could.

But you didn’t.

Eddie would leave Hawkins soon. He’d found a spot as a roadie, hoisting equipment for a thrash metal band. “Not even a bad one,” he had smirked, radiating excitement. You remember the afternoon he told you about it with painful clarity. He was going to make connections, be a good sport, flex his skills on the guitar whenever an opportunity revealed itself. He had a whole plan.

Eddie would leave soon and you would go to college and so you had said so long tohim with a straight face that felt like it was on fire and that finally was the end of your ordeal. Right?

You already miss him.

So now you’re at the trailer park and your mouth is dry and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s just the dust or the unusual heat or the fact that you had walked here for almost an hour without so much as a sip of water, you knew the real reason was Eddie.

You spot his van first.

And then you spot him. Stretching out on his back on the floor of the small deck in front of the trailer. One arm under his head, his feet bopping to a tune in his mind, tendrils of smoke rising up from his face like ephemeral poems. Golden hour was only minutes away and already the sun tinted everything in this light that had the color of bittersweet memories.

You place your feet carefully, eager to stay unnoticed as long as you can, not ready to leave this limbo yet. He was just beautiful like this; even in inertia, Eddie was a wild thing.

He turns his head at last; you don’t stop, don’t falter even though inside of you everything screams Don’t.

You see him squint, the low and glaring sun behind you shrouding you just a little longer giving you a few more precious seconds to clear your mind, to prepare your words.

Except it doesn’t. He recognizes you anyway.

Over the distance, you hear your name spoken in that voice that had made you jump on your first day in High School; he’d been running late and barged into the wrong classroom. His hair had been shorter, sticking out in every direction like he was electric, made of storm. The voice is deeper now, rougher, but you would recognize it underwater. You hear it in your dreams.

“Hi, Eddie,” says your mouth while your mind says Don’t.

“You, uh, got lost or something?

“No,” you say and come to a halt. With you, you bring your shadow and you cast it over his face. His features relax, the squint disappears and you look down into pitch-black eyes. “I was looking for you.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

“You, like, wanna… buy something green or…?”

“For you.”

Where once sleeves had been on his shirt were now big holes reaching down to his waist, the fabric rolling in slightly at the raw edges where he’d cut along. You can see the pale skin spanning over his ribcage, can see the rise and fall, can see the ink.

Eddie looks at you in silence. You even like the way he doesn’t talk.

Don’t.

He starts to move, eyes fixed on you as he sits up, places his palms on the floor, rings click-clacking softly, cigarette butt coughing bitter tufts of smoke from between his fingers. He pushes himself around in one swift motion, crossing his legs, bare feet covered in dust, and faces you.

Your mouth is dry, is arid, is a desert.

“What do you mean for me?”

DON’T, it screams.

Ah, shut the fuck up, you answer.

“Have you ever heard of anticipatory grief?”

He blinks, fast, tilts his head, tilts the corners of his mouth down.

“Hmm, nope,” he shakes his head, “but I think I… get the gist. Why? You came to ask me this?”

“I came to kiss you.”

“What?”

“That is, if you want me to... To kiss you.”

The cigarette has snuffed out between his fingers and he throws it away into an unseen distance, his eyes searching your face for clues. You give him a smile.

“Are you for— for real?”

You nod.

“You’re not messing with me? Because that would be a fucked up thing to do.”

Your heart rushes the blood through your veins like a torrent, you feel it pool on your cheeks.

“Eddie,” you say the way you always wanted to. Soft and longing. “I had a crush on you for so long…” You close your eyes. “Years... Still have.”

“Shit! I… uh, shit.” You hear only crickets and a lawn mower in the distance and you wonder if he has vanished into thin air. “Could you, like, look at me?”

It takes effort, but you do.

“You… you never...”

“I know.”

“Why now? Why—“ You can see him think, putting crooked pieces together. “Anticipatory grief?”

“Fuck, you’re clever.”

His head draws back, his brows draw together; it looks like he’s drawing the wrong conclusion. “So you, what? Expected me to be an ass about it? To mess with you?”

“Not all that clever then,” you smirk and Eddie looks confused.

“Well, fuck you, milady,” he says with a tense smile and waves a hand through the air. You want to evaporate, flow through those fingers. “But you’re making no sense to me right now. Help me out?”

“You’re leaving soon.”

“Wait, wait, wait: you said years.”

A laugh is tickling you to let it out, you hold it back and sigh. “I thought for years you’d be leaving soon.”

“Shit,” he almost barks, fingers stilling an itch on his temple. Then he laughs and you do too.

You step closer, leaving only a few feet between you while the laughter is softly running out. And then he breathes in deep into his lungs; holds it holds it holds it. Oh to envy the air so much, it was embarrassing.

“Why now?”

“I don’t know—”

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie…”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

His chest expands again, you see him clenching his fists before he rests his hands on his thighs, ringed fingers splayed wide on black denim.

“Say my name like that—”

“I’m sorry—“

“Answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Don’t do that.”

It’s like a dance somehow, no, not quite, but you’re feeling out of breath and the rhythm is addictive.

“Answer my question…” and then he smiles, pulls his hands to his face, palms pressed together like in prayer, “…sweetheart.”

Asshole, you think losing the fight against a shiver.

“Because,” he says, propping his sharp yaw against his knuckles, “I would have been in on it in a heartbeat. On a date. Or something. Anything, really.”

You say his name like that again and hide your face inside your palms, seeking refuge from your past decisions. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Yeah, fuck that. You started this. I’m just, ahm, levelling the playing field,” he laughs a little bitterly. “T’s not like I won’t think about some if’s and could have been’s now, ya know?”

You can’t look up. You want to ask him if he heard of spontaneous self-combustion before but then he holds the match that sets you on fire.

“I always liked you.”

The groan escaping you is muffled by your palms. “So why did you never say something?”

There is a tap on your shoulder, the sudden touch startling you out of your stupor, and when you come up his warm palms almost feel cool on your heated face.

And Eddie kisses you.

A high-pitched noise escapes your throat, your hands fly to his wrists, holding on like vices because he tastes like smoke and cherry pop rocks and like endless summer skies and the world is spinning as much as his lips are soft and he sighs a little and—

Eddie is kissing you!

You take a step forward, your stomach hits the deck and you wind your fingers through his hair. The roots are damp with sweat and he sighs again when you pull. He opens his mouth to welcome you in, to lick at you with his cherry tongue and steal your breath right from your lungs and—

And then it ends. Time has never passed so fast.

The dissonance of your laboured breathing hangs between you like a chance, a peek, a warning; Eddie won’t let go of your face and you won’t let go of his.

And then he smiles. “Was good?”

You nod. “Too short.”

“Wanna come up here for more?”

Eddie’s laugh echoes through the trailer park as you scramble to climb up the deck. You knock him over, or maybe you don’t, because his hands are already on your arms and pull you with him to the floor. It doesn’t matter one way or the other. What matters is his tongue in your mouth, the hard edge of his teeth against yours and his skin under your wandering fingertips.

The sun is setting.

Eddie is still kissing you when it leaves this day for good.

Wedged between your thighs he now and then whispers little secrets to your skin.

You are so pretty.

You smell so good.

You’re making me so hard.

Eddie’s throat tastes like salt and summer dust; he likes it when you bite him.

I never said a thing because I thought you wouldn’t want me.

Because wanting you scares me.

Because you always were so distant—

when I came close.

“I’m so stupid,” you confess.

“Not stupid, sweetheart.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.” He speaks those words into your mouth as if to share the bitterness.

I’m glad you came.

I’m glad you’re here.

I want you to stay.

I want you to stay. And if it’s only for one night…

Eddie’s room is a mess but his bed is soft. So is the light, illuminating chaos you had imagined countless times before but it’s no match for the chaos inside you. There’s so much you want to say, but so much skin to kiss. You fill the spaces in between.

“Sometimes,” you pant, his lips against your throat, “I sneak into your concerts.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” he says, almost ripping your shirt, sucking on your breasts.

“I love the sound of your voice.”

“You mean that?”

You nod, straddling his thighs, unbuttoning his pants. “I wanna hear you moan.”

Eddie moans for you when you sink down on his cock.

You feel so good.

I can’t believe it.

Neither can you. For the day began with a dragging sense of emptiness and now you are so full of him it’s driving you insane. He moans your name while you ride him, while you show him how you feel in a way words can’t.

You’re so warm.

So soft.

I wanna taste your pussy.

The secrets stop as he licks at you with fervour; but not the moans. Eddie is spoiling you with those and you’re spoiling him with praises.

He’s careful with his fingers, almost like he’s scared. You tell him where to touch, how to move and he thanks you with his eyes; shining and wide and full of pride and wonder as you tense around his fingers, twitch under his tongue.

“Fuck me, Eddie, please…”

Eddie is rough. You want him to wreck you.

I want you to remember this with your whole body.

I wanna make you breakfast.

I’m leaving in two weeks. Two weeks. Gimme those two weeks.

“Yeah,” you moan against his neck. “I’ll give you anything.”

“Don’t— don’t do that.”

“For two weeks,” you shove your hand under his chin, you make him look at you. He’s so deep inside of you it’s hard to think but this is easy: “For two weeks, I’ll give you anything.”

Eddie kisses you; he tastes like you, like you, like you and nothing else. With one hand he pins your wrists above your head and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow.

When he falls asleep on your chest, you whisper little secrets of your own.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

I’m so in love with you.

Eddie makes you breakfast. His uncle looks happy and confused; he wants you to call him Wayne. Dramatic eyes seem to be a Munson thing. Wayne makes you laugh with stories about Eddie, Eddie makes you laugh with being flustered and shy. When it’s just you and Wayne for a moment, he slips you a picture of a younger Eddie. Hair short, guitar too big for him. You hide it away like a treasure.

You promised each other two weeks so he gives the car shop an early notice to make time.

“But you need the money, Eddie.”

“I can’t buy this with money, sweetheart.”

“But—“

Eddie likes to shut you up with kisses. It’s not fair, you tell him. He doesn’t give a fuck, he tells you.

You have fourteen days and Eddie’s head is in your lap, a guitar on his chest and he plays for you; melody soft and sad, smile sharp and wide under your adoration. Even little quarrels feel like blessings because the make up is so sweet. Later, he takes you downtown where he never lets go of your hand and licks ice cream off your face.

I wrote this the day you scraped your knees.

I don’t mind you being stubborn when you kiss me like that.

You taste better without it.

Twelve days and you wake up in his arms; he keeps you in bed for hours. Soft kisses, roaming hands and never a moment of silence, you and Eddie sharing everything your minds provide, making every second count. In the evening, Eddie takes you to see a movie. He makes you come twice. You walk back to the trailer park, barefooted.

I still can’t believe you’re here.

I could listen to your thoughts for hours.

I want to fuck you in weird places.

Ten days and Eddie rolls a joint for you to share. You smoke on the roof of the trailer, making up silly names for constellations, laughing till your stomachs hurt. Then you fuck him, palms pressed to his chest, keeping him down. You draw it out till the sun comes up behind you, leaving him a mumbling mess, the corrugated metal of the roof leaving bruises on his back. You kiss them all; they are your favorite color.

I don’t want to leave anymore.

“But I’m leaving too.”

“I know.”

Seven days and Eddie packs you a picnic. It’s mostly junk food and you both feel full and lazy, like turned-over beetles, giggling like children in the high grass at the shore of Lovers Lake. You find clouds that look like dicks and whales and guitars and it’s all a bit of the same, really, and you bully Eddie out of his clothes because the water looks so nice and cool.

I used to come here with my mother.

It’s good to leave here laughing.

I’ll miss your laugh. So much.

Four days and Corroded Coffin play their last show. You are the first row in a crowd of twenty people; you cheer for twenty more. After, you give the band space, watching the end from the sidelines. There are tears, there are hugs, there are stories of days past and promises for those to come. In his van, Eddie falls into your arms and clings to you for twenty minutes. Then he kisses you, pulls you greedily into his lap and almost breaks his window when there’s no condom to be found.

I didn’t think all of this would be so hard.

I’m crazy about you.

It’s not fair.

I want to make you come with my fingers, please.

Three days and you take Eddie to your house. He needs to see where you live from the inside. Your mother loves him, like you knew she would. He pokes around your room, inspecting everything he can. Sadly, it’s not much; you already started packing. He gets quiet.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate to see those boxes with your stuff.”

“You wanna sleep at your place?” you caress his cheekbones with your thumbs.

“No.”

Eddie can’t fall asleep. You find him wide awake at three in the morning, staring at boxes and crying silent tears. He hates it that you see them.

“Come on, get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Tough shit,” he huffs. “You said you’ll give me anything. Give me this. I wanna feel this.”

So neither of you sleep. The sun comes up when Eddie pushes your face into the mattress, your wrists in his hand on your back. He’s not gentle. You don’t want him to be. He’s everywhere. By noon he kisses the bruises on the back of your thighs. They are his favorite color, he says. He wants to leave the boxes now. So you leave.

Maybe you were right. Maybe you are stupid.

I don’t mean it!

I’m sorry.

I just want years of this.

Two days and you just stay in bed. Eddie reads to you. Lord of The Rings and he’s doing different voices, and sound effects; narrates the rain, the hooves of pony’s and everything in between with gentle fingertips on the back of your hand. And it makes you cry. Makes you cry so hard that Eddie’s shirt is soaked where he holds you to his shoulder.

“Anticipatory grief. I get it now,” he says into your hair. There is something he doesn’t say. You can feel it, but you don’t ask.

This time when he fucks you, Eddie is nothing but gentle. You almost can’t stand it. You never want him to stop. Keep him inside of you forever.

I’m in love with you.

No, I mean it.

I always liked you, remember?

“I’m in love with you too, Eddie.”

“Say that again.”

Eddie’s van is packed. He’s leaving in two hours.

Your lips are swollen from kissing, biting, sucking his cock and bruises into his skin.

“How can you be so perfect?” you ask him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t let me leave.”

“Eddie…”

Eddie slides from your arms, slides from his room, out the porch door and flees into the forest behind the trailer.

You look after him, stunned.

Wayne sits on the deck, smoking.

“M’ sorry, kid. Really sorry.”

You know what he means. You’re sorry too.

“If he’s not back in twenty, you go after him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. He’s my boy,” Wayne chuckles. There are tears in his voice.

You find Eddie sitting on a low branch, staring into the distance.

“You found me.”

“You’re leaving.”

“So are you.”

There are some nettles stinging your calves as you walk over, but the look on his face stings more.

It’s like the day you found him two weeks ago: you looking up at him, his eyes brimming with confusion. Except it’s nothing like two weeks ago.

“If this isn’t a pretty fucking case of self-fulfilling prophecy then I don’t know what is.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brushing hair out of his face.

“You know what I mean.”

Of course, you do. It was you who made that prophecy.

“Do you regret it? That you gave me that kiss?” you ask in fear, a tear fleeing down your cheek.

Eddie kisses it away. “Don’t be stupid.”

Ten minutes and you lean against his van. His arms are crushing you, your nails leave red trails on his back and shoulders. You want him to remember.

“M’ going to miss you,” you sob.

“Gonna miss you too, sweetheart.”

I’ll call you every day I can.

I’ll let you know when I’m in the area.

M’ gonna visit you. I promise.

Eddie kisses you. He tastes like smoke and cherry pop rocks and plain old sadness.

You made me so happy.

It’s almost cruel.

I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

Your mouth is dry as you watch him drive away, clouds of dirt rising from the dusty tires. Wayne holds you while you sob; he’s crying too. “Stop by for coffee b’fore you leave,” he says and you promise you will as you wave him goodbye.

The sun is low and golden as you start your way home. No. To the place where your boxes are waiting. You feel uprooted.

Two days later and the phone is ringing. You trip over a bag of clothes and bump your knee on the coffee table. You don’t feel the pain.

“Eddie?”

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x afab!reader #Eddie Munson #eddie munson smut #somnambulic-thing #my fic

853 notes · View notes

thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 month

Note

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C128yq0rwOY/?igsh=ZWgxc3hwajJ0ODBi

Biker!Simon teaches you how to ride a bike than you on a joy ride and he does this🙈

READ IT HERE

Okay first of all, yes, anything with Simon and being a biker just absolutely gets me. I mean, have you seen fanart with him and his bike? Like fuck, that’s hot! (I mean Simon is hot any which way, but still) Short sleeved shirt, tattoos out, jeans hugging him as he straddles his bike. Hang on, gotta take a breather.

I think he would enjoy getting you interested in getting your own motorcycle if for nothing else than getting to look at you perched atop it, helmet and leather jacket on, leaned forward so that your ass is on display, he's gonna eat that shit up. He’s not going to be able to keep his hands off of you and of course if you think that Lt. Simon Riley is going to miss an opportunity to put his hand on your backside while you’re driving so that all the other motorists on the road can see him claim his hot little thing, you are sorely mistaken.

And of course, it’s going to leave you hot and bothered because…come on…

But then I got a devilish idea to add to this and make this little one shot even better (I hope you won’t mind). I can see him doing this quite a bit and what type of lover would you be if you didn’t return the favor to leave him flustered?

So I’m thinking that you make the excuse to ride with him one evening and that’s when you decide to start playing with him as he drives. It’s subtle at first, but soon your hand is cupping over his growing hard-on and fuck if it isn’t turning him on something fierce. Between the thrill of the road and the sensation of your hand, by the time he stops he’s gonna need to remedy this situation and quick.

I hope you like the feeling of the fuel tank in your back because you started this on his bike and he’s gonna finish it there as well.

I think we need a little sunset drive with our big boy that ends with some steamy shit. Keep an eye open cause its not just the bike that's gonna get a ride.

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bettyfrommars · 10 months

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I'm on Fire//biker!older!Eddie x fem!Reader//90's au

Part 12: For Whom the Phone Rings

WARNINGS PLS READ: 18+ONLY, MATURE THEMES, violence, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), creampie, jealousy, threat of violence, homophobic slurs, threat of sexual violation (does not actually happen), threat to someone's family, foul language, derogatory slurs in general, mention of a gun, financial struggle, bribes, mention of blood, ANGST, biker MC, mention of violent past, hurt and comfort. WC: 8.2k

Summary: You and Eddie take another leap in your relationship and get cozy together, while Steve rolls into high gear with the MC, biting off a bit more than he can chew. Robin takes matters into her own hands to protect Oliver, and past relationships come back to haunt. Playlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: I rarely go into these chapters knowing what will happen, and this story in particular definitely has a mind of its own now. That being said, you won't ever read about the act of sexual violation in these or any of the main characters getting killed or detrimentally hurt, because I just can't stomach writing about it. This part is definitely angsty, but I hope you enjoy ❤️

pls NO MINORS beyond this point

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For Whom the Phone Rings

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You decided that making it through the rest of the dinner with John would be too painful knowing that Eddie was in love with you and he was out there on his motorcycle waiting like some Cool Rider dream out of Grease 2. Knowing that you were also in love with him and all of the endorphins that went along with that feeling made your body tingle. You didn’t want to let go of his hand; you wanted to just walk right out with him. Yet, the business side of you didn’t want to lose John as a contact, or Richard Gere for that matter. No need to burn unnecessary bridges.

You went back to the table and gave John a reluctant, sad smile, and told him the phone call was an emergency and you had to run. He got to his feet and insisted on driving you, but you assured him that your boyfriend was coming to pick you up. You realized in that moment that’d you’d never referred to Eddie as your boyfriend out loud before, and it felt really fucking good.

Eddie was straddling his motorcycle and smoking a cigarette when he caught sight of you coming out the front door, and you both grinned like idiots at each other.

“That was quick,” he swung his leg off, taking hold of your hand so he could yank you toward him faster, cause he couldn’t wait to get his lips on you again. He pulled his leather jacket out of one of the saddlebags and opened it up for you to put on. “It’s cold out on the road, baby.”

And so you let the heavy jacket with all of it’s zippers and buckles envelope you, smelling his cologne and a hint of nicotine in the leather. You of course hadn’t brought the helmet he bought for you, so you wore his again, buckling it under your chin as he revved the bike, throwing one of the body guards a dirty look for keeping his eyes on you for too long.

The only problem was your dress. Eddie anticipated the slit that went all the way up to your hip when you mounted behind him and the material fell back, exposing your entire leg. He instantly swung his arm back to block the view of your limb from the other dudes present, palming your knee. “Scoot in as tight as you can, baby,” he said to you above the growl of the engine, his wrist working at the throttle. During the ride home, his hand kept returning to the same spot, and you rubbed his chest with your hands, pinning your cheek to his shoulder, liking the way the ends of his hair flew back and tickled your nose.

Back at the garage, neither one of you could keep your hands off of each other after Eddie parked the bike. He actually tossed the helmet skidding to the pavement when you handed it to him because he didn’t want to miss a moment of being able to cup your ass and pull your mouth to his.

“God, I love you,” Eddie breathed, parting ways only to get the key out and unlock the door, and then you both stumbled in, laughing as you playfully bit his arm. You shrugged out of his jacket and he threw that over his head to the bottom of the stairs, just as your fingers hooked into his back belt loops and you stomped up the old wood stairs behind him.

This was one of those moments you knew you would cherish for the rest of your life. Even as it was happening, your body was registering it as one of your favorite memories. This new love with Eddie, this intense urgency to get somewhere to worship each other in peace.

He tugged you inside his apartment, pushed you back against the door, and held your hands above your head, kissing you as he braced you there. Tongues were quicker to touch than lips, and then his forehead pressed to yours; adrenaline surging.

Eddie’s hands released yours and slid down to feel you, pulling your breast free from the front of your dress so that his thumb could graze your nipple. His other hand found your bare leg beneath the slit of the dress and dipped down between your legs.

“Shit, baby,” he hissed, fingering your arousal as his cock flexed in his jeans.

“See what you do to me?” You slid your hands around the back of his neck, fingers into his hair, and picked your chin up to find his mouth again.

His knuckle dragged along your damp underwear, and you had your hand down his jeans now, palming him through his boxers. Your pussy throbbed as you got a hold of the bare skin of his length, tip leaking for you.

“Get me out of this dress,” you begged against his mouth, knowing that you couldn’t reach the zipper in the back by yourself.

“I hate this fucking dress,” Eddie added, blocking you against the door, slipping your underwear aside, dipping his finger into your pie, making your breath catch. “I hate that he bought it for you.”

You pushed away from him only to try and pull the dress up over your head, but the material was too stiff, and you were only able to wiggle the lower part of your ass out.

“Stop right there, baby,” Eddie mumbled. He came up behind you to pull your thong aside and press his cock up along the warm wet silk of your slit. “Fuckkk,” he groaned, cupping the front of your throat and pulling you back.

You shivered as his tip got close to entering you; the need pulsed at your core, and you whimpered as his tongue found your ear, flicking around the outside. With his cock stiff and lifted enough to ride between your legs without assistance, both of his hands pushed the front of your dress down, cupping your breasts, pinching and twisting the nipples, making you drop your head back with a gasp. You were only wearing the dress around your mid-section now, knees weak, sighs hot and heavy.

“Are you my girl?” He grumbled it, and then blew air on your neck where his saliva was, making you shiver.

“Mhmmm,” you responded. His pelvis was bouncing off your ass as he worked his length along your dripping slit.

“Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me who you belong to.”

You reached a hand up to grab his head, ass pressing back against his thrusts, pussy clenching. “You, baby, only you,” It was urgent; the hole between your legs begging to be fed and filled by this man, and this man only.

Eddie reached down to finger your core with his big hand, cock kicking up at the mess he found there soaking through. “I love you so fucking much. You’re killing me.”

He ducked back to try and find the zipper, but it stuck at the top. In a moment of passionate fury, he took hold of the material with both hands and ripped the back open with a grunt. The threads spit open at a jagged angle, exposing the soft skin of your back, and then he just kept pulling, yanking the material away. “Fuck this dress,” he hissed as it met the ground in pieces.

He ripped your underwear off with a single yank, the sensation of breaking material hot against your hip, and you yelped at the surprise, but then he had you on the bed, pulling his shirt up over his head to expose the wash of tattoos, and pushing his jeans and boxers down. The length of his cock bounced up, showing the thick vein underneath, the upper shaft still glistening with your juices.

He crawled on the mattress after you and you urged him closer, sealing his mouth to yours, brushing his hair out of his face. “I need it so bad right now baby, please,” you mewed, a desperate whine in the back of your throat. You felt the head of his cock knocking at the swollen folds above your entrance, and you spread your legs wide; dripping and begging.

“I need it too, baby,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “So fucking bad.”

You looked down to watch him hold his huge cock at the base so he could run the tip along your slit; preparing it for duty. “Tell me if it’s...too much?” He whispered it just before he kissed you again. You were sure it would just melt right in.

But then he buried the tip and your body stiffened, a tiny squeak escaping your throat. Eddie’s hand clamped onto your hip as his lips parted and his eyebrows cinched together. “Fuck, you’re so tight baby,” and he rose up a bit to look down at the way he disappeared inside of you, working the tip back and forth, taking his time. “This is all mine, yeah? No one else.”

“No one else, baby,” you gasped grabbing his neck, meeting his eyes. He searched your face, flexing his hips to sink in another inch. He had one hand braced on the bed while the other cupped your jaw, and then his thumb sank into your mouth and you sucked it.

Eddie glanced down again at your beautiful body open for him, and decided he couldn’t wait another second to own you, and buried himself the rest of the way in, cursing, feeling like he might cum right then and there. You cried out, exposing your throat for him to paint with his tongue.

He sat back on his knees briefly to thrust in hard a few times, base deep, needing to know he was deeper than anyone had ever been inside you before. Needing to look at what he did to you; the way you unraveled for him.

But then his eyes snapped to yours, needing something else.

You could see the ask in his soft dark orbs as he braced his hands at your hips, locking his length inside of you for a few breaths as the gravity of emotions vibrated in the air.

“I love you,” you told him. And then the dam broke and you said it over and over and over, and he dropped his body close, bucking his hips, his own affirmations of love flowing with each breath. You clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs as he stretched you out, digging heels in, needing him to be as close as two humans could possibly be.

The intensity of the experience mounted a quick release and soon Eddie’s face was right above you, taking your chin to turn your face. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t look away, okay?”

His pace quickened, forehead tightening, and a warmth started to spill through your body like liquid sunlight until all you could do was search his eyes and babble, “fucfuckfuckIloveyou...fuck.”

Eddie slowed for a moment. “I’m gonna cum so hard inside you, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes baby please,” you whined. “Fuck, please, all of it.”

And then he was down close to you again, slamming into you with purpose, one hand on your throat, headboard banging the wall. Your eyes locked and then you were cumming, hard, seeing white, velvet tugs rippling at your core.

Eddie felt your walls clench like a heart beat around his cock and watched your eyelids flutter, sending his release into action, the bark of an exhale in his chest.

You were riding the wave of your orgasm when you felt him tremble, his hips stuttering, pupils blown. The feel of his warm seed pumping extended the ripple affect, and you both clung to each other with aching breaths as Eddie dropped his head to find your mouth.

You palmed his cheek as he finished, eye clamping shut for the first time to take in all that had just happened. He brushed his lips on your palm, your eyelids, your cheeks, all while buried inside you; nurturing a desire in his belly to curl up and live there forever.

His jeans and boots on, denim pooled at his ankles, too ripe with eagerness earlier to even consider the seconds it would take to remove them. It was a while before he pulled out of you, and the tender way he brushed his lips across your face and neck had your ears ringing, skin buzzing. It wasn’t fair that you would automatically think the worst in a situation such as this, but you were afraid of how much you loved this man. Already considering the rejection or the thing that would inevitably go wrong, and how bad it would break you. How you might never recover from this one.

He officially had your heart and he could do whatever he wanted with it. There was no longer a decision to be made or pros and cons to consider: you were completely, utterly gone.

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“I hope you rot in hell you greedy cunt!” Steve said as he slammed the phone down on the receiver with a clang.

Robin rushed into the kitchen from the living room, eyes wide, hoping that Steve’s outburst hadn’t woken Oliver from his nap. They both froze for a few seconds, ears perked to listen for the sound of his tiny footfalls or a door opening.

“I hope that wasn’t your mother,” Robin chided, throwing the dishtowel in her hand over the side of the sink.

“Think bigger cunt,” he said in a much lower voice, throwing on his leather Coffin Kings cut. “They’re staying at that seedy motel over on Chestnut.”

Robin bristled, knowing it has been Tina, Oliver’s biological mom. She crossed her arms. “Do we need to get a lawyer?”

“With what money, Rob?” He braced his hands on the back of one of the dining table chairs, facing her, rolling his neck.

Robin was taking on more shifts at the hotel and Steve at his two jobs, but it felt like they could never dig out of the hole they were in lately.

Steve took a deep breath and straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Don’t worry, okay? I got some things lined up. We’ll have enough to make that pickled whore and her dog-faced pimp go away for a bit. Hopefully they overdose and fucking die---”

“Steve.”

“What? I hope they die. I’m not afraid to say it.” He snatched his sunglasses off the table and slid them over his eyes. “I won’t be back till late. I got a thing with the Kings, and then I’m at the Hammer tonight.”

He said it all over his shoulder as he was crossing the distance to the door and opening it.

“Wait,” Robin called after him. “What thing with the Kings?” He’d promised her numerous times that he wasn’t doing anything illegal or detrimental to his health for Oliver’s sake, but the Coffin Kings weren’t ones to just meet up for a casual cheese and wine picnic in the park.

He stepped outside into the early afternoon sunlight and shut the door behind him. “It’s nothing,” he told her through the open window. “Kiss my boy for me when he wakes up.”

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Earlier that morning, around 4am, you were tucked close to Eddie as he spooned you, the fingers of one hand intertwined with yours, his warm breath on the back of your neck. His cum sticky between your legs. You were out of the habit of sharing a bed with someone, and so your sleep was a bit restless, but every time you snapped awake and remembered where you were---a warmth came over you, and you nuzzled against him, kissing his hand.

Eddie, on the other hand, was sleeping like a bear. Knowing you were safe in his arms was like a sedative for him. He stirred briefly a few times only to squeeze your hand or kiss your shoulder, but for the most part, you listened as his heavy breathing turned into a rattling snore in the back of his throat, and it made you smile.

You jumped when the phone rang loud and shrill, and Eddie’s head popped off the pillow with a grunt, his eyes closed.

“Whoever it is, they are dead fucking meat,” he mumbled out of the side of his mouth after dropping his cheek back to the pillow.

You moved as if you were about to get out of his way so he could reach the phone that was on your side of the bed, but Eddie’s arm held fast, locking you in place. “Let the machine get it, baby,” he whispered, tongue clicking in his dry mouth, already halfway back to dreamland.

It was so cute to think about how he ran out and bought an answering machine because you asked him to. You knew he hated them, and it was something he’d done just for you, so that he would never miss a message if you called.

It rang three times before you heard beep and the machine click on, and then there came a woman’s voice you didn’t recognize:

“Um, hey Eddie baby, long time no talk…”

Behind you, Eddie stiffened. Your eyes blew wide open.

“...I can’t believe you finally stepped into the modern age and got an answering machine. Maybe people do change, I know I have,” there was a shuffling and the sound of ice clinking in a glass. “I’ve really been missing you lately and thinking about that time we went to Sturgis and we missed Steppenwolf because we were too busy fucking in the back of the…”

Eddie started to crawl over you, ready to yank the phone cord out of the wall, but you put your hand up to stop him, and he paused there, one hand braced on either side of you, hair hanging down. “This is nothing, baby, she’s--” he whispered, but then the message continued.

“...and then on the way home ate burgers in the park. Fuck, those were good times. I know you never sleep, so I figured you’d hear this message and pick up, but maybe you don’t want to talk to me anymore? I can’t say I’d blame you. Anyway, I’m coming to town this weekend for a wedding and I’d love to see you if you want to see me. I’m staying at Chrissy’s moms house, I think you still have the number.”

Eddie fell back on the bed, gnawing on his bottom lip, one hand on your thigh, waiting for the nightmare to end so that he could explain to you that it was all ancient history. He hadn’t been with Melanie in almost 5 years, and he hadn’t from heard her for at least 2, and he didn’t want to hear from her, not ever again. If he had to guess, he’d bet that she’d dumped another one of her boyfriends and was looking for comfort; the likes of which he had none to give. God, why was this happening to him? Why now of all the times in the fucking world for her to call?

He wanted to pick that answering machine up and break it in half with his bare hands.

Meanwhile, you were trying to push down the discomfort rising in your throat. This was clearly someone from Eddie’s past, someone he hadn’t spoken to in a while, but you couldn’t help the jealousy that tightened your flesh over your bones and made your tongue push against the back of your teeth.

“Anyway, maybe if you’re up for it, we can get a drink at the Hideout for old time’s sake? Well, now I feel stupid talking to this thing. Call me, okay? Same number as before. Oh, and this is Melanie by the way, remember me? The one you were supposed to grow old with?” Melanie took a moment to giggle to herself before she finished. “Okay, miss you lots. Bye bye.”

The phone clicked on her end and the message beeped again to announced that it was finally over. You and Eddie lay in the loud silence for a few seconds, and then Eddie swallowed hard.

“Let me explain? I haven’t talked to her in---”

But you cut him off, rolling over on your other side to face him, nudging his arm to open up so you could slide into his armpit and put your head on his chest, your leg stretching over his, hand palming his bicep, thumb grazing his nipple.

“We can talk about it later,” you hushed.

He pulled you close, kissing the top of your head, “she means nothing to me, baby,” he reiterated, and then it wasn’t long before you heard the purr of his snores again. His arm went lax and slipped down to the bed with a flop.

But you, you were wide awake. Blinking ever so often with the rhythm of the red light on the machine cast on the ceiling, announcing that there was a new message.

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In the dark corner of an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district, Steve’s fist cracked into the jaw of a guy tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth. This was not the first punch, and his knuckles were raw. The guy in the chair was a snitch who’d tried to run, but Steve and a few of the others caught up with him. He had a shaved head covered in tattoos, his eye was now swollen, and nose broken, so he was struggling to breathe through the snot and the blood.

Steve stepped back, kicking his chin up, signaling to two of the Hell’s Belles that were there. “Take his Kutte,” he told them.

One of the two women slipped a knife of of the sheath at her hip and twirled it in the air before slicing the leather of his cut off at the arm hole so that they wouldn’t have to untie his hands. They cut and yanked on both sides until the material opened up and The guy screamed inside the duct tape, drool dripping down his chin from a tiny gap in the tape.

Steve’s tattooed hand was seeping watery blood from one knuckle as he pinched a cigarette between thumb and forefinger and took a drag. “You know, Jerry Dog wants your head. He told me to bring it to him in a bag with a pretty bow on it.”

The guy had stopped trying to battle the restraints, but he glared at Steve with hard, dark eyes, shouting something that only came out as muffled noise. Two of the Coffin Kings were standing at Steve’s back, legs braced wide, hands resting on the hilts of weapons at their sides. Steve turned on his heel, following the Hell’s Belle with the torn leather vest out of the damp building and into the sunlight. She had shoulder length, orange hair with one side completely shaved, and she went by the name Ratchet.

Ratchet made sure to put the cut in the saddle bag on the back of her bike and tighten the buckle closed before she turned around to address Steve again. “I thought you and War Machine were taking a step back from the life? That’s the rumor, anyway.”

War Machine was Eddie’s nickname, and had been ever since they were young and he was always getting into fights with kids who tried to pick on him or others. Steve had been known as Taz around the MC, in honor of the Tasmanian Devil, because if he was in a mood, he’d fight anyone--even if the odds were stacked against him. The gold tooth he had was to replace one of his incisors due to the original one getting knocked out when he was 21 by a guy with metal rings on. Steve’d spit the tooth out at the time and started laughing, blood dripping down his chin like a mad man. He never though things through like Eddie did. Back in their school days, Wayne would come around the corner to the principals office with that tired look on his face as he removed his hat, and there’d be Steve and Eddie; bloody noses and swollen lips. They were both never far from each other, and neither one let the other go into battle alone.

But Eddie hadn’t gone by War Machine in years; he’d grown to hate it, actually. The things he’d done in the name of the MC as War Machine were some of the things he hated most about himself.

“I got a son now, ya know,” Steve sucked hard on his smoke, cheeks caving in, and then he exhaled to the side. “And Eddie’s just, a good guy I guess. Just cause you grown up in the life doesn’t mean you’re made for it.”

Tiger Lily—the other female biker with Ratchet--and the two Kings with Steve were also wandering around, having a smoke break and taking a piss, while they let the guy inside sweat, wondering if these were his final moments.

Ratchet tucked the long side of her hair behind her ear, her nickname tattooed in cursive on the side of her throat. “How’s Robin?”

Steve hadn’t seen Ratch in a while, but it was standard procedure for her to ask after his best friend. The two had a thing many years ago, but Ratch was a dog at the time and went sniffing too many other butts for Robin’s liking. Fucking things up with Buckley was still one of her biggest regrets.

“We’ve got our share of the shit pie,” Steve assured. “But we’re making it work. I couldn’t do it without her.” He tapped his heel on the toe of his boot and flicked his cigarette. “I’ve got a gig lined up with some rich bitch. Easy bag, some lame body guard gig. It should get our heads out of water, at least.”

“Who’s it for?” Ratchet squinted, exhaling smoke out her nose, down the piercing in the middle of her bottom lip.

“I don’t really know,” Steve shrugged. “She seems to have a lot of money to throw around, that’s all I give a fuck about.”

“Careful, bro,” Ratchet held the two fingers up holding her cigarette, chipped black polish on her fingernails. “There’s a wealthy cougar in town who likes to hire MC’s as body guards and she’s been pitting different clubs against each other. Three of Lucifer’s Own got the piss beat out of them the other weekend trying to defend her fortress. Put Donnie in intensive care.”

Steve’s mind flicked to the night Eddie was stabbed, and the way Eddie wouldn’t tell him who did it because he knew Steve would go off the rails.

“Like I said,” Steve rolled his neck, crushing the end of this cig into the mud with the toe of his boot. “I don’t care what the drama is, long as she pays.”

Ratchet respected this, offering a twitch of her brow.

“Let’s get this over with,” Steve motioned to the rest as he opened the aluminum door to head back into the building. “I got shit to do.”

The guy in the chair was struggling to breathe through some miracle opening in his inflamed and bleeding nostrils. His broad chest heaved, nearly popping open the buttons on his black and blue flannel, gasping for air, cheeks puffing out, his bald head slick with sweat.

Steve took position in front of him again. The whole cutting his head off thing was a bluff. Jerry Dog had never requested such a thing. The other two Kings, Rooster and Emmett, would toss him in the back of the utility van and dump him down at the train yard and wait for further instructions.

The guy in the chair barked something at Steve through the tape, eyes narrowing, but it only came out as a strangled mumble.

“You trying to say something to me, Inky?” Steve cocked his head, referring to the man’s nickname.

Steve reached across to rip the tape off in one quick swipe, taking some of Inky’s mustache with it. The guy wheezed, bending his head to take a few deep inhales through his mouth, coughing a few times at the greedy pulls of air his body was taking.

“I got good news, man,” Steve’s tone was sarcastic as he rested his hands on his hips. “You get to keep your head. For now.”

Inky spit. He’d clearly intended the projected saliva to land on Steve, but it hit the ground next to his boot instead. Steve looked down at the spit, and then back up at Inky. “To think I thought you’d be grateful?”

“Fuck you, Taz,” Inky sneered at Steve, his voice full of vitriol. “I never did like you. Jerry Dog is gonna let me walk, and then you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna come to your house and fuck the gay right outta that dyke roommate of yours, and I’m gonna make your kid watch.”

If Steve ever had a voice of reason that spoke to him in his head, it wasn’t about to change the impact those words had on him. There would be no more talking, no more negotiation, and no one in that room would dare to try and stop him, even if they wanted to, as he started pummeling his fist over and over into Inky’s face. At one point, Inky lost consciousness, jaw broken and slack, and the chair fell sideways, landing his head to the cement with a thunk. Steve followed, dropping on top of him, seeing red, unable to stop his fist from working, smashing, breaking.

When the other four were finally able to pull Steve off, it was too late for Inky.

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“Who is this Melanie bitch?” Katie came to visit you that night during your shift at the Velvet Hammer because you felt like you needed a pep talk. You’d just come up next to the bar where she was having her whiskey sour, and the ask was loud enough for Shanna, the longtime bartender and manager to hear.

Shanna had on a platinum blonde wig shaped in a 1920’s bob cut, a row of 6 tiny hoops curving up one ear, and a long, red upside down cross dangling from the other. She squinted at Katie while she squeezed fresh orange juice to make a screwdriver, and then her eyes shifted to you. “Melanie. You mean Melanie Drake? Your old man’s ex?”

You knew Eddie had a past, and you were glad for the most part. He was in his early thirties, for godsake, and if he hadn’t at least tried to commit to someone before you, it could easily be seen as a red flag. And it didn’t matter how much in love you knew you both were, or how devoted he clearly was to you—there was something unsettling about the girlfriend before you coming to town. Not just any girlfriend or one night stand, but someone he’d clearly had deep feelings for. Not only was she coming to town, but she explicitly wanted to see your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” you moved your jaw and absently straightened the little black pocket apron around your waist. “She left a really flirty message early this morning on his machine while we were in bed together.”

“Nooooo,” Katie blanched, making a yuck face. “What did you do? What did you say? What did HE say?”

Shanna passed the screwdriver and two pints of beer over to Jackie who loaded them on her tray. The dancer in the back was giving a wild show to the tune of Unsung by Helmet, sliding down the pole slowly, both legs spread wide, dropping to the floor in the splits with a head bang.

Shanna was clearly invested in the story now too, waiting with baited breath for you to answer Katie’s questions. “We just...went back to sleep. I told him we could talk about it in the morning. But then we woke up late and he had to rush out.”

Shanna and Katie exchanged a look.

“He loves me, we are good, I trust him,” you moved the four tequila shots and limes to your tray as Shanna passed them to you, and you couldn’t tell if you were trying to convince yourself or them.

“Of course he loves you, but is he planning to meet up with her, though?” Katie asked, taking the two tiny red straws out of her drink. “Cause, I don’t like that idea. Feels wrong. Sends her an encouraging message.”

You didn’t have a chance to answer before Shanna spoke up. “Melanie won’t show her face in here if she knows what’s good for her,” she paused only to rim a margarita glass with salt. You and Katie both directed your attention to hear the rest. “Years ago, she was hired on as one of the dancers for a couple months. Found out she was stealing from the other girls and giving blowjobs to customers in the bathroom.”

You blinked a few times, not liking the fact that she’d also had a job there. Katie lifted her glass to her lips but paused there, giving you a side eye.

Shanna raised an eyebro, smoky eye makeup rimming eyes that were so brown they were almost black. “And that was when she was still supposedly with your old man. I’m not even sure if he ever found out about it. Probably would’ve killed someone if he had.”

The news of Eddie being blatantly disrespected and cheated on like that didn’t sit well with you, either, and you realized that you knew nothing about this woman, how long they’d been together, and why it ended. You had to run your tray of drinks over to a table, and Katie ordered another whiskey sour while she waited.

You checked on other tables, and then on your way back to Katie at the bar, you saw Steve come in. He was an hour late, but he’d already called to let Shanna know, and one look at him told you why he was late.

While normally Steve had a charming, cheerful disposition, tonight his jaw was set at a hard angle, his eyes cold and weary. He was favoring his right hand, holding hit against his stomach. It was wrapped up, but poorly, as if he’d done it himself in a rush, red/orange seeping through at the knuckles. Normally, Steve would saunter over to see what the girls were gossiping about at the bar, and be eager to give his two cents. But, that night, he found his stool, and prepared to do nothing above the bare minimum required for his job. He lit a cigarette and checked ID’s, but made no move to add any banter to his interactions.

And no one bothered him or asked any questions because they were all realizing, perhaps for the first time, how scary he was once all of the casual, jovial exterior was removed.

----------

The rain was drizzling that night as Robin sat in her car facing the seedy motel on Chestnut, planning her words. She dropped off Oliver with Wayne for the night, and when they got there, Wayne already had cartoons on and some pigs-in-a-blanket in the oven; his face lighting up in a way they all thought the cancer had long ago removed.

Behind the wheel, facing room 11, here were two manila envelopes in her lap: one was full of cash and the other contained official government paperwork. She had a private savings account she’d been trickling money into for years. Even then, it only had about six grand in it. She pawned some of the gold jewelry her grandmother passed down to her, and a few other keepsakes she’d been saving to pass down to Oliver, and the final product was the best offer Tina would ever get from them. They were usually able to buy her off for a year or so with a grand or two, so ten grand should make her eyes sparkle long enough to sign away her rights to Ollie.

Steve and Katie had no idea what she was up to. Steve would’ve tried to stop her. He would’ve showed up and caused a scene, and his temper would get the best of him. Robin was calm. The only endgame that mattered to her was keeping Oliver safe and in her arms, and she didn’t care how broke she was or how low she had to grovel to make that happen.

She could see them through the window between the break in the curtains. Tina with her curly black hair, long and wild, wearing a tight, red spandex dress, and then her fiance Louis, shirtless, wiry muscles littered with prison ink. They appeared to be in the middle of an argument, but that was nothing new; they both thrived on chaos.

Robin also had a gun.

She strapped her bag across her body and reached in to palm the cool steel of Steve’s protection piece he usually kept in a safe in the closet. There was always the chance that Tina and Louis would try to jump her and take the money without following through on the paperwork, but she wasn’t going to let that happen; her plan was solid.

This bullshit would end tonight.

---------

It was so early in the morning when Steve’s bike rumbled around the corner to Astrid’s house that it was still dark. He dismounted right next to the dilapidated picket fence with the chipped white paint, and looked up to see that she was already on the porch in her nightgown, arms wrapped in a shawl, waiting for him. He hadn’t called to tell her he was on his way, in fact, it had been a last second decision as he idled at a stop light on his way home after work.

Steve needed comfort, and for some reason, Astrid always knew how to give it without him needing to ask.

“How’s your hand?” She asked across the lawn, even though he’d taken the bandage off and, from that distance, in the dark, there’s no way she could’ve known it was swollen and fleshly with raw patches.

He didn’t answer, he just came through the gate and made his way at a tired pace toward her, clomping up each step in his heavy boots, wallet chain jangling.

“Let me see,” she said, holding out her hand, palm up, for him to oblige. She hissed at the damage, and when she tapped his middle finger, he winced. “Honey, we need to get this cleaned and bandaged properly. It might even need a splint. Come inside. I put a beer in the freezer.” She always moved a beer from the refrigerator to the freezer when she had a hunch he was on his way so that it would be extra cold for him. She also had leftovers heating in the oven because it was typical of him to forget to eat.

Once inside the house, while he followed her through the candlelit living room to the kitchen, Steve caught her elbow and spun her around. Astrid’s eyes sought his, trying to anticipate his needs, but then what she found there was exhaustion, both emotional and physical, and a palpable sense of dread. Of fear that life would always take and never give. That time would continue to accomplish nothing but to wear us down and break our hearts.

He bowed his head, and then he dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around her legs, cheek pressing into her thigh, a sob hitching in his chest. He loved the fullness of her stomach and hips, the way his fingers sank in. She used both hands to comfort him, one stroking his cheek that was already damp, while the other combed through his thick head of hair, gently tucking strands behind his ear, tracing down the back of his neck.

She lowered to her shins and met him on the hardwood floor, scooping his head against her bosom while his shoulders jerked and the tears rolled. She was the only person Steve let himself cry in front of. Maybe only once or twice it had happened around Robin, and he always left the room to pull himself together. His father had drilled it hard into his head that crying was a weakness and it made you less of a man. It turned you into a sissy boy or a faggot, as if that were the worst thing, and set you up to be bullied and teased for days to follow. Better to yell, better to hit things, and make other people afraid so that they could be just as sad as you.

Wordlessly, they held each other there for a long while, as Steve choked on sobs and Astrid kissed the top of his head over and over, content to stay like that for hours if that was what he needed. After a bit, there were tears streaming down her cheeks as well.

"You're safe with me," she hushed.

-----

Eddie extended you an open offer to stay with him whenever you wanted, he even casually mentioned that he planned to have another spare key made so that you could come in and make yourself at home even if he wasn’t there.

Giving someone a key to your place was no small step in a relationship, and your heart swelled at the sincerity of the gesture.

But, you decided to go back to your place after your shift at the Hammer. You were tired, needed a shower, and some time to yourself. Plus, your cat Charlie had a lot of questions about where you were the night before.

Just as you were getting home, Katie was headed back out, her pajama bottoms still on. Apparently, she’d received a call from Robin that spooked her a bit, and made her want to go and check on her girlfriend, even though she had to be up early for work. She was in such a hurry, you didn’t have time to ask any questions, but you hoped that Robin was okay.

After washing your face and getting into something more comfortable, you were just about to sit on the couch to let television numb your brain for a bit when the doorbell rang.

Eddie’s head was bowed when you opened the door, one knee cocked out to the side, thumb hooked in his belt loop while the other fingers fanned out on his thigh.

“It’s a little late to be visited by a Bible salesman, isn’t it?” You teased.

Eddie met your eyes and leaned forward to brace his forearm on the door jam, white tee straining against his muscles just under the cut of his Coffin Kings leather. Not for the first time, you noticed the War Machine insignia on the front and realized you kept forgetting to ask him about it.

“I waited up,” he mumbled. “I hoped you’d come over tonight.”

“Work was exhausting, and I needed to feed my cat,” you explained. “But I’m glad to see you. Come in?”

Eddie couldn’t get what had happened that morning out of his mind, and the last thing he wanted to do was give Melanie any more of his precious air, but he also didn’t want you to think he had any residual feelings for her.

The living room was dark, but for a soft light from the kitchen and glow of the TV, when you tilted your chin up to meet his lips with yours. You didn’t stay there to kiss him, though---you didn’t linger with hungry sighs like you were prone to do—you just spun on your heel to head back around the couch.

Eddie let the screen door shut behind him as he grabbed your waist with both hands. “Hey now, don’t run away from me,” he came up behind so that your body was flush with his. His mouth came down to graze your ear, “tell me you fucking missed me.”

“Of course I missed you,” you tried to shrug away from him, albeit playfully, but he was too strong; you were completely locked in place. “I always miss you.”

He released you only so you could turn to face him again, reaching up to cup your hands behind his neck, fingers dipping into the downy hair behind his ears. The kiss that came next was the kind that sent emergency bells off in your loins; tongues twirling each other, tight groans on the exhale.

You pulled back to meet his eyes before you were completely incapacitated again. “Please tell me you’re not planning on meeting up with your ex this weekend?”

“Hell no,” he responded quickly, a tightness in his brow as if it were ludicrous for you to even ask. “Believe me baby, if I never see her face again, it will be too soon.”

“What are we even doing?” You asked, throwing your hands out to the side as you stepped back to rest your hip on the back of the couch. “I mean, look at us. We’ve barely known each other for two months and everything that possibly could go wrong has. It’s just one stressful situation after the next. I’m exhausted, Eddie, and I’m sure you are too.”

Eddie brought his chin back and crossed one arm over to hold his bicep. “Are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is?”

“No,” you coughed a laugh. Surely he didn’t think he could get rid of you that easily. “Believe me, I couldn’t stop being in love with you at this point even if I wanted to.”

A smile twitched on Eddie’s lips, and he came close, straddling your hips between his legs, taking your face in both of his hands. He kissed the tip of your nose, the look in his eye was tender but serious. “She never had my heart like you do. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever. I’d kill or die for you, baby.”

Clothes started to come off right there at the couch, but then you remembered that Katie might not stay at Robin’s and could be home any moment, and so you moved the party to your bedroom with Eddie’s belt undone and your shirt bunched up around your neck.

Eddie was on his knees with his head between your legs in a flash, flicking his tongue right where you needed it, making you fist his hair and bite your lip as you watched.

After the first orgasm, you were on your side while Eddie held your leg up and sunk his cock in over and over, hips clapping at your wetness. You turned your head to take his mouth while he stretched you out again and again, making you whimper, and your wrist flexed at your swollen nub, another release mounting.

“Oh godohgodohgod,” you whined. Eddie’s cock slipped out briefly, and when he thrust it back in, you began to see stars.

You looked up at him as your body rocked from the impact, “no one has ever been so deep, baby,” you promised, and the admission brought Eddie to the edge, twisting you to piston his hips faster.

He barked a groan of pleasure as he emptied himself inside of you, holding one of your legs up by the crook of his arm, and your walls clenched around him, producing a mingling of cum on his shaft.

Still inside of you, Eddie grabbed your chin so that your blown pupils could meet his. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he said, sealing the words in your mouth with a kiss, hoping to bury them deep in your heart.

-------

Hundreds of miles away, a phone next to a full ashtray and a tumbler of whiskey was ringing.

Before the second ring, a guy with a military insignia tattooed on his forearm picked up.

“Yo,” the voice on the other end greeted. “This Craig?”

“Yeah, dumbass, who else would it be?” Craig answered gruffly.

The other guy cleared his throat. “It’s Gopher. Hey, listen, that chick you’ve been trying to track down? I had my guy look her up at the database over at the station. She ain’t in no Oregon, man. She’s in some podunk town in fucking Indiana.”

Craig sat down on the bed next to the gun he was cleaning, eyes hooded, blonde hair in a buzz cut. “You sure it’s the right girl? My girl?”

“No doubt about it man. She just had her license renewed.”

Craig pulled a notepad and pen out of the top drawer. “You got an address for me?”

“She’s got a roommate. Katie Clayton I think her name was.”

“Fuck, of course,” Craig worked his jaw, excitement edging in his veins. All this time he’d been nosing around in the pacific northwest while you were only a state away, right under his nose.

He should've known you’d never want to be too far away from him. A love like the two of you shared never died.

Part 13

Thank you for reading! xoxoxoxo

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