I Need A Part 2 Yesterday THIS IS SO GOOD AJDJAJD

I need a part 2 yesterday THIS IS SO GOOD AJDJAJD

— trouble will find me

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship

a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”

You can feel his eyes follow you.

Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

But there’s something in the way he watches.

A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.

Indulging, almost. Unashamed.

You might have a crush.

You're trying not to think about it too much.

Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.

It's all bright lights.

The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.

He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.

Logan is so different from the ones before him.

Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.

Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.

It was exhausting.

Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.

Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.

It's not how you saw him, though.

His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.

You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.

Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.

You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.

Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.

He'll last longer than the others, at least.

More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.

An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.

You’ve been thinking about that for days.

There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.

But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.

It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.

The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.

With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.

A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.

Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.

You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.

Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.

A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.

There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.

"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.

A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.

"Come on, man. I saw her first."

Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."

Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."

And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.

The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.

You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.

Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.

"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.

His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"

Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.

"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.

"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"

That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."

"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.

Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.

You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.

The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.

There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.

But it hasn't been like this.

Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.

"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."

"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”

Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.

You break the eye contact first.

“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”

Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.

“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”

There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”

The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”

A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.

“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.

Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.

“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”

A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”

Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.

“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”

The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.

You’re undeterred.

“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”

Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.

“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”

All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.

The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.

Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.

“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”

Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.

“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.

The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.

Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.

It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.

“Making a mess.”

You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.

The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.

“That for me?”

Your head nods, “Logan, please-”

There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.

“Ask me.” He coos.

“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”

Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.

The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.

His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.

The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.

Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.

“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”

He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.

The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open.

You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.

Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.

The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.

“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.

Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.

His other hand taps against your thigh.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”

His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.

A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.

Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.

“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”

He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.

“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”

It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.

The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.

It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.

“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”

The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.

His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.

Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.

“Open.”

They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.

“Good girl.”

It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.

A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.

Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.

Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.

Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.

Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.

“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.

All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.

“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”

A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.

“I’m taking you home.”

ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)

hotel room service

MY MASTERLIST

pairing(s): adrian chase x afab!reader

summary: An off night, a hotel room, a bottle of peach Jim Beam, and Vigilante. What could go wrong?

words: so many (9.8k)

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, some dubcon elements, shower sex, praise kink, sub!adrian, technically switch!adrian but *gestures vaguely*, alcohol consumption, drunk sex, oral (f receiving), slight blood kink, mentions of contraception, cowgirl position, gagging, friends to lovers, character study disguised as smut, james gunn said the visor is prescription and i take that as canon, reader uses prescription lenses, yes i did name this after the pitbull song

additional notes: i had too much fun writing this, which is probably why it was over 20 pages long lol. apologies to anyone who doesn't experience being drunk the same way I do because I write from my own experiences

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

“Working hours” with this black ops group are loosely defined at best, and entirely nonexistent at worst. And don’t even get started on pay, because you think at this point that you’re only getting comped whatever the pay is for your cost of living, and that’s only really when you’re on the clock. They’ll pay for the hotel room and sometimes the food, but besides that, you’re on your own.

But, back to those working hours. You don’t know when they stopped, but maybe it was around the time your roomie decided to crack open a bottle of whisky and pour out half of it for you into one of the plastic solo cups they provide with the coffee pot. God knows you’re not working anymore, you’re just sort of sitting idle while he rambles about the room, gesticulating with the bottle. Like he does.

(Plus, you don’t think he’s even being paid for this? Adrian is just here for the fun and because he’s available, and the rest of the team just let him tag along because he’s useful. The thought makes you smirk a little bit.)

You admire his profile as he talks, one finger pressed to your smiling lips as your eyes trail him back and forth, thinking he might eventually hypnotize you. He’s so… expressive. And he has dimples and curly hair, which you’ve always been a sucker for. He hasn’t even taken off his suit; blue on silver on black, with a red visor on the mask discarded on the table. You had watched him remove it, and carefully tried to hide the fact that you were staring as he pulled his wire-rimmed glasses out of a hidden pocket.

You’re very pointedly staring now, sizing him up like your next fucking meal (alcohol does that to you), and Adrian keeps on blathering in one long spiel, pacing in circles like hasn’t even noticed your hungry gaze (alcohol does that to him).

“Is that prescription?” you ask, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence, which you’d barely been paying attention to. Something something Twilight, something something cultural reset.

Adrian stops pacing, looking at you with a deer-in-headlights expression. “Huh?”

You nod at the mask laying on the table by the door. “The visor. Is it prescription?”

He swivels to look at the mask, and then back to you with an almost bashful laugh. “Uh… yeah?”

“That’s sick.”

“Really?” Dimples. You take another sip of your whisky to calm yourself, and it burns at the back of your throat. Objectively, you should not be feeling this way about your pseudo-coworker, who also happens to be somewhat of a lunatic. But, y’know, he’s… sweet. To you. Which is the odd thing, but you’ve gone beyond worrying about the details at this point. You’re hunting alien butterfly creatures that live in people’s brains, you can get past a couple character flaws.

“I mean, yeah.” You lick your lips, which have taken on the flavor of the peach liqueur in the whisky. “I wear prescription lenses, too, but they’re a bitch to keep clean on the job. If I could afford prescription hardware, I would. Good on you.”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah, it is fucking cool, thank you!” He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners and making you clench your jaw with how badly you want to reach out and kiss him long and hard at that exact moment. “I was starting to think no one else would notice how genius it is. Y’know, I don’t even think Peacemaker’s noticed, which is totally not very best friend-like of him, but it’s fine, I’m sure he’ll come around eventually, the guy constantly has a lot of shit on his plate. Like I remember one time, me and him got stuck in a Winnebago that was rolling downhill toward a cliff like something out of Looney Tunes because some idiot crack dealer locked us in there with his load, and-”

He’s pacing again, and the amber colored liquid in the square bottle he grips by the neck sloshes against the glass as he continues waving it around emphatically. And you’ve zoned out again, because now you’re thinking about his hands, and how nice they’d feel on your body. You’ve seen him beat the shit out of people, you know he’s packing some major force in those fists, but you haven’t felt them on your own skin, or had the experience of having them wrapped around your throat for yourself.

“-then, y’know, Eagly’s a fucking badass, I don’t know if you’ve seen him in action, but the little dude can take a guy out in like one peck. Like do not get caught on the wrong end of those talons is all I’m saying. Anyways, he swooped in and yanked the fucking wheel, so the Winnebago flipped. I mean, can you imagine! A bald eagle rolling a camper. That shit’s gotta be, like, legendary-”

And his quads as he walks, Jesus Christ. You’ve never been super partial to burly, buff guys (sorry Chris), but there’s something to be said for muscle in the right places. Adrian’s legs are nice, you can tell just by the way the fabric of his pants stretches around them when he turns, and fuck his ass is so tight. You nearly salivate just staring at it, thinking about how much you’d love to dig your heels into it, or squeeze it to urge him on as he fucks you.

Your eyes snap down to your solo cup of whisky, and you frown. When did you drink half of it?

“-but like I’m sure you know Eagly pretty well because he loves you, I can tell. He kind of scooches closer every time you sit near him, it’s really cute actually, I mean, I would scooch closer whenever you sat near me too except I feel like you’d punch me in the dick, good thing my suit’s got a reinforced crotch-”

“Wait, what?” You blink up at him, your brain sort of fizzling out and then rebooting as you stare at him. What did he say?

Adrian doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, the guy who made it was like, ‘That makes no sense, you’re gonna have the worst time trying to take a piss in this,’ and I said, ‘No, dude, have you ever been karate kicked in the nuts before? Shit hurts.’ I still had to pay extra-”

“No, no, what was that shit about scooching closer? To me?” You squint at him. “Babe, are you trying to tell me something?”

He blushes. You know he’s joked about not feeling emotions like other people do, but you wonder how true that really is, because he goes beet fucking red like he’s having trouble breathing as he stares down at his shoes. “I, uh- well, I mean, yeah, I’d scooch closer to you. Theoretically. If- if you wanted me to. And if you weren’t going to punch me in the dick.”

“Why would I punch you in the dick?”

“I don’t know, it’s like… it’s an understandable reaction to someone getting in someone else’s personal space!”

“No, it really isn’t…”

“Well, how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t punch me in the dick?”

You throw up your hand in an exasperated gesture. “When have you ever seen me punch someone in the dick?”

He screws up his face. “UM, I don’t know, you punched Peacemaker in the dick!”

“What? When?”

“When he tried lifting you onto the truck that one time!”

“That was a misunderstanding, I kneed him because he didn’t give me a heads up!”

“But you did it!”

“Well, the last thing I would want to do to your dick is punch it, all right?”

You both stop and stare at each other for a long moment. You think you might have stopped breathing, too. Yeah, you are definitely tipsy at this point, but you raise a slightly shaking hand to take a casual sip of your drink, as if you aren’t staring at him with bulging eyes like you’re possessed.

He opens his mouth and closes it a few times before he comes out with a response. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I mean, what other stuff would you do to my dick?”

“Uh… stuff.” You jerkily stand, nearly sloshing your drink as you try to get your bearings. You set the cup down on the bedside table and turn to look at him with the most awkward, pin-straight posture you could possibly muster, like a high schooler trying to pretend they aren’t drunk in front of their parents. “I’m going to take a shower now. Yeah. I am. I’m going to do that.”

“Oh. Okay.” Adrian looks down at the bottle in his hand, and then shuffles a bit to the side so that you can pass him.

“I mean, unless you wanted to shower first?” You pause at the end of your respective bed, and turn to see him turning down the covers on his own by the window. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting in bed,” he says flatly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He reaches up and undoes a latch on his armor that frees the chestplate, and lifts it over his head in one swift move, leaving him in his tight fitting black undershirt.

You stare at him, scatterbrained until you manage to scowl at him, and the two knives he wears crossed against his lower back. “You’re going to sleep with all your weapons?”

“Yeah.”

“With all the dirt and sweat and fucking blood from fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t just… you can’t just get in bed with your outside clothes on, dude!” you splutter, leaning your thigh against the end of the mattress before you, and slow your speech carefully as you declare, “It’s… unsanitary.”

“Oh, and who are you, the sleep police?” Adrian turns to sneer at you. “I thought you were going to take a shower.”

“Well I was, but that was before I knew you weren’t planning on it!” You throw your hand out at him. “Why?”

“Because! If I go to sleep with wet hair it dries all weird, okay? Get off my dick!”

“I’m sure you’ll look just as pretty regardless, Adrian,” you tut condescendingly at him, rolling your eyes as you turn on your heels toward the bathroom. “Do what you want, or fucking join me if you change your mind, I don’t care.”

You don’t register the full weight of your words until you turn on the tap. But, by that time, you also don’t get to see the way Adrian stares at the door to the bathroom like you’ve just presented him with the key to the city.

You very rarely opt for lukewarm showers, but you certainly do now. With the way your blood is humming through your veins like electricity, and you feel hot just from the sight of Adrian’s muscles in that tight fucking shirt, you feel a cold shower is in order. Well, colder, anyways.

The water pressure is complete bullshit, of course. It pathetically trickles out, and it takes longer than usual for your body to get completely soaked. In that time, you lean against the tile and hold your head in your hands as the water drips down your face. How the fuck are you supposed to sleep in the same room as this guy? Between the way you’re just aching to jump his bones, and his inability to stop talking, you don’t think it’s a possibility tonight.

You wonder what he would sound like when you ride him. You wonder if he would finally shut up, or if he would switch to talking to you like a lover instead of a drinking buddy. You wonder if he would beg, or if he’s more dominant than that.

You’re imagining his head between your thighs. You’re imagining what he’d look like with your hands tangled in his hair. You’re imagining the feeling of his mouth on your skin, the calloused planes of his palms on your breasts and beneath your thighs. You’re… you’re shaking.

The white shower curtain rips open, and Adrian steps in beside you, naked as the day he was born. “Hey, can you pass the soap?”

“What the fuck?” You turn your head to look at him with a bewildered expression, simply refusing to tear your eyes away from his face because you do not want to cross that line and have the image of his dick imprinted in your brain while you try to get to sleep tonight. “Adrian, what are you doing?”

“Well, you said to join you if I changed my mind.” He shrugs, his smile the absolute picture of innocence, but his eyes still rake slowly down your body before finding your face again.

You blink, searching for a proper response to that. His eyes are green. Jesus Christ, that’s three for three: dimples, curly hair, and green eyes. He’s trying to kill you.

“I was being sar-” you cut yourself off with a sigh, “yeah, you know what, I did say that. Shit. Fucking… okay. Whatever. Here.” You fumble with the tiny complimentary body wash tube and thrust it toward him. “Go apeshit.”

“You have a really great ass by the way.”

“Adrian.”

“What? You do. I’m just being honest. I’m not even saying that because this is the first time I’ve seen you naked, I always thought your ass was nice, there just wasn’t a good time to say it.”

Your face is burning. You turn your back on him and try your hardest not to clap your hands over your eyes or do something equally embarrassing. You don’t think Adrian is even fazed by any of this; he wasn’t wearing his glasses, either, and you don’t know how strong his prescription is. You imagine pretty strong, if he needs it in his visor. Maybe there’s a good chance he can’t see the exact details of your tits. Maybe-

He touches your shoulder, and you feel lather running down your back as he starts massaging circles into your skin.

“Are you washing me?” you wheeze, your voice coming out an octave higher, and you really do cover your face again this time. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and you can’t focus on anything other than the touch of his hand on your shoulder blade.

“Uh, yeah? I wash your back, you wash mine, right?” He sounds cheery and completely content with everything that’s happening and, despite the sheer oddness of all of it, you don’t really want him to stop. You guess that’s why you haven’t told him to get the hell out, yet.

Maybe you’re just as much of a lunatic as him. “‘Scratch,’ Adrian. It’s fucking ‘scratch.’”

He pauses. “What?”

“It’s ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine.’”

“That makes no fucking sense.” He shakes his head in your periphery, his hand resuming its circular motion against your back, moving across to your other shoulder. You feel the soft, wet glide like a molten lava trail.

“Of course it makes sense! Why would it be ‘wash?’”

“Why wouldn’t it be ‘wash?’”

“Because it’s about doing your friends favors,” you argue in a wobbly, strained voice as you shiver while his fingers slide down your spine. It raises goosebumps on your skin, despite the heat in your veins and the cool of the water. “Friends don’t wash each other’s backs, genius.”

“So, we’re not friends?”

His hand pauses again just at the curve of your lower back, where it extends down into your tailbone. You bite your lip, and you can feel his eyes on you, the touch of his gaze almost as real as his hand is. Your thighs clench together involuntarily. You simpering little… weak, desperate thing, you are not going to beg for him to touch you. That’s not it. That’s not how this should go.

But, you could turn around and touch him, too. You could probably kiss him, if you were feeling really adventurous. He just basically implied that he wouldn’t be opposed to fucking you, right? That was where the conversation had been going earlier, if you hadn’t been such a pussy. Neither of you is nearly as subtle as you think you are.

You manage to chew your lip enough to tear a gash in it, and salty, coppery blood hits your tongue. You’re losing it, standing on the precipice of something way bigger than the two of you. You’re just an inch away from becoming more than just friends with Adrian, if you don’t reel it in quickly. Your hand comes up to slam against the wall when his fingers, which seem to be discontented to remain idle, start tracing little shapes on your lower back. A star. A diamond. A heart.

“N… No, I- I mean, we are. But I don’t think we’re going to be, if you keep it up.”

He grunts carelessly. “I’m having a hard time not keeping it up, really.”

“What do you mean?” You turn around, and his hand glides across your lower back and to your hip, because he refuses to stop touching you now (not that you want him to stop, either, if you’re being honest with yourself). Your eyes flick down, and you know exactly what he means, because he’s hard as a rock.

And also thick, and long, and veiny, but hey. What did you expect?

Your eyes linger on his erection for a long time, and drag your gaze slowly from the burst of dark hair at the base of his cock, up the line of his torso and to his chest. His pale skin is riddled with little scars here and there, from small injuries that weren’t serious enough to slow him down. He has a faint spray of freckles on his shoulders, suggesting that he spends at least some time in the sun. It makes you inordinately flustered to think of him doing some sort of outdoor activities to get that toned body of his.

You clear your throat as you find his gaze again. “Next dumb question,” you say, and he gives you a wide-eyed, vaguely awestruck look that makes you way more confident than it ought to. “Are you gonna fuck me, Adrian?”

His eyelashes flutter. His cheeks are painted with that sweet pink blush again, like he’s been entirely oblivious to the fact that he’s had you melting for him since he cracked open the bottle of Jim Beam. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a fucking fantastic idea, do you?”

“Yeah, I do.” And he grabs you by the face to kiss you, and crowds you back against the wall. You give a surprised yelp into his open mouth, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as your back hits the cold tile. He grunts and brushes his soap covered fingers across your cheeks. “Did you bite your lip?”

“Yeah.”

“...Was that because of me?”

You whimper weakly as he slowly, and very purposefully, traces the length of your bottom lip with his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of your blood. “Yeah.”

“That’s so fucking hot.”

He yanks you up off of your feet, making you squeak and hold in a nervous laugh. Your leg bumps the faucet handle, and the water turns ice cold just as Adrian scrambles to hook your legs around his waist.

“Shit.” Adrian hisses and smacks the wall beside your hip once or twice before he finds the faucet, because he doesn’t stop kissing you. He’s sloppy and rushed and overexcited, but at least he gets the water running warm against as he presses you up against the wall. “I’ve never done this here, have you?”

“Shower sex? No.” You bite his lip as he hitches you up by the back of your thighs, and he groans as his hips jerk up toward yours. “But I think you’re doing a good job.”

“Wait, fuck. Do we need, like, a condom…?” He blinks at you with a glassy look in his eyes.

“IUD. I have- it’s all good, you’re fine.” You knock your head back against the wall with a whimper high in your throat as he brushes his cock against your entrance. You can feel the world spinning as you tangle your fingers in his wet hair, giving it a small but sharp tug. “Now, if you don’t fuck me I’m gonna-”

You choke when he drives the full length of his cock into you, pushing your hips back against the wall. Your nails scratch down his neck and across his shoulder blades as he splits you open, your legs tightening around his waist while simultaneously trying to spread wider to accommodate him. Adrian spits a curse into your neck, his teeth grazing a vein there as he ruts up into you, filling you so completely that a cry dies in your throat.

“God, fuck, Adrian,” you sob toward the ceiling, only too aware of him moaning loudly against your skin. He feels better than you had imagined, stretching you out so perfectly that your toes curl as you try your hardest to draw him forward with your legs alone.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” you catch him whispering into the crook of your neck, just barely audible over the trickle of water over your head.

He doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he starts pistoning his hips into yours, jolting you up the wall. Your skin squeaks against the wet tile, and his grunts echo in the curve of your neck. Tears might actually be streaming down your face, but you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the warm water coming from the showerhead.

Adrian’s hand comes up to brace against the wall beside your head, and he surprises you. “You really think I’m pretty?” He asks with such a genuine note of hope in his voice that you think he must be serious.

“I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” you breathe, whining when he nips at your jaw with his teeth. You interrupt your train of thought with a series of hoarse cries, because Adrian picks up the pace with less precision, and more just forceful thrusts that drive all the way to the end of you and make you see stars, regardless.

“You’re the most perfect person in the world and I wish I could paint because the only thing I’d be painting is just you over and over and over-”

He’s blathering into your shoulder, his mouth brushing your skin as it moves and his hips slamming yours back against the wall hard enough that you’re definitely going to be feeling it in the morning. Every bit of desire you have for him surges up inside you like an inferno catching on, like every stroke he makes is stoking that fire within you.

“-so pretty everyone wants you I can’t believe you would let me touch you or even kiss you but you’re letting me do this to you and it’s all I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you-”

It occurs to you to tell him that you’d let him do anything he wants to you at this point, as long as he just doesn’t stop fucking you- but that’s yet another line you refuse to cross for the sake of self preservation. You’re already drunk, and confessing the true scope of your feelings to him in this state would just be a recipe for disaster.

Oh god, but he’s like a reckoning. You shake your head to compose yourself and scratch your nails along his neck before you take his face in your hands and draw him up to you. His pupils were already blown out, but you think they nearly eclipse his irises when his hips falter and he sucks in a sharp breath. His dark hair is thoroughly drenched, and water drips down his face in little rivulets that you trace with your fingers just before you draw him to your lips.

You feel his small moan vibrate on your lips, and that’s enough. Your legs spasm, and your orgasm suddenly snaps within you like a rubber band, every muscle in your core tightening down on his cock as you see a burst of white behind your closed eyelids. It snuck up on you just as much as it did him.

“Holy fuck-” Adrian loudly gasps against your lips with a startled jolt of his hips, his full weight crushing you up against the wall. His nose nuzzles yours, so intimate in a way that you hadn’t expected from him, and with a few shuddering huffs of breath you feel him come with a rush of warmth deep inside you.

You’re floating somewhere above awareness when he slouches forward, his forehead resting against yours and his eyes closed as he takes deep, steadying breaths. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s just holding you, with his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s just trying to ground himself in your body.

You raise a shaking hand to smooth his wet hair back from his face. “Earth to Adrian. You still with me, babe?”

He grumbles something entirely non-coherent directly in front of your face, and blinks his eyes groggily open at you.

“The alcohol’s catching up with you, huh?”

He nods.

“Guess I’m washing your back, anyways. C’mon.” You wiggle out of his grip, and you’re only too thankful that you’re smushed up against the shower wall, or else you may have easily slipped and ate shit on the tile. The alcohol is fucking with your head quite a bit now, too, and your movements are a little jerky and uncoordinated as you try to help him get cleaned up.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet. The rest of the shower takes place in complete silence, actually, with the exception of the little grunt he makes when you urge him to bend down so you can get his hair for him. You catch him looking a little dazed as you turn off the water, and he gives you an unfocused stare when you toss a towel at him. You wonder if you actually succeeded in frying the guy’s brains just by fucking him.

But then, back in the room as you clumsily dig through your bag to pull out a night shirt and a pair of underwear, Adrian shuffles directly to his bed and tosses his towel aside before clambouring into it, bare ass to the wind. He flops down face first, and shoves his feet under the turned down comforter.

“Adrian… what are you doing?” You say for what feels like the millionth time this evening.

“‘M going to bed,” he drawls into the pillow. His entire body shakes as he hiccups, and then turns his head to the side to look up at you with his big green doe-eyes that make your heart do a somersault in your ribcage. “You should tooootally join me. There’s-” hiccup- “lotsa room. We could go again.”

You blink at him as you semi-stagger, semi-walk toward the bed, stooping to pick up pieces of his uniform strewn across the floor as he had, presumably, just ripped everything off as he made his way to the bathroom. “Mm, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Uh, you said it was a great idea,” he argues as you toss his clothes into a pile at the end of the bed.

“That was before the whisky kicked in and we were both staggering… fuckin… drunk-” you accidentally whack your foot against the corner of the bed and bite your lip as you fight not to crumble to the floor. “One of us has to be responsible.”

“I’m-” hiccup- “responstable.”

“Uh-huh.” You stop as your eyes land on the mostly empty Jim Beam bottle on the bedside table. You’re almost positive it had been at least quarter full when you left him to go take a shower. “Adrian, did you drink all that?”

He blinks his eyes open and follows your pointing finger to the bottle. “Oh, yeah. Hhhuuuhh… had to… I lost the cap so we can’t keep it.” When you march forward to snatch it off the table, he grunts dismissively. “Gotta… get rid of it.”

“Guess that’s why you’re worse off than me.” You shake your head and drop the entire bottle into the trash bin. “Aren’t you gonna put something on to sleep in?”

“I don’t have anything.”

You snap your head towards his sprawling, naked form. Your eyes linger on his ass for way too long. “You didn’t bring a single thing to wear?”

“Why… why would I bring a change of clothes to kill bad guys?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! Anonymity!”

He grumbles into the pillow, “I have a mask.”

“Fuck the mask. You can’t sleep in the mask.”

“Sure I can. I fuck in the mask, I can sleep in it. S’a free country.”

You blink, your eyes flicking between Adrian and the mask on the table. “Dude, you fuck in that thing?”

“Hell yeah I do. I could fuck you in the mask. Could do it right now. Go get the mask.” Despite the conviction of his words, he’s slurring them, and his face is still pressed into his pillow as he lies motionless on the bed.

“I… don’t think that’s gonna happen tonight.” You sigh as you toe forward and grab the end of his comforter, drawing it up over his body. “We’re both way too drunk. We probably… probably shouldn’t have…”

Adrian flops over to look up at you as you, essentially, tuck him in. There’s a note of hurt in his voice when he mumbles, “You regret it?”

You pause, staring down at his expression of confusion and betrayal. Do you regret it? You can’t deny that you hadn’t been hesitant to have sex with him for a litany of reasons- one being that you work with him, and another being that he’s a loose cannon on the best of days. Not exactly relationship material, you think.

Or, you thought, but now he’s gazing up at you with these wide, dumbfounded eyes, and you’re tucking the comforter up beneath his chin, and he turns his face down and kisses your knuckle even though he looks mildly hurt. And yes, you liked the sex very much. You liked it so much that you can’t trust yourself not to do it again if you don’t shuffle off to your own bed immediately.

“No,” you tell him firmly, combing your fingers through his wet hair as you draw back. “I don’t regret it, but I think we both need to sleep this off.”

“Okay,” Adrian says quietly, his expression relaxing, but his arms come out from under the comforter and he reaches for you with grabby-hands. “Sleep with me?”

You catch one of his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “G’night, Adrian.”

You hear him sigh in disappointment when you shut off the bedside lamp. His hands audibly plop down onto the mattress as he rasps, “Night.”

You wake from a dreamless sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, and your throat is bone dry. Smacking at the nightstand a couple times, your phone manages to illuminate and tell you that the time is only 1:30.

You blink sleep away from your eyes and try to see through the dark as you stumble into the combination vanity, closet, and kitchenette. You knew you brought a water bottle or two, it can’t be that hard to find-

“Hey, what’cha doing?”

You hardly even startle at this point. You’re slowly becoming acclimated to the idea that Adrian is just constantly awake and witness to your every move, which isn’t as disconcerting to you as one might think. “I’m looking for the water. Did you see where I put it?”

“Uhhhhh mini-fridge?”

You reach blindly under the counter and yank the little fridge open, once again smacking around until your hand lands on the shape of a water bottle. “You want some?”

“Yeah, you could spit it into my open mouth-”

“Adrian.”

“What? It would be fucking sexy.” Adrian grunts, and the light clicks on from the main room. Then, he wolf-whistles just before you straighten up from where he’d caught you, bent over in front of the fridge. “Y’know, I was right. You have a really great ass.”

You grumble a half-hearted thanks under your breath as you approach his bedside and thrust a water bottle at him. “I see you’ve sobered up a bit.”

He waves a hand at you dismissively. “Pshh, I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You were drooling all over your pillow.”

“Maybe I always do that.”

“Yeah, okay.” There’s a long pause, wherein you perch on the edge of your mattress and chug an obscene amount of water. Adrian watches your throat work until he, too, succumbs and lifts his bottle to his lips.

An uncomfortably heavy silence settles between you two, only permeated by the quiet sipping of water and the cheap motel AC unit kicking in. It’s entirely unlike him to be silent and still for more than a couple of seconds, but he’s just sitting there looking despondent and running a hand back and forth over the white comforter, periodically lifting his bottle to take another drink. He doesn’t even really look tired, and you wonder if he ever got to sleep in the first place.

You know that the tension in the air is so thick because you have yet to address the giant fucking elephant in the room; and to address it is to have the most awkward and intimate conversation you can possibly imagine with Adrian, of all people. As much as you love his sense of humor, the idea of baring your soul to him is almost enough to have you running into the bathroom again, and locking the damn door this time.

But, in true Adrian fashion (because damn it all to hell if he ever lets something be), he beats you to the punch. “So, are you? Sober now, I mean.”

You chew your lip again, and reopen the gash you’d put there before. “Yeah. I am.”

He nods, pursing his lips as he looks down at his lap. He was right, his hair does dry… well, not weird, but just rather unruly if he goes to bed with it wet. Dark curls stick up at odd angles, a cowlick on the back of his crown standing straight up and begging you to come over and smooth it down. More curls fall across his forehead and nearly touch the top of his glasses. He blinks slowly, and severe shadows from his lashes cross his face in the golden light of the bedside lamp. You snap your gaze away, cheeks the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“So… was that a lie? About just needing to sober up?”

Your thumbs twitch on your bottle. To tell the truth, or to lie? You feel like your mouth just stays dry, no matter how much water you drink. “Look, Adrian, I-”

“Also, I have, like, no pride and a ridiculously thick skull, or- or whatever Peacemaker calls it. So, you don’t have to beat around the bush or anything for my sake, you probably won’t even hurt me-”

“Adrian, I like you too fucking much, don’t you get it?”

That fully shuts him up, and he locks his jaw as he fixes you with a startled look. You suck your bottom lip through your teeth, perturbed at the taste of blood still apparent on it, and dig your heels into the carpet.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You’re… one of my closest friends, all right? But I’m afraid that if we keep going like this, I’m not going to want to be friends anymore. And I think I’ll fall in love with you really quickly, and that might be a really bad idea for both of us. You just…” You shake your head, your voice dipping in volume as you stare bashfully down at your feet, “you have no clue how much I want you all the time, baby.”

“Why would it be a bad idea?” he asks you plainly.

“What?” You pick your eyes up off the floor to squint at him, finding him staring at you challengingly, a flush already on his cheeks.

“I mean, honestly. Name a single reason why it would be a bad idea. Bet’cha can’t.” Adrian throws his empty water bottle across the room, and it makes a gentle tap against the side of the television before skittering to the floor. “I think we’d fuck like rabbits and then I’d wake up every morning and make you pancakes, because I’m really fucking good at those, but you’d have to make the eggs because I always burn them. And I think we’d kick ass together as a cool superhero power couple, and I’d carry your gun for you if you got tired, and I could show you where all my hidden knives are. And you could also do anything you wanted to me, like any time, and I’d be totally fine with it and probably also turned on by it, as long as you call me baby like you just did.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m super hard right now. Probably should’ve warned you, I have a thing about that-”

“No, smartass, I mean are you serious about the other stuff?” You tilt your head at him. “I never really took you for the domestic sort.”

“Tsch- yeah! I’m, like, super domestic. I’m like one of those domestic...ated... cats?” He trails off as you step forward and crawl onto his bed, up his legs to straddle his lap.

“Cats?” you repeat with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m… I…” Adrian’s eyes flick across your face, down to your shirt and bare thighs on either side of his, your knees pressing the comforter taut across his lap and (very prominent) erection. “I don’t know, I have trouble thinking when you’re on top of me-”

Nodding, you reach forward and take his glasses by the wire earpieces, and pull them from his face. He goes stock still, his lips parted in awe as you slide them onto your own face, and give him a sweet smile. “I like your glasses. They look good on you.”

“They look good on you.” His voice cracks. “Can you see in them?”

You blink at him, and then turn your head to look across the room. “A lot better than I thought I would. I think our prescriptions are similar.”

“That means you can also wear my mask.”

You look back at him, and find that he has his million-mile stare on, like he’s completely lost in thought. You smirk. “Do you want me to wear the mask?”

He blinks, and it’s like you’ve flipped a switch and turned his focus back on. “Uh… no. I mean, yes. Maybe later. I want to look at you.” His eyelashes flutter so fast you think he might take flight for a second. “You’re so fucking beautiful I could stare at you all day.”

“You can touch me, too. Don’t be shy.”

He practically vibrates with anticipation as his palms glide up your thighs, hot and big and just a bit rough. His eyes are everywhere at once; your lips, your eyes, your chest, your thighs, where your hips disappear under your oversized shirt. His fingers catch the hem, and he curls it between them.

“You should totally get naked, too. It’s super unfair that I’m the only one naked right now,” he says breathlessly, nodding the whole time like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“So, do it.” You shrug, trailing a finger up his chest. “Take it off, baby.”

Adrian fists the hem of your shirt and rips it in half up the middle with a loud tear. You gasp, shivering as the garment falls from your shoulders and leaves you in just your panties. “Adrian!”

His eyes are trained on your tits. “What? It’s not like you need it tonight, anyways, and tomorrow we’ll be home…”

“What if that was my only shirt?” you retort.

He looks up at you. “Was it?”

“Well, no-”

“Then there’s your answer. Now, can I go down on you? Because I’ve wanted to for a really long time and I think it’s super hot that you’re wearing my glasses so it’s like I’m watching myself eat your pussy.”

He has such a hopeful expression on his face that you have to hold in a manic string of laughter as you nod at him. “Yeah, sure. Are you going to tear up my underwear, too?”

“No, I wanna keep those.”

“That makes perfect sense.” You shake your head before you kiss him deeply, and his tongue dips into your mouth as he rolls over with you, briefly getting tangled in the sheets before he roughly kicks them off.

You run your fingers through his hair, snickering as he climbs between your legs and his hands deftly tug your panties down your legs. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on how incriminating it is.”

“I’ve never come from someone eating me out before,” you admit quietly, a blush furiously heating your cheeks until you fear that if you touch your face you might burn yourself.

Adrian fixes you with a deadpan stare, and a slew of emotions cross his face before he lands on something relatively serene and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods and grins, like this is the most casual conversation in the world, and his green eyes bore into yours. “Yeah. You should probably, uh… hold on, though.”

You frown in confusion. “To what?”

He rocks back on his knees, picking up your arms by the wrists, and he very simply places your hands on his head, with a little smile that conveys, ‘it’s no big deal,’ but the tenderness with which he does it sends another message, altogether. Your fingers weave between soft, unruly curls, your fingernails digging in just a bit when he lowers himself down between your thighs, and you come to the conclusion that this is just how he is. Tenderness, closeness, hidden behind casual sighs and dismissive shrugs.

You’re learning. Slowly.

His breath finds you before his lips do, where you’re wet and swollen and slippery like you haven’t been touched in your fucking life. But he has once already, and still his mouth feels like a searing hot brand between your legs. In fact, you nearly jump out of your skin at the first brush of his tongue through your folds, your hands tightening on his hair and tugging as you buck your hips up against him.

Adrian grasps your hips and slams them down against the mattress. Sometimes you forget how fucking strong he is. His slight frame really doesn’t give justice to the force behind those lean muscles, because he holds you in an iron grip that you can hardly wiggle out of. It makes you feel small, in a way, that he holds you hostage to his tongue and won’t let you move away from or towards him.

A long, miserable whine rips out of your lips before you can stop it, and you could blush at how pathetic it sounds, except that Adrian mimics it with a groan against your cunt. Your head is flung back against the pillows, but when you just barely tilt up to glance down at him, you find his green eyes trained directly on you. They start off wide as moons, and then narrow like he’s challenging you to look away as he drags the flat expanse of his tongue slowly over your clit, curling the tip just as it skims the mark.

“Oh, fuck you, Adrian, you’re so fucking good,” you grit out through clenched teeth. Your nails dig into his scalp and he shudders, briefly nuzzling his head up into your touch before he dips down to give you his tongue again. Your breath hitches, and your eyes flutter shut when he sucks on your clit long and hard. “So… s-so good… good boy…”

The moan that Adrian makes is overtly pornographic, and his hips snap once against the mattress so hard that the bed shakes beneath you. He breaks away from you to rest his forehead against your thigh, squeezing your hips tightly in his hold as his hot breath billows across your sweat-damp skin.

You loosen your fingers in his hair to stroke it softly, subconsciously struggling to flatten the cowlick at the back that you’d noticed earlier. Adrian’s eyes are squeezed shut, his shoulders heaving while he tries to steady his breath through his nose. “Did you just come?”

The tips of Adrian’s ears glow pink. He gives you a little nod and then a feeble, “Couldn’t help it.”

So, he can’t just take his praise in stride, he has to react to it with fervor. “That’s really sexy of you,” you blurt out, your voice ragged and just this side of adoring.

He returns with a quiet mmm, rumbling across your skin as he drags his open mouth along the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his eyes drowsily shut. It takes him another moment to catch his breath, but once he does, he’s right back at it again. Dipping his head down and absolutely going for it with no signs of letting up, and you have to suck in a deep stream of air and scramble for a hold on him somehow.

“Oh- oh my fuckin-g god-” your voice comes out without thinking, wrung thin and anguished, as your foot plants itself in his shoulder. Adrian simply grunts, paying no mind to the fact that you’re effectively kicking the living shit out of him as he sucks so hard on your clit that you threaten to break his vise-hold on your hips.

He was right that you needed something to hold onto, because you feel like you might leave the ground. He works at you relentlessly, devouring you with his lips and tongue and teeth like he can’t get enough of you, his fingertips pressing so hard into your hips that his nails are turning stark white.

“Fuck, you’re so squirmy,” Adrian groans when he pulls away from you for half a second, and struggles to hold you down when you try to chase his mouth. “Should I tie you down?”

“Do you have anything to tie me down with?” you mutter breathlessly toward the ceiling.

A beat. “Nope. Stay still.”

You fight not to jolt as the next touch of his mouth on you. He dips his tongue into your channel, seemingly trying to draw your arousal out of you that way. You start whining when he finally nuzzles his way back up, giving you soft, teasing licks to your clit that edge you closer and closer to the release of the swell of heat you feel building in your core. Your volume turns up a notch when his tongue starts drawing little circles around the swollen flesh.

And when his lips come down to latch onto it and gently suck, you know you’re just shy of howling. His soft groans vibrate onto your skin as you scratch at his head and pull on his hair, and you eventually find yourself babbling, “Adrian, please, I’m gonna come, please pleasepleaseplease-”

He sucks harder, moaning like it turns him on just to hear you say it. You heave a few rapid breaths, and then come against his face with a cry that crackles and breaks in your throat as your head arches back, baring your neck forward. Your heels digging into his back, hands scratching, hips flailing like you can somehow escape the barrage of hypersensitivity he’s putting you through.

You really fucking hope no one is in the room next to yours.

His fingertips stick to your skin once he releases his grip on you. He’s practically glowing, grinning from ear to ear at you from between your legs, and it’s a better image than you had imagined.

You drop your head back with a breathless chuckle. “Okay, Mr. ‘I Have No Pride.’”

“I made you come,” he chirps happily.

“Yeah, you did. It was really good, too.”

“So, why didn’t anyone else?” Adrian pushes his head toward your touch when you stroke your hand gently through his hair.

“I dunno. They weren’t applying themselves, I guess.”

“That’s stupid. You’re, like, the hottest person ever. Hotter than Doja Cat,” he grumbles petulantly, and you can tell by the look in his eye that he’s dead serious. “Want me to kill them? I should kill them.”

“No.” You trail your fingers down the curve of his face, going for his chin, but he turns his face and sucks your two fingers into his mouth before you can manage it. You stop dead as the pad of his tongue swirls around the digits, and he blinks up at you innocently, despite the lewd connotations of the act. “N-no, I… hhhhh… you’re distracting me.”

He bats his eyes at you, and he slowly pulls back along your fingers until they pop out of his mouth, covered in saliva. “How am I distracting you?”

“You’re- you… you little shit.” You grab him by the chin and draw him up from between your legs. He clumsily crawls up the length of your torso with his cheeks smushed between your fingers as you hiss, “I’m going to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, I swear to god.”

“You know, that sounds slightly menacing when you say it like that,” he slurs, his jaw working against your hold.

“On your back, Chase.”

He grabs you before you can protest, and rolls back over so that you plop down on top of him, your hand still jammed up against his jaw. A blast of air comes out of your lungs in lieu of laughter, and Adrian snorts, shuffling his hips so that he moves back against the pillows.

“Okay, look, I really really really like you,” he says as you pick yourself up, straddling his lap, “but if you’re too good at this I might accidentally fall in love with you. Just to let you know what you’re getting into here.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, and I think I might actually, um, ask you to move in with me, like, immediately. Like tomorrow. Do you rent or own? Doesn’t matter, I can put your name on the lease. Maybe if you own a house it can be income property-”

You cast your eyes down and find him, remarkably, hard and leaking precum as he continues babbling about living situations. You tilt your head, letting him get his stream of consciousness out there in the open, as your eyes catch on a dark wad of fabric beside his pillow. Your underwear, which he’d gingerly set aside instead of tossing across the room like you thought he would.

“Hm, Adrian?”

He blinks up at you, his eyes wide and dilated. “Yeah?”

You pick up the wadded up underwear. “You wanted to keep these, right?”

He licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”

“Hold them for me, then.” You grab his jaw and stuff them in his mouth, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he makes a noise of protest, but then actually moans when, presumably, he tastes you on them. “You’re so fucking cute, I haven’t even tied you up. You just want my taste in your mouth, huh?” He nods. “Yeah. Pretty boy.”

He predictably moans again, his hands grasping at every part of you they can reach; your arms, your breasts, the expanse of his palms gliding down the curve of your waist and settling on your thighs. You grab one, lifting it and settling his palm against your throat.

“Hold this for me, too?” You ask him sweetly, giving his bewildered expression a devilish smirk in return. You rock forward, sliding your dripping pussy along his erection, and his hand tightens on your throat just a bit. “That’s it.”

You pick your hips up, reaching between your legs to position him where you want him, and when you sink down onto his cock, the underwear in his mouth does nothing to muffle the obscene groan that he makes. His hand flexes on your throat, and his eyes close and open a few times as he tries to maintain a certain amount of control. Something tells you that he’s not really used to taking it lying down.

You’re already decently sore from the way he effectively fucked your brains out in the shower. This is just ensuring that you’re going to be feeling it for the rest of the week, but you can’t help yourself. You take him in all the way, making agonized noises the entire time, and then jolt your hips down a little more so you can feel him bottom out.

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re something else,” you snarl down at him, and his eyes go wide again as you squeeze him, every bit of your aching strength bearing down onto his cock until he whines loudly through the fabric and his fingers tighten on the sides of your throat. “Oh, god, I could ruin you. You could ruin me. I want you to, it would be so easy for you, I wouldn’t even be able to walk in the morning.”

And you’re moving, picking up your hips and letting them fall back down in slow, deep strokes that have him writhing, his free hand in a death grip on your thigh. You raise your hand to press against the back of his on your throat, your fingers weaving in between his, and he flexes them back a bit to make room.

Even when he’s gagged, he’s noisy. Keening and grunting at you, his jaw tightening every once in a while and the tendons of his neck jumping out at you when your hips meet his. Dark curls hang down his forehead, damp with sweat, and you can’t help but feel like the shower was useless.

No, not useless. It brought you here.

Adrian bucks his hips up suddenly, meeting you halfway when you take a particularly long time on the downstroke. You gasp, tightening your hand on his, and your nails dig into his chest.

“Oh, you want me to ruin you, don’t you?” You murmur at him, baiting him to do it again. And he does, just like you hoped he would. You pick up the pace in retaliation, letting the lewd sounds of your skin hitting his fill the room. “Silly boy, I knew you would.”

He whimpers, blinking up at you slowly, his face screwing up and tightening in earnest when you rake your nails up and down his chest. He makes a couple pathetic, weak groans in the back of his throat like he wants to convey something to you, but he’s not reaching up to remove your underwear from his mouth.

(You wonder if he even remembers that he can.)

“You gonna come for me?” you ask as his whimpers increase in volume. His cock is so hard, twitching and dragging thick inside you, and his chest jumps with every desperate, ragged breath he takes. “Yeah, you are. Go on, baby, make a mess.”

Adrian gives you a curt shake of his head, and paws at your thigh for a second before his hand slides forward, and his thumb touches your clit.

“Oh fuck, Adrian-” you lurch forward, pressing your throat hard against his palm, your legs seizing up on either side of his hips. He makes you come again with a single fucking touch, and it burns through your core like fire, almost more satisfying than the first because you’re able to feel him inside you this time, something warm and hard and thick to come on.

Apparently, that was all he needed in order to let go. His back arches a bit as he jerks his hips up into yours, and he fills your pulsing cunt until his shallow breaths rattle in his throat, his eyes squeezed so tight that you see a tear collecting in the corner of one. He lays with his head driven back hard into the pillow, whimpering and whining like he’s been mortally wounded.

Too sore to move just yet, you pull his hand away from your throat and kiss his palm. Adrian’s eyes flutter open, and he finds you with a glazed-over stare, like he might either see you or see through you. Still letting out soft whimpers with each harsh exhale.

“Oh. Sweetheart,” you giggle, and reach forward to pull the wad of underwear from his mouth. It comes out with a long string of his spit attached to it, and you give him a cheeky smirk as you break the string with your finger and lick it off, rather than wiping it on your skin.

“You… you’re…” You swear his eyes nearly roll back in his skull before he closes them, trying to collect himself. He takes a deep, long breath, and then splutters, “Willyoumarrymeactually?”

You give him your biggest, goofiest grin, a little bubble of laughter wedging itself deep in your chest. “Get a little more whisky in me, and we’ll see what bright ideas I have then.”

“Okay.”

You lift yourself off of his softening cock, and the release comes with a dribble of his cum sliding down your thigh. He groans, but with one look at him you know that there’s not going to be any more action for the rest of the night.

You shift to the left, and his hand smacks down onto your thigh. “Mmmm no, you sleep with me.”

“Yeah, obviously. But you came all over the sheets earlier, genius.”

“Oh.”

He takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes in time to see you taking his glasses off. You blink a few times, your eyes having adjusted to the slight difference in your prescriptions, and refocus on his face to find him gazing up at you adoringly.

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you don’t sleep in these, too?” You wiggle the glasses at him.

He licks his lips. “No, not… not usually.”

You set the glasses on the bedside table, and then slowly slide off of him, off the bed and onto shaky legs. You take his hand and tug just a bit. “C’mon, pretty. Into my bed.”

He follows your lead without a fuss, making the two step journey to the other bed and plopping down face-first.

“D’you wanna get pancakes when we wake up?” he asks around a yawn as you nudge his ass, prodding him to scoot over.

You nod furiously, even though you know he can’t see you as you switch the light off and climb in beside him, curling up against his warm back. “Pancakes sound fucking delicious.”

“Not as delicious as your pus-”

“Adrian.”

Tags

adrian chase adrian chase x reader vigilante x reader adrian chase fanfiction I am a whore

2K notes View Post

cherrywineisawaltz

1 year ago

NO CAUSE THIS EAAATTSS

Dreaming of You

Summary: Plagued by graphic dreams about the Munson boy, you decided to see if he can make them come true.

Word count: 10.3k

What to expect: Virgin!Eddie Munson. Smut/Lemon. (-18 kindly dni)

A/N: This was supposed to be something short, hot, and fun, but somehow turned into a therapy session. So this is for all my girlies who have suffered bad sex, been robbed of their O's, and made to feel like pleasing them was too much work. I’m very much a long fic kind of gal, so this is a bit of a different speed for me. Let me know if you enjoyed it!

Yes, that is a Selena song title.

It started with a dream where Eddie The Freak Munson made an appearance. You knew who he was. Everyone did. But you never paid him more than a glance or two until your unconscious mind conjured up a peculiar image of his face buried between your legs on top of O’Donell’s desk. At first you couldn’t quite place who it was until he withdrew from you. Even in sleep, you were lucid enough to be shocked that the freak was the one to turn your legs to jelly. He interrupted your thoughts by commanding you to roll on your belly and stick your ass in the air so he could fuck you full right in the middle of the empty math classroom.

After waking up with a sticky situation to remedy, you started to pay more attention to him. Eddie Munson was no longer a loud extra in the backdrop of your day to day life.

Now that he was on your radar, you could spot him anywhere. He towered over almost everyone. Was he always so tall? And kind of built in a scrappy sort of way? You saw him without his jacket once and had the sudden urge to just run your hands up his shirt and feel his lithe abdomen. Maybe even lightly scrape your nails down it just to see the red marks left behind.

Your ogling led to the discovery that he had really nice hands. Even if they were covered with an excessive amount of silver rings that directed the reflection of sunlight from the window into your eyes if you looked his way too long. You wondered if the cheap faux silver turned his thick fingers green, but then forgot to care once you started to wonder what else those fingers could do--if the stretch of them would feel just as good as you dreamt.

You also noticed that he stuck his tongue out a lot. It was like he knew what you dreamt about and was intentionally tormenting you. When he was antagonizing Jason in the cafeteria, you nearly fainted at the sight—tongue so long it nearly reached the bottom of his chin. It didn’t take long for you to imagine yourself sitting on his face, writhing on the wet, flat muscle and thinking about how his nose would probably bump in just the right spot. How you’d love to thread your fingers through the hair at the crown of his head and--

A curiosity soon turned into an obsession. Morning, noon, and night your thoughts were flooded with the boy in the leather jacket. You couldn’t escape him even in your dreams.

You had to have him.

Many hours of the school day were dedicated to coming up with a plan on how to get his attention, but it was more difficult than you hoped. He was always surrounded by people and looked as if he were in the middle of a tirade, which judging by his outburst in the cafeteria—he probably was. Waiting for him to be isolated wasn’t yielding any results, but the thought of going up to him when he was in a group of boys who looked less than welcoming wasn’t what you wanted either.

There was a possibility that Eddie would laugh at you. Turn you into a spectacle and belittle you for asking him out. He was loud, opinionated, boisterous, and quite abrasive if the wrong person approached him. You hoped he wouldn’t do that to you, but you didn’t know him well enough to say for sure.

But then he appeared in another dream that caused a yearning so severe that you decided to risk it all.

He was easy to find in the parking lot after school. As usual, he had some of his friends orbiting around him, though it only seemed to be a few of the younger ones that looked less intimidating than his normal posse. Taking a deep breath to gather your wits, you approached Eddie Munson.

Or at least tried to. The Super senior paid you no mind as you stood beside him. He continued to address the small ring in front of him, not noticing that they were staring at you with open mouths and wide eyes instead of listening to him.

“--You can beg all you like, Wheeler, but the answer is no. Why don’t you ask your buddy ol pal Harrington to get it--what are you all looking at?” Eddie turned to follow their gaze. His face shifted from mild annoyance to confusion as he stared at you.

Losing a bit of your nerve at the way his brown eyes bore into you, you faltered. “H-hey, Eddie.”

His brow furrowed in further uncertainty. “Hi?”

You couldn’t blame him for being uneasy at your sudden attempt at contact, having ignored him for the years you’d been in school together. But it made you second guess yourself all the same. Perhaps the Eddie in your dreams should be the one you focused on.

The thought of Dream Eddie brought on a searing heat that warned your neck and face. If there was even a chance that Eddie in the real world could have the same effect on you that Dream Eddie did, you had to go for it.

Regaining your confidence, you put on a sly smile. “Are you busy tonight?”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you and tilted his head. “Why?”

Feigning innocence, you shrugged meekly. “Why don’t you invite me over and find out.”

After a few more beats of confusion, something seemed to click in Eddie’s brain as you visibly watched his suspicion turn to understanding. He nodded and snapped his fingers before pointing it at you like a gun. “Right. Forest Hills at nine o’clock?”

All the tension you were carrying in your shoulders melted away. Smiling brightly, you agreed.

——

Nine o’clock seemed to take forever. You spent the time at home pulling out all the stops to make sure that you were ready and presentable. Using the best smelling shampoo and body wash, taking the time to contort in the tub for optimal body hair removal—no matter how much you hated shaving—teeth and tongue scraped to gleam, perfumed body lotion, the only lacy set of bra and panties you owned, and just a small amount of makeup to keep everything smooth.

It had been a while since you had sex, giving up on high school boys completely. The few experiences you had were less than satisfactory, so you decided that getting yourself off was much less of a hassle than dealing with the idiots at school.

Like many of the girls at Hawkins high, you had given your virginity to Steve Harrington. He was sweet, gentle, and took his time opening you up with his fingers before pushing in to you. It was arguably the best night of your life. An orgasm that was provided by someone other than yourself, the giggling, nose kisses, and night full of whispers made you think you were right to choose Steve for your first time. However, as soon as the sun came up, he forgot all about you and moved on to his next conquest.

Things only went downhill from there.

You could feel bile rising in your throat from remembering the way Tommy H flopped around on top of you like he was having a seizure. With all his talk about how great he was in the sack, you were severely disappointed. You couldn’t wait for it to be over with so you could go home and take care of yourself properly. Thankfully, in less than three minutes your prayer was answered.

Then there was Billy Hargrove. He knew how to use his cock, but he was a selfish lover. He didn’t take the time to make sure you were satisfied, and once he was done, that was it. You were to shut up and leave. He made you cum on occasion, but it turned into a bizarre fight because you didn’t ask his permission to do so. You weren’t desperate enough to beg for anything, and for Billy to expect you to beg him to cum when you could achieve it without him…well. Let’s just say you didn’t go back when he brought it up again.

Steve was great but used you. Tommy was terrible and had bad breath. Billy was capable of satisfying you but chose not to. You hoped Eddie would be different.

In your dreams, his attitude varied. Sometimes it was hot and rough, other times it was slow and sensual, and sometimes it was just him worshiping you with words.

As much as you wanted that to be the truth, you were afraid that Eddie in the flesh would disappoint you. Just like the others.

But you tried not to think about it. Instead, you focused on recreating the images your imagination conjured up both in sleep and waking hours. Recalling the way his lips felt on yours. The sting of your scalp when he pulled your hair. The sweet words he’d coo after he made you see stars.

The permanent ache in your belly only intensified the longer you dwelled on your past visions. Before you were even at his place your body was scorching from the inside out, cunt drenched and throbbing, and breathing erratic.

Arousal quickly faded into nervousness as you parked your car next to the familiar van, but you tried to bully it back by taking a few calming breaths before going for gold and knocking on the door.

All that could be heard from the other side was various banging and swearing before the door launched open to reveal Eddie looking quite frazzled.

He held up a few crushed beer cans in his hand and gave a weak smile. “Sorry. Was trying to clean up a bit. Maid took the week off.”

You gave him a small smile. “That’s okay. Can I come in?”

Eddie moved out of the way and bowed low at the waist. “Of course. Castle Munson is yours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that display as you walked past him. You’d seen him bow his head to girls at school who either ignored his existence completely or scowled at him, but to be on the receiving end of his chivalry was cute.

His castle was anything but. The trailer was small, very cluttered, and was certainly the home to chain smokers as every countertop had a full ashtray on it. Still, it was oddly comforting with the soft glow of the living room lamp, the rows and rows of mugs lining the walls and the collection of baseball caps to compliment them.

You followed him into the tiny kitchen area. “Do you live here alone?” you asked curiously, taking a closer look at the Garfield mug on the counter.

“Uh--no,” Eddie answered, stuffing his hand in the full trash can to stop the pile from overflowing. “My uncle lives here too but he works overnight at the plant.”

Your heart soared at the idea of having the place to yourself for the evening. “So no one will be home tonight?”

“Nope,” he answered, turning his attention to the fridge. “Can I get you a water? Or beer? I think I have some Kool-aid in here if you want that.”

You shook your head, forgetting he couldn’t see you with his face in the depths of the fridge. Perhaps beer would be a good idea to calm your nerves a bit, but then again, you didn’t want to have horrid breath for this.

“No. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Right,” Eddie mumbled. He withdrew from the fridge and clapped his hands together. “So. What can I get you? I’m out of shrooms, but I have a couple of tabs and some weed.”

“Huh?” you questioned, staring at him with confusion.

Eddie looked equally unsure. “That’s what you’re here for, right? Weed?”

You clenched your eyes shut when you realized what he meant. He didn’t exactly pick up what you were putting down earlier.

Maybe it would be better to accept a beer and a joint. Perhaps get to know him better before pouncing on him like a lioness in heat. But the yearning in the core of your belly wasn’t willing to wait.

“Um, no,” you answered awkwardly. You let out a sharp exhale before looking at him again. “I’m here for you.”

He raised his brows. “Me?”

Was there a way to convey this without sounding like a whore? How were you supposed to tell him you wanted to fuck when clearly the thought never crossed his mind?

You supposed you could show him. You took a few steps to close the distance between you, inhaling the scent of him. True, the smell of cigarettes and weed clung to him, but so did the aroma of Old Spice, cologne, and something you could only describe as man. And boy was it intoxicating in the most alluring way to breathe in.

You placed your hands on his leather clad biceps--which were almost heaven to finally touch after weeks of staring--and stood atop the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Grabbing you by the elbows, he gently pushed you back far enough to be able to look at you.

“Hey, if you don’t have any money, it’s fine. I can just smoke you out,” he frowned. “You don’t have to do any of that.”

No wonder it took him three tries to pass senior year. The guy was really dense. What was it going to take for him to realize you were here to get your back blown out?

Huffing with mild irritation, you leaned away from him and seized the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it carelessly elsewhere.

Eddie’s brown eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as they stared at your lace covered tits. If you weren’t so turned on, you would have laughed at the way his mouth hung open--face frozen in shock. It didn’t even look like he was blinking. Or even breathing for that matter.

“I told you. I came here for you.”

Taking his stunned silence as an opportunity, you crowded his space once again and finally got to live out one of your fantasies: pushing your hands beneath his shirt and feeling the muscles of his abdomen. There were some there, but there was also a little bit of pudge too right at his navel. Lightly gliding your hands upward towards his chest, you leaned to place a small kiss on the side of his throat.

“I’ve had dreams about you,” you said in the best seductive tone you could muster, placing another kiss just a few inches higher on his neck.

His Adam's apple bobbed beneath your lips. “Hua-uhh,” Eddie stammered. “What kind of dreams?”

You smiled to yourself at the crack in his voice. “Oh, I think you know what kind.” You pressed your body flush against his, relishing in the warmth of him and internally cheering at the stiff bulge pressed against your stomach.

Eddie chuckled nervously, his voice much higher than before. “Y-yeah I think I have an idea. Wha--” he cleared his throat in an effort to return his tone to a normal octave. “What happens in them?”

You slid your hands towards his belt loops, hooking your fingers in them and steering him the short way to the couch as you answered. “Which one do you wanna know about? There’s been quite a few. I could tell you about them or—“ you gently pushed off Eddie’s leather jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall before nudging him down onto the lumpy couch. “—I could show you.”

All the air in Eddie’s lungs came out in a huff when he collapsed onto the sofa. Wide eyed he asked, “Is this—is this really happening?”

Taking your time to settle on your knees between his legs, you outlined the tattoo on his forearm, having never noticed it there before. Eddie Munson just became ten times hotter.

“Really happening,” you smirked.

Eddie was nearly panting through his wide open mouth as he watched you undo his belt, button and zipper. The quiet gasps of “h-oh shit” that escaped him only made your confidence grow.

“Cute,” you teased, snapping the elastic waistband of his navy bullfrog boxers.

He may have said something about how they were his lucky pair, but you weren’t listening. The anatomy beneath them was what you were here for, and you couldn’t wait to see it. Wasting not another second, you instructed Eddie to lift his hips and yanked the heavy black denim and boxers to his knees.

Cock slapping against his belly, sticky drops dribbled from the head. Your mouth watered at the sight of it twitching against him in anticipation. It was all you could have hoped for. Thick, long, curved just a little to the right, and with a glistening pink tip—Eddie’s cock was gorgeous.

“Good for you, Munson,” you praised mischievously. It took no time wrapping your hand around the length of him. Heavy, silky smooth, and hot, you gave into the urge and licked a pressured stripe on the underside of his shaft, tracing the protruding vein.

The strangled chortle that emitted from the back of Eddie’s throat only fueled your desire. You could feel your own arousal pooling, more than likely already seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear with how worked up you made yourself earlier. Lifting yourself higher on your knees, you licked the slick slit and relished the salty taste of him before enveloping the entirety of the head with your lips.

Maybe it was weird to be so turned on when giving a blowjob—other girls talked about it like it was a chore and you hated having to do it to Billy. But feeling Eddie’s hairy thighs tremble under your palms, seeing his chest heave as breathy whimpers escaped him, watching his mouth hang open in disbelief with his cheeks sporting a ruddy complexion was enough to make your cunt throb.

Hollowing your cheeks, you lowered your mouth as far as you could without gagging, and pulled back up again to swirl your tongue around the mushroom tip with your fist following close behind.

Eddie huffed and puffed, trying to stutter out half syllables as he writhed in your grasp. Unsure of what to do with his hands, his fingers flexed against the cushions beneath them. He struggled to keep his eyes open—dark lashes fluttering against his pink cheeks with every stroke.

God he was beautiful like this. Why you never thought of him before was a true mystery. Lips pink and plump, strong nose, and eyelashes so long you’d kill for them. Now that you’d seen him blissed out from something you were doing for him—to him—you couldn’t imagine ever going back to ignoring him.

Drunk from the power you clearly had over him and determined to make a lasting impression so this could happen again, you bobbed your head lower and lower, relishing in the smooth glide of his cock against your tongue, opening the back of your throat to accommodate him until you were close enough to bury your nose against the thick dark curls at the base of him.

But Eddie was finally able to gasp out a single word. “S-Stop!”

All the confidence drained from you when you peered at him through your lashes. Eddie panted heavily with his brown eyes wide and glossy, looking as if her were about to cry.

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you frowned with his dick twitching against your chin. “Is it not good—?”

He quickly shook his head. “Too good. So good I’m gonna bust in two seconds if you don’t slow down,” he answered breathlessly. “Or if you keep looking at me like that. Jesus Christ.”

Your frown deepened at his words. Too busy worrying about your pleasure from devouring him, you didn’t give much thought about what he wanted from this, thinking getting blown was reward enough in itself.

Embarrassed by your selfishness, you decided to make it right.

Ignoring the popping in your knees, you lifted yourself from the carpet to straddle Eddie’s lap, taking extra care to press your clothed core right against his aching cock.

Up close like this you were able to admire his features. Trace his bottom lip with your thumb, the curve of his scratchy jaw. Memorize the pattern of light freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. You outlined that too with the pass of your fingertips, along with the ridge of his deep set Cupid’s bow.

“Sorry,” you said softly, gently swiping the curtain of black bangs to expose his pale forehead.

Eddie blinked. “Huh?”

“For being greedy,” you answered simply.

He chuckled weakly. The corner of his lip ticked in a sideways grin, allowing for a dimple to dent his cheek as you caressed it. “Promise it’s alright, Sweetheart. Just want it to last longer than ten seconds.”

You slowly rocked your hips, letting the sopping cotton of your underwear drag against the hard length pressing so deliciously against you. A sigh rushed out of his parted lips when you moved his hands from the couch cushions and slid them up your body until they rested against the curve of your lace covered breasts.

The audible gulp emitting from his throat made you giggle, but it quickly faded into silence when he kept his hands still. No kneading, squeezing, or massaging. You ceased the roll of your hips.

“You can touch me if you want,” you offered.

Eddie stared at his unmoving hands and licked his lips before his eyes flickered up to yours. “Can I kiss you?”

It was your turn to gape at him. It hadn’t occurred to you that you hadn’t even kissed him during your lust fueled frenzy. Granting permission with a wordless nod of your head, letting him initiate just as he asked.

From your observations of Eddie over the last few weeks, timid is not the word you would use to describe him. However, as his lips gently pressed against yours, that’s all you could think of.

The kiss wasn’t bad, it was just…slow. Gentle. Timid. He made no effort to deepen it--deciding that a few chicken pecks were satisfactory. Eddie also kept his hands frozen on your chest, much to your displeasure.

Trying to relay the urgency of your desire, you took over. Crashing your lips against his, you tried to set the pace. But Eddie couldn’t keep up. He was clumsy, had a little too much spit, and nearly jumped out of his skin when you slid the tip of your tongue against his.

Frustrated, you pulled away from him.

“Are you okay?” you snapped.

Eddie nodded vigorously. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

You didn’t want to crush his spirit and say it was disappointing, but you also wanted more. “You’re just--you’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”

His cheeks deepened into a harsh maroon. “I haven’t.”

Your hands dropped from his face as you stared at him incredulously. “Haven’t what?”

“This!” Eddie shrieked with frustration. He removed his hands from your tits to pull his boxers over his exposed dick. “I haven’t had a chick dream about me! Or storm into my house with her tits out! Or blow me! Or even--”

The realization hit you like a bag of bricks. Shocked, you blurted, “Oh, my god. You’re a virgin.”

Eddie seized his speech mid rant--mouth snapping shut like a gator’s.

This couldn’t be. Eddie? Eddie Munson? He’d been in high school forever and he never had a girlfriend? Not once? The guy who was like nineteen or twenty? Old enough to go to bars and clubs and--didn’t he play in a band? No girls hung around after the show to try and sleep with the band? Especially now that you’ve seen what he was hiding in those tight black jeans of his.

“How?” you gasped, completely by accident.

Frustrated and embarrassed, Eddie snapped. “It just never happened, okay? No one wants to fuck the freak! Except you, I guess,” he added hastily. “But I think I just ruined that.”

True, you never saw a girl hanging around Eddie at school, but you thought it was just because he was into girls outside of the high school scope. His own age, from bars, from people he knew from earlier years at Hawkins High. With how Eddie carried himself--so sure and in your face--the thought didn’t occur to you that he’d never done anything before.

Your shoulders sagged as the full weight of disappointment sank in. If Eddie was a virgin, he wouldn’t have any idea on how to give you what you wanted. Weeks of dreaming about him were just that--The opposite of reality. Fantasies. Falsehood. The type of rush and satisfaction you got from your dreams would not be received here today, and that was almost devastating. Despite his ignorance of the female body, he probably didn’t want you--someone who barely spoke to him before today--to be the one to champion his first time.

You also felt stupid. So fucking stupid for having built up this guy in your head, only to be so very wrong about him. For as big and bad as Eddie Munson tried to make himself, he was currently the epitome of one of Madonna’s greatest hits.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie grumbled bitterly. “Trust me, no one is more disappointed than I am about it.”

Swallowing harshly, you nodded and tried to smile the ache away. “It’s okay. I’m just surprised. But um--I should probably get going--”

Eddie’s face fell into panic. “No!” he shouted loudly, making you jump at the volume. “I mean--you don’t have to go. We can still do whatever you want. If you want.”

Did you still want to? There was the matter of the soreness in your belly that would only get worse the longer you were left unsatisfied, but you didn’t really have the patience for Eddie to try and figure out how to touch you.

You tried to play it off politely. “Don’t you want your first time to be with someone you care about? I wouldn’t want to take that from--”

“Take it!” Eddie interrupted. “Swear, you’ll be making both of our dreams come true.”

It was difficult to argue with that. You were already here with nothing else to do. And after the hell you went through to make yourself presentable for him? You deserved at least something. The image you curated of him was already shattered to bits. Could any further harm be done at this point?

Eddie took the silence of your deliberation as an opportunity to plead his case. Sliding his large hands up your back, he leaned forward to plant a kiss on your collarbone.

“You could teach me,” he said softly before moving his mouth to attend to the curve of your breast. “Show me what you like.”

Now there was an idea. None of the guys you had been with before were virgins, but they also weren’t very knowledgeable on what it took to please you. With Eddie not having any prior experience, it would be easier to get him to do what you needed so you could both enjoy it, instead of him getting off and you having to take care of yourself after anyway.

Twisting your arm behind your back, you unhooked your bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. “Only if you promise not to use what I show you on anyone else.”

Eddie licked his lips as he watched the lace drop to fully reveal your breasts. “Wouldn’t dare.” Tentatively, as if he was scared to move too fast, Eddie cupped the soft flesh and lifted.

“They’re heavy,” he said with surprise.

You chuckled. “They can be.” Placing your hands over his, you guided him where you wanted him, and told him to squeeze.

“That doesn’t hurt?” he asked curiously.

You shook your head. “You’re not gonna hurt me, Eddie. Just…do what you want, and I’ll let you know if I don’t like it.”

“What if you do like it?”

Your patience was already thinning. “You’ll know.”

There it was again. That tantalizing tongue of his poking out of the side of his mouth as he finally gave in.

Gripping his shoulders for stability, your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of him kneading your chest. Experimenting with pressure, noting that your breath hitched when he held you a little firmer—the way your head tilted back when he brushed his palms over the pebbled flesh of your nipples. His hands felt just as good as you hoped they would. Maybe even better, as they were rougher than you imagined. The harsh texture in contrast to your smooth skin fueled the fire brewing between your legs. The contented sigh that fell from your parted lips when he rolled them between his fingers. Pinching, tugging, sometimes too hard but he paid attention to your direction, never making the same mistake twice.

When his mouth enveloped the hardened nub, you felt all the breath leave your lungs in a rapid huff as you lurched forward involuntarily from the pulse of pleasure coursing through you.

No one had done that to you before. The most attention your boobs ever got was clumsy groping and a sloppy wet kiss to the tops. Never had anyone swirled their tongue over your nipples, and suddenly you felt very cheated.

“Keep doing that,” you breathed, finally living out another fantasy of threading your finger through his hair at the base of his neck to hold him close. It was softer than it looked--thicker and lush. You wondered what it would feel like tickling the inside of your thighs.

Eddie changed course, going from languid swirls to quick flicks that sent jolts of need through your body. Your hips started to rock on their own accord, gliding your sopping cunt over his cock.

Eddie groaned loudly—the vibrations making you whimper. He dropped his hands from your breasts, ignoring the meek whine of protest from you at the loss of contact, and instead focused on gripping the bare fat of your ass beneath your skirt to move you how he wanted—pulled down flush against him and faster. Your hips sped up to meet his pace, relishing in the way the head of his cock bumped your clit with each pass.

He pulled off of your breast with your nipple gently clenched between his teeth, releasing it with a primal growl. You hoped he would show the same attention to the other side, but instead he directed his mouth to the column of your throat--sucking lightly, nipping and licking his way around.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “Makin such pretty noises for me.”

“Y-you can only leave marks--” you began breathlessly, interrupted by a mouth escaping your lips at the feel of him finding that sweet spot at the juncture of your neck. “--if I can mark you.”

Eddie’s response was indecipherable between the grunt that emitted from him, the way his lips latched onto the soft skin of your neck, and whatever he was trying to mumble. The sting of the suction on your throat paired with the vibrations of his failed attempt at speech was becoming too much.

“You’re soaking me, baby,” he moaned. “Feels so fucking good.”

Grip tightening on your ass, his hips bucked into you, causing shockwaves to roll through the tendrils of your nerves. Finally, the ache you’d been suffering from for weeks was going to be cured. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to subsiding the dull burn in the pit of your stomach with each rhythmic roll of your hips against his. Abdominal muscles fluttering, hole clenching around nothing, blood like molten lava through your veins, moaning and panting with abandon--If he felt this good without even being inside you, you couldn’t wait to find out what like it felt like to be filled with him.

You could just reach down, yank your ruined underwear to the side and slide down the length of him, but you couldn’t stop your movements long enough to do so. You were climbing to your peak and fast.

But Eddie beat you to it. As soon as you opened your mouth to tell him you were on the precipice of seeing stars, Eddie gave one--two more rough thrusts as he let out an animalistic growl in the crook of your neck.

Panic set in. “No. No!” you whined to yourself, trying not to lose impending orgasm by continuing to ride him relentlessly, but it was too late. The tingle had already faded too far to get back without having to start all over.

Disappointed, you closed your eyes to prevent tears of frustration from falling and laid your head atop his in defeat.

Eddie didn’t move from your neck. “Goddamn it! I’m sorry,” he panted. “I’m so fucking sorry. You just--it felt so good and I--fuck!”

“It’s okay,” you replied flatly. If you weren’t mere seconds from cumming your brains out, it would have been hot. Getting him so worked up that he couldn’t control himself? Cumming in his frog underwear while he clutched onto for dear life? Literally the subject of your dreams. But with how sore your gut was getting, it was almost cruel to have lost your well earned orgasm so close to the finish line.

Eddie pulled away from you, looking quite dejected with bits of your hair stuck to his wet lips. “It’s not,” he said breathlessly. “Let me make it up to you. Please? I can still make you feel good. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.”

He looked so pitiful. Big brown eyes shining at you. Lips pouty. Chest heaving as he pleaded for another chance.

How could you say no to that face? To the offer, really. None of the others would have ever cared that you didn’t get yours, if they even noticed at all.

“Okay,” you answered with a nod. “But, can we go to your room?”

“Yes!” Eddie exclaimed with relief. “Yeah. Uh, let me just--give me a few minutes to clean it up a little.”

You untangled yourself from him and stood to your feet, embarrassed by the stickiness of your thighs. You’d never gotten that wet before, not even by yourself.

“Holy shit!” Eddie laughed, staring at his lap.

You were instantly mortified by the sight. Eddie wasn’t joking--you did soak him. Between your fluids and his, the navy blue boxers were saturated.

Panic fluttered in your chest. He probably thought it was gross. “Sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“Sorry?” Eddie repeated. “Sorry for what? This is--this is fucking hot. I mean, not mine so much, but holy shit.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Eddie was downright…beaming. Eyes kissing in the corners from how large his toothy grin was as he admired your joint handiwork. “You don’t think it’s gross?”

Eddie wiggled his brows. “Lucky boxers just got luckier.”

Huh. That was new too. Mostly that aspect of your body was treated as something to be ashamed of.

“Your room?” you prodded gently.

“Oh! Right.” Eddie pulled his jeans up from his thighs before standing, holding them up to his hips in lieu of buckling them. “Don’t leave!” he shouted as he sprinted down the short hallway.

You chuckled to yourself as he disappeared from sight. Who would have thought Eddie Munson was so…dorky? The image he projected at school and the one you conjured in your head weren’t him at all--Brash, tough, something to be feared or avoided, possibly demented. What a crock. He was goofy. Maybe even sweet. And certainly easier on the eyes than you gave him credit for.

You took the opportunity to find your shirt from the living room floor and try to locate your bra that you threw from the kitchen while Eddie did…whatever he was doing in there. More various banging and swearing emitted from the depths of the hallway that made it sound like he was trying to tear the place down instead of clean it up.

At a closer look of the walls within the Munson home, more than hats and mugs stood out to you. A couple of photos bleached by the sun were tacked to the sheet rock. One showed a large older woman with glasses the size of the moon atop her nose sitting at a wooden table with a handful of cards, a cigarette burning between her fingers, and an expression that you’d bet your life was caused by a winning hand at whatever game she was playing. Another with two little boys in matching coveralls outside a wired fence, both grimacing and squinting to protect themselves from the bright light of the sun. The one next to it was of a girl—who couldn't be older than seventeen—holding a baby with a head full of wild curls, bright wide eyes, grinning proudly to show the two tiny teeth cutting above his gums.

“I know that face,” you grinned, flattening the curled photo against the wall for a better look.

Eddie poked his head through the doorframe. “Did you say something?”

You tapped the picture and took great joy in watching his cheeks pinken at the realization of what you were looking at.

“So you were always cute,” you replied happily.

The color of Eddie’s face rivaled that of a tomato. Watching him become flustered was probably your new favorite thing to do to him. Mean and scary Munson blushing and curling inwards at a compliment? Interesting, indeed.

He cleared his throat and pointed his thumb towards his room. “Do you wanna—?”

Absolutely you did. You followed him with a nod into the small bedroom and took it all in. This was certainly what you expected his room to look like, though if this was the clean version you wondered what it looked like a few minutes ago. He did make the bed at least. Posters and drawings that looked like they were cataloged straight from hell lined the walls. Monsters, demons, skeletons, witches—some printed, painted, and hand drawn. The dresser and desk were covered with stuff. Tools, magazines, ashtrays, were those bullet shells? And a light blue box of condoms topped with a thin layer of dust.

You inspected the obviously unopened box and held back giggles. “Don’t Think we should use these. They expired in September of 1982.”

Horrified, Eddie snatched the package from your hand and stammered, “My uncle—when I started high school.” He gulped, comically tossing the offending material over his shoulder into the abyss. “He thinks he’s funny.”

His attention immediately went to your still bare chest, eyes boring into it like he could see the future through your tits. Suddenly feeling quite awkward and self conscious, you crossed your arms to hide yourself from him, unsure of what to do next.

“You’re pretty overdressed,” you pointed out. While you were only down to stringy lace underwear and a black skirt, Eddie wasn’t missing any clothing.

Breaking from his trance, Eddie scrambled fast as lightning to pull his shirt over his head, accidentally snagging a fistful of his hair along with it causing him to hiss. It was so difficult not to laugh, watching him scamper to free himself of his jeans, but when he stood to his full height in nothing but his ruined boxer shorts, you took a step closer to admire his body.

He was certainly taller than you—your eyes only meeting the middle of his tattooed chest. There was more ink there too. A horrible looking skull. A spider. A dagger with some sort of weird writing on it. But it was all so fitting of him. The black dye complimented his alabaster skin nicely.

As did the shadow of muscles on his abdomen. He was a lot more built than you thought he was under those layers of leather and denim. He wasn’t big enough for the football team, but he would probably do well in soccer with those long legs of his.

Toying with the guitar pick that dangled from his necklace, you looked up at him from your lashes. “You should probably kiss me.”

Eddie swallowed hard at the suggestion, making you grin a little at how nervous he still seemed to be despite being in nothing but his underwear.

But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. The way his big brown eyes were raking over you, like he could see through your very soul, made you shrink a little under the strength of his gaze. But he had a sweet smile stretched across his lips--the kind that let his dimples dent his cheeks.

“You really are good lookin’,” you blurted.

Eddie chuckled softly, gently moving the loose strands of hair out of your face with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous.” He moved his hand to caress your cheek, the other delicately tracing up the back of your arms with only the pads of your fingertips, sending shivers down your spine at the featherlight touch.

This kind of attention was something new. Something you hadn’t experienced before except for maybe with Steve, but the betrayal you felt after he ignored you once he got what he wanted left you bitter. Other experiences weren’t as…intimate. Gentle. Soothing, even. And you felt a tad bit guilty for coming on to Eddie so strongly, knowing full well what it was like to only be used for your body.

This was his first time doing anything ever with a girl. And while yes, you were desperate to get some sort of relief from the horrible tension in your stomach, you were enjoying Eddie’s sincerity. That’s what it had to be, right? He wasn’t like Steve with an ulterior motive--Eddie knew he was going to have you. And he decided to be sweet anyway.

You took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his slim waist, holding him close in a tight hug. He was so warm. Radiating heat that you gladly absorbed, taking in a breath as you pressed your cheek against his sternum. “You’re not what I thought you’d be like,” you admitted shamelessly.

Eddie returned the gesture, pressing your bare chest into his as close as he could--scratchy palms sliding up and down your back--occasionally clutching the soft curves. “And what’s that? Mean and scary?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach that came to life when he kissed the crown of your head. “I’d thought you’d be…rough. Maybe a little mean. Domineering.”

With your face buried in his torso, you didn’t see Eddie frown or furrow his brows. “Is that what you like?”

You took some time to think before answering. “I don’t know what I like, Eddie. No one’s ever asked,” you sighed. And it was true. With your limited encounters, you didn’t have good concrete data on what did it for you. Billy was what you accused Eddie of being, and you could count on one hand the amount of times you actually enjoyed yourself, only to be reprimanded for it later.

Eddie’s grip tightened, and he peppered a few more kisses atop your head, temples, and the edge of your hairline. Each one making your heart flutter faster and the heat in your cheeks rise. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I know what I liked in my dreams,” you added thoughtfully. “We could always give it a shot. If you want to, I mean.”

Eddie pulled away just enough to lock eyes with you--tilting your head up further with the knuckle of his index finger. “I’d sure as shit love to, but you gotta know, I’m not him. Whoever you’ve been dreaming about. I mean, I already disappointed you with being--you know.” Eddie gulped, lightly nibbling at the edge of his bottom lip.

You placed a quick peck onto the corner of his mouth, and another on the other side. “I know. You don’t have to be anyone or anything. Just you. I’m sorry if I’ve made you think otherwise.”

Eddie nodded, the edge of his lip ticking up into a fragment of a smile. “Still want me then? I’ll still die a very happy man if you change your mind.”

“Oh, I still want you, Eddie Munson,” you chuckled heartily.

“Well then,” Eddie grinned, removing your hands from behind his back and bringing your knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss. “You shall have me.”

You couldn’t stop giggling. Giggling for god’s sake. It was so cheesy. Such a bad line. If anyone else had said it, you probably would have snorted and rolled your eyes. But Eddie? Something about him made it work--the way his eyes practically sparkled or the fact that he just kissed the tops of your hands like some Victorian Royal. Why hadn’t you paid any attention to him before? You could almost kick yourself for believing what everyone else said about him instead of finding out for yourself. But you were here now, and didn’t want to waste anymore time. You wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing his face down to be able to catch him in a kiss.

This time was better. Instead of rushing him, you let him set the pace--take the lead--let him be the one to decide if and when he wanted to deepen the kiss. You followed his movements, moving with him and trying to give pointers with your own body language when things got a little…lost. The longer it went, the more his confidence grew. Languid licks into your mouth turned into more adventurous tugging at your bottom lip. And before long, you were on the bed with Eddie hovering over you--skirt and underwear cast aside somewhere in the chaos of his room.

Body practically searing, you held your breath as Eddie traced his fingertips over the soft expanse of your belly. Normally self consciousness of how you looked would cloud your mind with doubt—stretch marks, the size and shape of your abdomen—but with how Eddie gazed at you with a slack jaw and brown eyes almost pleading, you forgot to think too much about it.

“Can I touch you?” he asked carefully, rubbing his large palm against your stomach.

Though you were glad Eddie cared enough to ask permission, you were becoming increasingly impatient as lust clouded your mind. “I might kill you if you don’t,” you answered with a huff.

Eddie licked his lips and spared a glance between your legs. You let your knee drop further, inviting him to explore. He slid his palm down to slide his fingers along your sticky slit. A sigh of relief rushed from your lips at the contact, and your hips instinctively followed his fingers for more.

His eyes clenched shut as he groaned through parted lips. “Oh, fuck. You’re so wet.”

“It’s cause of you,” you praised, threading your fingers in his hair and holding his forehead to yours once again. “You did this to me.”

Eddie audibly gulped, unable to both carry on a conversation and focus on his fingers at the same time. He was being too delicate for your liking, barely able to feel the brush of his fingertips. Desperate to help, you put your hand over his, showing him how you wanted to be touched.

“Like this,” you said, adding more pressure against his middle finger as he traced the path from your entrance to your clit, breath hitching at the tingling sensation when he reached it.

“And just--” your pressed his fingers harder against you, showing him just how you liked to be rubbed. You tried to tell him he could switch it up between small circles or figure eights, but the only thing that came out of you were little squeaks of appreciation. The callus of his fingertips against the delicate flesh there was hypnotizing to say the least.

“That’s good?” he questioned with a furrowed brow.

The circular ministrations he applied to your clit kept you from doing anything other than nod dumbly. But that seemed to be acceptable to Eddie, whose lips twisted into a lopsided grin.

You moved your grasp from his hand to find purchase on his forearm instead. His half lidded eyes stayed focused on yours. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he admitted.

You wanted to tell him you were getting a hell of a lot out of it too, but again, words failed you. Instead, you settled for a breathy “Mhm” and let yourself get lost in his touch.

Within a few minutes, Eddie got more spontaneous. He moved his attention back down to your hole, keeping the heel of his palm right where you wanted. You were surprised when he teased your entrance with his finger without being prompted, but enjoyed the attention nonetheless. When you answered his raised brow with a nod, the delightful stretching around his thick finger paired with the friction on your sensitive button was nothing short of relief. You greedily took what he gave you, rocking your hips steadily to set the pace you wanted from him, and he happily obliged. Swiftly gliding his finger in and out with calculated compression against your clit.

“Yes,” you cooed with a heaving chest. “Jus-just like that.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groaned, hot breath fanning against your face. “Fucking yourself on my fingers. Jesus Christ.”

He never took his eyes away from yours. You wanted so desperately to kiss him, but somehow this was far more intimate. Noses nudging against each other, lips barely brushing to breath in every whine he coaxed out of you. He was so gorgeous like this. Brown eyes dark and hazy, pouty lips open in a silent ‘O’ as his brow furrowed in concentration. He made pretty noises too, panting and groaning along with you like it felt just as good to him.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, grip tightening on his forearm. “Eddie, I need you.”

“‘M right here.”

Shaking your head, you moved your grasp from his arm to his cock. “Need you. Inside.”

All of his movements ceased. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Really? Like now?”

“Yes, now!” you whined.

“Right! Sorry! Just can’t--really can’t believe this is about to happen,” he babbled. He made quick work of getting rid of his boxers before adjusting himself properly. He was heavy, but in a way that brought you comfort as he draped his body over yours and caged your head between his forearms. Both breathing heavily from exhilaration, you took a second to revel in the moment.

“Holy shit!” he laughed.

Brushing the long waves behind his ear, you nodded and leaned up just enough to press a tender kiss to his plump lips.

Eddie couldn’t contain his excitement. He moved from your lips, you kissing all over your face before settling for sloppy opened mouth kisses dotting a path from your collarbone up to that mind numbing spot at the juncture of your neck. As soon as his teeth scraped against it, you squeezed his hips with your knees, the craving for him only intensifying. The feel of his breath on your neck, hair tickling your chin and cheek, the weight of his chest pressing against yours was all too dizzying.

“Need you,” you whimpered against his cheek. You dipped your hand between your bodies to grab his length and poise it at your entrance.

Eddie groaned at the desperation in your demand. Sliding the head of his cock between your drenched folds, the torture of him being so close was getting to be too much. Your body jolted with every bump of his cock against your swollen bud. You were getting impatient, and needed him to be inside already.

“Eddie, please,” you begged.

Breathing raggedly, Eddie obliged. He pushed himself in with you guiding him, emitting a groan of satisfaction that rumbled from the depths of his chest. Yours was just as loud as you felt him slide into you, walls stretching with that delicious bite to consume him completely.

As soon as he reached his end, a simultaneous breath of relief flowed between both of you. It was almost intoxicating being so full of him. It didn’t seem like you could feel anything else but him, both inside and out, and you were deliriously addicted to it. You tangled your fingers into the curls of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked him down to meet your lips and a hungry kiss. You wanted him to understand just how much you wanted him. Greedy, sloppy, and feverish—you put all your unbridled desire into curling your tongue around his, roughly nipping his bottom lip.

Breathing heavily, Eddie pulled away. “It’s okay?”

You nodded vigorously, almost begging him with the look in your eye to please give you what you wanted. “You can move.”

Inching back, the slow drag of his cock between your tight walls was enough to arch your back, already missing the feel of engulfing him completely. But when he snapped his hips forward in a powerful thrust, you couldn’t help the wanton moan that escaped your lips.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

You hummed in response, unable to formulate more of a reply than that. Even if he didn’t know what he was doing yet, being stuffed full of him was already a relief of its own.

He experimented with pace and tempo. It took some time for him to find a rhythm that was to your liking. You didn’t want to be too bossy or demanding, so you kept your queues limited to directing his hips with your hands—subtly maneuvering him until you found just the right motion that made your head flop back onto the pillows. It was his first time after all, and you didn’t want him to lose confidence with constant redirection.

“There!” you gasped once he found the spot you could never reach on your own. “Right there, baby.”

“Yeah?” Eddie grunted back. His hips rutted into yours in a steady, fast paced rhythm that kept you bucking into him for more. It was too good to not keep chasing the sensation of him gliding into you with each forceful pump of his cock.

Whatever he was hitting seemed to also be the off switch to your brain. All thoughts were erased from your mind in an instant, only leaving behind an instinctual need for more.

“Yeah,” you repeated, no longer in control of the words falling from your lips. “Yes. Yes!”

He dropped his chest down further, sweat slicked skin sliding against yours as he devoured your breathy moans in a heated kiss. You practically shouted at the new pressure of his pelvis grinding against your clit. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and locked your ankles together to keep him right where you wanted.

“So fucking perfect,” he said thrkigh gritted teeth. “Look so pretty taking my cock.”

Normally dirty talk would have been another eyeroll and possibly get rid of any sexual desire you had. But it was another thing Eddie would get away with. It could be because of how grateful he looked when he said it, or because he felt so good inside you that you couldn’t care less what came out of his mouth so long as he kept his hips moving.

You couldn’t get enough of him—wanting to feel every inch he had to offer. You held him close, letting your hands roam around the expanse of his back. Feeling every ripple his muscles that appeared with each contraction of his torso. The ridges of his ribs. The dent of the dimples on his lower back. The soft fat of his cute little ass that you pressed harder against you to get him as deep as you could.

And there it was. The perfect combination of pressure, speed, and depth.

“Eddie,” you gasped against him. “Eddie, don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly. “God, don’t stop.”

He drove into you harder, rewarded with the deafening sound of the headboard clashing against the wall. It was all getting to be too much for Eddie. The squealing of the old mattress springs, your cries of pleasure and death grip your hot, slick walls had on his cock, the bounce of your tits slapping against his chest all were causing his abdomen to contract in a way that could only mean one thing.

“I’m close,” he warned loudly, hips faltering a little.

Instinctively, your legs clenched tighter around him. You didn’t want to lose it. Not again. Not knowing it would just leave you frustrated and sore. “I’m almost there,” you announced. You weren’t far off, but not quite there yet. “Just a little bit more, baby, please.”

Eddie gritted his teeth and willed himself to hold it, losing both the battle and his mind with each high pitched mewl that escaped the back of your throat, each plea to not stop as you hurdled toward your release.

The hair on your arms started to stand on edge as the tingling goosebumps erupted across your naked skin. As soon as the tight coil in the pit of your belly ruptured, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, you lost your vision. Did you black out? You couldn’t say. The only thing you could hear was the roar of blood coursing through your ears. The only sensation you could identify as you convulsed around Eddie was the tingling that radiated through every nerve you possessed. The only word you could pronounce between wails and blissful sobs was “Eddie!”

Finally. After weeks of dreaming, you had Eddie Munson. After a year or so of solo ventures, you had an orgasm that wasn’t by your own hand. After years of bad to mediocre sex, you had the best climax of your life. At fucking last.

When your body went completely boneless and released Eddie from the vice grip your legs had on him, he abandoned his post and collapsed next to you in a breathless, wheezing heap.

You found Eddie’s sweaty hand and laid yours atop it. He flipped it over and interlaced his fingers with yours, clutching tightly. A nonverbal way to say “I’m still here.”

Minutes ticked by as you tried to float back into your body. Eddie’s popcorn ceiling was all you could focus on while your heart stopped pulsing so hard against your face to where you could physically see the rapid beating. And when your lungs stopped screaming for air, you turned your head to see Eddie still struggling to breathe.

“Shit, I gotta quit smoking,” Eddie wheezed.

You giggled and watched as he placed sloppy kiss on the back of your hand. “Glad you think that’s funny,” he jested.

“Want me to get you some water?” You offered, trying to supress your giggles at his red and sweaty face.

He shook his head. “I’ll get us both some in a second.”

You pushed yourself up on your elbow, your hand still tangled with his, and placed your chin on his chest. “Did you cum?”

“Oh hell yeah!” Eddie answered eagerly. “Hard not to when there’s a hot chick screaming my name.”

You hid your face by burying it in his chest, concerned about what you said and how you sounded.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Eddie tapped the top of your head until you reluctantly looked at him. “So fucking hot. Wouldn’t change a thing. C’mere.”

You obliged, crawling up Eddie’s chest and meeting him in a smooch. A quick peck turned into two. Into three. Into one long kiss that stole what little breath you regained.

A sudden sense of dread settled in your stomach when you watched the way Eddie’s eyes raked over you. You could clearly see adoration. Appreciation. Glee. And while the look on his face should have brought you comfort and ease, anxiety took hold. Steve looked at you the same way, and that was a ruse. What if this turned out to be the same? Eddie could easily kick you to the curb now that he got what he wanted. It’s what all men did, isn’t it?

Nervously, you began to fiddle with one of the rings on his fingers. “You know, there’s one part of my dreams that I hope comes true.”

Eddie raised his brow. “Do tell.”

“You don’t forget me in the morning.”

Eddie snorted. “Sweetheart, I’m never going to forget you. Even when I’m old and in the corner of some nursing home, I’ll always remember this night.”

“That’s not what I mean, Eddie,” you said sadly. “I don’t want you to act like this never happened or ignore me.”

Eddie’s smile slid from his face, an expression of concern replacing it. “I’m not gonna do that. I’d invite you to spend the night—shit, the whole damn weekend—but I didn’t wanna scare you. Come off creepy or whatever.”

Your abdomen felt lighter. “You mean it?”

He kissed your forehead with a wet, loud smack. “I should have told you—when I said you have me, I meant it. I am your ever faithful, humble servant.”

Those damn giggles returned. “Then I suppose I’ll keep you, so long as you’ll have me.”

The rest of the night was better than you could have ever imagined. After a shower that left you covering in half a dozen hickies or more, You both talked about everything that came to mind, often getting sidetracked and falling down other rabbit holes of stories before looping back to the initial thought that started it all. Eddie let you see some of the most vulnerable parts of himself, and in turn, you showed him those parts of you. Before you knew it, the front door of the trailer slammed shut, announcing the arrival of the eldest Munson.

Eddie grabbed his alarm clock and showed you the angry red numbers.

You gasped at the time. “Six in the morning?! Eddie, we’ve been up all night!”

He tossed the clock carelessly onto his nightstand, not at all looking concerned when it crashed to the floor. “Stop being interesting for five minutes so we can go to sleep.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but snuggled closer into his chest. This is where you wanted to be. Warm, held, and adored.

Though he wasn’t at all what you dreamt of, Eddie Munson was indeed a dream come true.

————————————————————

Part 2 coming soon?

For more of my writing, I recommend my current series: Disjointed.

Tagging those who responded to the feelers post and those who have been putting up w me the entire writing process!

@eddiemunsonspantschain @pastel-pillows @stayonmars @lesservillain @2clones-1kamino @laura83stuff-blog-blog @katethetank @thruheavenandhighwater @hellfiredarling @mmunson86 @b-irock

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cherrywineisawaltz

3 years ago

What Are You?

Category: AU, Smut (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Mafia themes, derogatory language, intercourse Ship: Steve x Bucky x Reader Summary: Steve and Bucky Are Planning Some Work With a Client, But What Happens When That Client Doesn't Respect Their Girl? Request: N/A Contains Spoilers for: N/A Word Count: 2.6k

—

Almost everyone knew - there was no doubt about that. Everyone should’ve known, at least, but those who didn’t pay enough attention… sorry for them.

Everyone who heard the sound of the heels clacking against the marble flooring would straighten themselves up as if the sound was coming from the men themselves.

Which men? Oh, which men indeed.

That’s not to say that the woman couldn’t have any kind of friendships with any of the men in the building - she does need a little bit of platonic fun here and there.

“Slow down, Aphrodite, you might chip the flooring.” A mocking voice calls from behind her. Despite it being from a familiar face, the other men still stiffen as if they were the ones doing wrong.

“You might shatter the mirrors if you look in them for any longer.” The woman retorts as she attempts to hide the grin that forms at her own comeback.

The man, however, doesn’t even try to hide his smile as he turns his strides into a jog to catch up with her.

“How do you even know how often I stare in the mirror? You spying on me?” Sam asks, the pair glancing at each other and both now smiling.

“So you admit that you stare at the mirror, and not just look at it?” The woman tactically avoids his question with her own retort.

Sam’s laugh echoes through the corridor they’re walking through. It’s quite spectacular really - some would mistake it for being a palace. A place where only the good-willed people reside. Almost a shame that it’s full of the likes of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes and Steve Rogers - the two men who own just about all the power there is in New York, let alone Manhattan.

“You know they’re not done yet, right?” The man quizzes, a content smile still on his lips as his hands rest in the front pockets of his black trousers.

The woman doesn’t respond, simply nods.

Sam catches it out the corner of his eye and simply shakes his head.

“You have a habit of interrupting their meetings.”

“And you have a habit of saying things that might get you killed one day.” (Y/N) answers, but her gentle smile admits that that’s not entirely true.

Her attire consists of a loose but very fitting crimson dress that sits mid-thigh, along with the matching red heels that are buckled around her ankles. A simple silver chain around her neck that has two small, but very expensive, black and red diamonds resting in the centre of her collarbone.

“Tell Steve that his car’s being valeted if he needs it anytime soon.” The man comments as he turns off down another corridor, different to (Y/N)’s route.

She simply nods again.

Why is it that she’s heading toward her husbands’ meeting? Because she’s interested in seeing how it will end. The man who has been persisting to speak with Steve and Bucky for the last sixteen months is desperate, to say the least. He wants investment in their three hotels that are situated across NYC, in Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan.

She was the one who decided on where those hotels would be built, so she wants to see the man, John Walker, crumble as her partners’ pretend they care, only to tell him no.

It might seem like a waste of time but in reality, it’s to see how the man deals with hearing the word no, and whether Bucky and Steve need to deal with him.

“Ma’am.” Christopher greets as (Y/N) approaches the door of the conference room that her men are in.

“Chris.” She responds, nodding her head as he opens the door for her. “How’s it going, gentlemen?” The woman adds as she casually struts into the room, grabbing everyone's attention.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone turns to look at the woman who’s interrupted their meeting. Steve and Bucky simply smile as they take a moment to admire their wife.

“Excuse me?” John is the first to speak up and everyone’s attention turns to him, including (Y/N), who doesn’t seem phased by his evident frustration.

“You’re excused.” Her response is simple but ignites a spark inside of the man.

“Do you usually let whores just stroll around and cause inconvenience in their wake, gentlemen?” He asks, but his eyes remain on (Y/N).

The woman’s eyebrows raise, and a surprised but impressed smile etches its way onto her face. She says nothing. John stares at her with a quirked brow, waiting for a response from the two men his question was directed to, so obliviously aware of the fearful stares he’s now getting from everyone else in the room.

Bucky and Steve’s heads turned very slowly, in sync, back toward their guest, their smiles now distorted into that of pure fury.

“Would you like to say that again?” Steve speaks up first, John now turning his head toward the boss in curiosity of his sudden change of voice.

That’s when the man notices all the stares on him. His eyebrows furrow as he acknowledges everyone’s expression. His eyes flick from the other men in the room to Bucky and Steve, to (Y/N), and back to the two leaders.

He gulps.

“I said: Say. It. Again.” Steve enunciates.

“Come here, doll,” Bucky speaks up also, his eyes flicking from John to (Y/N) for a brief moment, his arm opening up and inviting the woman to situate herself on his knee.

The woman obliges, striding over to her husbands and letting the brunet’s arm wrap around her as she sits.

John’s eyes haven’t left Steve’s, too mortified to even blink, but he catches the action of Bucky and (Y/N).

Steve’s eyebrow quirks, reminding his guest that he’s waiting. And Steve hates waiting.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t know she was- gentlemen, please, look, this is all a big misunderstanding, I just-”

“Called our woman a whore and an inconvenience.” Bucky finishes his sentence, his expression just as murderous as Steve’s, despite the soothing actions of his hand stroking his wife’s waist.

“I didn’t know she was your-”

“And you think that excuses it?” Steve interrogates. “You think calling any woman a whore is acceptable? An inconvenience?”

John gulps and the sound echoes in the room. His eyes flicker away from Steve’s for a moment to the woman herself, intentionally or not, but his eyes drop to the prominent cleavage on display.

Bucky smirks at the action that most definitely didn’t go unnoticed by himself.

“Sweetheart,” Steve begins, John’s attention darting straight back to the blond’s once more. (Y/N) hums in response. “Who do you belong to?”

(Y/N) bites her lip, core throbbing at the obvious dominance and possession of the two men.

“You and James.” She whispers, Bucky’s hand gripping her waist tightly at the use of his birth name.

The sweat glistening on John’s forehead is clear as day.

Knowing what’ll get everyone in the room riled up even moreso, (Y/N) turns herself around so she’s facing Bucky, sat on his lap, legs on either side of his body. Everyone else in the room keeps their eyes firmly locked on the glass table or the white ceiling.

A pleasant hum resonates from the brunet’s throat, his hands naturally adjusting to rest on her hips.

The moment John’s eyes flicker to (Y/N) once more and then drift down her back, a gun is cocked and metal is pressed firmly against the back of the man’s head.

The woman goes to turn her head around to see what’s happened but Bucky’s lips locking with hers prevents that from happening. She whimpers against his mouth and he absolutely adores it.

“Bend over this table for me, doll.” The man murmurs. “Let’s show Mister Walker what a proper whore looks like.”

The excitement that sparkles in his wife’s eyes makes his cock throb between his legs.

“Yes, sir.”

The pet name makes both men throb.

The woman stands up and turns herself around, making sure every sway of her hips is a show to be watched. Her eyes lock with none other than their security lead, Tony Stark, who’s holding the gun up to Walker’s head, as she bends herself over the table, dress drooping at the front to display her cleavage.

Tony’s eyes don’t even flicker away from her own. The staff in this building know better than to try and indulge in what is rightfully Bucky and Steve’s. John, however, sees this as a prime opportunity to stare at what he believes he’s being offered, his trousers getting tighter.

(Y/N) sees it. She finds is humorous.

Bucky’s hands slide their way up the backs of his wife’s bare thighs, pushing up the crimson material as he reaches it.

Her eyes flutter shut and lips part in satisfaction at the feeling.

“Tell us what you want, doll.” Bucky mumbles, sitting the bottom of her dress at the base of her back, grinning at her lack of underwear.

“Touch me.”

The explicit word that escapes John’s lips are heard clear as day and he knows it, face once again panicking as he looks back at Steve, whose expression still hasn’t changed.

“Where do you want me to touch you, princess?” James continues, not paying an ounce of attention to anyone else in the room right now besides his missus.

His fingers stroke the top of her inner thighs, seeing her soaking wet core already dripping down them.

“Want you to touch my pussy.” (Y/N) breathes, eyes flitting open barely a millimetre.

James presses soft kisses on his wife’s ass before sliding his middle and ring finger lightly over her slit. The action gets a mewl out of her.

Fifteen men in this room in total, only two of them can touch this woman yet all fifteen are dreaming about it.

“Move.” Steve states, prompting John to widen his eyes once more, but this time the words aren’t directed at him.

Bucky grins and obliges, removing his hands from his girl and stands up.

(Y/N)’s eyes open fully this time as she whines in complaint at the loss of contact, but a large smack on her ass distorts her whine into a large gasp.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you, sweetheart.” Steve states, manoeuvring himself so he’s stood directly behind his wife, Bucky casually pulling his own gun out of his inner blazer pocket and wiping it down with his hands.

John’s face stays facing Steve, but his eyes follow Bucky as the brunet moves behind him and out of his sight.

Tony takes the sign to back away and let his boss take over from here.

Steve has no shame as he unbuckles his belt, undoes his trousers and pulls out his rock-hard cock, stroking it with his hand a few times while his other hand returns to Bucky’s previous actions.

“You see that?” Bucky whispers in John’s ears, prompting the man to gasp and jump in his seat. He gulps again but remains silent. “I asked you a question.”

The man frantically nods, fearful for his life, and absolutely humiliated.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Steve murmurs, leaning down and moving her hair aside, kissing the back of her neck.

Before the woman can even respond, her husband thrusts himself inside of her in one go, (Y/N)’s back arching and moaning so loud that Christopher can probably hear outside the door, and Steve’s head being thrown back, his own moan equally loud.

Bucky almost loses his composure if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew not to falter when making sure a man like John Walker was wanting his woman.

“Fuck…” Walker whispers, lips parted as he stares at the woman in front of him being railed by none other than Steven Rogers.

“Keep watching because this is your death wish.” Bucky whispers, John’s eyes widening. “Does she look good?”

John nods his head almost desperately.

Her moans only get faster and louder as Steve fucks her.

“Remind him what you are, sweetheart?” The blond groans, grabbing the woman’s hair and pulling her head back so she’s more or less face-to-face with Walker alongside her other husband.

“A whore.” (Y/N) practically begs.

“Louder.” Steve demands.

“A whore!”

“I said: fucking louder!”

“A WHORE! I’m your whore, sir!” She screams, John losing it and standing up to lean forwards but a gunshot firing beside his head makes him stumble back down to his seat.

(Y/N) flinches are the known noise but settles quickly as Bucky strokes her face with the hand that’s not holding the freshly-fired weapon.

“Don’t you fucking dare move an inch toward our wife.” Bucky threatens to the man he’s leaning over.

John gulps but nods, not taking his eyes off (Y/N).

“Is she inconvenient now, Walker?” Steve asks, glaring daggers at the man. He only shakes his head, eyes only meeting Steve’s for a split second. “No?” He breathes. “Then what is she?”

The guest falls speechless, shaking his head as his eyes flicker between Steve and (Y/N).

“Hot as fuck.” He whispers, Bucky growling in his ear.

“Fuck!” (Y/N) cries out, desperate eyes staring at Bucky’s, who smirks at her state.

“Think our girl wants to cum, Steve.” He comments, John panting in his seat.

“Yeah? You wanna show this scum what a good girl you are for us, baby girl?” Steve grunts, not slowing down but rather speeding up as he too reaches his peak.

The woman’s head nods in desperation, face flushed as her eyes flicker across all men in the room, including Tony’s, who simply winks at her before removing his stare.

“Say it, doll.” Bucky demands.

“I wanna cum.” (Y/N) gasps, watching her brunet lover shake his head.

“Gonna have to do better than that, doll.”

“Please,” She begs. “Please, daddy. Sir. Please, let me cum!” Her voice screams, Steve grunting in response to the feeling of her squeezing his cock, milking him for all his worth.

“Cum, baby girl.” He permits. “Cum like the whore you are.”

And how she does.

Her scream could shatter glass, Christopher would be concerned if he hadn’t already established the differences between the woman’s fearful screams and her pleasure-filled ones.

Taking full advantage of Bucky’s distraction, John leaps forward to get a taste of the woman who’s almost passing out from the pleasure, but that’s the last move he makes as a bullet is shot through his back, knocking him down onto the table.

Tony doesn’t seem phased as he shakes the smoke from his gun, settling it back into his pocket.

Making sure the woman doesn’t collapse atop the, now dead, man on the table, Bucky holds her up while Steve sorts himself out before pulling her back across the table and into his lap.

“You okay, sweetheart?” The blond whispers, smoothing the hair out of her face.

(Y/N) nods but keeps her eyes shut as she rests against her husband’s chest.

“Words, baby.” He requests.

“M’okay.”

“That’s my girl.”

Two of the security men alongside Tony head over and remove the body from the room, Bucky asking for someone to clean up the mess whilst walking over to his two lovers.

“We okay?” The brunet murmurs, Steve smirking and nodding before both paying attention to their girl who’s still half unconscious.

“Does anyone else in the room have anything to say before we carry on?” Steve asks, everyone shaking their heads frantically. “Good, now leave.” And they do.

“You okay, baby doll?” Bucky whispers, cocooning her cheek with his hand.

The woman nods and manages to open her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“That’s our girl.”

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cherrywineisawaltz

2 years ago

silly silly silly